The Promise of Change

by Rebecca Heflin

  Part III

  Chapter 1

  Sarah woke at dawn in her own bed for the first time in almost two months. It was a beautiful late spring morning, the kind of morning that reminded her why she lived in Florida. At least she would catch the tail end.

  The birds already sang, and a gentle breeze stirred the sheers at the open window. She rolled over and grabbed the other pillow, hoping to fall back to sleep, but thoughts of the last few months, and the whirlwind that her life had become, dashed those hopes.

  Her dream had become a reality in a big way. The American and the Aristocrat had not only garnered a book deal, but a movie deal.

  In homage to the writings of Jane Austen, the novel tells the contemporary story of the beautiful, unmarried twenty-eight year old Amelia Hampton, who spends a year in England to fulfill her late Aunt Millie’s wishes before inheriting her estate, the value of which is unknown to Amelia.

  During her stay in England, she meets the handsome and aloof Lord Christen Hare, a member of one of Britain’s noble families and respected member of the House of Lords. In true romantic fashion, the two clash repeatedly.

  She sighed, rising from the bed. She was wasting the day, and after all the time away, she had a stack of mail, and various other chores waiting for her.

  Her decision to turn down the hospital’s offer disappointed her former co-workers and frustrated Mr. Cheswick, who, despite her protests to the contrary, believed her decision was based on lingering resentment over being second choice in the first place.

  He’d get over it, and so would her former co-workers. Maybe the board would be more careful about who they hired next time around, but Sarah argued it should be Kim. By the time they’d hung up, she thought Mr. Cheswick had come around.

  Positioned at the breakfast table with a cup of tea and the mound of mail, she sorted through it, creating separate stacks by levels of importance. There was a letter from Lady Clara halfway through the pile. Lady Clara disdained e-mail, insisting that meaningful correspondence be in the form of pen and paper.

  She shoved the other mail aside and opened it immediately. It was written shortly after she left, so was probably wondering why she hadn’t responded. She’d do that first thing.

  Dear Sarah,

  I hope this letter finds you and your loved ones happy and well. Life here is clacking along at its usual measured pace.

  Her letter continued on for another page informing her of the goings on at Hawthorne Hall and in Oxford. Sarah skidded to a halt at the top of page two:

  I was recently in London visiting a dear friend when I ran into Alex. He spends most of his time there now. It’s a shame that I have to run into my own grandson on the streets of London in order to see him, but he’s been filming on location.

  Sarah’s heart stuttered. Though she’d thought about him almost daily over the past nine months, she hadn’t spoken his name, and neither had Ann or Becca.

  He is looking very well, but of course, that could just be my bias. He’s finished filming his last movie, and is planning a little holiday for himself. His mother actually invited him along on one of her adventures. I believe they are taking a walking tour of Tuscany. What do you think of that? He asked after you, and of course I told him that as of your last letter, you were in excellent health.

  Sarah could hear the insinuation even in her written lines. None of their previous letters broached the subject of Alex. She knew that was difficult for Lady Clara, but she seemed to understand Sarah’s desire not to poke that particular wound.

  Write to me soon, my dear. I want to know all your comings and goings. They’re always vastly more interesting than my dull country life.

  Yours,

  L.C.S.F.

  Time had softened the pain to a dull ache, though it had not yet healed the self-inflicted wound. Sarah wasn’t sure it ever would. Sometimes she thought she’d imagined that perfect week, but then the pain would return, and that was not her imagination.

  He asked about her, but did he think of her, or was he merely being polite? If he did think of her, was it with loathing, or perhaps worse, indifference? She cringed, reminded of a line from the P&P movie: ‘I cannot bear to think that he is alive in the world and thinking ill of me.’

  Shaking off the gloomy thoughts, she retrieved stationary from her office.

  Dear Clara,

  I apologize for the delay in responding to your letter. When you read this, you will understand why it has taken me so long to write. I have so much to tell, that I don’t know where to begin.

