I wondered, briefly, just what Flora had to offer him to entice him to work with a woman who, in his opinion, was an unknown amateur, even though Beth was well known in the Seattle amateur theater circle. That was nothing compared to his fame. What kind of a struggle had he put up? And how welcoming would he be to Beth?
Flora pointed to a tall, well-built, gray-haired gentleman with his back to us standing with a group of people near the bar. Though he was clearly middle-aged, from the back, his broad shoulders were straight and square. He stood tall, like a younger man.
Flora walked up and tapped him on the shoulder. "Malcolm? There's someone I'd like you to meet."
He turned around and Beth, much to my surprise, froze. Star-struck?
Malcolm had not lost his looks. Well, easy for me to say—I had no idea what he'd looked like as a young man. But the man before us was handsome by any definition. A real silver fox with a close-cropped beard that still had a few strands of auburn in it. And Beth seemed to be…speechless? Flustered?
Flora introduced us to him.
"Aye," he said to me. "You're about Sam's size. You'll do. I think we can fix you right up with a wedding gown that will stun the masses. We'll measure you tomorrow and get right on it." He turned and took Beth's hand. "My new assistant. Pleased to meet you, ma'am." His eyes twinkled. He was clearly yanking her chain about being his assistant.
Beth's mouth worked, but no words came out. Until she broke into laughter. "Pleased to meet you, too. But you seem to have mistaken my role in this business. I'm the bride's mother." She puffed up, full of happy mockery, exaggerating her importance. "What the bride's mom wants, the bride's mom gets. I'm no one's assistant."
"Is that so?" he said. "I thought it was the bride's role to be bridezilla?"
"Ever heard the phrase, If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy?" Her lips twitched. She was trying so hard not to smile.
"Can't say as I have," he said. "But no matter. We'll soon have our roles straightened out." He winked at her. "Can I get you a drink? You look thirsty."
"Well, if I'm so parched I actually look thirsty, how can I resist?" Beth followed him the few steps to the bar.
I glanced at Austin and whispered in his ear, "Did you just see what I saw? Are they actually flirting with each other?"
Austin shrugged. "It's not surprising, is it? They're both single. And they have a creative profession in common. Beth loves men who sew and design. I'm proof of that."
I stared after them. "It doesn't actually hurt that he's a silver fox, either."
Austin laughed and put his arm around me. "I've known more than one woman who's been swept off her feet by a hot Scot."
"Or a fake one." I slid my arm around his waist.
"Who are you calling fake, lass?" He leaned down and kissed me.
Yeah. Who was I calling fake?
I had my fitting the next morning in my hotel room after Austin and I signed the paperwork sealing our deal. I sent him out to hang out with the guys. I was sure he would have been happy to stay and help—he actually liked measuring and sewing and talking costumery. He even offered his assistance and support. But I didn't need him in the peanut gallery egging Malcolm and Beth on. I had my hands full as it was with the two of them flirting shamelessly. They'd been out late together last night. Now suddenly I was turning into mother hen and worrying. My, how the tables had turned.
It soon became apparent that I hadn't been imagining things. Beth and Malcolm very definitely were attracted to each other. Like, zing! Chemistry in spades. Love at first sight? If not love, major infatuation. I had never seen Beth like this. But if she was happy, I was happy, if somewhat stunned. Maybe Beth had found her lovely Scot too?
Okay, it was early days. But even a vacation romance would be something for her to celebrate.
Usually Beth was the one carefully scrutinizing the newcomer and checking out how they took measurements, making sure they didn't screw up. She had a steely, unnerving way of watching and commenting about the person with the tape measure in their hands and their method of using it. Ask Austin about his first experience taking my measurements under Beth's watchful eye. This time, she was the one who was nervous.
I had never seen her tremble in the slightest when she measured anything or anyone, no matter how challenging. Measuring was second nature to her. But now, under the eye of an award-winning designer—an attractive, charming designer—she was as nervous as an apprentice again.
