by JS Taylor
“Yes.” His voice is full of happy sentiment.
“She’s beautiful,” I murmur, taking in the large brown eyes and lustrous sweep of dark hair.
Camilla leans forward and flips the page. And the next shot is of James, standing alone, in a starched-looking school uniform. He can hardly be much older than seven, and I can see instantly something is very wrong.
It’s not the same happy boy from the previous picture.
He’s like a different child.
“James looks really grumpy,” comments Camilla, frowning.
But I can see, it’s so much worse than that. He looks… damaged. Broken. It’s awful to see, in such a young child. Looking at the picture, I feel like my heart is being torn in half.
I turn up to look at James, my face a question. But he looks away.
“It always seemed strange to me,” I hear Lady Berkeley say, “the English tradition of sending boys to board so young. And in such adult uniforms.”
I hear disapproval in her voice, and I can tell that she’s seen it too. This terrible change.
“Here,” adds Lady Berkeley, leaning forward. “Let’s see some happy photos. Isabella. Let me show you some pictures of James after his first big movie success. He looks pleased as punch,” she adds, pronouncing the colloquialism carefully in her Eastern European accent.
After lunch, James takes me for a walk around the house and grounds, and I find myself marvelling at how much of England is owned by his family.
He shows me his plain childhood bedroom, and a library where he used to read. But overall, I am struck by how much this wasn’t his home growing up.
“What was boarding school like?” I ask, thinking back to the picture of the distraught little boy in a high collar.
“Cold,” says James shortly. “In every way. The master’s main aim was to crush excess emotion out of us. I was behind the other boys, so I took a lot more schooling. Mainly, that meant being hit with canes.”
I feel my heart go out to him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be,” he replies, and I feel as though a wall has come down.
We wander through the next few rooms in silence.
“Are you due to inherit this?” I ask as we move through into a huge corridor.
It’s dawning on me that as the only son, James could become Lord Berkeley.
“I wasn’t,” he murmurs. “My father had me written out. But my stepmother persuaded him to reverse it a few years ago.”
I squeeze his arm. The memory is obviously painful.
“So you’ll be Lord Berkeley?” I manage tentatively. It seems an incredible idea.
James turns his green eyes on mine.
“Officially, yes. Although it is possible to give up your title. Lords have to attend the House of Lords, to vote on politics. Those duties might be difficult to fit around my movies.”
I decide not to question him on it further. We’re at a huge window now, on the second floor. I let my eyes run over the yawning distance of green hills and forest.
“So where does the estate end?” I ask.
“We can’t see the end of it from here.”
Whoa.
“It’s a big estate,” I venture.
“Yes.” He points into the middle distance. “That’s where we’ll be filming later.”
“How much later?” It’s occurring to me that our time together could be over soon, and I want to relish every second.
“Quite soon,” says James. “But we’ll have more time together later.”
He smiles at me, and I sense his earlier mood has passed.
His eyes flash wickedly. “We’ve got a few more days here,” he says, “and I’ve got so much more to show you.”
“Oh really?” I raise my eyebrows at his tone. “Like what?”
“Like…” James turns me gently and presses me back against the window, his hands press my arms against my sides. “The stables,” he says, leaning in to kiss me, his voice low. “Plenty of whips and riding crops.”
His hand slips to beneath my dress. I feel my body jolt with lust.
“And of course, we have cornfields,” he adds. “Lots of hay to roll around in.”
His hand slides up the inside of my thigh, and I feel my breath tighten.
“In fact,” he decides, “I think you’re going to like the Berkeley Estate, very much.”
His fingers inches further up my skirt, and I move my hand to his wrist.
“Stop,” I whisper, “not here.”
His eyes search my face.
“I’m still dealing with being a lunch date of the Lord and Lady of the Manor,” I say apologetically. “One thing at a time.”
James slides his hand out from under my skirt and kisses me.
“Anything you say,” he says with a mock little bow. “But Issy, you’ve adapted so quickly to my other little ways, I’m sure it won’t take you long to get comfortable with my family home.”
He’s grinning at me, and I can’t help but grin back.
Then his phone sounds.
Frowning, he takes it out of his pocket.
I see his face drop, and instantly, the atmosphere changes.
“What is it?” I whisper, frightened by his sudden shift of expression.
James lowers the phone, and I see him swallow.
He looks for a moment, as though he’s considering whether to tell me. And then he speaks.
“It seems as though someone has tried to open private files on my computer,” he says. His voice is deadly serious.
Private files?
“What do you mean?” My voice comes out as a barely a whisper.
“Someone has accessed my laptop remotely,” he says. “I can’t imagine it would be anyone else but the person leaking to the press.”
He runs his hands through his hair. “In theory, they could have opened almost anything.” His eyes drill me with the significance of this. “Which means,” he continues, “the photos I took of you could have been found. Even copied.”
His face is ashen.
I feel the world sliding away from me.
