I swat her words away. "That sounds like a wikipedia entry, Molly. One written by a man, I might add." I cock my head and then shake it. "You don't become an Eternal by washing someone's trousers. You were the only woman living in the college. You must have had an incredible influence over the young men studying under Wilkins' tutorage. Don't boil your existence down to a few throwaway lines, Molly. Tell me what you really did here."
Molly's gaze drops to her lap as she slides sideways, balancing on her hip, her hands flat on the ground. For a moment, I'm sure I crossed an invisible line by pushing her too hard.
When she finally raises her head to look at me, her eyes are bright with unshed tears. "Do you know, Nat, that no one - living, Eternal or Prefect - has ever asked me that question?"
I don't dare move my eyes from hers as I pull a pen and the stack of script papers from my bags. She watches as I flip the packet over and uncap my pen. "Well then, it is long past time that someone did."
It takes a few halting starts, but soon enough Molly opens up to me, unleashing a torrent of information. She tells me stories of the times she played mother to the boys sent to Oxford to study. As the only woman, she was expected to bandage wounds and dry tears in addition to reminding them to pick up their clothing. Wilkins may have been in charge, but Molly's backbone of steel often made her the winner of their arguments. Her stories bring the pages of history to life, taking the flat characters and rounding them into real people, flaws and all.
I cover page after page with notes, automatically organising the information into sections so I can more easily study it later. The shadows, which stretched long before me when I first sat, creep closer and closer until they disappear. They signal the arrival of midday as efficiently as any clock.
When I finally put the cap back on my pen, massaging my wrist, Molly sits serene in a puddle of sunshine. She brushes off my thanks and sends me on my way, content to remain alone, drifting in a pool of fond memories.
I arrive at the front entrance, apologies tumbling from my lips. "Edward, I'm so sorry I'm late. I was deep in the zone and didn't even hear my mobile buzz."
"No need to worry," he says reassuringly as he steps to the side to reveal Jill and Will standing with him. "I ran into your star assistants and they were updating me on the plans for the cast party."
I pause, dusting off my skirt and tidying my hair. "Hiya! What are you two doing here so early? Our meeting isn't until after lunch."
"We wanted to chat some ideas through with the crew and we thought it might be easiest to catch them over lunch break," Jill explains, exchanging looks with Will.
I lower my head and study the two. "And I suppose the buffet at the Craft Services trailer doesn't have anything to do with it, right?"
"Definitely not," Will cuts in, but his cheeky smile confirms my suspicions.
Try as I might, I can't stop the snort from slipping out. "Since the two of you are working on a Sunday, I think the least the production can do is feed you a free meal. I heard something about a full roast dinner including Yorkshire puddings."
"Well, since you insist," Jill shrugs, "I guess I could eat a little something."
"Excellent! I'll be back in time for dessert," I promise. "We can enjoy fresh strawberries and cream while we discuss how the plans are coming along."
After the pair take their leave, Edward slips his hand around mine, tugging me out of the door. "Don't worry, Nat. From what I heard, it sounds like Will and Jill are organising an event you won't soon forget."
❖
My meeting with Will and Jill after lunch wraps up sooner than I expect, leaving me absolutely delighted with their work. The pair have fully embraced the challenge of organising a high-profile event on their own, and it shows. When I run out of questions, the two beg my leave, wanting to chat about the event with a couple more crew members before they call it a day.
Left alone in the college meeting room, I decide to take advantage of the quiet and catch up on my emails. I sort, file, reply and delete as needed until my inbox is cleared in advance of the coming week. I wrap up with a quick glance at the coming week's activities.
That's when it dawns on me just how quiet Beadle and Hobbes have been. After a flurry of initial activity, there's been no sign of them since we arrived at Somerset. We tightened our lines of security, but maybe we did the job too well. If we want to catch them in the act of stealing or damaging the priceless portraits and antiques, they will need a way inside.
