Smiling slyly and without saying anything, Will popped the corks one after another. Kelsey filled the tall flutes and handed them out. The group gathered around exclaiming in wonder and surprise at the moonlit garden and the golden liquid sparkling in the glasses – such an unexpected end to their evening.
Will announced dramatically, ‘There’s just enough time for one last toast, my friends. Please take a glass of Warwickshire pear perry, in my opinion more delicious than even the finest champagne. Here’s to new friends and to safe travels and to very brief hangovers. Cheers!’
The crowd were still clinking glasses and sipping the light amber nectar as Will took Kelsey by the elbow. ‘Come this way, I have something to show you.’
She let him lead her into the shadows of an orchard of strange gnarled trees at the darkest end of the garden. Suddenly Will’s teasing voice was very near Kelsey’s ear.
‘Right, close your eyes, Kelsey Anderson.’
‘What?’ she laughed in alarm.
‘Just trust me. Have you got them closed?’ he said from a little further off.
Kelsey stood in the near darkness, her eyes tightly shut and her arms hanging by her sides, listening for Will’s return. What the hell is he doing?
‘I’m here,’ he said softly, taking her hand in his. ‘OK? Now open your mouth.’
‘Will, what are you up to? This is a bit weird.’ Nervy laughter rippled her voice.
‘Just open up,’ he instructed suggestively. Kelsey felt Will’s fingertips at her parting lips as he gently pushed a soft ripe berry into her mouth. It was perfumed and bursting with juice that tasted sweet and musty at the same time. It was delicious. ‘It’s a mulberry. This garden is full of four-hundred-year-old mulberry trees. They were planted when Shakespeare was alive for silkworms to live on. Well, that was the idea anyway, it didn’t quite work. Wrong kind of mulberries.’ He was murmuring deeply, close enough for Kelsey to feel his breath raising goosebumps on her neck.
She gasped, shocked at the strange spiced taste of the fruit and a sudden chill in the air that made her shiver. As she opened her eyes, Will’s handsome face was just inches from her own. He slowly placed a berry into his mouth, its purple juice running down his fingers. He was dazzling in the blue starlight and he was looking at her hungrily, tracing his fingertips from her wrist up towards her shoulder, making her skin tingle. It would be so easy to tip her head upwards to meet his mouth, letting the sweet potion in the berries take hold of them both. For a second, she almost allowed herself to take the step forward into his arms, and she would have done if she hadn’t heard a voice from deep within herself whispering, be careful.
She drew back sharply with a startled sense of sudden awakening. ‘I should go.’
Will, catching her around the waist with a strong arm, spoke again, a note of impatience in his voice. ‘Wait! Please. Do you have a boyfriend back home or something?’
‘Hah! I have literally no idea,’ she replied with a faraway bemusement.
Will freed her and watched her walk back up the lawn towards the opening in the hedge where they had all spilled into the green world of the secret mulberry-scented garden.
Kelsey walked all the way home with her head raised to the silver constellations, feeling more sober with every step. Not Will, not now. You only just got here and you’re thinking about messing around with the guy who’s supposed to be mentoring you? What about poor Fran? Just get it together, Kelsey.
Unlocking the door of Number One, St Ninian’s Close, and without switching on the hall lights, she tiptoed quietly upstairs to her little sanctuary. As she climbed, she caught sight of herself in the landing mirror. Stopping, she steadied herself in front of it, peering closely at her reflection. She could just make out her wide, piercing eyes framed by the wild waves of her hair and a dark mulberry juice stain spreading across her lips like a bruise.
Before Kelsey fell asleep that night, she hurriedly wrote her postcards, telling her mum and grandad what a great time she was having, how hot the weather had been, and how tomorrow she’d guide her very first tour group under Will’s supervision, making no mention of the strange, strained feelings she now had about her colleague. He intrigued and overwhelmed her with his acerbic aristocratic manner, his beautiful face, his sudden flashes of disarming humour, and the way he obviously revelled in the challenge of seducing the new girl.
