by Julia Thomas
“How very Bouguereau of you. Do you have your own little crook?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Still … ” he said, looking up again as he heard the first crack of thunder.
“I won’t impose on you, really. I’ll find someone to room with when I get there. I just need a change.”
“I can’t believe I’m even considering it.”
“Of course you can. It’s inevitable. We’re going to be great friends. Might as well start now.”
To Dorset, she came. The following morning, he picked her up in front of the flat she shared in Paddington and stowed her two battered bags in the boot of his car. She wasn’t talkative, preferring to nurse a cup of coffee, though whether she was hung over or deep in thought, he wasn’t sure. After they were out of London, she lowered the window to feel the breeze on her face. Twice, she asked him to stop the car so she could get out and look at the view. He was happy to comply. It was a warm day, and he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Occasionally he glanced at his wristwatch out of habit, but in actuality he was unconcerned about the time. It had been a year and a half since he had been out of London to shoot a film in the country, and he had forgotten the elation he felt to be forced out of his usual habits and routines and given the opportunity to live life at a different pace. Acting was a hurry up and wait sort of job, with a great deal of preparation and action at the beginning degenerating into a measured, thoughtful activity of getting the retakes exactly right.
The second time Daniel and Tamsyn stopped, they were deep in the countryside. They got out of the car, she walking ahead of him, entranced by the sight in front of her.
“Look!” she cried, examining the blackthorn, which grew some distance from the road. “They’re beautiful. You’d never see this in London.”
“You’re Welsh, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes. My family still lives there.”
She was almost beautiful then. Daniel smiled, bending over the flowers for a moment as she turned and walked deeper into the meadow. The air was still and quiet, and even a few steps from
the road one could forget that modern civilization was there behind them. He was used to the din of the city, the constant noise of the modern industrial society from which untold millions never had a rest and knew no other way of life. Hardy himself in Greenwood spoke of the blooming apple trees and fallen petals of the Dorset countryside, and though Daniel could never express with the same elegance or fineness of feeling what he saw before him, he felt it now, reaching his very bones. No sound could be heard apart from the wrens and thrushes warbling the occasional mid-flight tune. They were as alone as Adam and Eve, and as innocent as the biblical pair before Shame entered their souls and filled them with the need to cover their naked bodies.
Tamsyn ran through the grass, enveloping herself in the exquisiteness of it as though Daniel weren’t even there, pausing for a moment to gaze ahead, where the European Chalk Formation gave way to the sandstones of east Dorset. The downs rose and swelled in perfect, damp greenness, a glorious postcard of beauty, making him wish he had a camera with him. Yet he knew that no man-made, artificial device could record what he saw in that moment. The clouds crouched low upon the farthest hills, as if heaven reached out to bless the earth in just that very spot, along with the frail mortals who had stumbled into Paradise.
He waited while she took her fill, and then without a word, they returned to the car and continued on their way. They arrived not long after in Colebridge, a village perched on sloping hills and dotted round with trees. There, they drove up to a row of stone houses, gray and white and tan, their colors muted and fading against the deepest cobalt sky. Daniel pulled a paper from his pocket and consulted his notes before turning at the first church he came to.
“What are you looking for?” Tamsyn asked. She hadn’t spoken in some time, lost in a reverie he had been loath to interrupt.
“My friend’s house. Well, not really his house. It’s been rented for him during his stay. I thought I would stop in before I go to the hotel.”
“Why don’t you stay in a house, too?” she asked.
“Not my style.” Daniel glanced at her as he pulled in front of a thatched-roof cottage and parked the car. “I like my freedom.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
They stepped out of the car. Daniel pocketed his keys and knocked at the door, which swung open almost at once.
“Ah, you made it,” Hugh said, stepping aside for them to enter.
The house, certainly a Grade I and possibly a Grade II, looked as though its owners had been booted out, leaving everything in a state of elegant comfort. There were deep armchairs and shelves of books and even paintings on the walls of peonies and English dales and the ubiquitous spaniels of which middle-aged persons are so fond. Someone had assembled a household of possessions selected with great care over many years, and it would be lived in for weeks or months as though it were a mere backdrop for the conversations that would be held within its walls.
“Hugh, this is my friend Tamsyn. She’s hoping to get a small role in the film.”
“We’ll have to put in a word for you, then,” Hugh answered. He held open the door. “Come in. I have lunch ready. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Always,” Daniel said, watching Tamsyn as she walked across the stone steps and into the sitting room.
“Straight through,” Hugh called to her, indicating the open door that led to the garden out back. He stopped and looked at Daniel, arching a brow. “So, who is she? I’m surprised. This is not your usual style.”
“It’s not what you think,” Daniel argued. “It’s a lark. She’s fun, that’s all. She dabbles in acting and asked to come along.”
“She can stay here, unless you’re taking her in.”
“I’ll get her a room at the hotel for a couple of nights.”
“Nonsense. I have all this space. Why shouldn’t she stay a night or two, as long as you’ve dragged her all this way? For that matter, why don’t you stay, too? You can play nurse.”
