by Katie Ginger
‘He did,’ said Gregory. ‘I got a call at about ten o’clock last night from an old acting chum who’s now an agent in London – Mr Hardy’s agent as it turns out – and he said one of his clients needed to get out of town for a bit and could we take them in—’
‘So we said yes, of course,’ cut in Cecil, his cheeks tinged pink with excitement. ‘Who’s going to say no to something like that? We’d have taken in anyone. And then he said—’
‘And then he said it was Nathanial Hardy,’ finished Gregory. ‘Honestly, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven!’ He placed his hand over his heart. ‘So then he turns up at about midnight, in a black car with tinted windows. No bags. Nothing.’
Sarah pulled back and scowled. ‘Not even spare pants?’
Cecil rolled his eyes. ‘Not that we could see, dear, no. No toothbrush either. Luckily, we’ve always got people staying so we have a supply.’
‘Of spare pants?’
‘Of toothbrushes. What is it with you and pants?’ Sarah gave a cheeky grin while Gregory gave a great yawn. ‘I couldn’t sleep a wink last night knowing he was in the next room.’
Sarah’s eyes flitted between the screen of Cecil’s mobile phone still showing the headline, and her friends’ faces. ‘So he’s really in your house? Right now? Because of this?’ She pointed to the screen and they both nodded. What the heck was going on? It was completely bonkers to think that one of the country’s best actors was only a few streets away in Gregory and Cecil’s gorgeous little cottage. Was he naked? Now that was a nice thought.
‘What are you guys gossiping about?’ asked Lottie, standing over all three of them. ‘We’re almost ready to start.’
‘Oh, nothing,’ Gregory replied, shooting a warning look at Sarah. But Sarah hated the thought of lying to Lottie, they’d become so close. Trying to be subtle, Sarah nodded towards Lottie, widening her eyes at Gregory and Cecil to show they should tell her, but from the sharp shake of his head, Gregory disagreed. Sarah tried again, bobbing her head in Lottie’s direction.
‘What’s the matter with you lot?’ asked Lottie, smirking. ‘You look like those dolls with tiny bodies and big wobbly heads.’
‘We have to tell Lottie,’ said Sarah, as the head bobbing and eyebrow wiggling wasn’t working.
Gregory took a deep breath and shot it out through his nose. ‘Oh, all right.’
‘Ooo! Tell me what?’ Lottie replied, kneeling in front of them.
‘Nathaniel Hardy is staying at our cottage. Incognito. For the next couple of weeks.’
‘Are you having me on?’ All three slowly shook their heads. ‘Yes, you are. Why would he be staying with you?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ said Cecil. ‘Don’t any of you read the papers?’ Sarah repressed a smile. ‘Because of this.’ He showed Lottie the newspaper headline. Lottie’s reaction was the same as Sarah’s, only Lottie managed to keep her mouth closed.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she said.
Conner’s voice sounded from the stage. ‘Can we get started everyone, please?’ As the play’s director, he was keen to begin rehearsing.
‘Well, it’s true,’ said Gregory, standing up and removing his jacket. ‘And not a word to anyone. Nothing can appear in the paper.’
‘I know,’ said Lottie, whose day job was photographer for the local paper, the Greenley Gazette. Gregory and Cecil walked past them and began climbing the small set of steps at the front of the stage. Sarah stared at Lottie for a moment, then they both burst out laughing.
‘What are you doing later?’ she asked Lottie. An idea had occurred to Sarah. A very naughty idea.
‘Nothing. Why?’
With a nonchalant shrug she said, ‘No reason. I just thought we might take a walk by Gregory and Cecil’s house and, you know …’
‘Secretly peer in the windows?’ finished Lottie.
‘Maybe.’
Lottie grinned. ‘Definitely.’
***
Rehearsals got underway and Sarah, frustrated that the lines just wouldn’t stay in her head, read them again from her book. ‘“I might call him A thing divine, for nothing natural I ever saw so noble.”’
‘No, dear,’ said Gregory kindly. ‘You sound like you’re on the intercom in the supermarket. “Clean up in aisle five”,’ he mimicked, holding his nose. ‘You need to emote. What’s wrong? You played Jasmine so well in the pantomime. I know you can do this.’
