The Perfect Hero

VICTORIA CONNELLY

Copyright

HarperCollinsPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers in 2011

This ebook edition published by HarperCollins Publishers in 2017

Copyright © Victoria Connelly 2011

Victoria Connelly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9781847562265

Ebook Edition © April 2011 ISBN: 9780007373376

Version: 2017-06-12

Dedication

To my dear friend, Deborah, with love.

‘Is not general incivility the very essence of love?’

Elizabeth Bennet, Pride and Prejudice

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Acknowledgements

Victoria Connelly’s Top Ten Romantic Heroes . . .

A Weekend With Mr Darcy

About the Author

By the same author

About the Publisher

Prologue

Peggy Sullivan leant forward in an attempt to get the pillows behind her just right.

‘It’s my eyes I miss the most,’ she said to the young woman sitting by the side of the bed. ‘I wasn’t too bothered when my legs went. I was too tired to walk around much anyway. I didn’t even mind when my right ear went last month but I do miss my eyes.’

The young woman leant forward and patted her hand.

‘It’s so kind that you come and read to me, Kay,’ Peggy said.

‘It’s my pleasure.’

‘It can’t be easy for you, my dear. Coming here, I mean.’

Kay looked at Peggy for a moment before answering. ‘It wasn’t at first. I kept seeing Mum everywhere – sitting in the conservatory gazing out at the gardens, or serving everyone tea in the sitting room.’

‘We all miss her so much. She always loved taking care of everybody – just like you do.’

Kay nodded. ‘She used to call me “Little Mother” when I was growing up.’

Peggy smiled sadly and then looked at Kay with bemusement in her eyes. ‘How you came to work at Barnum and Mason, I’ll never understand.’

‘It was the first job I was offered,’ Kay said with a shrug. ‘I took it thinking I’d only be there a little while. I was hoping—’

‘Someone would discover your paintings,’ Peggy interrupted.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, they’re taking their time, I must say.’

They were silent for a moment and Kay looked out of Peggy’s window. Her bedroom was on the ground floor of The Pines and overlooked the communal garden which was shivering under a layer of early snow. The poor cyclamen were doing their best to survive but one more fall of snow and they’d be buried alive, Kay thought.

Buried. The word sent a shiver through her. It had only been a month since her mother had been buried in the local churchyard after a brief but devastating illness. She’d been sixty-seven – not old by today’s standards – and Kay missed her more than she could say. Perhaps that was why she was spending time with Peggy. She’d met her whilst visiting her mother and the two of them had clicked. Both had a profound love of the novels of Jane Austen and when Kay had discovered that Peggy was blind – a fact that she’d kept marvellously hidden – Kay had offered to read to her.

Peggy never seemed to have any visitors and Kay couldn’t quite give up visiting The Pines.

‘I do wish I could see your paintings,’ Peggy suddenly said.

‘I do too, Peggy.’

‘Tell me about your new ones.’

‘Well, I’ve only got one new one. I’m afraid work’s been a bit hectic and—’

‘That ratbag Roger still working you late?’

Kay grinned.

‘I remember him when he was a lad. I knew his father. Lived in my road. Bullies – both of them. You mustn’t let him push you around, Kay.’

‘I don’t.’

Peggy nodded. ‘Because I’ll have words with him if he’s bullying you. I’ve got one of them portable phone jobbies. It’ll only take one call.’

‘It’s all right. There’s no need to call him.’

Peggy shifted forward and Kay got up to rearrange her pillows.

‘So, tell me about your picture.’

Kay’s eyes took on a wistful look as she thought about her latest painting.

‘Well, you know the last chapter of Persuasion we read together? That moment when Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth see each other for the first time since he went away?’

‘I love that scene!’ Peggy said, her face glowing with the pleasure of remembering it.

‘I chose that moment when Jane Austen writes “a thousand feelings rushed on Anne”.’

‘Wonderful!’ Peggy enthused.

‘And “a bow, a curtsey passed”.’

‘Yes, yes!’ Peggy said. ‘I can see it now. All those pent-up emotions they still have for each other. Oh, I wish I could see it!’

‘I’ve always wanted to capture that moment when their eyes meet,’ Kay said, tucking a strand of toffee-coloured hair behind her ear. ‘It’s so fleeting and yet so much happens in it.’

