by Laura Briggs
"Back to California afterwards, probably," I said. "Or maybe a trip around the world." I wondered where he had really set out from in the first place. If he was in trouble, was it in America? Or in England?
"I wonder why he didn't want his picture taken," said Katie. "Do you think it was just because he's a little shy? Good-looking guys are sometimes shy about people finding them attractive, I've heard."
She looked at me. In those greenish-hazel eyes, I read a little doubt for this statement. I wasn't the only one who found Riley's story to be a little bit odd. But I knew she didn't want to believe it was true, and was probably trying hard not to.
"I don't know," I answered, honestly. "I wish I did. I like Riley. I don't want him to have a secret that would hurt him. Or anybody else, for that matter."
Kate rose and brushed off her knees. "It's getting late, isn't it?" she said. "I guess I'd better get cleaned up and finish those inventories you left on my desk, before Lord William does the books."
"See you tomorrow," I said.
"See you." She walked off towards the house, pausing only at the sight of a distant figure hitchhiking across the field. Riley was sleeping in an old caravan now that he was renting from the Marshalls, not far from Ted Russert's place. After a pause, Katie kept going until she reached the kitchen door.
I took the long way home, along the cliffs path, so I could pause and see the water at sunset. A rosy glow over the sea, the dark rocks touched by the last rays of orange and lavender light before nightfall. Birds were only dark shapes below, and the edge of the shore nothing more than a strip of foam from up above.
I took a deep breath, releasing it as a sigh. Enjoying the taste of the air, and the feeling of the breeze on my face. It still made me smile, even after more than two years of standing in this spot. Some things never change, however, which is why I couldn't help looking carefree when I reached Rosemoor Cottage and found Matt waiting for me in our doorway.
"You look happy," he said. "I trust it's because there's no rehearsal tonight?"
"I'm just happy to see you," I said. "Isn't that a better reason?"
"I hope it's the smile of a woman ten quid richer," said Matt. My smile became puzzled, the twinkle in his eye telling me there was a reason for this statement.
"What are you talking about?" I asked. From his pocket, Matt drew an envelope and held it up.
"I found this waiting under our door," he said. "It was blank on the outside, but inside was ten pounds. No note, no explanation, I'm afraid."
Ten pounds. The exact amount of the notes which had been stolen from my wallet that night at the pub. Someone — and there's a ninety-nine percent chance I knew who — had returned them.
"Care to guess the who and the why?" asked Matt. I shook my head.
"I already know," I answered. The only thing left to wonder was its meaning in Riley's mind.
"I see," said Matt. "Well, shall we forget it?" he asked, softly. "And have dinner — perhaps out by the coast? I haven't tasted decent seafood in some time. We've both been too tired lately for fun, but I think it's time we had a little of it." His finger traced my cheek.
"Sounds heavenly," I said, leaning into his touch. "Give me ten minutes to change and we'll part ways with this ten pounds for good."
This quiet little seafood spot is usually our chosen celebratory site in the village, and the site of the first real 'dates' between us when I first came to Cornwall. In the past, we had gazed at each other across the glow of candles, unsure and awkward about where we stood as a couple; later, with Matt's striking roses between us in a vase as we celebrated our first anniversary.
Cozy and atmospheric — those were the right words for the restaurant's shadows, the low lamplight, and for our favorite table for two close to the windows. Looking out into the darkness, I pictured the water, and remembered talking with Matt in the parking lot my first winter in Ceffylgwyn.
A conversation all about lighthouses and the Lizard peninsula's extraordinary geography — it seemed romantic then, in the dark with the sea rolling in the distance and the cool, sharp night breeze fanning us, making us feel alive, even though it was a chat about, among other things, rocks and little creatures that scurry about on them. Not about us, of course, although that was all either of us could probably think about in the back of our minds.
A lot had changed since my first dinner at this table as a naive newcomer, not the least of which being our marriage; and I had learned to fit into plenty of new roles since then. Among them, I wouldn't have seen myself ever getting roped into directing for the local dramatic society, really — but that's my life in this village. I suppose worrying about whether its latest newcomer had good or ill intentions was simply fate.
