Yawning suddenly, Rebecca returned to her room. She curled up on the bed and ran through her lines for half an hour, then found her attention wandering to the plastic file Ari Malik had handed her.
When she next looked up, she saw it was past midnight. She climbed under the covers and fell asleep immediately, dreaming that night of maharajas, rubies and an exotic Indian prince with blue eyes . . .
17
For the next three nights the weather was warm and dry, with a full white moon shining bright in the star-filled sky. Consequently, Robert had decided to shoot the night scenes, so it had been past two in the morning by the time Rebecca had sunk wearily into bed. Tonight, sighing as she waited next to James for them to elope together in the vintage Rolls-Royce, it looked as if it would be even later.
‘And they say being an actor is a glamorous profession,’ James said, yawning in the darkness. ‘I’m more than happy to run away with you anytime, Becks. Although repeating it seven times at one in the morning and only getting as far as thirty yards each take is trying my patience. What a ridiculous way to earn a living.’
‘At least we’re outside in an amazing location, not stuck in an over-air-conditioned soundstage on a Hollywood backlot,’ Rebecca reminded him.
‘True, true. So, is it possible that our American sweetheart is falling in love with England? I saw you chatting with our host the other day in the garden. What’s he like? He seems rather aloof.’
‘Anthony’s a nice guy, actually. Just a little shy, I guess.’
‘“Anthony”, is it? Not Lord Astbury? Very chummy, aren’t we?’ quipped James. ‘How do you fancy a title, Becks? You’d be following in the footsteps of your wealthy American forebears. Many heiresses swapped their family fortune for a place in the British aristocracy. Come to think of it, “Lady Rebecca Astbury” has a certain ring to it,’ he teased her.
‘Ha ha,’ Rebecca muttered under her breath, as the sound technician indicated they were finally ready to go.
‘Twenty seconds!’
‘Seems to me this old place could do with a shiny new American fortune. I’d watch out if I were you, darling. Lord Anthony may be after your money.’
‘Ten seconds!’
‘He’s sweet, but hardly my type,’ Rebecca whispered.
‘Five seconds!’
‘What is your type?’
Rebecca had no time to answer further as the clapperboard slammed in front of the windscreen and once again James steered the car down the drive.
After a few minutes the assistant director announced it was finally a take and they were wrapping for the night. Steve opened the door for her and she climbed out of the car.
‘Okay?’ he asked her.
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘I’m afraid you’ve got an early call again tomorrow morning, but after that, we all have a couple of days off at the weekend,’ he said as the three of them mounted the giant steps up to the front door of the house. ‘Are you happy to stay here at the Hall, or would you like me to ask Graham to drive you to London?’
‘Yes, come with me to London,’ suggested James. ‘I’ll take you sightseeing.’
‘It’s kind of you, but I have a heavy schedule next week,’ Rebecca explained. ‘So I think I’ll just stay here and learn my lines in peace, and maybe do some exploring locally.’
‘No problem. Graham will be on call to take you anywhere you want to go,’ Steve assured her. ‘Right, then, I’ll see you at six a.m. tomorrow.’
‘Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to come with me, Becks?’ asked James. ‘I don’t like to think of you here all alone, at the mercy of the mysterious Lord Astbury and the Hall’s very own version of Mrs Danvers,’ he teased. ‘Anyway, if you do change your mind, I’m leaving straight after the shoot ends tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Thanks. Goodnight, James,’ she replied, heading inside towards Wardrobe to change out of her costume. Perhaps it was simply that she was exhausted tonight, but currently she had no inclination to leave Astbury Hall. Besides which, knowing her present luck, she and James would be spotted together and immediately there would be a shot of the two of them beamed around the globe.
The cast and crew left the house at teatime the following afternoon, and Rebecca took the opportunity to have a leisurely soak in the bath. She decided that tomorrow she’d ask Graham to drive her into the nearest town so that she could purchase a few more clothes and some stronger allergy drugs for her hay fever.
Climbing out of the bath, Rebecca walked back along the corridor to find Mrs Trevathan waiting for her outside her bedroom.