I double-click the calendar, adding a reminder to discuss the matter with Kate. As the prefect responsible for the safety of those items, she will have to be on board with any plan which might put them at risk.
My work life once again in order, I close my laptop and leave my quiet space. I open the door in time to see a group of people ambling by, the voices cheery as they chatter away. Joyce lags behind, lost in thought, but quickly returns to the present when I call her name.
"Oh, hi, Nat. I didn't see you there. Where've you been all day? I've barely seen you."
"Here and there," I chirp as I fall into step beside her. "I spent the morning reviewing the scripts you gave me, skipped out for lunch and then caught up with Will and Jill."
"I had lunch with them," she comments in reply. "They are both so lovely. They crack me up, always finishing one another's sentences."
"That's them. They're really excited about the wrap party. I appreciate you and the others making time to answer their questions."
"Happy to do so… speaking of making time. DCI Robinson was here earlier and was asking about you."
I startle, looking at her askance as I wonder whether he has any news on his investigation. "Do I need to ring him? Did he say what he wants?"
"Something about Mathilde? I don't think it was anything serious, he was smiling when he asked if I knew where you were."
I sigh. "Probably something for his date with Mathilde tomorrow night. I was hoping he might have an update on Vivian."
Joyce shrugs her shoulders and gives me a wan smile. "Viv is still touch and go, from what I've heard. You might ask Caleb, though it isn't easy to get a straight answer from him."
Caleb? He would not have been my first choice for information on her, for a number of reasons. "Why Caleb? Are they friends?"
Joyce halts her step, letting the rest of the group pull even further ahead. "I don't normally gossip, Nat, but since you're Harold's niece, I know I can trust you not to take this information to the tabloids. I'm fairly certain that Caleb and Vivian are more than friends, if you know what I mean."
I rear back in shock. "But Caleb has a long-term girlfriend!"
Joyce shakes her head, looking as disappointed as I am. "You know what these showbiz types are like. The moral standards apply to everyone but them. I wouldn't put it past either of them. Caleb will probably say it was all part of his method acting, and Vivian, well, she is known for doing whatever it takes to get ahead."
Joyce and I go our separate ways when we reach the courtyard and this time, I'm the one deep in thought. Could this be the reason why Gideon was so angry with Caleb? But why would he care about what the other actors were doing, if it didn't impact the production?
There's only one way to find out.
I march past the picnic area and crew trailers, looking for the right one. Gideon's trailer is the last one in a long row. The door is propped open, allowing the fresh air to circulate inside.
"Knock, knock. Anyone home?" I peer into the doorway to see Gideon's head pop out on the other side of the small kitchenette. He spies me, rising to welcome me inside.
"Come in, Nat. How lovely to see you." He leads me to a small circular table, and I slide into the far side of the curved bench seat. Loose newspaper pages are strewn around the table, with a half-filled water glass sweating a perfect circle onto one of them.
"I hope I didn't interrupt anything," I murmur.
"Not at all! I was taking advantage of the afternoon break to relax. I have a th
ing for crossword puzzles. My assistant bought copies of the major papers and I've been off in my own world of mystery solving. What brings you here?"
"I'm following up on some clues myself, if I'm honest."
Gideon takes his reading glasses off, pushes his salt and pepper hair back, and then leans back with his hands behind his head. "Really… and you've come to see me? I'm intrigued. Do tell."
I think for a moment before deciding where to start. "It's my Uncle Harold. He's a bit of a wreck, worrying himself about the production. Although he's kept it to himself, the pranks had him concerned. He'd asked me to keep my eyes open when you all came to Oxford. I've had some experience with catching criminals recently, and he thought, as an outsider, I might spot something the rest of the security team was overlooking."
Gideon gives me an assessing look. "A well-known event planner and an amateur sleuth? You're a woman of many talents."
I bark out a laugh. "Emphasis on amateur, I assure you." I wait until his chuckles subside before returning to the subject. "When I arrived on set yesterday, I couldn't help but notice you and Caleb talking to one another. It seemed heated. Is everything okay between you two?"
