A Star in Cornwall (A Wedding in Cornwall Book 8)

by Laura Briggs

  "Thanks," said Riley. "But this is just temporary. Me in the village. I'm just having some fun with it while I'm here."

  "You like it," scoffed Andy. "Otherwise, you'd have taken the bus to Penzance by now."

  "Yeah, well ..." said Riley. "I've been a lot worse places. And with people I've liked a lot less." Again, his eyes sought Katie for a moment, who was talking with a cluster of cast members. She hadn't heard him, but now their eyes met, and lingered for just a moment with an exchange of friendly smiles.

  "Ah, summer love," said Millie, who was seeing the same thing I was. "I like him, Julianne. He was an excellent choice. And it's nice to have a true American accent. I rather thought we might cast you in a role when I first considered this play, in order to have someone, at least."

  "I would have had to decline," I said. "Strongly. But at least you got what you wanted, right? And you can credit Lady Amanda for that, since she's the one who hired Riley to work on the set."

  "She's been the saving grace of our little society since my unfortunate tumble," said Millie. "And you'll be the same, my dear. If this is what I see on opening night, I shall be pleased to have you with us."

  That is definitely not happening, I thought to myself. "I think I'll be happy to go back to the audience," I told her. "Let's just hope the village enjoys this one."

  "Guess what, everybody!" Rosie had arrived late, holding the paper above her head as she climbed the stage steps. "Neville's piece was printed in the paper!"

  "Is it?"

  "What did he say?"

  "Oh, please tell me I don't look haggard in that photo he took," begged Loreena, who was the first to seize the paper from Rosie. We all took turns looking at the printed column and the cast photos, including a group shot that contained Riley.

  "Hey, it's you — vampire," said Katie, nudging him in the ribs. Riley glanced at the photo. He actually smiled.

  "Not bad," he said. "You look good in color," he added to Katie. "Not like your black and white self in the real world. All about answers, explanations, and the cold hard facts about everyone, aren't you?"

  "Don't make fun of my grounded personality," she said. "Not everybody can be blown to the four corners of the world."

  "You sensible people." He pretended to shake his head in dismay.

  There was nary a trace of dismay for his face in print, or for the story that mentioned him by name and spoke of his handyman skills and amateur theater talents in one. Maybe Riley's past problems weren't as severe as I had feared. Maybe that envelope under my door was the symbolic first gesture of Riley turning over a new leaf in his life.

  ***

  Rehearsals were still eating up my spare time, even with Katie's help, for even though the show was beginning to pull itself together, I found myself skipping tea breaks to reblock scenes, or approve Rosie's latest costume suggestions. It was that, or take my work home with me, which I didn't want to do — not when I could spend that time with Matt. While Katie's brief stint in school drama didn't prove all that helpful, my assistant was still eager enough to help out with little tasks ... especially ones that involved the new handyman.

  Before the next rehearsal, I stopped at Marian Jones's flower shop. As part of my thanks to Katie, I wanted to send her a small bouquet on opening night. A few roses or some carnations, something to brighten her dressing table in the theater tradition of old.

  Unlike Harvey Willow's shop, Marian's was on the outskirts of the village, a small, brightly-lit cottage attached to a vast, glass house filled with blooms. The atmosphere felt tropical and lush, reminding me of Matt's own hothouse, which was always alive with vibrant greenery.

  "Let's see ... there's always glads. Very showy, the colors," she said, perusing the selection in her hothouse beds. "There's roses, of course. I always have roses. Red ones are quite nice."

  "Just something with nice color and a long life in a vase," I said. "I think a half dozen would do, with a card for a little message."

  "Carnations might be just the thing," said Marian, squeezing between some thick green leaf sprays that were blooming little clusters of rosy-purple flowers. "I have some in a lovely pink. Perhaps with a bit of baby's breath to show off the colors." From her back pocket, she pulled a pair of gardening shears and clipped away a few dead blossoms amidst the new, bright ones.

  "Sounds perfect," I said. "Can you deliver them to the theater before opening night? I want to surprise my assistant. She's in the play, you know, as Juliet's mother."