I was doing my best not to think about anything work or theater related during dinner with Matt, however. After all, this was our special place, the same spot we enjoyed during the 'will we, won't we?' period of our relationship, where we dined on Cornish seafood and a bottle of wine, and did our best not to gaze too deeply into each others' eyes as we made small talk.
That was hard to do. Those dark eyes had cast a spell over me, one I thought Matt wasn't even aware of. I thought I was the only one whose knees weakened whenever less than six inches of space was between us; or who had to fight an urge to steal a kiss whenever those close moments happened. But it turned out I was very wrong in that assumption.
A look from those eyes can still make me weaken. And tonight was no different, even with distractions behind me and a long day ahead of me. Matt's hand was holding mine, caressing my fingers a little, both of us ignoring the mostly-empty plates and low-burning candle between us on the table.
"Ten pounds," said Matt. "That's my guess." I lifted my eyebrow with indignation.
"What?" If he was making a comment about my weight, it was less than half that, my gains from the beginning of our domestic bliss. Well, half, anyway. If this was the beginning of a joke, Matt would find this subject a thorny one for teasing me — as my romantic thoughts vanished, he was likely to end up on the receiving end of a spoonful of chocolate syrup from my dessert.
"That's the amount of money you lost," he said. "The night you 'lost' your wallet. Isn't it?"
"Exactly, actually," I said. I realized now what he was talking about — but I hadn't realized that he had given it any thought at all since we had emptied the envelope of its notes.
"And your mysterious giver would likely be the new carpenter for the theater company," surmised Matt. "Paying you back out of his wages. Wouldn't it?"
"Yeah. I've thought of that, too," I admitted. "He doesn't know that I suspect him ... so I guess I'm surprised that he gave it back. Not many pickpockets pay back their victims."
"Unless, of course, they're not real pickpockets," Matt pointed out.
"He was pretty real," I said. "I didn't feel a thing when my wallet vanished. I wouldn't have had a clue what happened to it if he hadn't left it on the floor near the bar."
"I meant maybe he's not one professionally," said Matt. "But if he's that good, it seems rather unlikely it's a skill he just picked up somewhere for fun."
"Of course, he's never taken anything else," I said. "He did say he works odd jobs whenever they come his way." He had stolen my money to make up for the deficit between jobs, I suspected. So had he paid me back because he felt guilty? Or to cover his tracks in the village, so he could stick around longer without attracting the notice of the law?
"I don't know which version of him is real," I confessed to Matt. "I really want to believe he's changed. He's a charming, interesting guy. Nobody wants him to waste his life — or his talents — as a thief and a vagrant." Not the 'fast learner' whose modern Mercutio managed to be both comic and bitter in his expression.
"Do you think this experience can change him?" Matt asked me.
"Do you?" I replied.
Matt drew a deep breath. "I think a lot of things can be changed inside of us," he said. "Instincts to run, to fight �
�� to lash out or shrink away. Instincts of preservation, of fear, of anger or even love. So ... I do believe it. I think if Riley has a compelling reason to change, he'll make the best effort he can in order to claim something more valuable than his old habits. He'll behave counterintuitively in the face of temptation."
"That sounds like a very scientific explanation," I teased him. "Except for that first part. The beautiful little speech about human emotions that you cluttered up with a hypothesis."
"You married a scientist," he countered, his voice dropping into a certain tone that made me shiver. "Maybe you should have fallen in love with a poet instead. He would talk romantic nonsense to you every time, without a bit of logic."
"No explanations, no numbers," I replied, my voice low and soft, too. "Perish the thought. I think I prefer the scientific romantic."
We were both quiet for a moment, as Matt massaged my fingers. "I think the real test will be what Riley does after the play," he said. "If he goes back to his old life, or begins a new one."
