A Brave Start

by Andrea J Severson

  “Oh, I, umm, thank you. I live in Holborn, Red Lion Square.”

  Patrick knitted his brow, “Well, we can take you there for sure, but my place is actually just not far from here. At the risk of sounding forward, it might be better if you came to mine. You can dry off and warm up, and then I’ll call the car back to take you home.”

  Eleanor wanted to protest, and just go home, but she felt like she was about to literally freeze, so before she could think about it any further she heard herself say, “That would be great, thank you.”

  The car drove a several streets over and down the road a bit, traveling from Belgravia into Knightsbridge, before turning into Ennismore Mews. Eleanor had wandered around here admiring the homes one day while exploring around Harrods and the surrounding area. She was fascinated by the mews houses, these former carriage houses, stables, and servants’ quarters behind the enormous white fronted townhouses had been redeveloped over the years into charming homes tucked back from the main streets and squares of London.

  “It’s lucky I passed you, I was just being driven back from a meeting, I don’t have a car myself so I’m glad I happen to have one at my disposal today.”

  Trying to concentrate on something other than how cold she was, Eleanor could only murmur, “Mmm hmm,” in response.

  Patrick glanced down at her, she was soaking wet and visibly shaking from the cold. They pulled up in front of his place and the driver got out with a large umbrella and Patrick rushed around to help Eleanor out of the car, she felt like her joints were frozen in place, she never knew cold could hurt so much.

  As soon as she walked through the door the warmth of Patrick’s place hit her frigid face. She could hardly take in her surroundings, all she wanted was more of that warmth. She felt Patrick take her shopping bag and her handbag, and then helped her out of her coat. Though her top was still dry, rain had dripped down from her neck at the same time her skirt was wet from driving rain. Eleanor felt herself being led up the stairs to the right of the door and down a short hall upstairs and finally into a bathroom. Eleanor stood there not sure what she was supposed to do, Patrick moved around her quickly and with purpose, turning on the shower and pulling out some towels. He left the bathroom and came back with a large terry cloth bathrobe.

  “Ok, the fastest way to warm you up is a hot shower. Stay in as long as you want, I’ll get some tea going, that will warm you up some more. Change into the dressing gown and bring your wet clothes downstairs, we’ll put them in the dryer. You can stay here as long as you want and once you’re feeling up for it I’ll call a car to take you home,” looking at her for some response, all Eleanor could do was nod her head. Patrick quietly slipped out of the room and shut the door behind him, leaving Eleanor in privacy. The shower was already starting to steam up the small room.

  Chapter 11

  It took some effort to get the soaking skirt off. The collar of her shirt was sopping wet, so she really was more wet than dry after all. In short order, she stepped into the shower.

  Patrick’s shower.

  She tried really hard not to think about that. She wasn’t sure exactly how long she stayed in there but she was feeling warm again by the time she got out. She wrapped herself in the fluffy towels Patrick had left. She towel dried her hair and then twisted it back up into the bobby pins that been holding it up before. She changed into the bath robe, or dressing gown, as Patrick had called it, and then gathered up her wet clothes and her boots.

  She hesitantly edged her way back down the hall to the stairs. The doors to the other rooms were open, so she couldn’t help noticing the other rooms. The one past the bathroom looked like a walk-in closet, and the door across from the bathroom was clearly Patrick’s. It was tidy, but she spotted the sweater he’d been wearing in Oxford thrown over a chair and on the table beside it was a book, flipped upside down, open to a page. As she went back to the stairs she had come up earlier, she noticed two more bedrooms and another bathroom, as well as a staircase leading up to another floor. Downstairs she could hear Patrick in the kitchen. It was definitely a roomy flat for one person, she thought, maybe he had a roommate?

  She came back down the stairs into the lounge, holding her wet clothes slightly in front of her so they wouldn’t get the dressing gown wet. Patrick had put out tea and a range of snacks and had lit a fire. He was standing in front of it when Eleanor came down the stairs. At the sight of her he rushed over and grabbed the wet bundle from her.

