The Promise of Change

by Rebecca Heflin

  Turning off the TV, she finished up her e-mail and headed off to bed. It was another early call in the morning.

  Christen: “Ms. Hampton, what you consider hauteur is merely my abhorrence for any actions remotely beneath my dignity to acknowledge.”

  Amelia: “Lord Hare, your perfection continues to be an inspiration to me.” Brooke’s tone was teasing, not serious as Sarah had intended.

  They were in the middle of shooting one of Christen’s and Amelia’s many sexually-charged disagreements, when Michael’s “Cut,” startled her. She was not happy with Brooke’s interpretation of the line, but she hoped that Michael would say something.

  “Brooke, Amelia’s response isn’t intended to be flirtatious. It is intended to be a scathing rebuke of Christen’s self-righteous attitude, an attitude he seems to reserve only for her.”

  “Michael,” she said, using her most flirtatious manner, “As a woman, I would respond to his comments in a teasing manner, hoping to take the edge off—”

  Before she could finish, Michael said, “Amelia doesn’t want to take the edge off. She wants to impart the full measure of her contempt.”

  Their argument went on in the same manner for another minute, before Alex interrupted. “Why don’t we ask Sarah what she intended? After all, she wrote it.”

  Sarah’s head snapped up when Alex said her name. Other than the obligatory polite exchanges, he’d carefully avoided speaking to her directly. Everyone turned to look at her.

  “Well, when I wrote it, the feeling I’d intended to convey was Amelia’s disdain for Christen’s superior attitude. I believe the adverb I’d use is acidly.”

  Sarah was uncomfortable at first with giving her opinion, but she warmed to it in short order. “Amelia may be lively and witty, and in other circumstances, and perhaps with another kind of man, she might flirt, but at this juncture, Christen is the last man in the world with whom she would want to flirt.”

  “OK, that settles it.” Michael said. “Let’s do it over–Sarah’s way.”

  Brooke gave Sarah an irritated look. Good, Sarah thought, maybe she could channel that irritation into the appropriate delivery of her line.

  After a few more takes, Michael called for a break. The caterer kept food and refreshments available in the kitchen at the back of the townhouse, and since Sarah had skipped breakfast, she headed in that direction. She was just placing a scone on her plate when Alex walked in. He walked over to the coffee pot with his back to her. So much for her appetite.

  Alex wasn’t in the mood for coffee. He just wanted an excuse to follow her into the kitchen, and once there, he needed something to distract him while he worked out what he wanted to say. Tongue-tied. Another first for him.

  His jealousy had cooled. Watching Michael’s excuses to touch her, his attempts to kiss her, were like taking a knife in the gut. But witnessing Sarah’s gentle rebuffs of those advances, and of course they would be gentle, as would be expected from one so gracious, he now thought there was still a chance.

  Although after his abominable treatment of her these two weeks, he couldn’t blame her if she didn’t want anything to do with him.

  Sarah couldn’t stand the cold shoulder anymore. “Alex, I want to thank you for asking my opinion on that last scene. I didn’t like the first take, but I didn’t want to butt in . . .” She trailed off, unsure what else to say.

  “You shouldn’t be afraid to speak up. It is your book.”

  “Well, thank you anyway.” She turned back to her now-undesirable scone, thinking that was the end of their conversation.

  “Sarah.” He said her name so softly that she was startled when she turned and saw how close he was. “I want to apologize for my inexcusable behavior the night of the party, and well, these last two weeks. It was rude and uncalled for. Will you please forgive me?” His eyes were sincere, but guarded.

  “You’re asking me to forgive you,” she asked in disbelief, “after I ran out last year?”

  “Yes.” He gave slight shrug. “I suppose I am.”

  “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

  “Don’t push it.” His teasing look took away any sting the words themselves might have inflicted. “But it’s safe to say I’d like to call a truce.” He extended his hand.

  Sarah hesitated, not sure how she would react to his touch. “Truce then.” She shook his hand. His grip tightened when she tried to pull her hand back, causing her to look up into his eyes in confusion.

  He wanted to lean in, to brush her lips with his.

  “Oh. I’m sorry, am I interrupting?” Brooke stood in the doorway wearing a disingenuous polite expression.

  Sarah jerked her hand away as if it’d been burned. “No.” She grabbed her plate and returned to the sitting room for the next scene.

  The beautiful Brooke Bellamy is starting to get on my nerves. She’s a good actress, I’ll give her that. No one who sees her portrayal of the quick-witted Amelia would ever know what a self-centered, insipid little creature she is.

  She’d just finished her word-for-word e-mail account of the kitchen encounter with Alex when she began venting her frustration with Brooke to Ann and Becca.

  I hate to admit it, but I’m jealous of her interactions with Alex. I know they are only acting, but she gets to spend time with him in rehearsals and be close to him on the set, while I sit back and pretend that we are only acquaintances. I don’t know what I’ll do the first time they kiss. I may have to absent myself from the set that day.

  We leave tomorrow for Oxfordshire. I’ll write again from there. Hugs and kisses.

