Summer's Lease: Escape to paradise with this swoony summer romance: (Shakespeare Sisters)

by Carrie Elks

  Cesca gave her a look. It was somewhere between understanding and exasperation. ‘I’m afraid that’s all we have. It’s a concept café. Cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner.’

  ‘That’s just silly,’ the woman protested. ‘Who eats cereal for dinner? Especially at seven pounds for a bowl of Cheerios. I could buy three boxes in the supermarket for that.’

  Biting her lip to stop herself from suggesting the woman did just that, she gave her another sympathetic smile. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the complaints – far from it – but honestly, what did they expect from a café called Cereal?

  ‘We have ten different types of milk,’ she told them, as if it was going to help at all.

  In the week she’d been working here, Cesca had seen it all. Sharp-suited men slurping their Frosties while discussing business, rich mothers dragging their children in and stuffing Coco Pops into their complaining mouths. Even first dates that must have seemed a good idea at the time. She wondered if any of them made it to second dates.

  Of course, that turned her thoughts to Sam. Nearly everything did. Right now she was thinking about that perfect first date – the one in the grotto where he’d taken her secretly. They hadn’t even kissed then, though she’d been thinking about it a lot. Now she’d never kiss him again.

  The thought made her feel sick.

  ‘Do you want to leave?’ the man asked his companion. ‘We can go somewhere else if you’d like?’

  ‘I just want to go home,’ his date replied. ‘I don’t think we’re really compatible.’

  It was a paraphrase of the words she’d said to Sam eighteen days ago, but close enough to make her heart clench. God, was she ever going to get over him?

  She wandered into the kitchen where Simon, the owner, was making up orders. ‘Table fifteen have left without ordering,’ she told him. ‘They were upset they couldn’t have toast.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Did you run another customer off? I’m going to have to deduct the lost profits from your wage.’

  ‘Piss off,’ she said lightly. ‘They don’t leave because of me. They leave because your menu’s stupid.’

  ‘It’s a concept café,’ he sighed. ‘Why can’t people understand that?’

  ‘Because it’s a crazy idea. You’re going to go bankrupt within a year.’

  He folded his arms across his chest. ‘I could sack you for that.’

  ‘Feel free. I’m only working here as a favour to you. And I’ll be leaving anyway just as soon as my script goes into production. So if you want me to go now . . . ’

  ‘No!’ He stepped in front of her. ‘I didn’t mean it. We need you, Cesca.’

  Wasn’t that the truth? He couldn’t keep the staff for love nor money. ‘In that case, feel free to up my wages.’

  ‘If you promise to stay for six months, I’ll double them.’

  She shook her head. ‘No can do. I’ll be busy working in the West End by then.’ Her voice was filled with confidence. ‘I told you from the start I’d help out until I sell the script. After that, you’re on your own.’

  She felt like a different person, being able to stand in a kitchen and hold her own. Such a contrast to the girl who’d been fired from the Cat Café only months before. And even though her heart was achy and tender from losing Sam, it still felt good.

  Cesca was still mulling that over when her shift finished, and she clambered on the bus to Hampstead, heading for her dad’s house where she’d been staying since she’d arrived back in London. He’d been almost shocked when she’d finally taken him up on his offer of some temporary shelter, but had hidden the surprise well, leading her to her old bedroom, nodding sagely as she babbled an explanation that it was only until she got herself straight.

  Everything was temporary, really. The job, the house. A means to an end, a roof over her head and a source of sustenance while she touted her play around. She’d have to get used to it again, she supposed. To not knowing where her next pay cheque was coming from, or whether she’d be able to afford the rent that month. But somehow it seemed different to before. In the past six years this had been her life because she thought she had no other option. Now it was a necessity while she was pursuing her dream.

  And boy, was she pursuing it.

  Another thing she’d learned in Italy: it wasn’t your circumstances that made you happy but your attitude. And hers had taken a 180-degree turn.

  ‘Good evening.’ Her father looked up from his book as she walked into the living room. It was one of those rare occasions when he wasn’t hiding in his office. ‘Did you manage to avoid being sacked?’