‘I brought you some of my home-made chamomile tea, my love.’
‘Thank you,’ said Rebecca.
‘Well, it will help relax you after your long week. His Lordship has also invited you for a drink with him on the terrace tonight. He said you discussed it earlier in the week.’
‘Yes, we did. What time would suit him?’
‘Seven-thirty? And he said you’re welcome to join him afterwards for dinner, too, if you’d like,’ Mrs Trevathan added.
‘Not tonight, thank you. My hay fever is very bad right now.’
‘You poor thing. Well, nothing a good night’s rest can’t cure, I’m sure. I’ll tell His Lordship you’ll be down at seven-thirty, dear.’
Making quick work of the delicious chamomile tea, Rebecca spent an hour immersed in the scenes she would be playing the following week. She then got dressed, grabbed a cardigan and made her way downstairs and outside to the flagstone terrace that stretched almost the entire length of the main block of the house.
Anthony was sitting at a wrought-iron table off to one side that offered a splendid view of the flower gardens and the sweep of green lawn and parkland beyond. ‘Good evening,’ he said, and smiled as he stood up and pulled out a chair for her.
‘Thank you,’ said Rebecca, sitting down. ‘What a gorgeous sunset. Nature’s really putting on a show for us. You know, I’d never really appreciated the skies until I came here to Astbury. The stars seem so bright here too.’
‘Well, perhaps one doesn’t notice in a city,’ said Anthony, holding a jug aloft and pouring an amber-coloured liquid filled with fruit and ice into her glass.
‘What are we drinking?’ Rebecca eyed it with suspicion.
‘Pimm’s – it’s what we British drink on rare summer evenings like this one. I promise there’s plenty of lemonade in it, so it won’t get you tipsy.’
Rebecca put the glass tentatively to her lips and took a sip. ‘It’s very good, thank you,’ she said.
‘I’m glad you like it. Mrs Trevathan tells me you’re suffering from hay fever.’
‘Yes, I’ve had it since I was a child and it really gets me down sometimes. By the way, last night I read the first pages of the story that Mr Malik left with me, the ones written by his relative who used to work here. No skeletons so far.’ Rebecca smiled. ‘But Donald, who I think you said was your grandfather, does make a memorable appearance.’
‘Does he, indeed?’ Anthony sipped his Pimm’s thoughtfully. ‘I did check the staff ledgers in the library and I can’t find any trace of someone named Anahita Chavan during the time frame you suggested.’
‘Well, according to her story, she most definitely worked here, if only briefly,’ Rebecca elaborated. ‘She was nursemaid to Eleanor, the daughter of your grandfather’s sister.’
‘Selina Fontaine. From what I was told by my mother, she was the black sheep of the family. She married some French count and moved to France. After that, she never spent much time here again.’
‘I’m surprised,’ said Rebecca. ‘She sounded like a nice person in the story. Excuse me for saying so, Anthony, but I’m amazed you don’t want to find out more about your family’s past. I’d love it if I could discover even a little bit more of my own.’
‘Forgive me if I don’t agree,’ he answered, seeming agitated. ‘In the case of my family history, as Mrs Trevathan is always telling me, it’s better
to let sleeping dogs lie.’
‘That might be true, but what I’ve read happened almost a hundred years ago. Surely it can’t do any harm to learn more about those who lived here before you?’
Anthony gazed into the distance, then turned towards her. ‘So you think it would help me if I did, Rebecca?’
‘I . . .’ She looked at him, the expression in his eyes reminding her of a child turning to a mother for advice. She shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s the American way, but I always want to know the facts,’ she replied.
‘Well, maybe you’re right and I should read this document you seem so enthralled by,’ he finally agreed.
‘My apologies, Anthony, this is none of my business. I really don’t mean to interfere.’
‘Did this Mr Malik seem like a good chap?’
‘Well, he didn’t seem to be looking for anything from you other than to have a conversation about his great-grandmother,’ Rebecca confirmed.
