The Right Time

by Danielle Steel

  “I don’t know how I could forget how bad it was the last time. I hope somebody reminds me before I do this again,” Brigid said as she winced and shifted on the inner tube. “It was worse than last time, if that’s possible, and she was smaller, though only by four ounces.” But the baby had a sweet face, long legs, and beautiful hands with graceful fingers, and Brigid kept looking at her tiny toes with awe.

  “Then you remember it before you and Patrick do it again two days from now,” Alex warned her, laughing at her. She felt so much better since talking to Bert that afternoon. What she was experiencing with men went with the territory of success, hard work, and determination, which were not always appreciated in a woman. But she wasn’t ready for what Brigid had either. At least not yet or not for a long time. She wanted to keep writing her books, forever if she could, and trying each time to make them better, with Bert’s help, for as long as he was willing. And for now she didn’t want any distractions, like a husband or children.

  Alex left Brigid after half an hour. She looked exhausted and there were too many people there, as she tried to wobble around her room taking care of the baby, and calling out to Patrick in the kitchen, to ask if he was okay and if Steven had eaten dinner yet.

  “How’s Brigid?” Mother MaryMeg asked her when she got back to the convent.

  “She can’t sit down, she looks exhausted, there are a million people there, Patrick is cooking dinner, and the baby is beautiful.” The superior laughed at the image.

  “Sounds about right for a house with a new baby. She’ll be pregnant again in no time. She loves her babies. And how are you?” She had seen Alex earlier and thought she looked troubled about something. “Everything all right in New York?”

  “Couldn’t be better. I love it and I’m fine.” Alex gave her a hug and went upstairs to her room. It was good to be home for the weekend. And on Sunday night, she would go back, and fight her wars again.

  Chapter 17

  Alex was in better spirits when she went back to New York after the weekend. She slept late on Monday morning and decided to take a day off. She was just leaving the apartment to do some errands when Rose Porter called her.

  “What are you up to?” she asked her. They hadn’t talked in several weeks.

  “I was just going to the supermarket, the hardware store, and the cleaner. I was in Boston this weekend.”

  “I’m glad I caught you. I just got a very interesting call from a television production company in England. They have three series on TV at the moment.” She named them and Alex knew them all. They were the currently popular ones on television, and aired in the States too. “They want to turn Hear No Evil into a series.” It was her third book, and one of her biggest sellers so far. Rose wasn’t surprised. “I think they’d do a very good job with it. They have some stars in mind. Big ones. The catch, of course, is that they want you too. They want Alexander Green for script consultation on the set. I told them that wasn’t possible, that he never does that, they insisted, and then I told them about the setup in L.A., and that’s fine with them. They’ve already got a writer, and they think they could put the package together by August, and they would want you there for three months. You could be back here by late October, early November. What do you think?”

  Rose also mentioned how much they wanted to pay her, it was a huge amount, and very enticing. “It worked in L.A., there’s no reason why it wouldn’t work in London. They wanted to put you up at Claridge’s, and I said Mr. Green needs a house for himself and his staff, and that was fine with them too. Why don’t you give it some thought?”

  Alex didn’t need to. It was three more months of pretending to be Mr. Green’s assistant, but the series sounded like fun, and three months wasn’t too long. She’d have to extend her apartment lease or give it up, but that could be worked out.

  “I’ll do it,” she said simply. If she didn’t do things like that now, when would she?

  “That was easy,” Rose said with a grin. She had thought she’d have to talk her into it, and was prepared to, because it was great exposure for her work for people who didn’t read the books, and TV would pull women in too. “I’ll let them know.” She did, and called Alex when she got back from her errands. “They’re thrilled. They said they’d find a house right away. They want you there on August first.”

  Alex was already thinking about going to the South of France for two weeks before that, as long as she was going to Europe. Tim was right. She led a charmed life. “It won’t air till spring, to give them time to edit.” It was her first TV series and sounded very exciting to her. They talked for a few minutes longer, and hung up. She fixed a light lunch for herself, and made lists about what she had to do before she went, and called her realtor to extend the lease till the end of the year, and they told her at six o’clock that the owner was amenable. So she could leave her things there, and didn’t have to drag it all back to Boston. And she wanted to spend some time in New York when she got back. She hadn’t had much opportunity to take advantage of the city and now she was leaving.

  She spent a weekend in Boston in July to say goodbye to the nuns and Bert, and see Brigid again. She wasn’t pregnant yet this time.

  “You’re slipping,” Alex teased her and Brigid laughed.

  “Give me another month.”

  “You’re hopeless.” But both her children were adorable and she was happy.

  —

  Alex flew from New York to Nice on the twelfth of July to spend two weeks at a hotel in Cap d’Antibes that she had read about and never been to. It was the height of luxury, and she wanted to be pampered and lazy before she started work in London. And the hotel lived up to all her expectations for fabulous food, a great spa, a beautiful room, and private cabanas where she could lie in the sun and read without anyone seeing or bothering her.

