by JS Taylor
“As in… naughty private?” I’m shocked.
James shrugs. “People weren’t so prudish back then, as people imagine. And rich people had staff around them constantly. They needed some place where everyone knew to leave them be. Hence a secret garden.”
We’re still walking past the red-brick wall. And I slide a glance at his face, wondering if he’s suggesting we get up to anything in the garden. But his demeanour is sad.
“I used to go into that garden before,” he whispers. “When I was… Back when I had a problem with drugs.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him talk about it so honestly. Is he finally opening up? I feel my fist clenching, willing him to say more. But he’s dropped into silence again.
“I’d love for you to tell me about that time,” I say carefully.
James shakes his head. And I know I’ve lost him again. “Another time, perhaps.”
Always another time.
I pull his hand, forcing him to stop and turn to me.
“Wait,” I say. “I want…” I think for a moment, trying to best say the words. “I want you to let me in,” I say. “Please.” I squeeze his hand and look pleadingly into the dark features of his face. “Tell me.”
For a moment, his eyes are locked on mine. And I realise he’s about to talk. I hardly dare breathe, concentrating instead on his face. As always, I find myself drawn in by his perfect features. The level cheekbones, expressive brows, and mouth are almost completely even. But a slight tilt to his nose and wide jaw give him a more rugged, roguish look.
He’s still wearing his outfit from filming – grey flannel trousers and a linen shirt. In the dusk light, the uncharacteristic outfit gives him the air of a tragic poet.
“Isabella.” He grits his teeth, as though speaking has suddenly become painful. “I can’t tell you what you want to know.”
Disappointment floods through me.
I am stunned, hurt, and lost. This man is the love of my life. How can I give him the love he deserves if he won’t let me in?
“I’m sorry.” His voice is shaking with sincerity. “Truly.”
“But why?” I press, moving my thumb to stroke his hand. “Do you think I would see you differently? I wouldn’t. I love you.”
He breaks eye contact, looking away.
“Do you remember when you came to my hotel room at Claridges?” he asks, still gazing down. “Our first kiss?”
“Of course I remember,” I say.
Every last second.
“At the time,” he says, “I told you I wasn’t strong enough to stay away from you.”
“And?” I feel my stomach turn.
“And now,” he sighs, “I’m not strong enough to lose you.”
I open my mouth to reply, but he puts a single finger over my lips.
I close my eyes, feeling the warmth of the contact, mingled with pain.
“Isabella,” he says. I open my eyes to find his steady green gaze filling my vision. “I’ve moved forward from who I was,” he manages. “I’m still broken. But the person I was before. Believe me. You wouldn’t have wanted to know him.”
I reach up and clasp his hand at the wrist, moving his hand gently away from my mouth.
“I would,” I protest, “I do. I’m ready to love everything about who you are. Why can’t you see that?”
I twist my mouth, trying to think how best to put it.
“Remember what you said to me,” I press, “after the flamenco? You said that nothing I could say would make you love me less. I feel the same way, James. I love you no matter what. You can tell me anything.”
James looks at me for a long moment, as if hardly daring to believe what he’s hearing. Then he shakes his head.
“Can you go on with me, not knowing about my past?” he asks. The words come out as barely a whisper. I can hear his breath is held.
“I don’t know,” I admit. In the surge of confusing feelings, I realise the main problem in my decision is James. His proximity. With Mr Berkeley standing so close, his body heat warming mine, I can barely think straight at the best of times.
“Can I… Can I have some time to think?” I ask. I try to make my tone reassuring, but his face falls instantly. I feel it like a knife in my heart.
Oh James. I’ve hurt you.
I reach up to stroke his cheek.
“I just need to think baby,” I whisper. “I love you. It’s just… It’s a lot to ask, ok? You know everything about my past. I want to know all of you. Every little bit.”
“But why?” He sounds so pained.
I run my thumb along his jaw. “Because you need to know that I accept you,” I say. “All of you. That’s what love is about. Trusting each other to accept our faults, as well as our good parts.”
Something switches in his face, as though he’s finally understanding my point of view.
Then just at that wrong moment, my phone beeps. In the growing dusk, the sound makes us both jump.
James smiles first, then reaches in my pocket. Just his light touch at my waist makes me quiver.
“From Callum,” he says, passing me my phone. James looks relieved, and I realise the window of opportunity to get closer has closed.
“They’re in the pub,” I explain, remembering the earlier invitation. “Callum wanted to see an English pub. They’re all in there now.”
I pause fractionally, wondering if Callum extended the invitation to James. Perhaps it’s not usual for the director to mix in with the cast and crew socially.
“Did you want to go?” I ask.
James shakes his head firmly.
“I’ve arranged a party for tomorrow evening, when we’re all back in the studio,” he says. “I’ll see everyone there.”
“A party?” I ask.
“Just a small event. A little celebration that we’re finally back on track with the filming. It’s fancy dress,” he adds. “It will be fun.”
“I guess I’d better find an outfit,” I say, wondering how that’s going to be possible in a day.
“You’ll have access to the entire costume department at the studio,” he says. “It won’t be difficult.”