  "The American girl, you mean?" said Marian. "Surely you don't mean Kitty — she moved to Paris, didn't she?"

  "I know, it's a weird coincidence, both of them being among the players," I said. "But this is just a brief fling for Kate. At least, it's not a passion on her part for acting." A passion for Riley, maybe. And if he stayed on until the autumn production, I wondered if she would be tempted, too.

  How close were they? It was just too hard to tell, frankly. Two young people thrown together in a foreign country — definitely friends, possibly thinking about something more. It wasn't the wisdom of an international summer romance that I questioned, so much as Riley's dubious explanations and occasional lies.

  "Something wrong, love?" Marian brought me back to earth as she added my order to her book.

  "Hmm? No, not really," I said. "I was just thinking about something that's none of my business, really."

  "That's common enough in a little village," chuckled Marian. "There. I'll have your flowers delivered on Friday afternoon." She closed her book. "That's the third one I've taken for the theater. Someone's sending a bouquet to Loreena, and one to Martin ... and there's one for Millie, a 'thinking of you' gesture, I believe."

  "None for me, huh?" I joked. No giant blossoms heaped in my arms as the longsuffering director of this production. Not that I would have time to savor them in the midst of opening night jitters.

  "It's early yet," said Marian, with a chuckle. "Perhaps your husband will come around and send you a proper token of his affection." She lifted a potted begonia onto her counter. "There was a fourth order, come to think of it — a little something requested by Mr. O' Connell."

  To Katie? I wondered. "I think he'll probably receive a few dozen himself from admirers," I said. "He's fairly brilliant at the part he's playing. He'll turn a few heads with his talent alone." I thought of Millie's adoration, and that of several local supporters of the theater, who had been hearing the rave reviews about our Mercutio, and imagined tokens of appreciation would soon follow.

  "And with his looks," said Marian, quirking up one eyebrow with this statement.

  "That, too," I said. A few wishful thinkers would probably send Riley congratulations, and an offer for a date. I didn't imagine he would accept, however, unless I was wrong about him. And, frankly, I didn't believe I was, even with all Riley's mistakes.

  "There's your receipt," said Marian, handing it to me. "Good luck with the play. Or, as they say in the theater 'break a leg.'"

  "Thanks," I said. "We're trying." But we could use a push down the stairs, I added, mentally.

  ***

  "Here's to opening night," said Rosie, raising her glass. The rest of us, cast and crew, toasted it with hopes that the enthusiasm in her voice was exactly what we'd be hearing two nights from now.

  "Are you nervous?" Matt asked. His arm was around my waist at our table, his question accompanied by his lips brushing against my ear. I sighed as I settled more closely against him.

  "A little," I said. "I keep thinking about my name in Neville's disappointed column ... you know, the printed symbol of the society's failure?"

  "I might point out it won't be the first time that Millie missed the mark in her choice of play," said Matt. "It won't be your fault ... but, then again, I don't think you'll need to worry. From what I've heard, you've managed to coalesce this doubting company into a company of decent modern theater lovers."

  "That praise is way too much," I said. "At best, they'll pull it off for Millie's
sake, but not for mine."

  "Will that be enough for you?" he teased me.

  "I have no further theatrical ambitions," I assured him. "I think I'll avoid the theater for a few months after this show is over."

  There was plenty of noise in the Fisherman's Rest, which would be overrun nightly by the players until after the closing curtain on Sunday, in addition to all the regulars. Lady Amanda and Lord William were sharing a table with Geoff, and Gemma and Andy were hanging out with a crowd of friends. Even Old Ned was undaunted by the crowds, but made short work of cornering Matthew near the bar later on, and coaxing a free drink from him.

  Katie and Riley were side by side at the theater company's table. They had been nearly inseparable for the past few rehearsals, and plenty of people were joking about the budding summer romance at the theater. At times, I wasn't sure if it had gone that far, or if their flirting was simply a way to hide a deeper attraction. I had seen Riley spend an hour listening to Katie talk about her major, and her hometown back in the States; and I knew she couldn't get enough of Riley's adventures, whether they were tall tales or not.