  ‘Just about,’ she said. ‘It was a close thing, though. Apparently telling the owner his whole café is stupid isn’t the best way to keep a job.’

  Her father smiled. ‘You always did lack diplomacy, my dear.’ He checked his watch. ‘Oh, and your sister called an hour ago.’

  ‘Lucy?’

  ‘No, it was Kitty. She’s having a whale of a time in LA, apparently. Said it was always sunny over there. When I told her it was raining here she began to laugh hysterically.’

  ‘That sounds like Kitty.’ It was funny, almost painfully so, to think her sister was living in the same city as Sam. Everywhere Cesca looked there were reminders. ‘I’ll turn the laptop on and Skype her.’ Much cheaper than phoning. Plus seeing her sister on the screen was so much better than just hearing her voice. ‘Do you mind if I borrow it?’

  ‘You silly girl, I already told you it was yours. Now go and call your sister.’

  Taking a pit stop in the kitchen to pour a glass of water, Cesca headed for the tiny bedroom at the top of the stairs. She flicked the computer on, watching it blink to life, then clicked on Skype. Kitty was in the favourites, along with her other sisters. She smiled when she saw their names.

  It only took a couple of rings for Kitty to pick up. Then her face came on the screen. She was smiling, her face glowing in the light of her computer. ‘Hey, lovely.’

  There was something about talking to her sisters that felt like coming home. Of course they’d had their differences – and over the years she may have hidden the worst of her plight from them – but they were as familiar to her as an old coat. Warming, cosy, and comfortable to wear. ‘Hey yourself. How’s LA treating you?’

  ‘Never mind that, we have girl talk to do.’

  ‘We do?’ Cesca’s brow rose up.

  ‘Yes, we do. This guy, this Sam, what are you going to do about him?’

  Cesca groaned. ‘Ugh, word gets around fast. Have you been talking to Lucy?’ On her arrival back in London, Cesca had spent over an hour on the phone to her eldest sister in Scotland, pouring her heart out. She should have known word would spread.

  ‘No, she told Juliet, who told me. Anyway, that doesn’t matter, does it? You know as well as I do if you tell one of us you tell us all.’

  That was all too true.

  ‘Well if you’ve been talking to them, I hope they’ve told you it’s as over as quickly as it began. I was nothing more than a holiday fling to him. And I’ve accepted that now.’ Lies, all lies. She was nowhere near acceptance. ‘So there really isn’t much to tell you.’

  ‘We’re talking about Sam Carlton, right? The one who ruined your play and then ran off to Hollywood? The one who turned up in Italy and tried to ruin your summer, too?’ There was a smile in Kitty’s voice. ‘Except he didn’t ruin it, did he, you little minx? From what I’ve heard he rather made it. So I think there’s quite a lot to tell.’

  Cesca groaned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She avoided Kitty’s gaze across the video connection, not knowing where to begin. It all sounded so stupid, she barely understood it herself.

  ‘He was on the Mary Jane Landers show this afternoon.’ Kitty sounded like the cat who got the cream.

  Cesca looked up straight away. Didn’t her sister know how bad she was making Cesca feel? The conversation felt like death by a thousand bruises. Why on earth was she talking abo
ut some celebrity chat show with her, while Cesca’s heart was breaking?

  ‘Was he?’

  ‘He was. And I think you should watch it.’

  Now she was going too far. Why was Kitty looking so smug? ‘It’s not on over here.’

  ‘It’s already on the Internet. You can watch it on YouTube, I’ll send you the link. It’s only ten minutes long.’ She’d barely finished speaking before the URL came up in the chat box. ‘Go on, click on it.’

  Cesca’s eyes widened. ‘Now?’

  Kitty gave a little chuckle. ‘Why not?’

  Because she didn’t want her sister seeing her break down. Because she wasn’t sure she could see Sam’s face without wanting to throw something at the laptop screen. Because everything felt too raw and painful.

  ‘Just watch, it, Cesca.’ Kitty’s tone turned cajoling. ‘I promise it’s not that bad.’