  Your fickle friend and sister,

  Sarah

  Chapter 5

  The location chosen for Wilcox Manor was a former abbey built in the mid-seventeen hundreds. The central block with its temple-like portico flanked by two sprawling wings was constructed of weathered creamy Headington Stone, a type of limestone common to Oxfordshire. The façade was lined with Palladian windows, which provided spectacular views of the grounds.

  The thousand acre parkland, all that remained of the original three thousand acres, featured the rolling lawns and extensive views out to isolated groups of trees, typical of the famed landscaper Capability Brown. The effect made the landscape seem even larger. The grounds also boasted beautiful formal gardens complete with Greek temples of the same soft limestone as the house.

  “May I join you?”

  Sarah looked up with a start to see Alex standing there. She sat on a bench beneath a large maple in the garden behind the house, legs curled under her, reading the script for the next day’s shoot. The first unit filming was cut short today, because Brooke claimed a migraine. Second unit was somewhere on the grounds shooting inserts and cutaways.

  “Of course.”

  He took a seat at the other end of the bench, toying with a leafy twig in his hand, silent for a few moments. The détente that began in London had become a full-fledged normalization of relations in Oxfordshire. “I haven’t asked you yet, how does it feel?”

  She tensed at his question. There were so many ways to interpret it. How does it feel to have run out on him? How does it feel to have to face him again? She looked up in confusion.

  “To option your first book–to watch it come to life in film?”

  “Oh.” She smiled in relief. “It feels amazing!” She could feel the blood rise to her face after her effusive outburst.

  He turned to face her and his expression opened up. The Alex she knew suddenly returned. “I’m so proud of you, Sarah.”

  She looked into his eyes and instead of cool distance, she saw genuine warmth. “I have you to thank for it. No”—she held up her hand when he would have interrupted—“listen. I need to say something and it may not come out as eloquently as I would like, but it is the truth and it is from my heart.” He waited patiently while she tried to find the words.

  “Notwithstanding my cowardly retreat last year, I owe you a great deal. I’ve lived most of my life with caution
and timidity. It served me well most of the time. I made it through my teenage and young adult years with my heart intact, but that’s easy to do when you don’t let anyone in. The first and only time, until last year, that I threw caution to the wind . . . well . . . as you know, it didn’t end well.” She smiled ruefully.

  “I’m ashamed of my behavior. I was so afraid of opening my heart again, and then having it all become . . . so public. It was just easier to leave. It was easier to stay broken.”

  She took a deep breath. “But I’ve learned that I can’t plan everything . . . that I have to take chances, even if I get hurt in the process. That’s just part of life. I’m just sorry if I hurt you in the process.”

  He was quiet. She couldn’t tell if he was considering her long confession, or whether he was contemplating a response.

  “I was hurt and angry, I admit, but I suppose on some level I understood. We’d only spent a week together, you were recovering from a dreadful divorce, and there I was putting pressure on you–moving too fast, and dragging you into my very public life.”

  “I should never have allowed it to happen,” he continued, frowning. “I couldn’t slow down where you were concerned . . . there just wasn’t enough time. Not that I regret our night together, but I should have taken a page from your playbook and moved more cautiously.”

  “You’re very forbearing.” She hesitated, confused by his kindness and understanding. After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Not that you weren’t justified, but why did you react so angrily that first night in London?”

  “To be honest, I was surprised by my own reaction. I was prepared to remain distant, wait for some sign from you as to where things stood, but when I saw Michael’s arm around your waist as if marking his territory, I assumed that’s where things stood. Watching his continued fawning only fueled my anger.

  “When you came to apologize, I’d almost made up my mind to pull out of the project. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to watch him with you every day. But I always finish what I start.” He paused before continuing.

  “Over the weeks that followed, it was very difficult. He appeared to look for every opportunity to lean in close and speak to you. But your reaction the day he attempted to kiss you gave me cause to hope . . . to hope that I could try again, but take it a little slower this time . . . allow you to set the pace.”

  He took her hand in his and turned the full weight of his tender gaze on her. “Sarah, tell me . . . if you want me to leave things be, I will, but if you’ll allow me, I would like to try again.”

  “I’d like that very much.” She had to look away before her eyes filled with tears. I don’t deserve him, she thought.

  She returned to her room that night to find a box on her bed. Once she saw the return address, she quickly tore open the box. It was the first run of her book. She couldn’t begin to express what it was like to pull out a beautifully bound copy of her own book. If she wrote a hundred books, she didn’t think that experience would ever grow stale.

  The book jacket included some of the better reviews. Not surprising, the first was her favorite:

  Not since the days of Jane Austen has a novel introduced such brilliant characters, sparkling dialogue, and unforgettable romance. A must read for Austenites everywhere.

  Of course, not everyone loved the book. After all, even Jane Austen had her detractors. There was one particularly scathing review she recalled, which of course was not on the back cover. She did take some level of satisfaction that the reviewer lacked originality, relying on a Mark Twain quip on Austen to sum up his critique of her book:

  I go so far as to say that any library is a good library that does not contain this volume by Sarah Edwards. Even if it contains no other book.

  That was okay. At least he kept her in good company with Jane Austen.

  She couldn’t wait to show Alex.

