There was no use making a scene. "You're bouncing with enthusiasm. Why the secrecy?"
"Surprises are supposed to be secrets," he said. "Otherwise, there would be nothing surprising about them."
Chapter 11
Blair
Fowey is a beautiful seaside town. This was tourist season. The town bustled with them and the happy enthusiasm of merchants who could look forward to making enough profit to last the year. Nigel was in a jubilant mood as he found a spot in a car park within easy walking distance of the main street.
It may have been my imagination, but he seemed happier than I'd seen him in…a very long time. Happier even than yesterday's discoveries at the mines made him. It hadn't escaped my notice that he was looking particularly Reggie-like today. Even in modern dress, there was something regimental like about him. When I commented on it as we left the cottage, he shrugged and passed it off as my imagination.
"I can't hide the family resemblance," he'd said. "Would you have me put on a fake beard and go to town incognito?"
"You'd be totally hot with a beard," I said playfully. "They're very in in Seattle." Wait. How did I know that? "Why don't you start one today?"
He scowled and looked at me as if I was crazy, my apparent knowledge of current Seattle fashion slipping past him unnoticed.
All right, so facial hair wasn't on his agenda as part of his look. Not even if it was trendy and I thought it would be hot on him. Not that my opinion swayed him all that often. But it wasn't like Nigel not to be wearing the latest looks and following the most current fashion trends. For him, though, looking like Reggie was the latest trend. And Reggie didn't have a beard.
He was, however, critical and resignedly unhappy with the sundress he'd picked for me to wear, complaining he'd had limited options with only my suitcase of summer clothes to choose from. So, it was my fault for not thinking ahead to pack a dress for a surprise? One that would please him?
Even not in full possession of my memories and the woman I'd morphed into these last six months, I thought the dress was cute, totally Seattle hip. He grumbled and let it go. And there it was again—our differing opinions and the sense that he wasn't as fun to be with as he used to be.
I had another flash of a memory. A fight with Nigel that was new to me. Each of us standing our ground. Something about him putting his research into his family history ahead of our relationship. A sense that we were heading nowhere.
I turned my head away from him so he wouldn't see my confusion and excitement over it.
Nigel took my arm and led me past quaint shops along the quay. Fowey used to be the main port for exporting china-making clay. The china industry had long ago died out here. But now, as in so many parts of the UK, locals had decided to revive the old trades and make local art out of the Cornish white china clay.
Damn Nigel in his Reggie-like dress and haircut. I should have made him wear a Groucho nose. Or at least a nerd sunhat and glasses. We were attracting attention from tourists and locals alike. People doing double takes as we walked by, staring, and whispering. Is that Reggie from Jamie? Could it be? Alistair Helyer is Cornish. His eccentric, reclusive old uncle owns Beech House just outside the village.
And no, it wasn't my imagination. I wasn't an egomaniac. But Nigel apparently was. He was basking in the attention, smiling, nodding, winking, and waving. Playing the part of his famous cousin to the point it felt like lying. He knew what he was doing, which made it worse.
I hated the attention. People were surreptitiously taking pictures with their phones. I was waiting for someone to get bold enough to come right up to us and ask to take a selfie.
I pulled my sunglasses out of my purse and put them on, hoping they gave me some kind of cover. "Where's my phone?" I panicked and began digging through my purse, looking for it.
"Don't worry," Nigel said. "You don't need it. It's back at the cottage. I plugged it in to recharge."
"You went through my purse?" I was too stunned to be as mad at him as I should have been.
"Don't make a scene. Your purse was open on the counter." He looked irritated with me. "I noticed it and saw the phone was dead when I grabbed my keys. I plugged it in. I should have told you."
He took my arm again and smiled at two young women who were eying him—smiled just a little too friendly and flirtatiously.
"I'm right here. If you're going to look at other women, at least be discreet about it." I glared and tried to shake him off.
He held on tightly, ignoring my outburst. Probably attributing it to my head injury. The effect of my narrow, angry eyes was diluted and muted by my sunglasses. And completely lost on him.