“Thanks, but I prefer to keep things simple.” Daniel laughed. “If I took a house, I’d probably end up inviting some girl I hardly know to stay with me. We’ll be busy, anyway.”
There were a great number of things to be accomplished within the first few days: wardrobe fittings, rehearsals, finding some kind of bit part for Tamsyn. Daniel was suddenly wondering how he had been so easily talked into bringing her along. Hugh led him out onto the terrace, where a cold supper had been prepared. Daniel opened the bottle of wine.
“This looks yummy,” he said, pouring it into three glasses. He handed one to Tamsyn.
She accepted the glass with a smile. He felt her eyes on him throughout the meal, during which it was decided that she would stay in one of the empty rooms upstairs.
“Will you be all right?” Daniel asked later, when he was ready to leave.
“Oh, yes,” she answered. “Hugh’s great, letting me stay. I’ll look for a room with someone once I’ve settled in.”
“Good,” he pronounced, relieved. “I mean, it will be good for you to have someone to hang about with.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” she asked, turning her face toward him.
“Maybe you’re trying to get rid of me, moving in with someone else.”
“You know you’ll always be my first love,” she said.
He thought, then, that he might kiss her, but at that moment, Hugh walked through the door.
Nine
The Cartesian Circle, like Daniel Richardson’s current understanding of things, was a mistake in reasoning. In 1641, Descartes laid out a framework for the meaning of life based on the truth, or assumption of truth, that a benevolent God exists. Accordingly, God exists because he has given human beings a mind with which to think (Cogito ergo sum; I think, therefore I am);
if God does not control man but has given him a mind to think for himself, he is not a deceiver; if God is not a deceiver, he is benevolent; therefore, this benevolence proves that God exists. The philosopher wrote that he had discarded perception and used deduction as a method of proof. Yet who amongst us can claim methodical proof that God exists? Does not even Scripture claim, “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen”?
Daniel’s mistake in reasoning was that one could know the mind of any other human being. He thought he knew Tamsyn Burke and Hugh Ashley-Hunt. He thought he knew himself. Instead, he brought into their lives the catalyst for future life disruption, if not destruction, however innocent he was of that notion. His personal Cartesian Circle was based on certain assumptions: a perception of Tamsyn Burke blowing the stale sameness out of his life; a perception of Hugh being the Hugh he had always known and could rely on to be his normal, diffident self; and a perception that he himself was at a point in his life when he could arrange events to suit himself for amusement purposes only, without the entanglement of emotion being brought to bear. In each of these opinions, he was to be proven wrong, and it all began with a single statement.
“I think Tamsyn would make an incredible heroine.”
Hugh was drunk when he made this declaration, but Daniel, who was not quite as drunk, took it for the omen it was.
“What do you mean?” he insisted, putting down his pint so forcefully it sloshed onto the counter of the bar.
Hugh nodded, as though he had been thinking of the idea for months instead of the brief time he had known her. “There’s something about her. She has no business playing some silly bit part when she has such talent. Why, she should star in the bloody picture. I’ll bet she would outshine us both. Besides, the part of Fancy still hasn’t been cast.”
From the beginning, Daniel had thought of Tamsyn as his friend, and the friendlier she became with Hugh, the more concerned he became. It wasn’t right for Hugh to steal her right out from under his nose. Nevertheless, he had hidden his feelings from both of them while he struggled to sort them out. He was now feeling a sudden resentment toward her. Who was she, anyway, unsettling his life like this?
For once, Tamsyn wasn’t with them. The three of them had so frequently been seen together by the cast and crew in the last few days that they were being referred to as the Trifecta. In the past, whenever Daniel had what might technically be referred to as a dalliance on set, he’d seen less of Hugh and they had spoken on the phone more, dissecting the object of his fancy until she was in such tatters that the relationship was soon ended. Neither of them had ever brought a girl into the other’s life, not since the affair with Lizzie Marsden. Now Tamsyn had done the impossible. She had broken through both of their reserves at once.
“Are you sleeping with her?” Daniel asked. He hadn’t meant to say the words aloud, but somehow hadn’t been able to stop himself.
“Tamsyn Burke? Are you kidding? I’ve never met anyone more like a kid sister than her in my life. Besides, have you seen that girl who works for the caterer?”
“The chatty blonde?”
“That’s the one. I’m thinking of looking into that.”
Daniel chuckled into his beer glass, relieved. He gazed around the room. There were a few people from work there, having drinks, too. It was a congenial group of people for the most part, as was evidenced by the fact that they were allowed to enjoy a pint in peace. No one had wandered over, ostensibly to ask some irrelevant question about tomorrow’s shoot or to seek an autograph for some nonexistent relative. In fact, things were how he’d hoped they would be. A few friendships had sprung up; a couple of meaningless flirtations were taking place. There was always the odd affair or two among people who have had to uproot their lives for a few weeks and were forced to take rooms in strange towns. There was a little casual sex, a few drinks, a lot of laughs; it was part of itinerate work, whether they were cameramen or wardrobe consultants or actors. The pub was part of the scene, an anonymous place in London or Dorset or wherever they happened to find themselves for the duration, sitting at tables full of half-filled glasses and listening to so much laughing and talking one couldn’t take anything seriously. An idea was only half-meant if it was shared in a pub, especially in these conditions.