  And, of course, she couldn't get enough of teasing him over the newspaper incident, although Riley had scarcely reacted to the finished column. I wondered if part of this was Katie's way of reassuring herself that all the doubts about Riley's character were completely unfounded.

  "You should become an actor," said Katie, taking a long sip from her pint.

  "What?" he asked, hiding his smile and a look of surprise. "Why?"

  "Because you have a gift for it," she said. He scoffed.

  "It's not a gift," he said. "I just pick up things fast. I told you. See," he continued. He pulled a coin from his pocket. "Watch this." He held it up between two fingers of his right hand, showing it off. He waved his left hand in front of it, and it vanished from sight.

  "Where did it go?" he said. "Oh ... wait. I see it." Reaching over, he pulled it from Katie's jacket pocket.

  She laughed. "Nice. A magician, too," she said. "You should take your show on the road." She rose. "I want a sandwich. Anybody else?" When there were no takers, she moved on.

  "You really are a jack of all trades, aren't you?" I said to him, crossing my arms as I smiled.

  "Not really. I'm only good at making money vanish," he answered, with a grin. When he caught my eye, I could see an apology in his gaze.

  "You made it reappear, though," I said. "I was glad about that."

  "You knew it was me all the time, didn't you?" He kept his voice quiet, glancing to make sure that no one else was coming back from the bar.

  "I had a feeling," I answered. "But I didn't want to say anything. Because of Katie, if for no other reason. And I was hoping maybe you deserved a second chance, even if you don't think you want one."

  "Second chances," he said. "Those are tricky sometimes. I mean, if you have a hard time being sure what the first chance was all about."

  "You're a free spirit, right?" I said. "Was there ever a concrete destiny in your life?"

  "You'd be surprised," he said.

  Katie slid into her chair again. "What are you two talking about?" she asked. "Planning your future career as a showman?"

  "Um, that's a short answer," said Riley. "No. Maybe I'll stick with being a handyman, at least around here."

  "You are so wasted on this place," she teased him.

  "I'll pretend that I belong," he said. "Acting is pretending, right? And if I try very hard, maybe I can convince everybody that I'm just an ordinary guy trying to make life something interesting for himself."

  "I'm convinced," she said. "See? It's your destiny." Riley laughed.

  "I don't think I'm cut out for it," he said. "I'm just playing pretend. I get sucked into it sometimes, that's all."

  "And that's a gift," she said. "You're good, Riley. Stop pretending you're not. I wish I had your talent. Honest, I'm not kidding."

  "I'm just lucky," he said. "I'm nobody, Katie. Trust me. Pretending to be somebody else doesn't make you special. It doesn't make you any better than the rest of the players."

  "Yes, it does," she answered, seriously. "You are special, Riley." She met his eyes and smiled. The humor disappeared from Riley's, leaving a tender expression.

  "Thanks," he said. "That means a lot coming from you."

  "Anytime," she answered.

  ***

  A half-pint is my customary portion at the pub, and it tends to leave me either sleepy or restless. Lucky for me, it was restless, so Matt and I went for a walk afterwards. Feeling his arm around my shoulders, guiding me closer to him, made up for a long day's work and a long evening's struggle with actors and modern Shakespeare.

  "You smell nice," I said, nuzzling close against his jacket.

  He laughed. "Really?" he said. "I thought I probably reeked of mud and citronella — there's a very large citronella plant close by my work space in the hothouse, and I keep brushing against it."

  "I love the smell of the garden," I said. "Even better than the smell of soap and aftershave."

  "The mark of a true romantic, probably," he teased me.

  "Let's not talk about romantics anymore," I said. "You insulted me enough with that attic comparison last time we debated the subject."

  "I thought you liked it," he protested. "It was romantic, in my opinion."

  Mine, too, not that I would confess it to him right now ... he was only pretending not to know. "Maybe Shakespeare has sucked the romance out of me," I said. "I'm wearing my shoes thin with all this treading across the boards. And my thoughts are chasing themselves in circles in my head."

  "Poor girl." He kissed my cheek.

  "You need a shave," I whispered.

  "You need another one of these." He kissed me again. We paused for a moment, my arms wrapped around his shoulders. Moonlight, a handsome lover, the sound of the water below — even if it was the docks and not the charming beach, what more could a girl ask for to inspire romance?