‘So which scene are you illustrating next?’

‘One of the Lyme Regis ones. I want to paint that wonderful seafront with the sweep of the Cobb. I only wish I could visit it.’

‘You’ve never been to Lyme?’

‘No,’ Kay said, her eyes taking on a dreamy look again. ‘I’ve always imagined myself living by the sea one day and I think Lyme would be just the place to be.’

‘Then what are you doing in land-locked Hertfordshire?’ Peggy asked. ‘I mean, now that you don’t have any family ties.’

‘My job’s here. My house is here.’

‘Oh, rot!’ Peggy said. ‘I know it’s a terrible cliché but, if you don’t take charge of your life, nobody’s going to do it for you. Think of Anne Elliot and all those years she wasted.’

‘But I’ve got a mortgage to pay. I’m kind of stuck here.’

Peggy’s mouth narrowed. ‘I don’t like to hear such excuses. If you want to live near the sea then you should. It’s as simple as that.’

‘I wish it was,’ Kay said. ‘I really wish it was.’

Chapter One

That night, Kay Ashton dreamt of Mr Darcy again. It wasn’t the first time, of course, and it wouldn’t be the last. She often dreamt about her favourite fictional hero and she often daydreamed about him too. How many dull afternoons in the office had been cheered up by imagining the sudden arrival of Mr Darcy? He’d come striding in across the carpeted reception, his eyes fixed on Kay.

‘In vain have I struggled,’ he’d say, confessing his love to her there and then and sweeping her up in his arms, telling her to leave her desk behind and run away to Pemberley with him.

If only I could, Kay thought.

It was funny that she should be dreaming about Mr Darcy because she’d been drawing Captain Wentworth for the last few weeks now. Darcy had been the main subject of her last book – a collection of drawings in pen, and watercolour paintings of scenes from Pride and Prejudice.

She couldn’t remember the first time she’d drawn Mr Darcy but she’d been putting pen to paper all her life, sketching little scenes of handsome princes and fairytale princesses which, as she’d grown older, had become heroes and heroines from the books she read. It was a world she’d loved diving into because the real one around her had been a cold and cruel place.

Kay had been ten years old when her father had left her. She’d been upset and confused and had watched as her mother had crumbled before her. The two of them had clung to each other and had slowly built a new life for themselves but, just as they were getting used to being just the two of them, the unthinkable had happened. Her father had returned.

Life had been turned upside down once again and Kay was forgotten in the space of a moment as her parents had got on with the business of fixing their marriage. It hadn’t been easy. Kay often wondered how her parents had managed to stay together for so long because they seemed to spend most of their time fighting. She could hear them shouting from her bedroom even when she closed the door and hid her head under her pillow. They shouted at night too when they thought she was asleep, their voices only slightly dimmed by the thin wall that separated their bedroom from hers.

Her mother would always look washed-out and red-eyed in the morning whilst her father would be silent and morose, his eyes avoiding hers as she ate her breakfast before school.

Then, after a year of endless fighting, he’d left again. This time, it was for good. There was no forwarding address and he never rang. It was as if he’d forgotten that he’d ever been a husband and a father.

Kay, who already spent most of the time with her head in a book, had retreated into her fictional world like never before and had never really surfaced since. For her, reality was only made bearable by the existence of novels and her beloved stories and sketches had got her through the traumas of a dozen father-figures, the trials of her own string of disastrous relationships, and the boredom of her job at Barnum and Mason. It had been the one constant of her life.

The strangest thing was that Kay had never let the experience of her parents’ marriage affect her own views of relationships. She still believed in the possibility of love and that your soul mate was out there just waiting to be found. Maybe it was a notion she’d picked up from the books she read but she truly believed it. She looked at her collection of illustrations now. It had been sitting on her desk for weeks and she didn’t quite know what to do with it next. She supposed she should send it to a publisher but what if they rejected it? What if all her hopes and dreams of seeing it in print came to nothing? Leaving it sitting on the desk might not result in it seeing the light of day but at least her dreams remained intact that way.