  “Anything in here that can’t go in the dryer?”

  “No, it’s all good to go in, thank you. That’s great that you have an actual dryer. We do too, but some of my fellow classmates seem to think that’s quite a luxury.”

  “Yes, I got spoilt whilst in L.A.” he grinned. “Right, you sit, help yourself to the tea. Just relax, I promise you’re safe here and welcome to stay as long as you want.”

  Eleanor crashed on the sofa, instinctively pulling the throw blanket from the back and drawing it around her. She suddenly felt so tired.

  Patrick came back in and saw her curled up in the corner of the sofa. He poured her a cup of tea and then one for himself. “I put your boots by the radiator, unzipped. That should help dry out and warm up the insides of them without damaging the leather.”

  “Thank you, really Patrick, for everything. This is very kind of you,” Eleanor said sincerely.

  “Think nothing of it. Least I could do. I could hardly leave you there.”

  “No, but you could have just taken me home, or dropped me at the nearest Tube station. You didn’t have to invite me into your home like this, so thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome Eleanor. I’m happy to see you, though I wish it had been under drier circumstances. But, I guess I wouldn’t have you sitting on my sofa right now if that had been the case.”

  Laughing slightly, “No, I suppose not.” Eleanor smiled at Patrick over the top of her tea cup.

  “Umm, your purchases look fine, but the carrier bag is drenched. I’ll give you a new one when I take you home.”

  “Thank you. That would have been a wasted trip if the bread had gotten soggy,” she said with a smile.

  “It’s my favorite bakery actually,” Patrick said, smiling back at Eleanor. “Though it’s a bit of a trek from Holborn.”

  Noticing his questioning gaze, Eleanor couldn’t help but sigh slightly. “I couldn’t focus on writing so I thought exploring a new neighborhood would be good, my aunt recommended the place. I thought it might rain on me but I wasn’t expecting a downpour of biblical proportions.”

  Patrick laughed, and Eleanor’s heart jumped. The sound of his laughter was incredible, even better hearing it in person.

  “You think I’m exaggerating but I’ve been here for a few months now. This isn’t English rain, this is Arizona summer monsoon thunderstorm rain!” Eleanor exclaimed defensively. And as if to prove her point, there was a sudden flash of light in the growing darkness outside followed a second later by a loud clap of thunder. Patrick jumped at the sound.

  Peering out from under a fan of dark lashes, over the top of her tea cup, Eleanor raised an eyebrow at Patrick and smiled smugly, “See? I told you. This is not English rain. Are you scared of thunder?”

  “No!” Patrick replied, a little too quickly.

  “You sure about that? It’s a perfectly natural thing to be afraid of, lots of people are.”

  “Ok, thunderstorms are not my favorite thing. Fortunately, as you point out, we rarely get them here in London, especially this time of year. But my family used to spend summers at an estate in Scotland—”

  “An estate in Scotland?!” Eleanor interrupted.

  “It’s not as grand as it sounds, I promise. It belongs to my father’s side of the family, he and his two brothers and one sister. Anyway, we all share it, my family, my aunt and her family and my uncles and their families. When the weather is nice it’s great fun, but as a kid when it would storm it could be downright terrifying.”

  “S
ounds like something out of a Bronte novel,” Eleanor said wistfully.

  “Minus a crazy wife in a tower,” Patrick said winking at her.

  “I would hope so. I mean, that’s sooo 19th century,” Eleanor replied sarcastically, earning another laugh from Patrick. “So tell me more about it.”

  Eleanor spent the next hour listening to stories of Patrick’s family’s estate, a rambling property on the border of the Scottish Highlands. An 18th century stone property, with some 19th century additions, including a large conservatory in the back that led out to manicured formal gardens of the English style and surrounded by fields of heather and sheep. She listened, enthralled by his stories of running around the hedge maze or riding horses through the hills around the estate, swimming in the several lakes around the house, picnics that lasted until sundown, and late nights playing with his cousins in any of the many rooms of the estate. Or if the weather was good enough, having sleepovers in the hayloft of the large barn.