  "Look below," Matt whispered. Just past Wallace Darnley's boat shed, I spied two figures walking along the shore's edge. In the moonlight, I recognized Katie's jumper, the one she had been wearing earlier this evening.

  "Katie and Riley," I said. "They went for one of their late-night stargazing walks."

  "They picked a beautiful evening for it," said Matt. "Such a pity that all this bright moonlight will impede the view of those constellations."

  The moon was bright, but not yet full; some of the brightest stars could still be glimpsed, along with soft, feather clouds of wispy foam and lavender blue which sailed gently above the dark water. The two figures on the shore were close together, figures whose features and garments were my imagination's picture more than my eye's view: by moonglow, the waves were white ripples, the lights of a distant vessel winking and bobbing on the horizon like signal fires in my childhood visions of desert islands and pirate havens.

  I pinched Matt's arm. "It's just an excuse on their part," I said, pretending to scold him. "Riley probably doesn't care about knowing the difference between Sagittarius and the Pleiades ... he's just interested in going for a walk with a girl."

  "It could be both," argued Matt. "Romance and science might be crossing each others' paths."

  Below, Katie and Riley paused at the water's edge. She was pointing somewhere above, to the brightest star of a constellation. I wondered if her free hand was in Riley's — but then he stooped down and lifted a stone, skipping it across the waves.

  "He'll teach her how next," said Matt. "Watch."

  "Maybe she already knows how," I said.

  "She'll pretend," said Matt. "Won't she?" He met my eyes, gazing deeply into their depths. I forgot to watch the couple below, although I suspected that Riley's second stone was probably in Katie's hand — and that her hand was cupped carefully in his own as he stood behind her, guiding her wrist in its motion.

  "She will," I answered, softly. "We tend to do that if we're interested in a guy."

  "We tend
to take any excuse we can to be close to you," he said. "Even flimsy ones like that."

  He kissed me, both of my hands still joined with his own. We stood there a moment longer, our foreheads close together, both breathing softly and saying nothing, because nothing was necessary. In the distance, a soft splash from a stone landing in the water. I opened my eyes and glanced below to see Katie and Riley laughing, her giving him a playful push the way I often did Matt.

  "Come on," whispered Matt. "I think we should leave them to it. Whatever it is between them." He squeezed my hands and drew me on, towards the street again.

  Instead of the beach, we walked in the gardens of Cliffs House, taking the path through the hedges and flower beds to the cliffs. I was glad I had worn sensible shoes today — a pair of low-heeled ankle boots, which is as sensible as it gets for me. At any rate, it let me walk the long distance from the pub to the manor house, keeping up with Matt in his very sensible work boots.

  By moonglow, the cliffs seemed white: below, the water was a ceaseless, rolling body, as restless as my thoughts in its quest to wash between the stones. Treacherous and beautiful ... those were the right words for it as I enjoyed the cool night air and the warm feeling of Matt's arms around me. I nestled close to him, closing my eyes momentarily to the beauty around me for the sake of the feelings within.

  ***

  I arrived late at Cliffs House the morning of opening night, after a hectic search for a missing shoe and for Matt's car keys, which had both chosen to disappear on the same morning we overslept. After a quick kiss of farewell for Matt, I had hurried off to work, arriving in time to claim the last cup of tea in Michael's kitchen pot. I had a lot to do today, and most of it was for the Cliff's Edge Playhouse before the curtain lifted tonight.

  The cook himself wasn't there, only Katie, who was sitting at the table with an open newspaper instead of her script. From the look on her face, I thought she had had a rather miserable night's sleep. Maybe she and Riley had stayed up too late stargazing, lost in conversation rather than the constellations Katie had been teaching him to identify. I knew that astronomy had been a hobby for her back home, hanging out at the campus observatory. It explained why Riley had bought her a little star pendant recently, which undoubtedly ate into his earnings for the bus ticket, even though it wasn't expensive. Or maybe Katie’s sleepless state was merely from having a second glass of ale at the pub last night, which tended to disagree with her stomach.