The Illustrated Darcy she called it because, although she’d made sketches and paintings of all the main characters and major scenes, the emphasis remained on Darcy. He was a hero for all time, wasn’t he? Kay often wondered if Jane Austen had known that when she’d created him. Had she known the power of her very special hero? Had her sister, Cassandra, said, ‘Wow, Jane! You’ve done it! There will never be another hero to match this one!’

Kay often wondered what it was about Mr Darcy that fed the female imagination so much. There was something so special about Austen’s heroes that had never been matched in other fiction. Kay had once – very briefly – gone through a Brontë phase but pulling your lover’s hair out and then digging up their grave wasn’t really the mark of a hero, was it? You wouldn’t get Mr Darcy prowling around graveyards in the middle of the night.

Ah, could there ever be a hero to match Fitzwilliam? she wondered.

Getting out of bed, Kay grabbed a sheet of paper and sketched a few lines, desperately trying to recall the man from her dreams. It was always the face that eluded her. She could capture the stride, the movement of the man, and the clothes were always easy to remember but the face always seemed to hover on the outskirts of her consciousness. What did the perfect hero look like?

She sketched on, covering sheet after sheet, her stomach rumbling in a bid to be fed but nothing was more important than her drawing. Food could wait, drink could wait but art could never wait.

It was then that the telephone rang. Why did the telephone always ring when one was in the middle of something very important? Kay dropped her pen and sighed.

‘Hello?’ she said.

She didn’t recognise the voice on the other end but, as soon as the woman said where she was calling from, Kay knew that it wasn’t good news.

Peggy Sullivan had died.

* * *

Denis Frobisher’s face was, perhaps, the longest face Kay had ever seen. It reminded her of a basset hound but he had a warm smile that made his eyes twinkle and she understood why Peggy had chosen him as her solicitor.

‘But I don’t understand,’ Kay told him. ‘She left me everything?’

Mr Frobisher nodded. ‘It’s very simple. There were no siblings, no children. Nobody. Just you, Miss Ashton.’

‘But I only knew her a short time.’

‘Then you obviously made an impression.’

Kay shook her head. ‘This is crazy.’

‘Her husband left her very comfortably off. Of course, the nursing home fees made their dent over the years but she still left a sizeable chunk.’

‘Yes,’ Kay said. It was all she could say.

And then something occurred to her. Their last conversation. What was it she’d said to Peggy when they were talking about dreams for the future?

‘If only it was that simple,’ Kay said.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Mr Frobisher said.

‘I made this happen,’ Kay said, her voice quavering. ‘I wished things were simple and that dreams could come true and now Peggy’s dead. I didn’t mean to wish her dead! Oh, dear!’

‘Miss Ashton!’ Mr Frobisher said. ‘You’re upsetting yourself unnecessarily. Mrs Sullivan was an elderly woman who’d been seriously ill for many years. It was her time. You didn’t bring this about, I can assure you.’ He pushed a box of tissues towards her and she took one and dabbed her eyes.

‘Oh, Peggy!’ she said. ‘I never expected this. I never imagined . . .’

‘Of course you didn’t,’ Mr Frobisher said.

They sat quietly for a moment whilst Kay recovered her composure.

‘There’s a letter too,’ Mr Frobisher said gently. ‘One of the nurses at the home wrote it for Peggy but she managed to sign it herself.’ He handed her the white envelope and, with shaking hands, Kay opened it and took out the folded sheet of paper.

My dearest Kay, I hope this doesn’t come as too much of a shock to you but I’ve left you a little bit of money. Kay stifled the urge to laugh at the understatement.

You see, I don’t have anyone close to me and, unlike most elderly ladies, I don’t have an affinity to cats so I won’t be leaving my worldly goods to any rescue centres.

I know your mother didn’t have much to leave you and I know you’ve got a whopping mortgage and an unfulfilled dream. Well, my dear, if you use my money wisely, you can fulfil that dream right now and I will feel that I am living on through you. Is that silly of me?

I’m going to miss you, dear Kay. I always loved your visits and thank you so much for the wonderful hours of reading. I hadn’t read Jane Austen for years but your beautiful voice brought all those stories back to life for me again and for that I am truly grateful.

So this is your chance, isn’t it? Do something amazing!

Your friend,

Peggy.