  She clicked the link, which took her straight to the YouTube channel. After five seconds of adverts, the clip came on. Mary Jane Landers was talking to camera, making a joke about the audience needing a ‘Summer Breeze’ because it was getting hot in there. And then she was introducing Sam, to the whooping and catcalls of the audience, who from the camera shot were all thirty-something women.

  Was it wrong to hate an entire age demographic?

  And then Sam walked in, and it was like the past two weeks had never happened. As though he was walking into the library, giving her a smile before grabbing her for a kiss. Except this time the smile wasn’t for her. It was for Mary Jane and a hundred goddamn women.

  Cesca could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage as she watched Sam take a seat, and say hello to Mary Jane. Then he was running a hand through his hair, pulling it out of his eyes, and Cesca could almost feel those coarse strands in her palms.

  ‘So, Sam, I hear you’ve been a bit of a naughty boy,’ Mary Jane said. More giggles and catcalls came from the audience. Sam turned to camera, an awkward smile on his face.

  ‘I’ve been a bit of an idiot, yes.’

  ‘Is it true what they’ve been saying?’

  He raised his brows. ‘What have they been saying?’

  ‘That you’re like a jackhammer.’ She turned to the camera and made a silly face. ‘We all want to know if you really are.’

  Sam laughed and rolled his eyes. ‘I can think of better ways of describing me.’

  It was strange, watching him on the screen. He was Hollywood Sam, all perfectly groomed, yet there was still a hint of the other Sam, too. Her Sam. It made her heart ache.

  Mary Jane asked him another question, but Cesca was too busy staring at Sam to hear. It was only when Kitty shouted, ‘This is the bit,’ that Cesca really started listening.

  ‘So what’s the deal with you and Serena Sloane?’

  Sam grimaced. ‘There is no deal. It was practically over before it began. If I’d have known she was married it wouldn’t even have got that far. You know what Hollywood’s like. Why tell the truth when you can tell a thousand lies?’

  ‘So you’re available?’ Mary Jane waggled her eyebrows. The audience laughed.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  Cesca leaned forward, intent on hearing every word. Somebody could have thrown a million pounds into her bedroom and she still wouldn’t have moved an inch.

  ‘Well this is interesting. Tell us more, please, but try not to break all our hearts, OK?’ Mary Jane said, leaning forward. Cesca wasn’t sure whether she wanted to slap her or hug her for asking.

  ‘There’s not too much to tell, yet.’ Sam smiled as he started to talk. ‘But I met a girl this summer and she was . . . really special. I don’t think she understands how special, but I’m determined to let her know somehow.’

  ‘Will she be watching now?’ Mary Jane looked excited at the prospect of a live exclusive. ‘You could tell her on air.’

  He shook his head, grinning. ‘She lives in London. And she’s probably busy working or doing something important. She’s a writer.’

  ‘Is she a screenwriter? Will we have heard of her?’ Mary Jane asked. ‘And more importantly, where did you meet her?’

  He could be talking about anybody, couldn’t he? OK, so the likelihood of him meeting two writers this summer was small, but it was still a possibility.

  ‘In Italy,’ he replied. Cesca’s pulse increased. ‘At a villa on Lake Como.’

  ‘How beautiful.’

  ‘The scenery is stunning, yes, but compared to her nothing is beautiful.’

  It was as if every member of the audience sighed. Cesca found herself joining in.

  ‘He’s totally talking about you, right?’ Kitty shouted. ‘I mean, you’re a writer and you were in Italy. Oh my God, Cesca, this is so exciting. I live in LA and I meet actors all the time, but even I’m fangirling a bit right now.’

  Cesca didn’t know how to feel. She’d walked away from him in Italy, after all. To hear him say on national television that she was special to him made her want to laugh and cry at the same time.

  So she did. ‘Oh God, Kitty. What does this mean?’

  ‘It means you need to call him, you idiot.’

  ‘I don’t have his number.’

  ‘You don’t?’

  Cesca shrugged. ‘No. I didn’t have a mobile over there, and his didn’t work. We communicated the old-fashioned way.’

  ‘Oh I bet you did. The universal language of love.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘Make me.’

  It was like they were twelve again. Bitching at each other, in a good-humoured way. Cesca welcomed the break from her emotional turmoil.