I grin at him. “So what’s to stop you coming out tonight as well?”
“It’s bad luck for the director to socialise too much with the cast and crew,” he says.
“I’d never heard that,” I say.
James gives a little smile. “I like to keep a professional distance from my employees.”
His eyes slide to mine. “At least that’s the usual way of things,” he adds, bringing his arms to circle my waist and pulling me close. “But sometimes, a certain, very gifted actress slips through the Berkeley armour.”
“She must be very gifted indeed,” I murmur, my face inches from his, “but I don’t think she’s broken through your armour yet.”
“Oh, she is gifted,” says James, “and strong, and beautiful.” He begins lazily kissing my mouth between words. “And she has a way of saying things that makes you think about everything differently.”
“Oh, she does?” I flutter my eyelashes against him as he touches his mouth against mine.
“Yes, she does.” James lips move to my neck. “And she has so much faith in human nature, it makes you want to be part of her world. Even if it means joining the human race again, when you’ve been out of it a while.”
I smile as his lips brush the sensitive skin along my collar bone.
“It sounds as though that armour is a hindrance, Mr Berkeley. Perhaps you should shed it altogether.”
“My armour has its uses.” He straightens up, and his eyes are sexy and mischievous. “And besides, this actress has already got rid of more than she could know.”
“Has she?”
It doesn’t feel that way sometimes.
He notices the hesitation in my voice, and his face sets into an unreadable expression.
“You should go to the pub,” he says. His tone is casual. But something in his
voice suggests there isn’t room for argument.
“You’re sure you don’t want to come?” I say. “I’m sure we could find you a good luck charm to ward off any evil influences of fraternising with the crew.”
“I already have a good luck charm.” He smiles, pulling me in for a final kiss. “But I have a lot of work to do on the film tonight. A director’s work is never done.”
I frown at him, because I’m not entirely sure he’s telling the truth. In fact, I’m certain that he’s pulling away again. Off to re-adorn that armour which he says I’ve got rid of.
Chapter 4
James refuses to let me walk alone to the pub. It’s only a half mile, down a quiet country lane, but he won’t hear of it.
“It’s getting dark, Isabella,” he says, his voice stern. “Do not think for a moment I’ll have you walking alone.”
I open my mouth to disagree, but the look on his face makes me shut it again.
Maybe it’s better to let Mr Old-Fashioned take the lead. This time.
I come to regret my decision, however, when James insists on a suited driver to ferry me the tiny distance to the local pub.
On the small lane, the shiny BMW stands out a mile off. And as we arrive, I can see the pub itself is a typical country venue. It’s tiny, crookedly built with black half-timbered beams and rickety little windows. The swinging sign announces the name to be the Fox and Hounds and is painted with a pack of dogs chasing a frightened fox.
Uggh. I hate fox hunting.
I find myself wondering if James’s family indulges in the sport. It’s not uncommon for landed aristocrats in England.
As the car slides to a halt, I realise I’m about make a more noticeable entrance than I’d like. There’s a bench outside the pub with two local men sat drinking and smoking. Their eyes widen as the shiny car stops.
As if my transport wasn’t showy enough, I haven’t had time to dress for the pub either, since my clothes are in storage. So, apart from a quick shower and change of underwear, I’m still wearing the fashionable pencil skirt and low cut blouse which my character Grace wears in the newsroom.
The high speed shower has taken off some of my screen make-up. But I’ve still got enough mascara and foundation on my face to look as though I’m deliberately preened for a big night out.
It’s as much as I can do not to face-palm in embarrassment as one of the local pub goers wolf-whistles at my exit from the car.
To my relief, I spot Callum inside through the window. So I stride quickly past the benches and push open the creaky wooden door.
Inside, the ceilings are so low I have to duck my head, and the summer heat has made the inside a little stuffy. The small interior has a well-worn red carpet, a slew of mismatched dark wood tables and chairs, and the familiar beery smell which village pubs foster.
“Issy!” Callum waves me over. He is ringed by a small cluster of drinkers who, doubtless, spotted the famous Mr Reed and came for an autograph.
Typical Callum, I think, to make time to hang out with them. He is a star through and through. I wonder if I’ll ever be approached by fans, and how I’d handle it. I don’t think I’d enjoy being approached by strangers, the way Callum and Natalie seem to. I guess it’s something I might have to work on.
The rest of the cast and crew are arranged around various tables. And most are well on their way to being tipsy. I spot Kristy, the pink haired make-up girl, and Camilla, both giggling with half pints of beer.
Good. Less likely they’ll notice that I’ve been gone for two hours and not managed to change my clothes.
Now so many people know about James and I, it’s not so much a closely guarded secret. But I’d still die of embarrassment if they knew what I’d spent the last few hours doing.
Natalie is sat with David, the props handler. She is surprisingly low-key, dressed in tight jeans and a loose sweater top. Admittedly, her hot pink ballet flats have ‘Guess’ emblazoned across them. But she’s obviously trying to blend in.
Callum is rosy-cheeked from the heat of the pub. But true to his clean status, he is clutching a pint of water, rather than a beer.
I head towards them, taking the chance to type out a quick message to James.