Malcolm watched her with the steely, appraising eye that was usually Beth's purview. And it was pretty obvious that the appraising wasn't all about the way she took measurements. I stood stock-still, afraid to breathe and cause anyone to mess up. I was just the dressmaker's dummy in this new love equation. And it was almost as if they'd forgotten I was there.
Eventually, they relaxed with each other. But measuring me became a game, a way of flirting. Beth and Malcolm teased and bantered and argued while they took a zillion measurements. I argued, pointlessly, again, that I was already the most measured woman in the world. Beth had every measurement she needed already. But they were having too much fun to listen to me.
"You've lost a little weight since your accident," Beth argued. "We want everything perfect for your wedding. You want this dress to fit like a glove, don't you?"
I grumbled. "Don't get too attached to this thinness. If nature has its way, I'll soon be back up to fighting weight again."
"Then we'll make adjustments," she said, patiently and happily, sounding as if making adjustments, of all things, would actually be fun. Well, it was certainly another way to spend time with Malcolm. Though, personally, I could think of better ways.
After they finished measuring every inch of me, they prepared to head out to shop for dress materials. Malcolm knew all the best places to buy fabric and notions. He had connections all over the city, wholesale places he could get into that were off-limits to the general public. He knew vendors who made fabrics using the old-fashioned methods necessary for authentic period pieces. Wait—just how historical were they planning to make my dress?
Malcolm headed to his room to freshen up and make a few calls, promising to meet Beth in the lobby. I wondered if he was going to throw on a dash more cologne.
After he left, Beth grabbed my arm and whispered, "A man who loves to shop and knows how to do it." She shivered with delight and rolled her eyes, sighing happily.
"Yeah," I said. "A rare breed indeed."
"And his accent!" She sighed again. "Don't you think he looks a bit like Jamie's uncle on the show?"
Jamie's uncle on the show was a buff, middle-aged, fierce warlord of the clan. Malcolm, for all his middle-aged contemporary hotness, was much more artsy. He didn't strike me as the warlord type, fortunately. But I didn't say any of that. Let Beth have her fantasies. We couldn't all be doubles for Jamie characters.
I smiled and nodded. "A bit." If you stretched it. He had the gray hair.
"I'd like to see him in a kilt, that's for sure."
"I bet you would."
"Oh, I nearly forgot," Beth said. "We're checking out of the hotel this afternoon, Malcolm and I, along with a few of the other show people. There's really no need for us on the promo tour. Especially not when we have so much else to do. We're heading to Malcolm's studio in Inverness to get busy."
I raised an eyebrow. "To 'get busy'?"
"An unfortunate turn of a phrase."
"Or not," I said.
"Blair!" She shook her head. "I barely know the man." She took a quick look at herself in the mirror. "Oh. I'd better touch up my makeup and get going. Don't want to keep Malcolm waiting."
"No. We wouldn't want that." I smiled. "Say goodbye before you dash off to Inverness."
Chapter 9
Blair
Six promo events in two days in Glasgow, then off to Edinburgh for more. After that, Inverness. I was looking forward to seeing Connor and Samantha again. Especially after answering so many questions about them. The fans at th
e promo events were there because of their love of Jamie more than any love of us. In other words, Jamie fans, not necessarily Austin and Blair fans. They came out of curiosity—just how close were we to the originals? How good were our costumes? Everyone loves a celebrity impersonator.
The events were pretty much the same from one to the next and began to blend together in my mind. Flora shepherded us to them with her usual calm and made sure everything ran smoothly and that we were taken care of. She was very good at her job. Efficient and diplomatic. Organized. I sometimes wondered what would happen if she lost her phone, which had her planner on it. Catastrophe!
At the events, we shook hands and posed for pictures with fans in front of huge posters advertising the upcoming season. Sometimes we were on a small stage. Sometimes we had a podium. Sometimes we were just in a roped-off area in the center of a shopping area or mall.