James is shaking his head.
“It was stupid of me,” he mutters, “I had so much to arrange, I didn’t check the security of the internet connection here. Someone got through on the WiFi.”
“But we don’t know for sure?” I press. “I mean, they might not have seen anything at all.”
From what I remember, there were a lot of files on James’s computer.
“Do you know how long they had access for?” I add.
James is shaking his head in frustration. “Not more than a few minutes,” he says. “The security on my laptop shut them down and alerted my phone.”
A little of my anxiety slips away.
“Then surely the chance is small?” I venture. “That they would have even seen those pictures. Let alone copied them?”
James’s face is like thunder. “Yes. The chance is small. Very small,” he says. “But even the smallest chance that those photos might be seen is completely unacceptable.”
James looks absolutely furious.
“We’re going to close this leak down. Now,” he says. The determination in his voice is intimidating.
He punches a few keys on his phone, and then turns to me.
“First, I’m going to make sure absolutely no information can leave Berkeley Hall,” he says. “Then, I’m going to resolve this leak.”
“You’ll need to go back to your cottage,” he adds. The distraction in his voice feels almost painful to me, in contrast to his earlier affection.
“I’m sorry,” he adds, seeing the distress on my face. “I’m just angry at myself, Issy, that I could ever have put you at such risk.”
“Don’t be…” I start to say, but he dismisses my words with a wave of his hand.
Ouch. I guess now is not the time to try and talk him down.
“You’ll need to head back to the actor’s accommod
ation,” he repeats. “I’ve changed the timings for today. And I don’t want people to see us arrive from the same direction.”
“What’s happening now?” I ask.
“I’ve scheduled an earlier meeting,” he says. “Everyone. All the cast, the crew, are due on the grounds in twenty minutes. We’re going to find out once and for all who is behind this leak.”
Chapter 33
I head back to the cottages with everything that’s happening churning in my head.
Berkeley Hall is a reasonable distance away, so I’m walking fast. I’m guessing all the actors have already received the call and are long gone ahead.
I near the cottages, wondering if I’m close enough to complete the charade that James and I weren’t at lunch together. And I’m just about to turn and take the path towards the meeting, when I see Carol.
She’s talking on her phone, and from what I can make out, she’s headed towards my cottage.
What’s Carol doing here? Natalie’s cottage is on the other side.
I watch her carefully. Something about her manner is completely different to usual.
I’m used to seeing Carol running around after Natalie, like a dogsbody. But now, she looks upright, confident and full of self-assurance.
I can’t hear what she’s saying, but the tone of her voice is different too. It positively rings with authority, like an executive doing business.
What a transformation. Is it just because Natalie isn’t around?
Carol reaches the door of my cottage.
Then she slows, looks left, right. And then straight in my direction.
I’m frozen to the spot, and she stares at me. Her face flashes with guilt.
We both stand for a moment, like rabbits caught in the headlights. And then I break the deadlock and breeze towards her, aiming to appear as though I think nothing is out of the ordinary.
“Carol. Hi,” I say, walking towards her and aiming for a casual tone. “Did you need me for something?”
My mind is whirling, trying to catch up with what I’ve just seen. Was she about to go into my cottage?
“Oh, hello, Issy. I’m arranging some things for Natalie.”
As she speaks, Carol seems to collapse into her old subordinate self. Her shoulders sag, and her voice quavers a little.
“Ok. I’m just picking up a sweater.” I walk past her and push open the door to my cottage.
I’m keeping my voice light, but we both know I’ve seen something I shouldn’t.
“Yes, it is a lot cooler in England than Barcelona,” replies Carol. She waves her hand. “I’ll see you later, Isabella.”
As I duck into my cottage, my heart is pounding.
What does this mean? Was she snooping for information? Is Carol the leak?
I have no real evidence to suspect her. But I’ve no other reason to attribute to her strange behaviour either.
I grab a sweater, trying to work through what I’ve seen. It occurs to me suddenly, that if Carol is the leak, she could even be dangerous. What if she’s waiting outside for me, desperate to make sure I don’t report her suspicious behaviour?
I take out my mobile phone. No reception. Damn. My previous affection for the countryside evaporates instantly. I can’t call James and tell him what I’ve seen.
I stare at the cottage door for a long moment, before deciding I don’t have a choice.
I can’t cower in here indefinitely. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and step out quickly.
Outside is green lawns, stone cottages, and nothing else. Carol seems to have completely vanished.
Momentarily relieved, I set off at a jog for the meeting place. I need to tell James about what I just saw. As soon as possible.
By the time I arrive, James has already gathered everyone together and begun speaking.
Crap. I can hardly interrupt him.
I try and calm myself. James told you Berkeley Estate was secure. It’s not like press can get in here.
This makes me feel slightly better. When James has finished speaking, I can tell him about Carol’s suspicious behaviour.
“Thank you all for coming at short notice,” James is saying.