"Let's turn into one of the shops," I said, gaining control of myself. "I'd like to buy Beth a little something. Maybe a locally made china teacup. She collects teacups." I smiled to myself, warming to the idea. "Dad got her started, she said. He gave her her first one when Mom introduced him to her, real English fine china."
"After we dine," Nigel said, moving me along. "If we have time."
I frowned. "What's the hurry? Are we on a tight schedule?"
There was another memory, dim and out of focus. Another man taking me from booth to booth to find something for Beth, looking for something special. A leisurely sense of fun and adventure, as if he had no place more important to be than with me. Completely at odds with Nigel's attitude.
"We're meeting someone." Nigel was unperturbed by my displeasure, still smiling and nodding to people we passed as if he really was a celebrity.
He led me to a busy quayside open-air café. It was about the most public place you could imagine in the town. And I imagined he had, and that was why he chose it. Like everyone else, it seemed, the hostess did a double take when we walked in. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but just barely. I balled my fist.
"We're meeting someone here," he said. "We have reservations. Nigel Helyer."
The hostess nodded. "Your guests are waiting for you."
"Guests?" I turned to Nigel.
"Take off your sunglasses," he whispered to me as he took my hand.
There was a buzz as we followed the hostess to our seats. A similar reaction to the one the hostess had had. Speaking of her, she stepped aside and extended her arm to indicate our table, which was surrounded by women and a cameraman. At the center, another man was holding court.
Cameras flashed in our eyes as we approached.
The man stood. He was almost Nigel's identical twin. They were even dressed alike.
"Alistair!" Nigel grinned and nodded to his cousin.
"Nigel." Alistair took Nigel's hand.
I fumed. I'd been set up. Damn him.
A woman who seemed to be in charge stepped forward and introduced herself. "Flora, head of publicity and promotion for Jamie. Very pleased to meet you both. I'm so glad you could come out and start the publicity rolling for our upcoming season.
"This"—she waved her hand from Nigel to me—"is brilliant, simply brilliant. Adds a beautiful reality and dimension to your real-life story of romance. No one loves a good romantic wrinkle more than Jamie fans. They're already eating it up."
She turned and said to the cameraman, "Can you get in closer? Get the first meeting on film. Did you get Blair's surprise when they walked up?" She nodded. "You did? Brilliant. Fantastic. Keep it rolling."
She returned her focus to us. "Carry on. Act like we aren't even here. Any mistakes can be fixed in post. We'll be editing anyway, naturally. Going for the right PR angle."
I was furious and would have walked out except for three things: I would look like a bitch and, although I couldn't remember having committed to it, I was contractually obligated to do these promos, sprung on me or not, I imagined. And, finally, it was no more than a feeling, but I didn't want to disappoint someone. There was something beautiful associated with doing the promos. If I only I could remember exactly what it was. Austin?
Beth insisted Austin still loved me. Cam insisted the same thing. Nigel sai
d he and I were getting back together but had not gone public with it. Who was I to believe?
I tamped my anger down as best I could and forced a smile so tight that my cheeks ached.
Smile until you hurt. Why does that sound familiar, but in a fun way?
The camera was rolling as Nigel introduced me to his cousin. Alastair hugged me. Photo after photo of every combination of the three of us, with Flora consulting her shooting guide and directing poses. Finally, the three of us—Nigel, Alistair, and me—settled into a "private" lunch with the camera capturing it.
On the show, Alistair was never as warm and fun as Reggie as Connor Reid was as Jamie. I always thought that was intentional to drive women to Team Jamie. I was, and always had been since first reading the books, Team Jamie. But now, meeting Alistair in person, you'd think I would love him. He and Nigel were very alike in mannerisms and attitudes, as well as looks. That should have been a turn-on, but instead it turned me off.
Alistair was aloof, haughty with the arrogance and snobbishness that can come from having money.
I stopped myself mid-thought, disgusted with the pretentious show he was making.