We answered questions, which were always pretty much the same and quickly became monotonous. But at least they didn't stump us.
What's going to happen next season? (They were always trying to tease spoilers out of us. It was easy to plead ignorance. We didn't have any inside information. No clue.)
How closely does the new season follow the books? How much of the books will it cover? What is Connor really like? (Usually said with a sigh. Connor had groupies. Lots of dedicated diehard fans. That was certain.) Is Connor as much fun in person as he appears to be? Is it true that he's broken up with his girlfriend? How much like Jamie is he really? What is Samantha like? Where will you be filming?
We got a few cosplayers asking about our costumes and how we made them. Any tips? And how did we get this wonderful gig? Would the show be looking for replacements anytime soon? There was a question, right? Sometimes you had to wonder about the nerve of people and what they were thinking. As if we wanted to work ourselves out of this job and hand it over to someone else. We had pretty much fallen into our roles. There was no way to replicate our success or the events that led up to it. Even we couldn't repeat it. It wasn't as if we auditioned for the parts.
Along those lines, people with a wide variety of motives showed up in costume at our events. Some of them, probably most of them, just for the fun of dressing up. They went to every event dressed for Jamie. They were just fans. But there were others—and we soon noticed a pattern of these same actors showing up at all of our events—who were clearly trying to usurp us.
One pair of Jamie and Elinor clones were almost comical in the attempts. One of those sets of people who didn't realize just how bad a job they were doing, how little talent they had for the parts, whose costumes were almost farcical in their badness, and who were sure they should be the next us. And didn't ever seem to realize they didn't have a prayer.
There were others, though, who would probably undergo plastic surgery to get what we had. And one woman who dressed her small son and daughter up as Jamie and Elinor and really did nearly steal the show—they were adorable.
It was a good thing our roles were coming to an end soon. We both agreed on this. The professional cosplayers and makeup artists and designers were making a play more and more. If we could do this, so could others. Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but it can be damn annoying.
In Scotland, the events were more exhausting than similar ones at home. To our ears, the Scottish accents ranged from fairly easy to understand to unintelligible—were these people really speaking English? We had to concentrate and ask things to be repeated many times. And I was sure it was strange for the Scottish fans to hear Austin's version of Jamie speaking with an American accent. Which some accused of being Canadian.
Austin really was the draw. And, speaking of his American accent, the Scottish women found it as sexy as the rest of him. He imitated Connor's Jamie so eerily that he really should have been in show business. And if he hadn't just proposed to me in the most romantic way possible, I would have easily been jealous of the way the women fawned and threw themselves at him. Yes, just like Connor did, Austin had women ask him to sign their breasts and handed him panties with their numbers attached. Such was fame.
Our first promo event in Edinburgh was in a modern shopping mall on the waterfront. It was a brightly lit, multistory mall filled with stores you saw in the US. And near enough to the port that it got good traffic from cruise ships, which meant a more international crowd than many places we visited. We were set up on the lower level near the food court and entertainment.
A cruise ship docked just before our scheduled appearance. Jamie was an international phenomenon. Many passengers flocked to see us, some just curious what event was going on. With the tourists from the ship, the lines to see us were longer than usual. People crowded around, overwhelming mall security. And our usual hangers-on were in attendance.
We were posing, shaking hands, and hugging babies—being a minor celebrity wasn't all that different from being a politician in that regard. Suddenly, a commotion broke out at the back of the line and crowd.
A man was yelling, "Blair! Blair! Bloody hell, Blair. Let me through. Let me pass."
I was in meet-and-greet mode, my Elinor mindset. We were used to people calling our names and trying to get our attention. Used to those posers, as we used to say, crashing our events. I assumed security would take care of any disturbance or rowdy guest.
Until the crowd gasped, pointed, murmured, and very politely parted to let the intruder through. I heard murmurs of Reggie. And Nigel.