The crew and actors make up around thirty people, and I see that Natalie is one of them. Carol isn’t here.
I catch sight of Callum and Will, but they’re too near the front for me to join. The hair and make-up girls are also in the group. And I recognise David, the props handler.
“I’m sure by now,” adds James, “you know what’s been going on.”
There is an uncomfortable shifting, in the atmosphere of the assembled people. I hear some whisper words like ‘leak’ and ‘press’.
“Someone has been calling the press with information,” continues James. “And the information they are supplying could be very damaging. To all of us.”
His eyes flare at this last part, and then his voice softens.
“I don’t need to tell most of you that you are a family to me,” he continues. “We have worked together for years. And I truly value you. I can hardly believe that someone would betray that trust.”
A hush descends on the group.
“I know that whoever is responsible is here in front of me now,” continues James.
They might not be! I want to scream. Ask Natalie where Carol is!
James catches my eye, and I see a flicker of confusion pass over his handsome features.
“I’m not asking you to confess in front of everyone,” he continues. “But I do ask, that whoever is making these leaks, is decent enough to tell me.”
His green eyes are full of sincerity.
“I value each and every one of you,” he says. “And I ask that whoever has made the leaks, understand that they’re jeopardising a lot for everyone here.”
He looks down at his hands for a moment, and then back at the group.
“Thank you,” he concludes. “We’ll now have an actor’s meeting as planned. Anyone who wants to talk can find me afterwards.”
As soon as James is finished talking, the small crowd begins talking animatedly amongst themselves. I wonder what effect James’s words had. Certainly, it seems as though the crew feel real loyalty to him.
Many look positively furious that someone is leaking to the press.
I move determinedly towards him. I want to run. But I can’t risk that I might look suspiciously over familiar.
As I approach, I see that Will is already talking to James, and I have to wait a maddening few moments for their conversation to end.
Then Will drifts away, and I move quickly towards James.
“James!”
“Issy?” James lowers his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Carol,” I hiss, breathlessly. “Natalie’s assistant. I saw her snooping around my cottage. I think she could be the leak.”
James’s face darkens.
“When did you see this?”
“Just now. Just before this meeting.”
James’s face sets sternly.
“Thank you for telling me,” he says, after a moment. “We have the actor’s meeting now, Issy. I’d be grateful if you would join the others in the ballroom as planned.”
“But…” I am baffled by his tone. Is he going to track Carol down?
“I’ll be with you shortly,” he adds, firmly.
I open my mouth, and shut it again. Maybe this is all part of some master plan. I don’t know. So I’ve no alternative but to seek out Callum and drift towards the actor’s meeting place.
Chapter 34
“Do you think the leak will reveal themselves?” asks Callum as we navigate the corridors to find the large ballroom.
“I don’t know,” I say. “The crew seem very loyal to James. But then again, whoever’s leaking has already proved themselves disloyal.”
“I thought it was rather touching,” says Callum, “that James is asking for the leak to consult their own conscience. It’s an old fashioned approach, for sure,” he a
dds. “But it’s the mark of James, as a man, that he would try that route.”
I’m considering this as we enter the ballroom. It might be a testimony to James’s character, but I don’t know how effective it will be in uncovering the leak.
To our great surprise, Natalie is already seated inside. She looks frail and vulnerable in the enormous room. And once again, I feel myself entertain feelings other than annoyance towards her.
“Hey, Natalie,” I say, waving my hand.
“Hey,” she replies.
Callum and I take our seats. And we all sit in troubled silence.
It’s only a few moments later when James joins us. And the speed of his arrival makes me doubt whether he took my information seriously.
Has he tried to track Carol down?
“I hope we can all get through this session,” James says, “despite the situation surrounding it.” His eyes flicker for a moment.
“In the next hour or so, we’re going to be exploring ourselves as people. We’ll be looking at the roles we all play in everyday life.”
I’m finding it hard to follow James. And I can tell Natalie and Callum feel the same. We’re all thinking, wondering, whether the leak really will be revealed.
“We’ll be doing the same strategy as before,” says James, “of writing down personality traits on paper and placing them in a bag. Then I’ll pull them out, and we’ll discuss. Ok?”
He looks at us all expectantly, but the mood of the group is so fragmented, he hardly gets a response.
“We’ll just get through this,” he says, “and then perhaps we can talk about the press situation. I appreciate you must all be anxious about the future. But believe me. This movie will go ahead.”
I see something like anxiety in Callum’s eyes, and I realise he doesn’t necessarily believe this.
James stands and hands out slips of paper.
“Think of a personality trait which applies to you,” he says, “then write it out as ‘I am’.” His eyes rest on me. “It might be ‘I am brave’,” he adds, “or ‘I am loyal’.”
Callum and Natalie take their slips. But I can tell their hearts are hardly in it. I stare at my own for a moment before scrawling down: ‘I am a good friend.’