  Chapter 6

  Over the following two weeks, Sarah began to see a number of interesting parallels between the development of Christen’s and Amelia’s relationship and the rekindling of hers and Alex’s relationship.

  Just as with Christen and Amelia, hers and Alex’s first meeting in London was awkward and fraught with tension, but before departing for the Oxfordshire countryside, there was a thawing in relations, a crack in the icy reserve of both Christen and Alex.

  Likewise, as a mutual understanding developed and grew between Amelia and Christen during their time in the country, so, too, has a mutual understanding developed and grown for her and Alex.

  He had limited free time, with most of his attention consumed by the movie production, but the free time he did have, he spent with Sarah. Some of that time was spent in the former manor’s well-stocked library, where they read to one another from books recently discovered or re-discovered.

  It was purely selfish on Sarah’s part because not only did she get to be with him, she got to listen to him read to her. His warm satin voice, lilting accent, and pleasing intonation brought life to the beautiful words and captivating characters.

  Walking the inviting grounds of the estate was another favorite activity. With nothing to distract them, they caught up on the year they were apart. He explained how many times he’d thought of calling her, writing to her, or even e-mailing her, only to change his mind, thinking she would find the communication unwelcome.

  She explained how her decision to write was made and the influence he had had on that decision. He was surprised, but pleased, to learn that their previous conversations had inspired her to take a chance on her dreams.

  Although they had not resumed physical intimacy, their emotional intimacy was deepening, and all of their encounters were accompanied by subtle gestures of tenderness: a guiding hand on her elbow when they traversed the wilder parts of the park; a hand holding hers as she stepped over a fallen log; a solicitous question about her comfort in the evening air.

  This attentiveness was a welcome change to the cool distance of a few weeks earlier.

  Yes, she could see many pleasing parallels. She only hoped there would be no comparable displeasing parallels.

  Living within the confines of the estate, spending nearly every waking hour together, the cast and crew became a family. Evening meals were often raucous, convivial affairs. Seated at the enormous formal dining table, everyone joked and laughed over the day’s trip-ups, flubs, and bloopers. Sarah found herself enjoying everyone’s company, even Brooke’s on occasion. Tonight, however, she enjoyed herself at Brooke’s expense.

  During the brief shoot for the scene with Amelia and Cat on horseback, Brooke’s horse became uncooperative. The videographer needed only a quick shot of Brooke mounting the horse, the rest of the scene being shot with a stunt woman, but every time Brooke tried to put her foot in the stirrup to mount, the mare took a step or two forward, causing her to hop after her on one foot.

  This happened a few more times, until finally, in a fit, Brooke demanded a more submissive animal. Laughter rang out around the table with the account of the story, and despite her participation, Sarah detected Brooke’s annoyance at being the butt of the joke.

  “And did you see Alex slip during the fencing scene? It looked like he’d stepped on a banana peel, arms flailing, foil wobbling in the air.” Mel, one of the more outgoing members of the crew, recounted the story, arms gesticulating wildly. “I was afraid he would lose his grip on the thing and skewer us all like a shish-kabob.”

  Alex joined in, his eyes alight with mirth. “Yes, well, I was attempting to execute a picture perfect flèche, which failed on a monumental scale. Though you can’t say I didn’t warn you to give me a wide berth. Swordplay is not my forté. I’m a lover, not a fighter,” he said with a devastating grin, as his eyes caught Sarah’s across the table.

  She sucked in her breath while her heart did a little quick-step. How did he do that, she wondered, how did he make her heart race with just a look?

  The remainder of the meal carried on in the same vein, getting more bois
terous as the wine flowed, and they were a thirsty bunch. Although it had been a long day, Sarah was inexplicably keyed up. She excused herself from the table, intending to find some quiet in the library.

  She was scanning the titles on the shelves when the muffled sounds from the dining room suddenly grew louder. She looked up to see Alex closing the door behind him.

  “I thought I might find you here.” He wanted to talk to her. To finally own up to the conspiracy that resulted in their reunion. “Am I disturbing you?”

  “No. I was just looking for a book to take up to my room.”

  “Looking for anything in particular?” he asked as he crossed the room to stand next to her. “I’ve become quite familiar with the library,” he replied to her unspoken question.

  “Oh, I don’t know . . . something light.” Her pulse fluttered in response to his proximity.

  “Well, let’s have a look. There’s the Brontë sisters—”

  “That’s light?” she asked with a laugh.

  “I guess you’re right. How about James Joyce?”

  “Lighter.”

  “Scott?”

  “F. Scott or Sir Walter?”

  “Sir Walter.”

  “Lighter.”

  “All right, Dr. Seuss?”

  “They don’t have Dr. Seuss—” She rolled her eyes.

  “It’s right here,” he said, reaching down to the bottom shelf.

  “Okay,” she said with a laugh, “maybe not quite that light. How about Alcott?”

  “Little Women? That’s light?”

  “Light enough.”

  “If that’s what you want . . . it’s here right above you.” He stepped onto the library ladder reaching for a volume one shelf up.

  His cologne wafted past Sarah, bringing memories flooding back. She recalled his smoldering look across the table earlier and her heart skipped a beat.