  She arrived in London on the thirty-first of July with a honey-colored tan, looking rested and relaxed when she checked into Claridge’s for one night. She was picking up the keys to the house the production company had rented for Mr. Green the next day, and they hoped it would be to his liking. There were six bedrooms for himself and his alleged entourage. She needed the house to keep up the charade that he and his staff would be there, although all she needed was the master bedroom for herself. She planned to have her own cleaning service like the one she’d had in L.A. And she called Fiona as soon as she got to her room. Alex had left London almost exactly a year before. Since then, Fiona had gotten married and was pregnant. They had agreed to have dinner that night, and Alex couldn’t wait to see her.

  They met at Barrafina in Soho for dinner, and Fiona told her all about married life and how happy she was with Clive, and they were over the moon about the baby.

  “What are you doing back here?” She wanted to know.

  “I have a job as a production assistant, working on a TV series,” she said humbly. “It’s a low-level job, but I thought it would be fun. It’s only for three months.”

  “It sounds terrific.” It never dawned on Fiona that they could have hired a production assistant in London, and didn’t need to bring one out from New York. She was just happy to see her friend. She had changed jobs after Alex left, so she hadn’t seen Ivan in over a year. She had heard that he’d gotten fired, but didn’t know if it was true or not.

  Fiona dropped Alex off at the hotel on her way home, and they promised to get together soon. Alex had told her the production company was paying for the hotel and she’d be moving to a house in a few days. Alex said she’d call her with the number.

  The next morning, Alex reported to work on time, wearing jeans, a tee shirt, and a leather jacket. They had provided a car and driver to take her to the television studio. And they gave her an office as soon as she got there, and showed her around.

  “I don’t suppose Mr. Green will be coming in himself?” the head production assistant asked discreetly. “We have an office for him too, if he wants it.”

  “That won’t be necess
ary, he won’t come in,” Alex said crisply. “He does all his work at home, and has me bring the notes in, or email them.”

  “Of course.” They treated her like royalty and introduced her to everyone. The screenwriter was a woman, and had a big reputation. And the director was very jovial. Alex was at her desk, trying out the computer, when the producer stuck his head in the door to meet her.

  “Hello, welcome! I’m Miles McCarthy,” he said with a broad smile. He looked younger than she’d expected, although she knew from his bio that he was forty-one years old. He strode across the room to shake her hand. He was tall and lanky, wearing the same outfit she was, with a baseball cap on backward that he’d gotten at a concert the night before. “Everything the way you want it?” he inquired with a smile. “Give a shout if we forgot something. My office is just down the hall. And my assistant is in the one next to mine.”

  “No, it’s been perfect,” she reassured him, and he disappeared. She went to the house they’d rented for her and “Mr. Green” after that, to meet the realtor and get the keys. It was a beautiful old house near Hyde Park, immaculately furnished and decorated, with drawings of horses and fox hunts everywhere, a formal dining room, a remarkable wood-paneled library, an elevator, and a very elegant master suite. Alex realized that, given the location, it must be costing them a fortune.

  She barely had time to move her things from Claridge’s and rush back to the office for a production meeting that afternoon.

  There was a large group of people at the table, and the producer and director took turns discussing various aspects of the show. They introduced Alex to everyone, explaining that she would be their liaison to Mr. Green. No one seemed troubled by it, and after the meeting Miles came over to talk to her, and explained that the actors were starting rehearsals the next day. They had gotten everything on track very quickly.

  “Is the house all right?” he asked with concern.

  “It’s fantastic. He’s going to love it.”

  “My assistant picked it,” he said, pleased. She noticed that he had sandy blond hair with gray in it, and striking blue eyes. “When is Mr. Green arriving, by the way?”

  “Late tonight, by private plane, with the staff.” It was the same story she’d told in L.A., and everyone believed it.

  “We’re so glad he agreed to do the series. It’s going to be really great. And the screenwriter is excellent. I’ve worked with her before, on two shows. She does crime and mystery particularly well.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be very happy,” Alex reassured her.

  The producer left her then, to take care of a thousand details, and she discovered that he had an assistant just to attend to the needs of the actors. It was an impeccably run operation. She went to see the soundstage then, and was impressed by that too, and then she went home to relax in the fabulous house they had rented without knowing it was for her. While she was unpacking, an enormous bouquet of flowers arrived to her attention, and a magnum of champagne for Mr. Green. She was sorry she couldn’t give the magnum to Bert, and told him about it on the phone when she called him.

  “Well, it won’t do me any good if it’s in London,” he complained. She told him about the production company and the house, and he got off the phone after that. He had a leak in his kitchen, and the plumber had just arrived. And Alex went to finish her unpacking and set up everything she needed on her desk. She was all set to start work in earnest the next day, and she couldn’t wait to see the script they were going to give her in the morning. They wanted Mr. Green’s notes on it as soon as possible, which she had assured them she could arrange.

