He pointed to his car parked in the layby. ‘Hop in, I’ll give you a tour of the festival locations.’ Maybe some private time away from prying eyes might relax her a bit. ‘And then I’ll drop you at the admin office so you can get your security pass made up.’
She followed him over to the car and climbed in, still silent, although her cheeks had gained a hint of colour. She tucked her rucksack behind her legs.
Did she think he was going to nick it?
‘You don’t want to put it in the back?’
‘It’s fine where it is.’ She stared straight ahead.
This wasn’t going well.
The question was why?
‘I’m sorry about yesterday,’ he said, as he pulled away. Maybe she was still suffering from shock? ‘I hope you’re not injured from your fall?’
‘A bit bruised.’ She didn’t look at him. She was focused on her surroundings.
‘I felt bad for not warning you I’d be there,’ he said, wondering if an admission of guilt would soften her frosty exterior. ‘Sorry about that.’
For a moment he didn’t think she was going to respond. But then she said, ‘So, why didn’t you tell me?’
Good question. One he wasn’t sure he knew the answer to. ‘I guess I didn’t want to guilt you into taking the job. I thought maybe if you knew it was me you might feel pressurised into accepting the offer.’
She nodded. ‘Right.’
More likely, he was scared the opposite might happen. If she knew it was him she would have declined.
He waited, hoping for reassurance that he wasn’t the cause of her distress, but it didn’t come.
Not awkward at all.
He drove through The Great Park. ‘On your right are the wardrobe trailers,’ he said, pointing to the large containers now situated in the car park. ‘That’s where all the costumes will be made.’ And then he cringed. ‘Sorry, you’d know that, of course. It’s not like you haven’t done this before.’
She made an odd sound.
He glanced over, but she didn’t say anything.
Maybe she was used to bigger fancier trailers? These weren’t tiny, but they weren’t as palatial as the big budget films. ‘Too small?’
‘They look fine,’ she managed, her voice a pitch higher than normal.
‘They have everything you’ll need. Steamers, industrial sewing machines and a fully working kitchen.’
She rubbed her hands on her jeans. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’
They exited the park and followed the road into town. ‘On your right is The Long Walk,’ he said, wondering why engaging her in conversation was so hard. On holiday, they’d chatted easily. What had happened?
He glanced at her.
She remained silent.
He tried again. ‘That’s where the Royal parade will take place on the day of the festival. It starts at The Copper Horse and finishes at the castle.’
She held onto the armrest, her body pressed against the door.
Anyone would think he was trying to kidnap her.
He brought the car to a stop. This was ridiculous. He had to know what was going on. They were parked up next to The Long Walk. The castle loomed ahead, the huge construction proudly guarding the town below. Willow trees lined the walkway, their drooping branches trailing against the grass.
He turned to face her. ‘You don’t seem very pleased to see me.’
A beat passed. ‘I’m still in shock. I wasn’t expecting to ever see you again.’
‘Me neither. But our costume designer was taken ill, and it seemed like fate was intervening and giving me a reason to contact you again.’ He paused. ‘I was hoping it’d be a nice surprise.’ He hoped to evoke a smile, but none was forthcoming. ‘I can see now that I should’ve warned you. Sorry.’
Bloody hell, this wasn’t going well.
He was such a fool. He’d stupidly thought she might have missed him as much as he’d missed her, and would be delighted to see him again. That didn’t appear to be the case.
His heart pinched as he looked at her. She was a fraction of the person she’d been in the Caribbean, and yet he still wanted her. He ached to touch her, but she was closed off. Her body language made it clear she felt uncomfortable in his company.
He tried again. ‘So, how have you been?’
She stared down at her lap. ‘Fine.’
‘Busy with work?’
‘Not too bad. You?’
‘Crazy busy. Getting ready for this.’
She nodded. ‘Right.’
Silence followed.
With a sigh, he started the engine and pulled away. It was obvious she didn’t want to reconnect. Whatever they’d had, however magical, it was over. That much was clear. It really had just been a holiday fling and he was an idiot for thinking otherwise.
Now all he had to decide was how the hell he was going to deal with seeing her for the next two months. He guessed he needed to be professional and treat her like he would any other contractor. After all, he was paying her a load of money to deliver on costumes. He couldn’t afford to be sentimental about work. He was the boss. She was the employee.
Rallying himself into business mode, he continued with the guided tour. ‘Up ahead is St. George’s Chapel.’ He indicated the grand structure situated at the foot of the castle. ‘The inside is stunning. We’ve been given permission to use the main chamber for filming.’
She glanced over. ‘I don’t actually know anything about the film. The agency didn’t have any details.’
That wasn’t good. He’d be having words with the agency. ‘Sorry about that. Well, it’s a tour guide film charting nine hundred years of Royal residency at Windsor Castle. The film will be shown at Madame Tussauds as part of the static exhibition during the day, and then a few of the costumes will be worn by the actors for the Royal parade later in the afternoon.’
‘How big is the cast?’
‘Not huge. You’ll be working with the two lead actors playing the various kings and queens throughout the ages.’ Will continued past the castle. ‘To the left is the old railway station.’