‘I’ll think about it, certainly. Now, what plans do you have for the weekend?’ Anthony said, abruptly changing the subject. ‘I must admit I’m enjoying this short hiatus of having my home back to myself.’
‘I’m sure you are. I promise I’ll be out of your hair as well tomorrow,’ she said hastily. ‘I’m going to ask Graham, my driver, to take me to the nearest town. I need to buy some more things to wear. I brought so few clothes over with me and it’s warmer here than I expected. And then I thought that maybe I’d do a little local sightseeing. Any place in particular that you think I should visit?’
‘Of course, but when I said I wanted the house back to myself, please don’t feel I was including you. In fact, I’d be happy to show you around personally. It’s doubtful that anyone knows this part of the world better than I.’
‘Really, Anthony, that won’t be necessary,’ Rebecca assured him. ‘I’m sure the last thing you want to do this weekend is play tour guide.’
‘No, I insist. Seriously. I don’t find your presence here obtrusive at all and it would be my pleasure. Mrs Trevathan says you’re too weary to join me for dinner tonight, so, shall we reconvene here on the terrace tomorrow morning at, say, ten o’clock?’
‘Okay, if you’re sure,’ agreed Rebecca, ‘but I really don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘It won’t be any trouble at all. So, tell me how the film is going?’
Rebecca chatted to him about the film, glad to see the earlier tension leave Anthony’s face as he listened.
‘Of course the real star of the show is Astbury Hall itself. Everyone feels privileged to be here and it’s going to look just wonderful on the big screen.’
‘At least it’s earning its keep for a change,’ sighed Anthony. ‘Rather ironic that the fact that there’ve been no funds to modernise it has made it so appealing as a backdrop for your film.’
‘I love it here, Anthony, no matter how old-fashioned the bathroom facilities are,’ she added with a smile.
‘Do you? Do you really?
‘Yes, really,’ she confirmed.
‘That pleases me.’ A look of almost child-like pleasure crossed Anthony’s face.
When Mrs Trevathan appeared on the terrace to announce that Anthony’s supper was ready, Rebecca felt guilty at how grateful she was that she could slip away upstairs for a light meal quietly by herself.
Rebecca woke the following morning feeling groggy and with the kind of headache that made her question whether she had drunk too much alcohol the night before. She wondered just how strong the Pimm’s drink Anthony had given her had been. Mrs Trevathan arrived in her bedroom promptly at nine and placed a tray laden with tea, toast and a boiled egg on her lap. Rebecca sat up in bed feeling queasy and tried but failed to eat much of the breakfast. She swallowed down some ibuprofen for her head, pulled on a T-shirt and jeans and went downstairs.
‘Good morning.’ Anthony was already on the terrace waiting for her. ‘Shall we?’
The two of them walked round to the front drive, where an ancient Range Rover was parked. ‘Climb aboard. I’m sorry it’s hardly what you’re used to,’ he said apologetically.
Rebecca sat inside as Anthony started the engine, wondering at her host’s never-changing uniform of checked shirt and ancient tweed jacket. Perhaps they were the only clothes he owned. She hoped Mrs Trevathan washed them occasionally.
‘I thought I’d take you into Ashburton. There’re a couple of boutiques, although I’ve no idea whether what they sell will be to your taste,’ commented Anthony as they drove off. ‘Then we’ll drive to Widecombe-in-the-Moor and have lunch at the pub there. After that, maybe you’d like to see Dartmoor? The most pleasant way is on horseback, but perhaps you don’t ride.’
‘I love riding, actually,’ said Rebecca, brightening at the thought. ‘I had to learn for a part I played in a film a few years ago. It was set in Montana and I was taught by a couple of real-life cowboys. So I’m sure my riding style isn’t as polished as you’re used to.’
‘Well, well, there we are,’ said Anthony, obviously surprised. ‘Sadly, our stables aren’t quite what they were in the old days. I rent them out to the girl who runs the local riding school, in return for her keeping a couple of my horses there. Never was much of a rider when I was younger, and my back plays up these days, so they don’t get much exercise. So, please, feel free to take one out as often as you wish whilst you’re here. It really would be a help if you did.’