I know plenty of wealthy people who aren't snobby at all. Lazer and Ashley are fun and unpretentious, so nice. Connor and Sam are just plain fun, even though they're famous. And Cam, Dylan, and Jeremy are just lovable nerds.
Memories! Unbidden memories.
More just automatic thoughts than anything, but they stopped me short. Things were coming back to me faster and faster.
"What do you think of Beech House?" Alistair asked me, bringing me back to the conversation.
"I've only been in the house once," I said. "Years ago. But the keeper's cottage and grounds are lovely."
Alistair nodded. "So, you and my cousin are back together? It's surprising we've never met before. My busy schedule is the culprit, in all probability. I don't make it to many of the family events. I'm glad you have come to your senses. Reggie is the better choice anyway, really." He laughed and nodded to Nigel. "Connor and his Jamie are overrated."
For an actor, he did a poor job of concealing his jealousy and professional envy.
"Connor's mostly just a pretty face and a nice pair of abs. The Scot would tell you so himself—if he were in his cups, at least."
"Which he rarely is," I said, automatically defensive on Connor's behalf. "He's a Scot, after all. He holds his drink well." Where had that come from?
Alistair's eyes narrowed. "You speak as if you know him well."
"Not well. Certainly not as well as you must," I said, feeling more and more like my old self. "But you don't have to know him well to be captivated by his wit. He only has to smile and open his mouth and women pant and faint. That heartthrob charisma shines through. Some people are just born with it. Connor Reid is every bit as charming as his alter ego. And, as every Jamie fan knows, that is an extravagant amount."
Alistair's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. Nigel shot me a cold look. I smiled fuller and took a dainty sip of my water, unperturbed and refusing to wither.
Casting. The casting director for Jamie had done a wonderful job of it.
"I'm eager to get on set and see Connor and Sam again," I said innocently. I made a conscious decision to keep Alistair off guard by suddenly playing to his vanity and ego and push the show. "It must be exciting filming the new season of such a popular show. You may play the villain on the show, but Reggie is a charming rogue. Misunderstood, too, I believe. He's been wronged. There's no doubt of that."
Alistair's eyes lit up and his attitude toward me shifted. Most popular actors need a certain star power about them to make it. Alistair's began shining through. "Ah, a fan who appreciates and understands the subtleties and depth of my character."
I'd given him his in. He began talking about his role, the challenges with bringing to life a complicated and such well-known character, of trying to make the underdog in the love triangle compelling, and telling behind-the-scenes stories from filming. He and Connor liked to prank each other. They were extremely competitive. That much was clear.
I paid rapt attention, really put it on for the cameras, asking him questions that allowed him to shine and bask in the spotlight. I did it almost as much to irritate Nigel and pay him back for this ambush as for the promo. Fortunately, as it turned out, I was a decent actor, too.
Flora looked positively pleased and about to do the dance of joy with the way the promo was going.
Nigel kept trying to interject, but it was clear he wasn't a true Jamie fan and not schooled in the nuances of the plot and characters. We quickly lost him with our story analysis. Alistair all but ignored him. The cousins clearly weren't close, but they were competitive.
I quickly realized that the main reason Nigel had brought me along was that I was the vehicle that was supposed to bring him fame.
Austin and I started this PR phenom. I'll be damned if I let Nigel steal it.
Again, I was startled by the automatic thought that soared out of my subconscious. And the angry emotion behind it. It strengthened my resolve.
The fame seeker was a side of Nigel I hadn't seen before. Or maybe I'd ignored it. The user. The social climber. The limelight hog. I didn't like any of them. Nasty, ugly personas.
Seeing them emerge stoked the fires of my anger. The forest was about to go up in smoke. The cameras and the fun of the game I was playing with Alistair were the only things holding my anger at Nigel in check. I couldn't afford to embarrass myself.
"So," I said, "if Reggie lost Elinor for good, would he, could he, love another woman? And who would that woman be?"
Alistair wagged his finger at me. "Trying to trick me into giving away a plot point? Brilliant." He laughed, clearly having warmed to me.