She saved Fran’s postcard until last. What would she write? Suddenly, feeling all the heightened emotions of the intoxicating evening coming to a head, sobs shook her as she rehearsed aloud, ‘I’m sorry we weren’t happier. I really did love you. I do love you. I think we just grew apart.’
But the pen would not move in her hand. Instead, she let it fall onto the bed and she glanced around for her phone. She was ashamed to admit to herself that relief flooded her body as she found no new messages. Maybe Fran’s given up trying to contact me? Maybe he’ll never message again? Or maybe he’s still coming to terms with the shock of finding himself abandoned by his so-called girlfriend for an entire summer and he’ll be in touch in his own good time? He did say at the station he’d see me in September, didn’t he? Maybe he’s taking some time out and hoping we’ll reconnect in the autumn?
‘What a mess,’ she sniffed with a hopeless shrug, but nothing could persuade her fingers to scroll for Fran’s name and ring him.
She couldn’t shake the lonely realisation that she’d lost him somewhere long before she’d even heard of the Norma Arden Tour Agency. The dark feelings crowded in, stifling her in the warm, airless bedsit; the heaviness of her solitude and friendlessness so far from all that was familiar, the sadness of having no one special of her own to confide in, to share in all of life’s mountainous challenges and little victories. Had she ever done that with Fran? Maybe in the beginning.
Something had needed to change, she knew. But Fran was right, running off to Stratford was just forestalling the inevitable: her return to Scotland, jobless and broke with no plans for her future, and maybe now she wouldn’t even have a boyfriend waiting for her.
What am I doing? I could have stayed at home and let Fran support me like he wanted to until I found a proper job. Or I could have gone to college and trained to do something else? Bugger it, I should have taken that internship! Talk about looking a gift horse in the mouth. Some lucky girl’s got that job now and in a few months she’ll be trained up for the job market and I’ll be nowhere at all.
Fran’s postcard lay unwritten on the bed as Kelsey lay awake until the sun rose again, glad she had no neighbours to waken with her sobbing.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little’
(As You Like It)
Will was waiting for her in their usual spot. Kelsey grimaced as she made her approach, hoping he couldn’t see how exhausted and pale she was after her sleepless night, but mostly just embarrassed about how the pub crawl had ended. He’d really gone out on a limb last night and he probably wasn’t used to girls rejecting him. Thank God I didn’t snog him. If I’d had more to drink I probably would’ve. Imagine getting caught kissing a colleague at work. What if Valeria or Myrtle had seen us? Is this the midsummer madness Norma warned me about?
She had no idea what to expect from Will this morning, but she needn’t have worried. Greeting her with his usual winning smile he held out two very virtuous-looking smoothies, one pink and one green.
‘Morning, Sleeping Beauty, what time do you call this? OK, pick one!’
Kelsey glanced at the clock on her phone. ‘I’m exactly on time, cheeky! I’ll have the pink one please. What is that?’
‘Avocado, green apple, and kale, I think. I should have got two strawberry and banana, huh?’
And, with that, they were back to how it had been before all the cider, mulberries, and moonlight, as though nothing had happened.
Thank God! He doesn’t remember. Maybe he was drunk? Though I didn’t see him touch a drop all night. Maybe he’
s just saving face? Fine by me. I’ve got enough to think about today.
And so they got on with their morning tour, Will taking a step back, letting Kelsey introduce herself and check everyone’s names off the list before guiding them through the church and into the centre of the old town, her weariness of the long sleepless night before falling away as the adrenalin kicked in.
Kelsey discovered today’s group were Texans and mainly retired couples or parents with adult children taking the trip of a lifetime around Europe at a baffling pace. They’d ‘done’ Scandinavia and Germany and had just flown in from Paris to London, spending the previous evening seeing a show in the West End, before piling onto their coach for a morning in Stratford. By bedtime they’d be in the Cotswolds, exhausted and bewildered, unsure of what they’d seen or where they’d seen it.