My heart stopped just as Nigel walked to the front of the line. The crowd, and security, obviously thought this was part of our act. They were breathless with anticipation.
Nigel was dressed elegantly in slacks and a dress shirt, with expensive leather shoes. He was immaculately groomed, his hair recently cut. In another life, my heart would have fluttered with lust at the sight of him. Now all I felt was fury and a small sense of fear.
"Bloody hell, Blair." He took another step toward me. "How could you claim this man didn't kidnap you? What were you thinking? How could you leave me? I love you."
It was subtle, but Nigel held a small, very lethal-looking knife nearly concealed in his hand. The blade was short. But I'd seen the kind of damage a blade like that could do during my stints working emergency. I was pretty sure the people in the audience couldn't see it. And neither could security.
Austin saw the knife at the same time I did. I felt him tense. Austin and I each had a knife in our boots. Since that incident at the hospital fundraiser, I wasn't about to be caught defenseless again. The trick was getting to our weapons. We each signed autographs with tactical pens and had them in hand. But in this case, against a knife, they were inadequate protection.
My mind raced with thoughts of how to protect myself against a knife attack. The best thing was to get out of range. Unfortunately, we were roped in. My physician sense kicked in. If Nigel started slashing, protect the vital organs at all costs.
The audience leaned forward in anticipation. There was no fear there, just a hunger for entertainment. They recognized Nigel, and clearly thought this was a show, a performance for their benefit. Everything that had gone on between us was clearly, so they believed, an act for PR purposes. We were just another trio of publicity hogs. Fame seekers playing off our similarities to real famous people.
Flora, who was the only other person who knew this was no act, froze. I saw her subtly trying to catch security's eye and dial the authorities.
Austin pushed me behind him, putting himself between us. "And so we finally meet." His voice was calm. He almost sounded amused.
How the hell did he keep his cool like that? I had to keep mine, too. While Austin distracted him, I hid myself behind his broad shoulders. I put one hand on Austin's shoulder, maintaining eye contact with Nigel, and trying to reach my knife behind Austin's back in such a way that Nigel wouldn't catch me.
Nigel sneered. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, marring, only slightly, his handsome features. "Joke all you want. You stole m
y woman away in the dark of night. Blair doesn't remember you. She doesn't know you. Hand her back to me now. If you're half the man you claim to be, you'll return her to the man she loves."
"Dude," Austin said, putting on the American accent heavily. "Did you not see the engagement video? She's wearing my ring."
"You brainwashed her." Nigel pointed the blade at Austin.
"Keep him talking," I whispered in Austin's ear while I managed to balance on one foot, keeping upright in that big, heavy plaid Scottish skirt, while I pulled my leg up and reached for my knife beneath mounds of historical undergarments. "I almost have my knife."
Nigel looked at me. "Blair?"
Damn. I didn't need his focus on me.
"I remembered." I got a grip on my knife with my right hand just in time. I was able to put my foot down and stand on both legs. Keeping the knife behind Austin's back, I flashed my engagement ring at Nigel. Austin's right hand was at his side. I slipped my knife into it while Nigel was distracted by my engagement ring.
"What do you mean, you remembered?" He studied me.
"I was always going to remember," I said. "My doctors told you, and me, that my memory loss was only temporary. It was only a matter of time. You only had a few days to get me to fall in love with you again. And you failed."
I had had days at sea to think about, and discuss with Austin, what Nigel's plan and goal must have been. "And now that I think about it, you did everything you could to keep me away from anything that would trigger my memories of anything or anyone but you and our love.
"That's why you squirrelled me away from the world. From Beth. From any contact with the media. From any contact with anyone but those you carefully chose. Like Santo. But then you couldn't resist the temptation of playing Reggie in public. The fame. And you took me to town. And made a mistake."
The crowd leaned forward, enthralled. Yes, this was the performance of a lifetime.
Austin held the knife, ready to strike, but I was determined to prevent any bloodshed.
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