  I just returned last night from California, where I met with the director for the movie based on my book. Can you believe it? It’s true! Someone is actually making it into a movie!

  My literary agent and dear friend, Samantha Bethancourt, is a genius! She took the manuscript to another friend and agent at the same time it was accepted for publication, rather than waiting for its release. Her friend apparently had a client who is always looking for adaptable novels. The client loved it, and bought the option right away. Things moved quickly after that. The screenplay was drafted, a studio accepted it, and now we’re off and running.

  I’ve spent the last two months with the director, screenwriter, and pre-production team reviewing the screenplay, looking at the storyboards, set designs, and locations photographs. I leave for London in six weeks, after another two to three weeks in California, to begin production. I’ll be in London for a time, and then we’ll be filming in Oxfordshire, and I would dearly love to see you.

  I would have to kill a few trees to tell you the whole incredible story, so I’ll save it until we’re together. I have to run. Becca and Ann are throwing a party for me tonight to celebrate.

  Sarah read over the letter. Maybe she should say something about Alex. Lady Clara will think it odd if she completely ignores it.

  I’m glad to hear that Alex is well, and that he and his mother are going to spend some quality time together.

  Although slightly lame, that should do it. She finished the letter by adding her arrival date and a promise to call her after she knew her schedule.

  Chapter 2

  When she arrived in London, a car waited to take her to the rented flat that would be her home off-and-on during the film’s production. She couldn’t believe production would get underway this week. She also couldn’t believe she’d get to see her manuscript come to life on the proverbial silver screen. It was times like this when she needed to pinch herself.

  The flat was spacious and inviting, and more importantly, it was on a quiet side street in the exclusive Knightsbridge district of London. Tastefully furnished, with clean lines, neutral colors, and little clutter, it was decidedly masculine.

  On the foyer table sat a basket of fruit and a bottle of champagne with a note attached. It was from Michael Williams, the film’s director, welcoming her to London and explaining that a detailed schedule was on the desk in the study.

  She already knew her first meeting would be tomorrow afternoon to review the casting decisions, followed the next evening by the introduction party, where she would meet most of the actors and crew.

  The schedule was on the desk in the study where Michael said it would be. It looked demanding. Didn’t they believe in sleep? Placing the schedule back on the desk, she noted the study’s floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were lined with books, mostly great works of literature from Austen to Wordsworth. The owner was well-read, or at least wanted to appear so.

  Picking up the basket and the champagne, Sarah carried it into the well-equipped kitchen. Clearly the apartment belonged to someone who loved to cook. The cabinets and refrigerator were thoughtfully stocked with the essentials.

  There were also some of her favorite foods: fresh strawberries, grapes, mascarpone cheese, seven-grain bread, fresh juice, stilton cheese, English Breakfast tea, and of course chocolate. She didn’t recall providing a list of her food preferences but perhaps it was the work of her fabulous agent. At least she didn’t have t
o go out for breakfast in the morning.

  Michael, or most likely his assistant, had been attentive to every detail. The phone rang. Other than the studio, who else knew the number there?

  “Sarah Edwards,” she answered, just in case the caller expected the owners to answer.

  “Sarah? It’s Michael.”

  “Michael, hi. I was wondering who would be calling me here.”

  “How was your flight? Is the flat to your liking?”

  “My flight was fine, and yes, everything is perfect. Thank you for the fruit and champagne.”

  “How about dinner tonight?”

  She gave a mental groan. All she wanted was a hot bath and a comfortable bed. “That would be fine . . . if you don’t mind making it an early one. I’m afraid if I wait too late, jetlag will descend and I’ll fall asleep in my plate.”

  “Seven then?

  “Seven is fine.

  “See you then.”

  The doorbell buzzed. The luggage she’d had shipped over had arrived. Perfect timing. Now she had something to wear to dinner.