It was almost August, and the heat from the crowded room was beginning to get to him. Outside, the sun had set and it had begun to cool off, and Daniel found he needed a breath of fresh air. In a village this size there wasn’t anywhere else to go in the evening, and he wasn’t the sort to hang about his rented flat. He knew that when the cast and crew got to know each other better, they would begin to congregate in one or two people’s rooms, but that was something he had always managed to avoid. He kept his distance, allowing himself an occasional, safe flirtation, and stayed in the pubs where nothing could go wrong.
He glanced at his watch. It was after ten.
“I think I’m drunk,” Hugh slurred into his ear.
“Good job we’re not driving,” Daniel replied. “We can walk it off.”
They each took a last drink for good measure and then stumbled out into the road, putting their arms around each other to prevent the other from falling. They could hear the buzz of laughing and talking in the pub growing weaker as they walked down the lane. The village was living up to the rustic vision Daniel had concocted, not merely as a perfect place for the sort of film they were shooting, but as a place where they could have the occasional binge without attracting any notice.
“Do you ever read Hardy?” he asked Hugh.
“Hardy? God, no. Not since university, and that was only when forced. Besides,” he added, “why bother reading it when people like us are making perfectly good films about it?”
“Hmmm,” Daniel murmured, tightening his grip on his friend. The fact that Hugh was slightly taller made it harder for Daniel to keep him upright.
It was a short walk to Hugh’s rented house, and as they approached the door, Daniel asked him for the key. It was produced after a minute of searching the same pockets twice, and then duly handed over. As soon as they were inside Tamsyn appeared, clad in a terry robe emblazoned with enormous coffee cups and looking half her age.
“I think you need a hand,” she said, giving them both a look.
“Thanks,” Daniel answered.
They dragged Hugh into his bedroom, where Daniel helped him onto the bed and pulled off his shoes. Tamsyn took a blanket from a cupboard and settled it over him, and then the two of them left, shutting the door behind them.
“You didn’t come out tonight,” Daniel remarked, as if he didn’t really care one way or another.
“I didn’t feel like it,” she said, picking up a cup. “I’ve made tea. Would you like some?”
“Why not?” he said, following her into the kitchen, where he leaned up against an old beam. It was a rustic room, but one fitted out for the avid cook. Copper pots hung from a rack on the ceiling and French olive jars were filled with spatulas and spoons. It was a kitchen for making shepherd’s pie or bread and butter pudding. It was a shame none of them knew much about cooking.
“The water’s still hot.”
He watched as she poured, an odd feeling coming over him. This was the sort of thing he preferred, when it came down to it; a sense of normalcy that had long been missing from his life. Of course, that feeling wasn’t attached to her in particular, he assured himself. It was just one of those sensations he had from time to time, which usually went away if he ignored it long enough.
“What do you think of the film so far?” he asked, trying to keep his mind off her figure, which was fortunately obscured by the robe.
“Amazing. The Woman with Child is strategically important to the village scene,” she said, winding her hair with her hands and tying it up, leaving feathers of red locks loose around her face.
“A standout part, I
’m sure. Never mind those forty or fifty other people milling about, trying to look busy.”
She tossed a cushion in his direction. “That was your opportunity to be gallant, and you missed it.”
“Sorry, I don’t use a script on my off-hours. You’ll have to cue me.”
“You’ve had a lot to drink too, haven’t you?”
“Thanks for noticing, Captain Obvious.” He closed his eyes and watched the small dark spots that swirled in front of his eyelids make odd, Rorschach-like patterns. He wondered how psychologists analyzed the difference between psychotic and nonpsychotic thinking, and then wondered whether or not he even believed in that rot.
“By the way, I’ve found a place to stay,” Tamsyn said. “Olivia, one of the assistants, invited me to move in with her and a couple of friends.”
“You’re not going to stay here?”
“No. This was only temporary, remember? I’ll be happier with a bunch of other girls.”
“That sounds grand.” Daniel clasped his hands behind his head, stretching.
“You’re not even listening,” she accused him, scrutinizing his face as though she were his mother. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?”
“No, thanks. I’ll make it back all right.”
She handed him a hot mug and sat down in a deep chintz armchair. “It’s not what I expected, exactly. The film, that is.”
“Well, you’ve got a part, anyway.”
“For a couple of weeks at least.”
“I’m sure they’ll find something for you to do if you want to stay a little longer.”
She shrugged. “Unless something more interesting comes along.”
“I’m not sure something interesting could possibly happen around here, unless you shag the producer or something.”
“Not my style.”
“I didn’t think so.” He took a drink of the tea. It was far too sweet for his taste. Smiling, he set the mug on the table. “I should go.”