  “It sounds incredible!” Eleanor said, sighing a bit. Suddenly her stomach growled, sounding embarrassingly loud in the quiet little house.

  “Hungry?” Patrick asked laughing.

  “I might be a bit hungry,” Eleanor replied meekly. “Maybe I should think about getting home…” she said, an invisible question mark hanging in the air.

  “Nonsense,” Patrick stated dramatically, “Stay for dinner, I insist. How does bangers and mash sound? I do a pretty good gravy with ale.”

  “Sounds amazing. Though you’ve made me so comfortable already, you might end up stuck with me,” Eleanor said with a laugh.

  “I wouldn’t mind that one bit,” Patrick said with a smile, but there was a seriousness in his voice. For a moment they both were frozen, the mood suddenly feeling much heavier than it had been.

  Sensing the sudden changed mood in the room, Patrick spoke quickly, “Come on, you can cozy up in the kitchen and keep me company while I cook,” and bounded into the kitchen.

  Eleanor followed, taking in the sight of the amazing kitchen. It had clearly been redone recently, judging by the beam in the middle of the room she guessed it had been two separate rooms. Where the dividing wall used to be there was a large island made out of an antique butcher’s block with wood shelving and storage underneath. When entering the kitchen, to the right against the wall were more counters and cabinets as well as the stove and oven and other appliances. She guessed the fridge and dishwasher were concealed behind the cabinetry. To the front of the island, in the middle of the second half of the room was a sitting area of a few cozy chairs and small coffee table and in the far side by the window was an inviting dining area tucked into the corner with benches covered with cushions running against the wall and the window in the corner and arm chairs along the other two sides of the large table. It really was a dream kitchen. She immediately went to the arm chairs by the island.

  “This is really nice.” She said.

  Noticing her looking around at all the design elements of the kitchen, Patrick explained, “I’ve lived here for a couple years, the kitchen was the first thing I redid. I tend to spend a lot of time in here, either cooking or eating and reading. Before the kitchen was small and cut off here at the back of the room,” he explained, indicating with a wave of his hand the space behind the island. “And the rest of the space was set up as a formal dining room. I love having people over but I don’t do formal entertaining, so I wanted a larger space to cook while still having an open and comfortable space for people to sit and chat and for all of us to sit and eat. That play I worked on back in the summer was a relatively small cast and crew, about 15 people total. I loved having everyone over for dinner and drinks.”

  “It’s incredible!” Eleanor exclaimed. “It’s like a dream house. I’ve walked around this area before, I love all these mews streets, the houses are like out of a fairytale, each one so different. But I’ve never seen the inside of one before. I wasn’t expecting it to be so spacious inside.”

  “Well you have to remember that back in the day the whole downstairs would have needed to fit at least one carriage, if not two or more, plus stables for at least four horses or so, then upstairs would have been more storage plus servants’ quarters. The fronts of the mews houses can be very deceptive. I’ve seen some that are only a few meters wide in the front, but then you go inside and they seem to go back for miles. It also depends on if the renovator broke them into smaller flats to make more money. I’ve been in several mews houses when I was house hunting, probably about fifteen in several different streets, as well as some that were next door to each other, and none of them were the same.”

  “That must have made it hard to choose,” Eleanor replied.

  “It was. But then my estate agent showed me this one and I knew it was it. I could see the potential with this room, as well as the rooms upstairs, and I fell in love with the room on the top floor with access to the roof terrace. Not every mews house has outdoor space and that was something I really wanted.”

  “It’s great that you were able to invest in such an incredible property.”

  “I’m very lucky,” Patrick replied with emphasis on the word very.

  “Well, you’ve also worked very hard,” Eleanor responded with equal emphasis.