Kelsey felt a little sorry for them as they listened politely to her wavering voice. She was sure they could see her hands shaking as she gesticulated wildly to cover up her nerves. Will kept a close eye on her from the back of the crowd, smiling encouragingly behind dark sunglasses, arms folded, nodding his approval.
‘And… and…’ You can do this, come on, Kelse. ‘And over here is the home of Stratford-upon-Avon’s second most famous writer.’ Am I turning blue? I can’t breathe. ‘In the late Victorian era she was as famous as, say, Charles Dickens, but today she is unfairly forgotten. I’m referring to Miss Marie Corelli. She penned over twenty sensational, romantic novels and was known as not only a great teller of tales, but rather eccentric.’ They’re actually listening to me. I’m really doing this!
Hearing her own voice settling down into its normal rhythms as she relaxed into her first ever tour, Kelsey pressed on.
‘Corelli imported her very own Venetian gondola to Stratford and, punted by her gondolier Ernest, caused quite a stir on the River Avon. Let’s step inside her home and take a look around.’ They’re really doing what I tell them. Oh my God, this is actually fun.
Three hours later, exhausted and elated, Kelsey waved the tourists off on their coach. Will placed a friendly arm around her shoulders – or perhaps she just chose to interpret it as friendly – and let her know how she’d done.
‘You had them in the palm of your hands. You don’t need me at all now, Kelsey Anderson. Good for you. I think they all loved your sexy accent too. Come on, let’s grab some lunch with the others.’
She was met with a cheer as they stepped aboard the ticket barge. Gianfranco, Lukas, Myrtle, and Valeria were waiting with a hamper of sandwiches and flasks of scalding tea.
With that, Kelsey was a bona fide tour guide for the Norma Arden Historic Tours Agency. Her summer in Stratford was finally truly underway.
* * *
Over the coming days Kelsey fell into her new routine of waking early and heading straight up to the roof terrace with coffee and her duvet to keep out the morning cool. She’d head into town and swim a few lengths at the indoor pool before dressing for work, stopping to feed the swans on her way. She had the uniform cracked too, wearing a vest top under the shirt which she wore untucked and tied in a knot at her waist and, everyone agreed, it was just too hot for the gilet. She improvised each day with the scarf, sometimes knotting it around a high ponytail a la Sandy Dee in Grease or bundling her hair up into it like a wartime land girl or Rosie the Riveter, or occasionally going the full air hostess by tying it in a knot at her throat.
As she led her tour groups all over town, she felt herself becoming more confident when describing its landmarks. Will was now off with his own groups but she still managed to meet one or two of the guides in various combinations each day for lunch. She’d even had a stint selling tickets on the barge with Gianfranco who, she learned, was very sweet and interesting once he got over his initial shyness, if only she could tune into his whispered conversation.
The daily workings of the town, she discovered, formed a sharp contrast with the picture-postcard place of her teenage romanticising. She nurtured an increasing awareness of the everyday routines of the town’s school kids, shop workers, and B&B owners, all bustling here and there alongside the hundreds of other people – invisible to the visitors passing through – who maintained the life of the theatres and playing houses. She was getting to know a few of them, too. Some recognised the agency uniform and would wave to her in passing, or stop to exchange small talk and theatre gossip, a pleasing confirmation that her new job rendered her a privileged insider in the town’s theatrical life.
She was one of the people keeping the tourists entertained, alongside the costume designers, seamstresses, scene painters, lighting technicians, sound engineers, stage riggers, make-up artists, voice coaches, and the many, many actors observing their own rituals of rehearsals, matinees, and the brief afternoon respite before the evening performances, all working together to bring in the crowds, make them laugh and weep, making it all look so effortlessly easy. The vanilla 99s and cream teas for the visitors were just the icing on the cake – superficial, albeit sweet.
Kelsey was falling in love all over again with Stratford-upon-Avon, but this was something deeper – she really knew the place now, this was her home, and it was a romance she would never get over.