I raised an eyebrow and waited for his answer.
"Reggie is a survivor. And a catch," Alistair said. "He can have his choice of women. He'd find someone. Not that I'm saying he'll have to."
Ah, Alistair. You just gave the wrong answer. Jamie would contend to the end that Elinor is the only woman for him. Any other woman would be a pale imitation. A mere dalliance. That's what Jamie fans want—a love for all eternity.
* * *
Nigel was dangerously quiet on the short drive home. We both were. He was apparently as angry with me as I was with him.
He slammed his keys and phone on the counter when we walked in. He turned on me. "What the hell was that in Fowey?"
"My question exactly!" I threw my purse on the counter next to his keys. "You ambushed me." I glared at him. I'd be damned if I'd back down on this one. I was always the one apologizing. Always making peace after he got his nose out of joint.
"Ambushed you?" His nostrils flared. "I was helping you, for God's sake. Unless you've forgotten, you're contractually obliged to film promo for Jamie. I'm helping you meet your obligations so you don't lose a pile of money and your lifelong fantasy of being involved with Jamie."
Pile of money. There it was. I was almost certain he'd negotiated his own pile of money.
"Is that it?" I put my hands on my hips. "And you didn't think to tell me? Ask if I was ready? Give me some advanced warning so I could prepare? Were you trying to set me up for failure?"
"Failure? You did a damn fine job of keeping the camera on yourself, Blair. How the hell could I cause you to fail? As for the reason I 'ambushed' you—I didn't want you to be anxious. To stress over how you'd handle it. With your memory issues, you haven't been yourself. You've been tired and anxious, naturally. I had complete faith that if you just relaxed, you'd do fine. And I was right." He paused. "Though what were you doing picking a fight with Alistair over Connor Reid?"
I shook my head. "So this was all for me? You weren't trying to horn in and steal some of my attention? You aren't jealous and eager to get your share? You've very neatly inserted yourself into our promo."
He stuck his finger in my face. "Stop it, Blair. Just stop. Don't say any more. Stop before you say something y
ou'll regret. Or are unable to take back."
The house phone rang before I could reply. We both jumped and looked at each other as if one of us should get it. Damn, inconvenient timing.
Nigel took a deep breath, swore beneath his breath, and picked it up. His demeanor changed. He frowned and spoke in low, concerned tones. From just his side of the conversation, I couldn't make sense of what was going on. But whatever it was, it was serious.
"Yes. Absolutely. I'll be right there." He hung up and turned to me. "My great-uncle has collapsed at the manor house. They're taking him to London for treatment and request that a member of the family go with him. I'm here. I volunteered. I know the hospital. A mate of mine is on staff. I can be of some help until someone else can get there."
I nodded. "Yes, of course. I'll grab my things and go with you."
He shook his head and grabbed his keys. "There's no need." His tone was still vicious and angry. "There's no room in the helicopter for another person. I'll be gone overnight." He looked me in the eye. "We'll take this up when I get back. I'll call when I know something. You'll be all right here by yourself? I can drop you off at the big house."
I shook my head. "Go. I'll be fine."
This new emergency had only taken the edge off the tension between us.
"Don't go wandering about while I'm gone. I don't want you collapsing somewhere. Stay at the cottage. I'll have the housekeeper look in on you tomorrow." He left without kissing me goodbye.
I watched him drive away, lips pursed, anger set. After his car disappeared, I went to the beach and collapsed into a sit on the fine sand. I glanced at my watch. It was just past three. Still plenty of daylight hours left.
As my anger began to fade, resignation and exhaustion rushed in. I felt this way almost every time after I fought with Nigel. I hated fighting with him. It brought out the ugly in me and us. And stole all my emotional energy.
I needed to think. Had I been wrong? Was I looking at the situation through a lens of selfishness and self-centeredness? Was Nigel sincere? Had he really been thinking only of me? Protecting me? Looking out for my interests? And I'd been too blinded by self-bias to see it?
Simply Blair: A Jet City Novel Page 13