  ‘Oh for goodness sake, do I have to do everything?’ Kitty asked. ‘I’ll find his number for you and message it over, OK? But only if you promise to actually call him.’

  ‘How are you going to find his number?’ Cesca asked.

  Kitty tapped her nose with the tip of her finger. ‘Contacts, of course. I know people who know people. Or at least I know nannies who know people. Leave it to me, I’ll sort your love life out for you.’ With that, Kitty ended the Skype call, no doubt to get a head start on her search. Cesca watched the clip at least five more times before she closed the laptop down and popped her head around the door of the living room to tell her father she was going to bed.

  It was midnight by the time Kitty sent a text, with Sam’s phone number included. Cesca lay in her bed, surrounded by darkness, staring at the lit screen of her own, cheap, phone.

  When she’d left Italy she’d thought her heart was breaking. By the time she landed in London she was sure it had. And for the past two weeks, no matter where she went, he was always the first thought in her mind. She’d serve a customer and wonder what Sam was doing then. She’d walk past an Italian restaurant and remember Sam’s obsession with pasta. She’d walk into a newspaper shop and see Sam’s face staring out of a magazine.

  Her Sam.

  That was who he was. Not Sam the boy who ruined her play, or Sam the actor who spoke to her so callously. No, he was Sam, the guy who edited her words, who teased her mercilessly, who kissed her until her lips swelled up. The golden boy who spoke perfect Italian with the sexiest accent, who could seduce her with his words.

  Definitely her Sam.

  Cesca sat up in bed, grabbing her phone, tapping on the number her sister had texted over. A green phone symbol came up and she clicked it, waiting breathlessly as the call tried to connect. It was going to cost her a fortune, one she definitely didn’t have, but right at that moment she couldn’t care less.

  Then there was a click, and the call was diverted straight to voicemail.

  Disappointed didn’t cover it. She left a stuttered message, telling him she’d seen the show, that she wanted to talk to him, and could he please call her back. Reluctantly she hung up, putting the phone on the table beside her bed, leaving it on in case he called back soon. It was only four in the afternoon in LA, he could call her at any time.

  Except he didn’t. And as Cesca
lay in her bed, watching the hours tick over on her alarm clock, she could feel sadness suffuse her. When morning came, and there was still no call, she was more disappointed than ever.

  31

  What a pretty thing man is, when he goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit

  – Much Ado About Nothing

  Sam scrawled his name across the contract, passing it back over to the woman on the other side of the desk from him. Marcella Di Bacco took the papers from him, flashing him a brief smile. A fifty-something blonde, she was every inch the professional. Her clothes, her hairstyle, they all added up to somebody who was totally in control.

  ‘Thanks for organising the interview,’ Sam said. ‘I know it must have taken a lot to get me on there so quickly.’

  Marcella nodded. She wasn’t one for showing emotions, Sam noticed, but then that wasn’t what he was planning to pay her for. One of the biggest publicists in the business, she had connections most people in LA only dreamed of. That’s exactly what the dollars were getting him.

  ‘It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. You’ll find that’s what I’m best at, finding fast solutions to problems. I’ll also be sitting down to work out a long-term strategy for you, too. I’ll need to work with your agent on that.’ She looked up at him. ‘Have you signed with one yet?’

  ‘I’m going with Larry Morgan.’

  ‘From the Creative Artists Agency? I thought he wasn’t taking anybody on.’

  Despite being in the middle of a sprawling city, Hollywood was a small place. Everybody was in everybody’s face.

  Sam shrugged. ‘What can I say? Larry called me as soon as I landed in LAX.’

  ‘Lucky boy. When do you start shooting the next Summer Breeze movie?’ Marcella asked.

  ‘In a month.’

  ‘And what are your plans after that?’

  ‘I want to take a break for a bit. Maybe do some theatre work. Get out of the Hollywood rat race for a while.’ He felt relieved just saying it.

  ‘OK, well leave me with this, and I’ll start drawing up some plans. We want to avoid all that speculation about your relationship with your co-star this time, as well as countering the publicity the Serena Sloane incident created. Maybe we can have some print interviews with you and your new girlfriend, use it to dampen down all the speculation.’