  When Alex got to the office the next day, the place was buzzing. The actors were in their dressing rooms. Catering had set up a breakfast buffet for anyone who wanted it. Hairdressers and makeup artists were everywhere, and, as promised, one of the producer’s assistants handed her two scripts, one for her and the other for her employer, and Alex went to her office to read it. It was extremely good. She made notes as she was reading, but had very few changes or comments.

  “How does it look to you?” Miles stuck his head in and asked her when he saw that she was reading the script.

  “It’s excellent. He’s going to be very pleased.” She had almost no work to do.

  “Why don’t you come to the first reading?” he invited her. It was in a large meeting hall with many chairs set up in groups, where the actors would do their first informal run-through of the script and make comments. The readings were very good, and the actors real pros, and much less difficult than their American counterparts. Miles had Alex sit next to him, and gave her little explanations and running comments about the actors sotto voce. He was doing all he could to make her feel part of their team, and Rachel Wooster, the screenwriter, came over afterward to ask Alex to sit at her table for lunch, and the director joined them. He was Irish and very funny and had everyone laughing all through lunch. The atmosphere and collegial relationship they all had were terrific, and Alex felt totally at ease in their midst, and even though she was allegedly only Mr. Green’s assistant, they treated her very well. She had status in the group.

  At the end of the day, she walked out to her car and driver. Miles was leaving at the same time on a fierce-looking motorcycle, and stopped to chat with her for a minute.

  “I hope you feel it went well today,” he said. He had been attentive all day, and so had the entire crew.

  “It couldn’t be better. And I don’t think Mr. Green will have any problems with the script.” She had two small changes to send later, which were negligible, but she couldn’t tell him that now until “Mr. Green” had officially seen it.

  “I do wish he’d drop by so we can make him feel welcome,” Miles said pleasantly, “but I know he doesn’t do that. If he changes his mind, though, we’d love to have him.”

  “He’ll be very grateful. But he sends me out as his emissary to the world.” She smiled at him and he noticed her tan, which made her eyes look strikingly green.

  “He certainly has an excellent ambassador to represent him.” Miles smiled at her and she laughed.

  “Thank you. I’m not sure everyone would agree with you, but I feel very fortunate to have the job. He’s very easy to work for.”

  “So are you. You had the whole team falling in love with you today, and I’m top of that list. I’m a great fan of his, and now of yours. I read all his books. They’re extraordinary.”

  “He’ll be pleased that you think so.” It was like talking about herself in the third person, which felt strange, even though she had done it in L.A. for six months and never gave herself away. And she hoped she didn’t here. They seemed to pay much closer attention than the movie crew had, and the actors were less lavishly treated. Miles had been exceptionally helpful and welcoming, and was a pleasure to work with.

  “I can give you a lift home on my bike, by the way, if you’d prefer it.”

  “I’m too big a coward,” she said honestly.

  “That’s probably sensible,” he said, waved at her, and then took off, and she went home sedately in the car they had provided her, and let herself into the house.

  She sent Miles an email shortly after, with the two minor changes from “Mr. Green,” and went to relax in the small, cozy den next to her bedroom. She had had a really enjoyable time on the set, and liked them all. She hadn’t met anyone that she found difficult, and she was really looking forward to working with them. Even the actors were well behaved and fun to talk to, and not prima donnas despite their big names and reputations. The leaders, both director and producer, set a tone and example that put everyone in a good mood, and anxious to do their best for the team. It was a first-rate production company in every way. Even the food had been great.

  She was surprised when the phone rang in the kitchen when she was opening a takeaway salad for dinner that she had picked up on the way home. Since no one had that number, she couldn’t imagine who it was. It was Miles McCarthy, checking in with her that all was
to Mr. Green’s liking.

  “He’s resting right now, but I told him when I got in how well everything went today, and he was very pleased.”

  “Excellent,” he said, and hung up a moment later, as Alex sat down to eat her salad at the kitchen table and thought about him. It had been a very, very good first day.

  —

  It took the actors a week to hit their stride with the script, and start to play well off each other and even improvise occasionally, which Alex didn’t object to, and neither did “Mr. Green” when she reported his reaction and comments back to them. It took about the same amount of time for the whole team to adjust to working together, and by two weeks in, they all felt like old friends. It was a very experienced, professional cast and crew.

  Alex was sitting on the soundstage, reading some changes in the script, when Miles came in and sat down in the chair next to her. She looked up and they exchanged a smile. He treated her like someone he knew well whenever they met. She knew how important and successful he was, and he was not what she had expected at all. He was much more casual and warmer than anyone she’d met on the set so far. He was a very modest person, unlike people in Hollywood, where posturing was a way of life. Malcolm had been a prime example.

  “What do you think of the latest changes?” he asked her.

  “I like them. They make the dialogue smoother.”