  “Yes, I have,” Patrick said laughing. “But still, I scrimped and saved every penny, living in a flat with four other actors when I moved to London at the start of my career and staying there for far longer than others thought I should. My agent wanted me to move into a flat on my own and stop living like a student or starving actor. But it was in Zone 5 and I was paying peanuts for rent since I had the smallest room. When I started getting bigger paychecks from my early projects I knew if I could save ninety percent of them I could eventually buy something like this. I saw it as my security plan. If the whole acting career went bottoms up I could sell this at a profit and have enough money to float me for a long time while I went back to grad school or something and figured out what to do next.”

  “That’s amazing, though, surely you don’t see it as a security plan anymore? The way your career is going, this home is more likely your retirement plan than a backup plan,” Eleanor said with a laugh.

  “You never know, audiences change, new actors come along. I suppose it’s a little easier on me than it is on my female actor friends, which is unfair, but I’m still at the mercy of hoping that casting directors think I’m worth casting. It could all end at any time.”

  Taking a sip from her tea, Eleanor said quietly, mostly to herself but Patrick heard, “Doubt it.” Then looking at Patrick as he smiled at her while making himself busy getting pots and pans together, she suddenly felt guilty.

  “I should help you,” she stated suddenly.

  “Nope, you stay right there.”

  “I’m feeling much warmer, I really should help after everything you’ve done.”

  “No, I insist, you’re my guest, please make yourself comfortable, I have dinner under control. Rest for now, and maybe I’ll let you help me wash the dishes later,” he finished with a wink.

  Smiling and shaking her head, Eleanor nestled herself deeply into the cushions and watched as Patrick busied himself around the small kitchen.

  “So, if your acting career goes bottoms up, what would you do instead? Surely you wouldn’t give up on acting completely?” Eleanor asked curiously.

  “No, not completely. I’ve thought about it a lot. You might think it’s doubtful but I’ve had a few friends over the years who looked like their career was taking off and then the next year they were back to not getting any work at all. It happens. I might be past the risky stage, but it’s still something a good actor has to think about. I thought I’d go back to school, study theatre history a bit more, I also thought about studying theatre management and business. Whether my acting career continues on its current trajectory or not, I’ve always thought I’d like to own my own theatre one day. Keep acting but also do some directing and producing,” he admitted
, looking a bit sheepish and shy at this confession.

  “That sounds incredible!” Eleanor exclaimed. “I bet you’d be brilliant at that.”

  Patrick grinned. “Thanks, I haven’t told many people about that plan.” He smiled shyly at Eleanor again, and then went back to chopping vegetables. Changing the subject, he continued, “So, I’ve told you about my childhood adventures and vacations. What about your childhood, any places your family would escape to?” Patrick asked.

  Eleanor smiled, “When I was little, we always went somewhere different each summer, typically wherever my dad needed to go for a conference or to do research during summer vacation from his teaching responsibilities. A lot of that time I would spend with my mom, wandering around and sightseeing while dad was presenting or in a library. Paris, Berlin, Prague, Barcelona, New York, Chicago…London. The list went on. Sometimes two or three places in one summer, and we’d always rent an apartment. Then summer would end and we’d go back to Cambridge.” Noticing Patrick’s raised eyebrow, "Massachusetts, Dad was working at Harvard at the time.”

  “He’s not anymore?”

  “No, he’s at Columbia now. In New York. It was a big to do at the time I remember. This was shortly after my parents had divorced. Mom and I were in Arizona by then. I was only 16 when he left Harvard. Dad was offered a position of Chair of some fancy program in the English department at Columbia and within less than a month he’d moved to Manhattan.”

  “You look like this wasn’t a good thing.”

  “Mom was so upset, I didn’t find out until later, much later, but mom had had an offer from a small but good school in Manhattan, a private college. But dad wouldn’t let her take it because of his job at Harvard. Anyway, it’s done now, and mom and I were in Arizona, so it didn’t really matter.”