‘You know what? I just might,’ Rebecca agreed.
‘By the way, I thought about what you said last night. I contacted Mr Malik this morning and asked him to come to the Hall for lunch tomorrow. On one condition,’ Anthony added.
‘What’s that?’
‘You join us. After all, it’s you who’s persuaded me I should meet him.’
‘Of course, I’d be glad to,’ Rebecca agreed. ‘And, Anthony, if Mr Malik is coming for lunch tomorrow, I do think you should perhaps read the start of his great-grandmother’s story before he arrives. It really is fascinating.’
Anthony glanced at her nervously. ‘Can you promise there really are no skeletons in the family wardrobe that might shock me?’
‘None at all, from what I’ve read so far, anyway. Most of it is about Anahita’s childhood in India. I truly felt I was entering a different world and it’s made me want to go visit. She lived in an amazing palace as companion to a princess, before they both came over to England to boarding school.’
‘Presumably, that’s the family connection,’ mused Anthony as he drove. ‘I know my great-grandfather was Resident out in Cooch Behar State before he died.’
‘Yes. And I get the feeling that he loved it, but your great-grandmother, Maud, didn’t feel the same way.’
‘I’m sure. Sadly, there wasn’t much she approved of. Certainly not us men,’ he added with feeling.
‘Well, I guess you’ll just have to read it for yourself.’
‘Then I will. And I’ll let Mrs Trevathan know about lunch tomorrow. Right,’ Anthony said as he parked the car in a space along a pretty, bustling high street, ‘let’s go shopping.’
The morning turned out to be more pleasant than Rebecca had expected it to be. Walking along in the sunshine flanked by her male protector, with her newly dyed hair, Rebecca enjoyed the freedom of being in public without being recognised. After she had nipped into a few shops and picked out a couple of new shirts, and grabbed more antihistamines from the chemist, they drove on to Widecombe-in-the-Moor.
They sat outside in the sun at the Rugglestone Inn, enjoying a fresh crab salad.
‘It’s like a picture postcard of how I imagined England to be,’ said Rebecca, taking in the quaintness of the chocolate-box cottages that dotted the narrow street. ‘In fact, speaking of postcards, I might send some.’
‘It’s certainly a beautiful part of the world. And it’s good for me to see it through fresh eyes. I’ve never travelled much, and I suppose one becomes a little jaded with the familiar.’
‘Were you sent o
ff to boarding school when you were small, like your grandfather Donald?’ Rebecca enquired.
‘No. I was home-educated. My mother didn’t approve of boarding school,’ he explained.
‘Really? I’m surprised. From the film script and my research on the era, I thought it was a rite of passage for all boys from British families like yours.’
‘Mother would have missed me too much. You can imagine how lonely she’d have been rattling around the Hall by herself.’
‘Of course.’ Rebecca had noticed there was a whisper of girlishness about him every time he spoke of his mother. She wondered suddenly if the reason Anthony had never married was because he was gay. ‘From what I hear about boarding school, you had a lucky escape. I can’t understand why anyone would have a child and want to send them away.’
‘Mother always thought it rather a joke that we young Brits were sent away to school to fit us out to run the empire. By the end of the 1950s when I was a boy, there was no empire left to run.’ He sighed. ‘Still, everybody tells me boarding school is far kinder now. Apparently they even provide hot water these days.’
‘I’d never even consider it for one of my kids.’ Rebecca shuddered.
‘As you rightly said, it’s tradition, my dear. Well now, perhaps you’d like to take a ride on Dartmoor this afternoon?’
Having eaten lunch, Rebecca was now feeling queasy and could feel her headache returning. ‘Maybe tomorrow. I’m still feeling a little tired today.’
‘Then how about we head home and I’ll show you the family chapel?’ he suggested. ‘It was designed by Vanbrugh, a very famous English architect. It’s tucked away inside the house off the long gallery.’
‘Yes, if that’s okay with you, Anthony,’ Rebecca replied.
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