Gideon's face tightens as he shifts from his relaxed pose, bringing his hands down to cross them over his chest. He gives a pained sigh, his mouth tilting downwards at the corners. "Farrow," he practically spits the name. "He and I are not on the best of terms, but we're both professional enough to keep our problems off the screen."
Gideon's expression is stony, closed off enough that a normal person would probably get up at this point and make an abrupt departure. But after everything I've been through since arriving in Oxford last October, a grumpy movie star is the least of my worries.
I lay my clasped hands on the table and hunch over them, making it clear I'm not going anywhere just yet. "I'm not the only one who noticed your dislike of Caleb. From what I hear, the problems started when Vivian arrived on set. Now she's lying in a hospital bed, and you want me to believe that all is fine with you and Caleb?"
Gideon matches my stare, hardly moving. His shoulders are tight with pent-up emotion. There is clearly something more to his arguments with Caleb.
"I'm not looking for gossip, Gideon. Whatever you tell me, I'll keep private. I promise."
Gideon turns his head to the window, staring blindly while he fights an internal battle. When his shoulders drop, I know he's ready to tell me the truth.
"This goes no further than you and Harold, okay? Do you understand?"
I nod.
"We don't make a big deal out of it, but Vivian is practically my goddaughter. I knew her father well… he was a cameraman; did you know that?"
I shake my head this time, confused by his words.
"I watched her grow up and I helped her get her foot in the door at the BBC when she decided she wanted to be an actress. Her father refused to help her, you see. He didn't want his daughter entering the harsh world of movies and television. He'd spent too many years watching the industry chew up and spit back out aspiring actors."
"So, she came to you for help? Is that what happened with this show? Did you recommend her?"
"Oh no, that was all Caleb," Gideon shudders. "I told you before I had heard rumours of Caleb's tendency to fully embody his characters. What I didn't add is that he sometimes takes it beyond the set and into the bedroom. Says it makes the love scenes that much more realistic."
I wrinkle my nose at the thought. "Gross, but what? You thought he'd pressure Vivian into doing something she didn't want to do?"
"Normally? No," he replies, sighing, "but her father passed away suddenly last year. His death hit her hard, made her more determined than ever to break through into Hollywood. She won't admit it, but I think she is still trying to prove her father wrong. She accused him of wanting to hold her back, but all he wanted was to protect her. With him gone, I'm doing my best to shoulder the responsibility of watching over her. Farrow's next role is to play superhero in a big budget production. I was worried she'd fall prey to him in the hopes he'd take her along to Hollywood."
I settle back into my seat, tapping my chin as I process my thoughts. "How far would you go to protect Vivian? Did you start with smaller pranks, hoping to discourage her from the role? When that didn't work, you had to go bigger. Maybe you didn't mean for her to get as sick as she did?"
"What?" Gideon stares at me, his eyes wide in disbelief. "No, of course not! I would never, ever do anything to hurt Vivian. I saw how badly things went with her father and I wasn't about to make the same mistake. I didn't breathe a word of my concerns to her…"
"But you did speak to Caleb." I finish his sentence.
Gideon wipes his hand over his mouth, his face flushed. "At first, he laughed at me. Dismissed it completely. But I'd catch him chatting her up in between takes. When I overheard him invite Vivian back to his place, I confronted him. Caleb called me an old man, told me to mind my own business. Said if anything happened, it would be between two consenting adults, and nothing to do with me."
"Did anything happen?"
Gideon grows quiet, but his fists are clenched in his lap. "I don't know. There was only so much I could do. I couldn't ask her outright, and Caleb refused to speak on the subject. There was no one else to ask without arousing suspicion. And that was the last thing I wanted to do."
I gulp, feeling terrible for Gideon and his predicament. "Do you think he poisoned her? If he propositioned her and she refused, maybe he wanted her out of the way so he could find a new actress to take on her role."
Gideon remains silent, lost in a quagmire of what-ifs.