Kay looked at the scribbled signature in blue ink. It looked more like ‘Piggy’ really and Kay could imagine Peggy’s arthritic hand skating over the paper, determined to leave its mark, and the image brought more tears to Kay’s eyes.

‘So you see,’ Mr Frobisher began, ‘she wanted you to have everything. We’ve been in the process of sorting things out. The house was being rented for the past few years – that’s what brought in most of the income to pay the nursing home – but the tenant has gone now so the house is yours.’

Kay nodded, desperately trying to follow everything.

‘Mrs Sullivan thought you’d want to sell it straightaway.’ He paused, waiting for her reply. ‘But you probably want to think about things for a while,’ he added.

‘Yes,’ Kay said. ‘Think.’

‘And you have my number. I’m here if you have any questions.’

‘Questions.’ Kay nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’ve been very kind.’

‘Not at all,’ Mr Frobisher said. ‘Simply doing my job and carrying out the wishes of my client.’ He stood up to escort Kay to the door. ‘Dear Mrs Sullivan,’ he said. ‘How she will be missed.’

Kay nodded as she stood up and she felt her eyes vibrating with tears again. She turned back round to the desk and took another tissue from the box – just to be on the safe side.

Chapter Two

Kay sat at her desk in the office at Barnum and Mason. It had been three months since Peggy’s funeral and Kay still couldn’t believe that her dear friend had gone and that she could no longer visit her at the nursing home, a pile of books in her bag ready for reading.

Peggy’s funeral had taken place in the same church as that of Kay’s mother on a May morning that was sunny but bitterly cold. The snow had melted and everything had seemed wonderfully green but there’d been nothing to rejoice about that day. Kay had sat shivering in the same pew that she’d occupied only a few sad weeks before, watching the service through a veil of tears.

And now here she was sitting in the office as if nothing had happened. How callous time was, she thought. It hadn’t stopped to mourn the passing of a dear friend but had marched onwards and had dragged Kay along for the ride.

She hadn’t sketched for weeks now, choosing to read instead. There’d been the usual diet of Jane Austen with Kay choosing Northanger Abbey in the hopes that Catherine and Tilney’s company would cheer her up. She’d also been trying to find out more about preparing her illustrations for publication and had raided the local library. There was one very useful book full of tips for the first-timer and she’d sneaked it into work in the hope that she’d be able to photocopy some of the pages in a quiet moment.

‘Which is possibly now,’ she said to herself, looking around the office. It was a small open-plan office with four desks occupied by her colleagues. Paul and Marcus were out at lunch and Janice was on the phone laughing. It obviously wasn’t a work-related call; none of the business at the solicitors was stuff that provoked laughter.

Opening her bag, she took out the book and walked over to the communal photocopier. She only hoped she could get the pages copied before the silly old machine pulled a paper-jam stunt.

She was halfway through her copying when her phone went. Janice was still laughing into her own phone so Kay had no choice but to return to her desk to answer it.

She was just replacing the receiver when Roger Barnum walked into the office brandishing a large document that looked as if it had an appointment with the photo copier.

Kay watched in horror, unable to make a move in time to rescue her book, watching as Mr Barnum lifted the lid of the photocopier.

‘Whose is this?’ he barked, holding the book up and grimacing at it as if it might be infected. ‘Painting for Pleasure and Profit.’

Kay, blushing from head to foot, stood up to claim the book. ‘It’s mine, Mr Barnum.’

‘And what’s it doing on the photocopier?’ he asked.

Kay wanted to groan at the ridiculous question but she didn’t. She simply took it from him and mumbled an apology.

Mr Barnum sniffed. ‘I’d like to have a quiet word with you in my office, Miss Ashton,’ he said.

Kay nodded and followed him through.

‘Close the door and sit down,’ he said.

Kay did as she was asked.

Mr Barnum walked round his desk and sat down on an expensive-looking chair. It wasn’t threadbare like the office chair Kay had.

‘If you don’t mind me saying,’ Mr Barnum began, ‘your mind hasn’t really been on your work lately, has it?’

‘Well, no,’ Kay said. ‘My mother died recently and I’ve just lost a dear friend too.’

‘Ah, yes. Well, one has to get over these things – move on and all that.’