"What would the new one be like?" I said. "Especially if he has ... well, 'unfinished business' in the old one?" I thought about possible arrest warrants for Riley across Europe, for artfully picking pockets and maybe a few petty thefts in between. Not to mention working without a permit.
"I suppose it depends on what the old one was like," said Matt. "We don't know the answer to that question."
"I'm not trying to exonerate him just because he's a fellow American, you know," I said. "I really do think he's someone who deserves a better chance. And it's not because he's a little charming, either."
"I'll confess to wishing he was a little less handsome and winning," said Matt, with a wicked smile playing around the edges of his lips. "But you seem very happily settled, so I suppose my fears are needless."
"You don't think he'd fall for an old married woman like me?" I said.
Matt pressed my hand against his lips, the heat of his kiss brushing against them. "I'm hoping that a glimpse of her able-bodied, jealous husband prevented any such thoughts for him."
All possible suspicion over a few post-wedding stones had now vanished, and I was more than ready to banish all talk about pickpockets, mystery envelopes, and Shakespeare for the rest of the night.
***
"Tell me the truth," said Katie. "Why did you dodge having your photo taken? Was it because you're so hideous you're afraid to have the world see you?"
Her teasing brought a slight blush to Riley's cheeks. "No reason," he said. "Will you stop ragging me about that day? So I don't like being in the papers. Lots of people avoid having their names and faces in print."
"How about on Twitter? Facebook?" said Katie. "What if I took a selfie with you and shared it with all my friends back home?"
"Um, I'd have to smash your phone," he said. "And then I'd have to kill you and bury the body somewhere no one could find it. Ted's got an old trench somewhere in the back of his property." He winked at her after having directed a menacing glare at her with his words.
"Ooh, I'm scared," said Katie. "Now I'm thinking you're a vampire — aren't they invisible in photos?"
"That's mirrors, I think," I supplied, as I helped Gerard and Martin move the 'car' onto stage — one of Gerard's modern set pieces, painted to look like a modern American luxury hotrod.
"You got me. I'm a vampire," said Riley to Katie. "I'm really moody and sensitive, and into wearing black. You've noticed my fangs, right?"
"Nope. Not a trace," she said. "Open your mouth," she said, taking hold of his chin. "Let me see this lethal hardware you're sporting."
"Uh-uh. They're invisible," he answered, although it sounded unintelligible with his mouth open.
"Too bad. I almost believed you," she said. "But there's no evidence to prove your story." She let him close his mouth, but her hand was still touching his face. When she started to move it, Riley took hold of it, pretending to inspect a bandage wrapped around her finger, where Katie had acquired a paper cut yesterday.
"Maybe I'll show you sometime," he said, as his finger traced her own, briefly. "When there's nobody watching."
Their eyes met. Those lingering looks were only waiting for the rest of us to be far away onstage for it to become a moment beyond a simple glance or touch.
"It looks lovely, darlings!" A voice from the auditorium called to us, and broke that moment between them to pieces, as well as the rest of the crew's concentration for moving the one-dimensional car. Millie was below, leaning on crutches that seemed draped in the flowing sleeves of her loud black and maroon blouse.
"Millie!" said Lorrie. "How are you, love?" She climbed down the steps and gave the theater's founder a hug.
"Feeling a bit weary of being trapped at home," said Millie. "Since I have finally mastered my crutches, I thought it was only fitting that I come to observe the progress of our little modern production."
Things had improved lately — which is to say, the last few rehearsals showed promise as our script took shape, and our actors finally learned their lines. Gerard's sets conveyed the bleak modern look of somewhere between Beverly Hills and Manhattan, I imagined — and, most importantly, everyone was finally enjoying themselves.
"I can't wait to see it," said Millie, who was breathless by the time they helped her up the steps to a waiting chair. "I'm positively tingling with anticipation at the thought of opening night."
"Aren't we all?" I said, brightly, as I emerged from behind the newly-positioned car.
"Ah, my director," trilled Millie, holding out her hands. "My dear girl, I'm so grateful that you've agreed. You know, it was my chief desire that this production have the air — the flavor — of the modern American cliche."
I wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but I knew better than to ask. "I only hope you'll be happy when you see it on opening night," I said. And that Neville doesn't write a horrible review about us.
"Am I in time to witness a performance, I take it?" she said, after releasing both of my hands, which had been gripped with enthusiasm. "Darlings, please continue. Don't let me hold you back."
I tried not to look nervous. "Sure," I said. "Great. Let's get started." I looked down at the clipboard in my hand, where I had scribbled the order of scenes for today — and changed them a few dozen times. Didn't my manual on Directing for Beginners say not to do that?
The first scene was with Rosie as the nurse and Loreena as Juliet. Loreena was good — she had been the lead in the spring production of Cyrano — and played modern Juliet with plenty of youthful fun and fire. Katie was playing Lady Capulet; despite her youthful age and her claims that she was terrible, I felt she wasn't bad at all.
Next, a scene with Andy, Nick, and Riley. Using the car as a prop and the empty stage as a vast 'garage' belonging to Romeo's father, they paced through dialogue vastly different from Shakespeare's original of course. This time, they were partly in costume, with Nora wheedling Martin into loaning Riley decent togs for his role as one of Romeo's rich friends.
"Come on — if you could see inside me, you'd see it's over," said Andy. "I'm done. I've been lit up inside by her, and I can't be anything else." His American accent wavered, but he didn't abandon it. I knew that Andy spent a lot of hours watching reruns of Entourage on DVD at home.
"That's garbage," scoffed Riley. "Let's pull you out of this illusion's dumpster, moron, where you're clearly buried in trash up to your ears. That's what love is — trash. Snap out of it."
"Shut up about my feelings," said Andy. "You just don't get it, do you?"
"Like I said before, we're wasting daylight on this conversation. Why can't you take a good friend's advice? We're good friends, aren't we? You and me?" Riley — Mercutio — slid off the car's hood now.
"Look, we didn't mean any harm by going there. I'm not saying it was smart ... but ... I don't know."
"What's wrong?"
"I had this dream —"
"A dream? Seriously? Me, too. You weren't sleeping last night, too, were
you?" A few snickers came from the cast members waiting in the wings.
"Well, what did you dream about?" scoffed Andy.
"I dreamed that dreamers tend to lie to other people. Somehow, I think it's probably true."
"Yeah? Well, sometimes, people see the truth in dreams. The real truth about themselves."
"Oh, I see. You've had a vision. Maybe an angel or a fairy revealed it to you." Riley's serious voice and expression changed to a mocking one of mystery. "Like when you're a kid, and you think the tooth fairy is coming to leave you a dollar. You believe in that one, too? Because I'll bet there's a whole society of people who believe that fairies really plant dreams in your heads —"
Andy rolled his eyes and tried to move away, but Riley had him by the shoulders now.
"Seeds of love, right in the brain. Suddenly — a vision of romance springs to life —"
"Knock it off," said Andy, brushing his hands away. "All right? You're talking about stupid stuff. I'm being serious."
"That's what dreams are, my friend," said Riley. He was more serious now, without a trace of laughter. "They're nothing, Romeo. They mean nothing. They're made up of old memories, of unfinished business. Whatever you saw, it's just like air. If you can't touch it, if you can't hold it, it's not something you can keep. Remember that. For my sake, all right?" For the first time in several lines, he cracked a smile while looking at Andy.
He walked with a confident swagger, knowing just when to gesture or change his tone. But it sounded natural, and because the whole scene was meant to feel like a casual conversation — albeit with slightly creaky dialogue in places — it seemed almost real. Except for Andy's accent, of course.
At the end of the scene, Millie's applause was the first to be heard. "That was well done," she said. "Satisfactory — quite satisfactory. You especially," she said to Riley. "You have a gift, young man. Do not neglect it. We would be happy to have you with us for as long as you wish."
"Thanks," said Riley. "But this is just temporary. Me in the village. I'm just having some fun with it while I'm here."