Don’t work too hard baby. Love you. Xx
I arrive at the little cluster of tables and distribute hugs. Camilla gives a squeak of excitement.
She looks ethereal at the best of times. But Camilla is even more fairy-like tonight, with her blonde hair pinned to fall in tendrils over her pretty face and her long figure clad in a floaty white dress. She looks like a model from a Calvin Klein ad.
“I didn’t think you’d come!” she cries. Then her brain catches up with her words, and she claps her hand over her mouth. “I mean… I thought… Well you know.” She’s bright red now.
Poor Camilla. She shouldn’t have to keep James and I’s secret. It’s too hard for her to lie.
“Siddown,” says Natalie, patting a chair. I fight to keep the surprise from my face.
Natalie. Friendly. Huh?
I take the chair slowly, wondering what’s prompted this bout of bonhomie. Surely she hasn’t actually learned her lesson?
“You should give me your phone number,” says Natalie, leaning close. “I’ve taken everyone else’s.” She waves her phone airily, in coral-coloured fingernails. “It means we can make arrangements. You know. To socialise.”
To socialise? With Natalie. Wow.
This coming from the girl who spent all her time with her entourage and couldn’t even remember Camilla’s name.
I catch Camilla’s eye, and she shrugs. Her expression says: I guess miracles are possible after all.
“Ok,” I reply, smiling. “Sure.”
If Natalie has decided to be a reasonable human being, I want to encourage her in every way. Natalie hands me her phone and I tap out the number. She takes it back, looking pleased.
“This is great,” she decides. “I’ve got everyone’s contact now. We can arrange things and prank each other. This will be fun.”
I stare at her. “Prank each other?” I’m one step away from snatching her phone back and deleting my number.
“Yeah,” beams Natalie. “We used to do it on movies when I was younger. It was great.” She catches my expression. “Not like, bad pranking,” she clarifies. “Just, you know, fun stuff. Bonding.”
Hmmm. I guess we’ll see about that.
I suddenly realise that James hasn’t texted back from my earlier message. Strange. He usually replies instantly. Probably he’s immersed in some directorial work and isn’t checking his phone.
I send him another quick message, whilst no one’s looking.
I guess from your silence that you ARE working too hard ;) love you. Xx
It’s so hard to stop thinking about him. He’s like a drug. Every moment I’m away, I just want more. Maybe this is what addicts feel like. If so, I can understand why it’s so hard to kick the habit. Living without Mr Berkley doesn’t bear thinking about.
“Hey Issy,” calls Callum from the next table. “These local guys here know James. Knew him from a young boy. Want to hear some stories about our director?”
Do I ever. I smile to myself. If only Callum knew just how much I wanted to know about James’s past.
The local sat by Callum is in his fifties, and judging by his lean body and sun-spotted face, works as a farmer.
“I saw little Lord Berkeley a few times when he was growing up,” says the farmer obligingly. “Very good-natured little soul he was. But quiet, with a sadness about him, even for a young boy.”
Callum raises his eyebrows at me, as if to suggest that not much has changed.
The farmer takes a long sip of his beer.
“It’s the other one that was bad news,” he added. “The stepbrother. Ben.”
Ben Gracey.
“That one was like a dog on heat,” adds the man with a loud sniff. “Many a young woman with a broken heart and worse, over that one.”
>
I realise that Camilla has stiffened beside me. Her face is rigid, as though she’s trying not to cry.
Poor Camilla. She’s still not over Ben.
I feel a flash of helpless rage. Ben preyed on Camilla when she was young and vulnerable, imagining her to be wealthy. Then when he discovered she didn’t have money, he ditched her.
Now Lorna is caught up in his spell. And there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it.
Ben is such a scumbag.
“Tell us more about James,” I say, to change the subject. I realise suddenly that all eyes are on me. And that what I’ve said might be misconstrued.
“Are you the leading lady then?” asks the man. He leans forward on his chair, openly staring. I look away, disconcerted by his intent gaze.
Suddenly my phone rings, and I reach for it gratefully, glad of the distraction.
“Um, excuse me for a moment,” I say, scrabbling for it.
“We think Isabella will be a very big star,” I hear Callum saying as I locate my phone and pull it out.
I expect to see James’s name on the display. But to my puzzlement, it’s a private number. From a dialling code I don’t recognise. I check the time.
Who would be calling me at 9pm in the evening from a private number?
I stand to take the call, heading outside.
“Hello?” I push open the door and step out into the warm night air as the call connects. Luckily, my earlier admirers have headed home, and it’s just me out here now.
“Isabella?” The voice sounds faintly foreign.
“Yes?”
“It’s Eliza.”
I take a moment to compute. “Lady Berkeley,” she adds.
I feel a surge of unease. Why is Lady Berkeley calling me?
“Is everything alright?” I blurt.
“Oh. Yes, yes,” she says quickly. “So sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to alarm you. Calling so late. But I wondered if you knew where James was? I can’t seem to find him, and I wanted to check which part of the grounds you’d all be leaving from tomorrow. We’ve just been told there’ll be some migrating birds arriving, and I wanted to make sure they’re not disturbed.”