He was right. For some reason she was struggling with the part of Miranda, especially the bits where Miranda fell in love. The idea that it was something to do with Vince, her ex, or her general single status, kept flitting around at the back of her mind but she ignored it and ploughed on. She found it much easier to sing. She’d joined the Greenley Players last year by showing off her singing. It had been hard overcoming her vomit-inducing stage fright, but she’d done it, showing them she had a pretty decent voice. Acting had been surprisingly fun in the panto but this was proving hard, hard work.
‘Och, leave her be,’ said Debbie, their local mad Scottish artist. ‘She’s doing a fine job.’ Sarah smiled at her just as Cecil checked his watch for the eighty-third time, clearly desperate to get back home and see their visitor. Then it was Luke’s turn. He was playing Caliban, and had been trying different voices and styles since the beginning of rehearsals. He began his lines, breathing heavily between each word as if he’d just legged it all the way to the theatre. But rather than having the dramatic effect he was hoping for, he was coming across as horribly asthmatic. Sarah stifled a giggle while Gregory bit his lip and looked at Conner, waiting for him to tackle this one.
‘Umm … Luke,’ Conner began nervously. ‘What, umm, what are you … doing?’ He ran a hand over his long, gelled black fringe.
‘Oh,’ Luke replied, colouring slightly. ‘I thought I’d try something different.’
Mrs Andrews was the first to say, in her usual undiplomatic way, what everyone else was thinking. ‘You sound like Darth Vader.’
‘With a cold,’ offered Gregory. ‘I’d try a different technique, dear.’
‘I thought you did it brilliantly before,’ said Conner. ‘Let’s stick with that.’
At least it was better than Luke’s first attempt, which had involved some sort of lisp and a lot of spit spray. Rehearsals eventually finished for the day with Sarah stumbling over one of her lines again as Mrs Andrews tutted. For some reason she just couldn’t get the hang of this damn play. Maybe it was because the Greenley Players had been going for over a year and they were expected to be good – she was expected to be good. There was so much more pressure this time around.
‘Sarah, darling, you really need to stop mumbling and fudging your lines,’ said Mrs Andrews, tottering in her heels down the staircase at the front of the stage. ‘You should enunciate, dear, like I do.’
‘Yes, I know,’ replied Sarah. It just wasn’t worth getting into right now. Not only was she too eager to sneak over to Gregory and Cecil’s cottage, but her body couldn’t seem to decide if it was recovering from her hangover or not. One minute she felt fine, the next nausea swept over her, making her throat close over. She just wanted to get out in the fresh air.
Everyone said goodbye and Sarah watched as Gregory and Cecil raced off mumbling something about extra shopping including champagne and scallops. But from what she’d read she couldn’t imagine Nathaniel Hardy would be that interested in eating fancy food. She wouldn’t be if she’d had an affair and been found out. Chance would be a fine thing, she mused. The closest she’d ever got to marriage was a drunken proposal from a pervy fiddle player old enough to be her dad when she was at a wedding in Ireland years and years ago. Unsurprisingly she’d said no. Her heart twinged at the memory of her dad and she focused instead on the last time she’d seen Nathaniel Hardy on TV being suave and sexy.
‘Ready?’ asked Lottie, slinging her bag on her shoulder.
Realising she had been staring into space, Sarah quickly gathered up her copy of The Temp
est and various multi-coloured pens she used for making notes, shoved them into her handbag and smiled. ‘Let’s go.’ The excitement was bubbling up in her stomach – or the Alka Seltzer was getting to work – she wasn’t sure which.
‘Where are you two off to?’ asked Sid.
‘Nowhere that concerns you,’ replied Lottie playfully. ‘You go home and I’ll be back soon. You can peel the potatoes if you like. We’re just going for a walk.’ Sid shrugged, probably assuming it was girly stuff and nothing he’d be interested in anyway. ‘And here, you can lock up today.’ Lottie threw the keys and Sid caught them just before they skewered his right eye.
‘You’re trusting me with the sacred keys?’He gasped and Lottie scowled. She’d always been very protective of the theatre as it was her nan’s dying wish that she save it from being sold off. For the last year she’d fought hard to make that happen and amazingly, had succeeded.
As they left the theatre, walking in single file through the small revolving door, the sunshine was blinding. Squinting, Sarah reached into her bag for her sunglasses. The sounds of tinkling crockery and chattering voices escaped from the busy pubs along the seafront where people were enjoying their easy Sunday lunches. The town was more alive at this time of the day and Sarah took a deep breath trying to separate the different smells in her mind: beer, gravy, rich roast beef, and the tangy saltiness of the sea. Suddenly she was hungry. ‘I wish my stomach would decide what it’s doing. I’m not sure whether it wants me to fill it up or go nil by mouth.’