At night she’d buy fish and chips or something quick and easy for the microwave and eat up on the roof, tired of listening to her own loud authoritative tour-guide voice all day and content to be alone. Up there on her peaceful twilit terrace, she found she wasn’t always thinking of Fran, or of Will, for that matter. For the first time in her life, she had no one to please but herself.
Will continued to be his usual dazzling, flirty self, of course, and Kelsey humoured him, reminding herself that although he was lovely to look at and dynamic to be around, he really did know it. She had a sneaking suspicion that the mulberry tree incident wasn’t going to be his last attempt at seduction. He seemed to like a challenge.
She’d caught him eying her phone when Jonathan texted during their shared lunch break on Friday, a week after she had almost kissed Will in the garden. Kelsey was smiling to herself as she read.
It was great bumping into you last week ;) Hope you’re still free Saturday for head shots. I reserved free tickets to ‘Dream’ for you and a friend, Jonathan Hathaway.
Glancing at Will beside her, Kelsey couldn’t mistake the indignant look on his face but he didn’t say anything, or if he did, she was too absorbed in her thoughts to hear it.
Jonathan Hathaway. So that’s his name. It suits him. No kiss, I notice. Would that be weird: putting a kiss at the end of a text like that? I suppose we are only arranging a work thing.
She texted straight back, with Will observing over her shoulder, catching every word she typed.
Hi Jonathan, it was lovely to meet you too. See you tomorrow. Thanks so much for the tickets. Lucky me. Kelsey (Anderson btw).
Chapter Eighteen
‘This bud of love by summer’s ripening breath,
may prove a beauteous flower when next we meet’
(Romeo and Juliet)
Saturday came, Kelsey’s tenth day in Stratford, and with it the blazing sun and the close, humid suggestion of an approaching storm. Just my luck, rainclouds coming in on my first proper day off. Packing her umbrella just in case, and double-checking she had plenty batteries for the camera’s flash unit, Kelsey nervously readied herself for the photo shoot ahead. Today she took a little longer over drying her hair so it hung in thick, silky waves down her back. Running her hands over her hips in her sunflower print dress, she enjoyed feeling feminine and cool after endless days sweltering in work gear.
This is it, my first ever photo shoot, and I’m going to enjoy it.
Arriving right on time at the Willow Studio, a modern brick and smoked-glass building, slightly out of place on the ancient street, Kelsey adjusted the camera bag across her body and reached for the doorbell. All morning she’d been trying to recall what the tall American looked like but couldn’t quite conjure him up, apart from the indelible
impression of a beautiful smile and his strong, calming presence.
The door pulled open no sooner than she had pressed the buzzer revealing Jonathan smiling with what looked like relief. He swept a low hand of welcome beckoning her inside with a, ‘Hey there! Great to see you again.’
Squeezing past him, Kelsey caught his cool, clean scent, like washing powder and minty chewing gum.
‘Where should I set up?’ she enquired breezily, trying to sound calm and professional even though her mouth was dry with nerves.
‘I asked the engineer to leave the stage lights up for us. Do you want to start there? It’s a bit of a rabbit warren and you get to the stage through the dressing room.’ He pointed her down the corridor, past the box-office hatch and the theatre bar. She passed through the dressing room door that he held open for her.
‘Wow, this is just how I’d have imagined it.’ She glanced around at the mirrors circled with white light bulbs and the organised chaos of assorted wigs and costumes hanging on rails. She took in the ass’s head with its long ears that poor Bottom the Weaver would end up wearing under Titania’s enchantment, and the pots of heavy stage make-up, sponges, brushes, and pins messily arranged on the dressing tables where Jonathan would sit each night preparing for the show. ‘Except it doesn’t say “star” on the back of your chair.’
‘Not yet it doesn’t. One day maybe,’ Jonathan was laughing as he led her through the mess. ‘Stage is this way.’
As she passed, she cast an eye over Jonathan’s dressing table and the stacked dog-eared books, notepads, and stubby pencils. To their right were vases of long-stemmed red roses and the icy spikes of a tall silver crown on a dummy-head.
‘It must be nice getting flowers sent to the stage door.’
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