I check my watch, dismayed to see how much time has passed. I slide out of the booth and stop beside the table, tapping on its wooden surface to get his attention. "If Caleb is responsible, I promise you, I will make sure he doesn't get away with it."
Chapter Nine
After a brief reprieve, the next day heralds my return in front of the camera. Molly's insights have made a transformational difference to how I play my role, at least according to Uncle Harold — that's the upside. The downside to my improved acting abilities is that he had also decided to add in more scenes, including some B-roll of me alone.
Throughout the day's shoot, Molly and H stick close to my side, calling out suggestions and coaching me when I stumble through an action.
"Do that thing again… where you shoo the cat out of the room, Nat. That was brilliant!" Harold cries from his director's chair.
H smirks as he swishes his spiky tail in the air, not realising he is waving a red flag in front of the bull. I don't have to pretend annoyance when I grab the old-fashioned twig broom and threaten to launch him out into the garden. Molly cackles, invisible to everyone except me and H, safe from any risk of being roped into the action.
If that isn't bad enough, my filming breaks prove even more frustrating. Caleb Farrow is completely incommunicado, and his alter-ego of Sir Christopher crumbles into tears anytime I attempt to bring up Vivian's name. "My beautiful fiancée," he moans, sniffling into a handkerchief.
The problem with interviewing great actors is I genuinely cannot tell whether Caleb is truly broken up over the mere mention of Vivian's name, or is simply acting the way he believes Sir Christopher would in the same circumstances.
Either way, after two failed attempts to corner him on the set, he actively avoids me for the rest of the day. When Uncle Harold announces our dismissal late in the afternoon, I practically sprint to the wardrobe to rip off my heavy costume in favour of the sundress I stashed away this morning. The hangers screech as I shove costumes aside, searching frantically for the floral pattern of my dress. It is nowhere to be found.
"Has the production bandit struck again, this time targeting me?" I mutter to myself before raising my voice to ask, "Ilaria, have you seen the sundress I left in here this morning?"
"Si! I spotted it hidden away amidst my costumes this morning." She circles around the clothing rack, frowning a
t me. "It simply wouldn't do, Nat. The fabric was cut against the bias and the seam bunched near the hem. I practically broke out in hives when I saw it."
I shake my head and blink several times, too dumbfounded to offer a response.
"But don't worry, cara. I fixed it for you. Wait there, I'll bring it around." She flutters off, her hands in constant motion as she lists off the improvements she's made. Like a whirlwind, she swoops back seconds later with a garment bag draped over one arm.
"But… but it was my favourite," I moan, still coming to grips with the fact that this woman kidnapped and disassembled my dress, without asking.
"It was your favourite," Ilaria agrees, "but trust me, it won't hold a candle to my new and improved version. See for yourself!" With a wink, she passes me the bag and pushes me into a changing room.
Too nervous, I keep my back to the mirror as I pull the dress over my head and smooth it down.
"Come out, cara. Let me see how it looks on you now."
I gingerly open the door and shuffle into the centre of the room. Ilaria takes a deep breath and then shrieks in delight. "I am a genius, no? Open your eyes, Nat, and look at yourself."
I peek out of one eye and then open the other. Gone is my empire-waist maxi dress with the spaghetti straps. I inch closer to the mirror, starting at the bottom and clocking all the changes. The dress no longer swishes around my ankle, instead hitting me just below the knee in a ruffle of matching fabric. The skirt tapers at my waist, switching to alternating stripes of sheer midnight blue and brightly coloured floral, wrapping around my mid-section until just below my chest. There the original fabric remains, but now it is cut in a heart-shaped halter. The peekaboo stripes and flattering neckline provide a tantalising hint of sexiness while still somehow staying workplace appropriate.
"I take it back. This is my favourite dress. Ever. In my whole life." I twirl around, watching the ruffle flare in my reflection.
Sabotage at Somerset: A charmingly fun paranormal cozy mystery (Oxford Key Mysteries Book 4) Page 13