She craned her neck to see.
‘It’s now full of designer boutiques, fancy bars, restaurants. The railway platform is a museum and houses the Madame Tussauds exhibition. That’s where most of the filming will take place.’
She seemed to calculate something in her head. ‘What about extras?’
‘Plenty, but you needn’t worry about them, there’s a separate team looking after them. All their costumes are hired.’
She looked a little relieved.
Or was it concerned? He couldn’t tell.
‘I imagine this is a small production compared to what you’re used to working on. Sorry if that’s a disappointment?’
She shook her head. ‘No… it’s a relief, actually.’
‘Why’s that?’
Her cheeks coloured. ‘Oh, no reason.’ She fiddled with her hands. ‘Just nice to have a more low-key commission to work on.’
‘I’d hardly call designing bespoke royal costumes low-key.’
She frowned. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘The agency didn’t tell you? All the costumes need to be original designs based on the appropriate period. It’s a key element of the film’s styling.’
Her mouth dropped open.
‘You didn’t know that?’ He really would be having words with the agency.
Her hand came up to touch her neck. ‘Err… no, they didn’t mention it. How… how many costumes are we talking about?’
‘Six.’
‘Right. Six.’ She nodded slowly. ‘Six bespoke costumes. Needed to be made by when?’
He tried to remember the schedule. ‘The first scene is the arrival of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip for a state ball. We’re doing preliminary rehearsals this week, so the first dress won’t be needed until Monday.’
‘Monday?’ Her voice shot up an octave. ‘Next Monday? As in… a week’s time?’
‘Is that a problem?’
He prayed she wouldn’t say it was. The film crew were booked. The actors were being paid. They had a schedule that needed sticking to. He couldn’t afford to get behind on the first week of filming.
Her eyes darted about. ‘Of… of course not.’
‘Good.’ His phone beeped with a message. The additional lighting rig had arrived, which meant he should be getting back to work and not wasting time trying to win over a woman who was no longer interested in him.
He drove by The Royal Windsor Theatre and took the river road back towards The Great Park.
‘That’s the Thames,’ he said, nodding to this right. ‘Ahead is Alexandra Park, the main festival site.’
She looked to where he indicated, seemingly interested in her surroundings, even if her response was nonverbal.
He glanced at the river as they drove past. It was lined with a range of boats, from floating cafes to fancy speedboats, a playground for the rich and famous. He was tempted to mention their boat trip in the Caribbean, but somehow he didn’t feel it would be a welcome reminder.
Another awkward silence followed.
Her, seemingly lost in thought.
Him, kicking himself for being such an idiot.
At least Will was saved any guilt for not mentioning he had a daughter. What would be the point? It was clear his relationship with Lily was well and truly over.
Five minutes later, they were back in The Great Park and parked up by the admin office. ‘Well, that’s the tour done,’ he said, nodding towards the portacabin. ‘Do you want me to wait while you get your pass done?’
She looked puzzled. ‘Oh, right. My security pass. No, that’s okay.’
‘When you’re finished, head for the wardrobe trailer. You know where it is.’
‘Next car park along. Got it.’ She climbed out of the car, appearing a little unsteady on her feet.
He watched her with a growing sense of trepidation. She turned one way, paused, then turned the other, aiming for the portacabin. ‘Lily?’
She turned back. ‘Yes?’
He reached over for her rucksack. ‘Your bag?’
‘Oh, right.’ She came back and took it from him. ‘Bye, then. Thanks for the tour.’
‘No problem.’ He watched her walk off, her gait shaky and unsure. ‘Let me know if you need anything,’ he called after her, but she didn’t acknowledge him.
Will wasn’t sure she’d even heard him. It was like she was in her own world.
And he was left with the sinking feeling that he’d made a catastrophic mistake in hiring Lily Monroe.
God, he hated it when his sister was right.
Chapter Twelve
Monday, 21 June
Lily checked the time on her phone. 7:15 a.m. She was already fifteen minutes late. But it wasn’t like she could have left any earlier. She’d been up all night sewing. Just as she had been for the past week, functioning on power naps, strong coffee, and an innate stubbornness to finish the bloody dress. Talk about going down to the wire.
Picking up the heavy bin-liner, she hurried down the narrow guesthouse staircase, trying to avoid tripping over the bag as it became entangled between her legs.
The cafe below was empty. It was not yet open to the public, but the breakfast sitting for the other contractors staying there was finished. Unlike Lily, they would be arriving for work on time, having no doubt enjoyed a restful and uninterrupted night’s sleep.
Lily exited The Crooked House Tea Rooms and attempted to run the short distance from the guesthouse down to the old railway station, where they were due to start filming this morning. But she gave up trying to run when the cobbled streets threatened to wreck her ankles. She slowed to an agitated walk.
Following Will’s bombshell that she only had a week in which to design and make a bespoke 1950s ballgown, she’d turned up for work last Tuesday full of trepidation. A feeling that had rapidly descended into full-blown panic as the day had progressed.