‘I think you should eat something,’ replied Lottie as they threaded their way through the pub tables that faced the promenade. ‘Are you coming for lunch? I’m doing a big roast today.’
That sounded good, just the thing to fix her. ‘Okay. Hey, are you going to tell Sid about Nate?’ She was surprised Lottie hadn’t said anything earlier.
‘I will when we get home. I don’t often get to know stuff he doesn’t, so I thought I’d tease him for a bit.’
They crossed the main road, past the tiny but surprisingly well-stocked library, and took a left down a side alley into the narrow twisting lanes of the conservation area. For about half a square mile the houses were either small simple fishermen’s cottages or larger Georgian houses with shuttered windows, black iron door knobs, and antique boot scrapers. Sarah loved walking through this part of town. In her mind’s eye she could see various Jane Austen heroes cleaning their boots before knocking at the door and entering to woo some fine lady. Sarah couldn’t afford to live in one of these houses, but Finn could, and did. She wondered if she’d see him today and the thought of that was almost more exciting than the prospect of catching a glimpse of Nate Hardy.
‘Keep an eye out for Gregory and Cecil,’ warned Sarah. ‘Just in case they went to the shop first and are already on their way back. They were talking about getting some champers and expensive shellfish.’ Scampering down another side street, Sarah began to sing the theme tune to Mission Impossible. Lottie joined in and as they approached the road where Gregory and Cecil lived. They pressed themselves into the wall before ducking down and glancing round the corner. In a final muffled burst of song, they flung themselves round the corner and collapsed into giggles. ‘Shhh,’ Sarah said, pressing her finger to her lips.
‘You shush,’ Lottie replied, still laughing. ‘You started it.’
Gregory and Cecil lived in the third cottage along. The houses in this part of town didn’t have front gardens, the front door opening straight onto the street. From many a drunken dinner party, Sarah knew that the sitting room was at the front of the house with large sash windows that faced the road. Sarah hoped Nate was in there watching telly rather than in the kitchen which was at the back of the house. ‘Let’s take a slow walk past and see if we spot him,’ she said, gently pulling Lottie’s arm to bring her level. They strolled as slowly as possible past the window. Sarah peered from the corner of her eye, but a frilly net curtain blocked her view. ‘Pants. I can’t see anything. Can you?’
‘No. Damn their old lady net curtains.’
A man walked past, eyeing them suspiciously and Sarah pretended to be searching for something in her handbag. It was definitely excitement filling her stomach with bubbles now. The adrenaline was surging through her whole body making her feel jittery and giggly. ‘It’s no good,’ Lottie continued. ‘We’re going to have to get closer, right up to the window. Go on, you first.’
‘Why me?’ asked Sarah, her eyes wide.
‘This was your idea.’
‘But you’re smaller than me. You should do it.’
‘Don’t be heightist. Anyway, I’m not going on my own. Come on.’ Lottie grabbed Sarah’s arm and she had to push down the laughter filling her lungs, threatening to ruin their plan. ‘We’re the worst spies ever,’ whispered Lottie and Sarah spluttered as the laughter forced its way out again. MI5 certainly wouldn’t be recruiting them any time soon.
They came level with Gregory and Cecil’s house again and bent down before edging towards the window. Sarah placed her fingertips on the sill and slowly lifted her head just high enough to see. Her heart gave a double beat as there, in real life, was Nate Hardy, lying out on the sofa in jeans and a T-shirt, his hands behind his head, eyes closed. He was just as handsome in person – or at least through their friends’ window – as he was on-screen. Sarah’s mind wandered, picturing what it would be like to wake up, roll over and see that face every morning. He had long dark eyelashes and a manly, rugged sexiness. A hint of toned abs peeked out where his T-shirt rode up. ‘He’s absolutely bloody gorgeous, isn’t he?’ she whispered to Lottie.
‘He really is. I wish I had my long lens camera.’
‘Pervert,’ Sarah replied, and they giggled again.
A male voice that Sarah instantly recognised broke into the moment. ‘And what do you two think you’re doing?’ asked Gregory. A shiver of shock ran down her spine. Both Sarah and Lottie looked over to see Gregory glowering at them and Cecil giving them stern looks while holding two shopping bags.