  After years in the business, Michael Williams had a lot of insight into what makes a memorable romance on paper an even more memorable movie. And he didn’t mind telling Sarah that. She was lucky to have gotten such a great director, especially since she was an unknown entity. And he didn’t mind telling her that either.

  He wasn’t bad looking. In his mid-fifties, he had thick salt and pepper hair surrounding a tanned face with chiseled features. Tall and fit, he had a confident bearing that commanded attention when he entered a room.

  They sat sipping after dinner drinks in a trendy restaurant not far from the apartment.

  “I can’t believe I haven’t thought to ask you before, but how did you come up with the plot for your very first book? What inspired you?”

  That would be because you’re too busy talking about yourself, she thought. They’d spent weeks together and this was the first interest he’d shown in her craft. Not that he hadn’t shown an interest in her.

  “Um, I’m not sure I could point to any one thing, but the inspiration to actually write came from a friend’s very wise words about doors.” If she could still count Alex as a friend. She didn’t want to go into the whole Bitchkrieg-unemployment-college-manuscript thing.

  “I don’t follow.”

  “I needed a change, and he helped me see that.” She shrugged, as if it were that simple.

  “Well, whatever it was, I’m glad for it. I’m excited about this project, and I haven’t been this excited since I directed From Cairo with Love.” He laughed, his blue eyes sparkling, while laugh lines formed parentheses around his mouth.

  She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she’d never seen the movie. Before he could ask, she jumped in, distracting him with another question. “Are you pleased with the cast?”

  At present, the cast was an unknown to her, but the big reveal would be tomorrow. She’d been involved in many aspects of the pre-production, with the exception of the cast. It was to be a surprise. What was it with men and surprises?

  “The cast is top-notch. You’ll be pleased, I’m sure.”

  Of course she would. She was mortified when she could no longer stifle a yawn. Between the jetlag, the wine at dinner, and the glass of port with dessert, she was suddenly wiped out. “I am so sorry. It’s not the company or the conversation, I assure you,” she laughed sheepishly.

  “I shouldn’t have kept you out so long. Please forgive me.” His voice was kind, but he looked mildly annoyed. “Would you prefer that I call the car, or would you care to walk back?”

  “No, a walk would be nice.”

  He walked her to the door of the apartment building. “Thank you for dinner, Michael, I had a very nice time. I look forward to working with you.” She added the last as an afterthought, hoping to reinforce the label she put on their relationship.

  “Good night then.” He waited until she was safely inside before walking away.

  Chapter 3

  Sarah sat rigid in her chair, wondering why she was so tense. It was absurd. She looked around the generic conference room at the faces of the casting director, Edra Moore, two of her assistants, and an intern. She was about to see, for the first time, the actors who would breathe life into the characters she had so lovingly created.

  “So Sarah, I thought we’d start with the minor characters and work our way up. How’s that sound?” Edra’s musical Irish accent made her sound perpetually cheerful.

  Sarah had liked her on the spot. From their previous conversations, she could tell she’d clearly put a great deal of thought into the character’s personalities, blemishes and all.

  “Sounds great.” Breathe, she told herself.

  “For the role of Aunt Millie’s voice, we have Audrey Cole.” She placed a headshot on the table in front of Sarah. Of course, it didn’t matter what Audrey looked like, since they were only casting her voice.

  “Okay,” was Sarah’s only response. It wasn’t as if she had veto power over who was cast for the movie. This was simply a courtesy.

  Edra proceeded to place additional headshots in front of her identifying the other minor roles each would play.

  “Now we’ve come to the major roles. This is where it gets exciting. Robert Chesser has been cast as Roderick and Angela Freeman as Margaret.” She placed two photos on the table side-by-side.

  Margaret Fitzsimmons, an American ex-patriot, was Aunt Millie’s dearest friend. She and her husband, Roderick, a British diplomat and wealthy business man, ‘chaperone’ Amelia throughout her stay in England.