Far from being given the space and time to work on the dress, she’d been bombarded with constant interruptions. If it wasn’t the film’s director, it was someone from the design team wanting to know the colour of the dress, its style, the shape of the cut so they could plan the storyboards – all things she’d yet to work out – and all things that they seemed to have an opinion on. Opinions which differed, clashed, and resulted in her already fragile emotional state reaching close to breaking point.
Her repeated mantra that she was a ‘last-minute replacement’ and she was ‘trying to play catch-up’ hadn’t bought her any sympathy or space from the team to gather her thoughts. They’d wanted answers, and she didn’t have any.
Lily concluded it was only a matter of time before someone realised she was a fraud and wasn’t an experienced designer. So in the end, she’d done the only thing she could think of and had locked the wardrobe trailer door, pinning a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign to the front.
This radical action hadn’t endeared her to Will, who’d reacted to her self-isolation by banging on the door, insisting she open up, and had demanded an explanation.
Blinking back tears, she’d cracked open the door enough to face him. Feigning a confidence she didn’t feel, she’d politely reminded him that she’d been told nothing about the project, had received no prior instructions for the costume requirements, but was still expected to produce a miracle in less than a week. Therefore, her actions were wholly reasonable and justified, and he could either accept her request to work uninterrupted, or he could find himself another designer.
Fortunately, he’d backed down, accepted she had a point, and had agreed to her working behind closed doors… which is where she’d been for the last week – researching 1950s couture and designing a ballgown fit for a queen.
Of course, what he hadn’t known was that behind the pretence of being a professional and seasoned designer taking charge of a challenging situation, she’d been a complete emotional wreck. She was tired, anxious, and way out of her depth. She felt overwhelmed by the enormity of the task ahead and was bordering on quitting before she’d barely begun. But she’d figured the only possible way of surviving her first week was to hide her tears and work away from prying eyes and constant criticism.
Mostly, she needed distance from Will.
Gone was the laughing and relaxed man she’d met on holiday. Work Will was tetchy, combative, and bloody intimidating. Which had done nothing to ease her agitation. And just when she’d thought it couldn’t get any worse, he’d requested a job reference.
Lily had fumbled around for an answer, before mumbling something about not having the details to hand, but that she would get them for him – an action which would immediately expose her lie. Not just because her references would reveal her as a former pattern-cutter and not a designer, but also because she couldn’t imagine Darth Vader singing her praises anytime soon. Not when her parting words to Keith Long had included the phrase, ‘complete twat’.
Not her finest moment, it had to be said. She was never normally rude to anyone and the one time she had been, it was about to come back and bite her on the bum. Typical.
She jolted when a car horn sounded. She had strayed into the road.
She waved an apology at the driver and hurried across the road.
Windsor was gearing up for a busy day with commuters already on their way to work. The shops had yet to open, but the high street was filled with traffic.
The noise tailed off as she entered the pedestrian area by the old railway station. A huge glass sign decorated the archway above with the words, ‘Windsor Royal Shopping’. Below was the House of Windsor crest.
Panting, she hoisted up the bin-liner and continued towards the old station, passing the currently empty Café Rouge and Eat restaurants encased under the glass-domed roof. She passed through the ornate red-brick arches and into the covered section, following the signs for the museum.
It was very grand. The shops were dainty and packed
together, all with matching walnut wooden frames and bay windows, designed to appear Victorian, but clearly recently constructed. They ranged from selling designer clothing, to exotic coffee and quirky sweets. The ground beneath was cobbled – although less precarious than up by the castle – and the lighting was atmospheric and industrial. It looked like an expensive film set. She could imagine the tourists loved it.
Picking up speed, Lily hurried towards the museum.
Her destination came into view. Ahead was the grand steam train, the focal point of the exhibition, and the backdrop for the first section of the tour guide film.
‘You’re late,’ Will shouted, appearing in her peripheral vision, making her startle. But his apparent annoyance at her tardiness faded when she turned to face him.
She wasn’t sure whether it was the sight of her bedraggled appearance that dispelled his anger, or the deep blue circles beneath her eyes, bloodshot from a lack of sleep. Both, probably.
Whatever it was, his irritation was replaced by a questioning look. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine,’ she snapped, feeling anything but. A feeling not helped by Will bloody Taylor standing there looking well rested, smartly dressed in jeans and a blue shirt, and smelling like he’d spent the morning being bathed in exotic spices.
A complete contrast to her stained sweatshirt, crumpled jogging bottoms and uncombed hair. Not that she’d had time to change. Or shower. Or eat, for that matter.
His eyes dipped to the bin-liner. ‘Do you have the dress?’
No, I’m lugging this about for the fun of it, she wanted to retort, but bit back the urge to be sarcastic. She opted for, ‘Yes, it’s here.’
Relief washed over his face. He’d obviously doubted her abilities as much as she had. Understandable, but not great for her self-esteem.
Her head ached from a lack of sleep. Her arms ached from carrying the bag. But most of all, her heart ached at the sight of him standing there.
On holiday she’d felt equal to him, a match for his playful personality and sense of fun. But the scales had tipped in his favour, and whereas he appeared competent and in control, she’d been relegated to the role of ‘insignificant underling’.
Someone Like You: Escape with this perfect uplifting romance Page 15