‘Run!’ Sarah shouted. And like a couple of kids caught stealing sweets, they legged it down the street and around the corner, only pausing when the laughter caused a sharp stitch to pierce Sarah’s side.
Chapter 4
Nate’s eyes shot open as a loud voice outside shouted something, but he didn’t hear exactly what. He stood up and the fat ginger cat leapt off his lap. Nate rubbed his jaw, feeling the stubbly skin beneath his fingers. It always amazed him that women seemed to like his face, he never had. His cheeks were quite square, coming down into a strong chin. As he aged, his dark hair was receding, the hairline gradually moving backwards, though the papers hadn’t picked up on that yet. Luckily, he didn’t care about ageing. He wasn’t worried about crow’s feet or the deep-set wrinkles that were forming on his forehead. Nate had always made it a habit to not Google himself, having been told by Robin it wasn’t a good idea. It was advice he’d taken. He certainly wasn’t going to start doing it now with everything else that was going on. God only knew what they were saying about him. Gritty eyes burned with tiredness, and today Nate Hardy felt much older than his years.
Every alcove in the small, cosy living room was packed with row upon row of books, or photos of his two hosts together. With the low hum of the television in the background the place felt serene. He’d been watching an interior design programme and was sure he’d met the host on some morning chat show once. The front door opened and he heard the two men he was staying with muttering, and carrier bags rustling. Last night they’d been kindness itself if a little star struck, but he was used to that. They must have been in bed when Robin called because when Nate arrived they were in matching striped pyjamas and fluffy navy dressing gowns. He hadn’t known what to expect from Robin’s description but when they welcomed him in, holding out a cup of tea, it was a strange moment of peace among the chaos of the night.
On the drive down he’d gone over and over things in his head, replaying the scene a
t the theatre, the faces of his colleagues, the mixture of shock and glee in the audience. Just as he thought his heart was broken and trashed beyond all feeling, Hannah had smashed it even more, taking his pain to a new level. He really needed to call the stage manager and say thank you for handling it so well. If she hadn’t taken charge, he didn’t know what he’d have done.
After his hosts had settled him in and shown him up to his room with kind, gentle words, he’d slept surprisingly well, exhaustion taking over. This morning he’d enjoyed looking out over the sea when he’d woken up. For a moment it had been like he was on location somewhere, but within seconds the realisation of what was actually happening hit him like a smack in the face and any rest had fled his body, leaving him aching and weary. After getting dressed and using the spare toothbrush laid out for him, Nate had come downstairs. He’d definitely fallen on his feet with these people and he must thank them properly when this was all over. If it ended well, that was. If it didn’t, he might not have any money to thank them with.
One of the guys poked his head around the living-room door. ‘Good morning, Mr Hardy. I’m just making tea if you wanted one?’
‘Yes, please, that’d be great. It was Geoffrey, wasn’t it?’ He followed him through into a large, bright and airy kitchen.
‘It’s Gregory actually,’ he corrected, and Nate felt a flush of embarrassment. ‘Come on, Mr Bennett,’ Gregory said cheerfully to the cat.
‘Right, sorry.’ Nate ran his hand through his hair and smoothed it back down, admonishing himself for not getting the name right. The man had taken him in at a moment’s notice. It was the least he could do and the height of bad manners to have got it wrong.
‘No problem, dear boy. I’m sure with everything else that was going on last night, your poor brain was a whirl. And this is Cecil.’
Nate laughed self-consciously and gave Cecil a small smile to show he’d registered his name. ‘Yes, it was all a bit … unexpected, but please call me Nate.’ The French doors were open onto a small courtyard garden filled with plants in brightly coloured pots, all flowering and falling into each other in a strange organised chaos. A small wrought-iron table had been laid with a milk jug, sugar and a biscuit barrel in the shape of a pig. Gregory and Cecil went out to the table and sat down facing each other, leaving Nate to sit between them. He followed and absent-mindedly tapped the side of the tea cup set out for him, wondering how much they knew and how much to tell them. He didn’t want people to think he was a creep, cheating on his wife, but he had an agreement with Emma he didn’t want to break. No one else was to know his marriage was already a wreck. He really needed to speak to her. What had happened last night had changed everything. Maybe once he’d had his tea, he’d call her and talk things through. If she’d answer, that was.