  It is through them that Amelia and Christen are introduced. Christen and the Fitzsimmons travel in the same social circles, throwing Amelia and Christen together more often than the two would like.

  After giving Sarah a moment to review the photos, she took them away.

  “Lady Victoria Markham will be played by Cynthia Hollingsworth.”

  Sarah looked at the photo of a young woman with long, straight dark brown hair and indigo blue eyes, framed by dark lashes. Lady Victoria is the daughter of a wealthy titled gentleman who was best friend to Christen’s late father, and as Christen’s equal in society is the expected choice as his wife.

  “Good?” Edra asks.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “The role of our lovely heroine, Amelia Hampton, has gone to Brooke Bellamy. Brooke is a rising star in the U.S. and should be a good draw.” The photo was of a lovely champagne blonde, with crystal blue eyes set in an oval-shaped face with delicate features. Her glossy lips were turned up in a soft smile. She looked very much as Sarah had envisioned Amelia.

  More importantly, Sarah hoped she could portray the sharp-witted Amelia, who was particularly close to Sarah’s heart.

  Although a woman from the American middle class, Amelia is not awed by the social circles of the British upper class. Always forthright and honest, she holds her own, sometimes to the dismay of those around her.

  “She appears ideal,” Sarah said, reserving judgment.

  “Finally, in the role of our handsome hero, Christen Hare, we have,”—with a flourish worthy of Vanna White, Edra placed a photo on the table—“Alex Fraser.”

  Sarah’s breath skidded to a halt. Alex’s handsome face stared back at her with his warm, coffee-colored eyes, slightly crinkled at the corners, and the engaging smile that she’d committed to memory, punctuated by irresistible dimples.

  His hair was a little tidier than she remembered it. He wore the black T-shirt typical of an actor’s headshot. She’d never seen him in black. The color made his eyes even darker.

  Sarah didn’t know how long she sat there trying to keep her hand from reaching out to trace the familiar lines of his face, but apparently long enough for Edra to grow concerned. Edra cleared her throat.

  “Isn’t this movie a little outside his genre? I mean, doesn’t he generally prefer literary adaptations?” Sarah struggled to sound neutral. She hoped Edra didn’t h
ear the quaver in her voice.

  “True, but Christen is an allusion to Mr. Darcy is he not, and we think he’s perfect for the part,” she said, seeming unsure of Sarah’s reaction. “It’s as if you had Alex in mind when you created Christen.”

  Sarah suppressed a nervous titter. She couldn’t be closer to the truth. After she’d revised Christen’s character profile from the previous manuscript, she’d realized Alex was her model, at least for the physical characteristics. Alex was too open and amiable to serve as the model for Christen’s aloof personality.

  “No. You’re right. He’s . . . perfect.”

  “Good.” Edra heaved a sigh of relief.

  As soon as Sarah got back to the flat, she shot off a text to Ann and Becca: You’ll never guess who’s playing Christen!

  Ann’s response: Colin Firth! No, Hugh Grant!

  Sarah’s response: No, Alex!

  Ann: OMG! Alex! SRSLY? How does that make u feel? BTW, is he still gorgeous?

  Sarah: IDK. Haven’t seen him F2F.

  Becca’s response: OMG! Apologize. Groveling should b involved.

  Sarah: Right. TNX.

  Curled up on the sofa, Sarah poked at her Chinese take-out between text messages. She’d been invited to dinner after the meeting, but she didn’t have much of an appetite, or much interest in making small talk with people she’d only just met. Her stomach had been doing somersaults since the meeting. The insects in her stomach seemed more like bees than butterflies.

  What were the odds? Of all the British actors, Alex was cast in the role of Christen. Of course, why should that really surprise her? It’s no one’s fault but her own. She created Christen in Alex’s physical image.

  Obviously, when she’d written the book, the odds of winning the lottery were better than getting her book published, and the odds of getting hit by a meteor were better than someone believing in the manuscript enough to produce a movie.