Kay blinked hard. Had she just heard him right?

‘People come and people go. It’s a sad fact of life and we have to get on with it.’

‘Right,’ Kay said. ‘I’ll try to remember that.’

‘And this drawing of yours,’ he continued, ‘you mustn’t bring it into the office with you. I think we had an incident before, didn’t we? Something concerning that Mr Darcy. For the life of me, I can’t see what it is you women find so fascinating.’

Kay didn’t say anything.

‘It’s interfering. You must keep these things separate. Quite separate. Work is work. Play is play.’

‘But it isn’t play, Mr Barnum. It’s my passion.’

Mr Barnum’s eyes widened in shock at the word ‘passion’ as if it might leap across the table and do him some sort of mischief.

‘In fact,’ Kay said, enjoying having provoked such a response, ‘I’ve been thinking of playing a bit more. You see, I’ve just had a phone call and it seems I’ve got some money coming my way very soon. I was left a property recently and it’s just sold so I’ll be moving.’

‘Moving?’ Mr Barnum said.

‘Yes. To the sea. I’ve always wanted to live by the sea. It’s another of my passions. So you’d better accept this as my notice. I’ll put it in writing, of course, during my lunch break – which is now, I believe.’ She stood up and smiled at Mr Barnum. She was feeling generous with her smiles now that she knew she was leaving.

Arriving home that night, she flopped on to her sofa, kicking off her shoes and sighing. She felt exhausted. Decision-making was a tiring business, she decided, but it was a happy tired she was feeling. She’d handed in her notice! She smiled as she remembered the look on Roger Barnum’s face. It was the first time he’d actually looked at Kay – really looked at her. Usually, his eyes would just sweep over her as he handed her a pile of paperwork.

Perhaps, she thought, it was also the first time she’d ever really looked at herself. She was thirty-one now. She knew that wasn’t exactly past it by modern standards, but she wasn’t exactly a spring chicken either. Enough years had been wasted. In Jane Austen’s time, thirty-one would have been a very dangerous age for a woman. She would have been rapidly hurtling towards spinsterhood.

Life had to be grasped and what better time than now? What was it Peggy had said? Do something amazing!

‘I will!’ Kay said. ‘I owe it to you, Peggy.’

Getting up from the sofa to pour herself a glass of wine, Kay still couldn’t comprehend everything that had happened to her over the past few months. It was still impossible to believe that she was a relatively wealthy woman. She’d never had so much money and she was determined to use it to its best advantage.

She was going to move to the sea, that much was certain and, as a Jane Austen fan who was currently reading Persuasion for the seventh time, it seemed only right that she should focus her search on Lyme Regis. She’d already Googled it a dozen times, gazing longingly at the images that greeted her. The picturesque fishermen’s cottages, the high street that sloped down to the perfect blue sea and the great grey mass of the Cobb all seemed to speak to her.

Hey there, Kay! What are you waiting for? Come on down. You know you want to!

Having grown up in land-locked Hertfordshire, Kay had always wondered what it would be like to live by the sea. For a moment, she remembered a family holiday in North Norfolk. Other than two glorious sun-drenched days, the weather had been dreadful and Kay had had to spend most of the time trapped in the tiny chalet with her mum and dad who’d done nothing but row. Kay had done her best to shut herself away with an armful of second-hands books she’d found in a nearby junk shop. Reading about dashing highwaymen and handsome cavaliers had helped enormously but it was still a wonder that the whole experience hadn’t put her off the idea of living by the sea for good

But what exactly was she going to do in Lyme Regis? Was she going to buy a tiny cottage as cheaply as possible and live off the rest of the money whilst she hid herself away with her paintings and waited for publication? She’d never been a full-time artist and she had to admit that the thought of it panicked her. What if she wasn’t good enough? What if she spent years striving for publication whilst eating into the money that Peggy had left her? She was a practical girl and the thought of running out of money was terrifying. She might have hundreds of thousands in her name but she also had a lot of life to lead and she was planning on living to a ripe old age. Besides, she’d always worked. Perhaps her job at Barnum and Mason hadn’t been the best in the world but she’d been proud to make her own way and pay her own bills. But what could she do in a house by the sea in Lyme Regis?

‘There’s only one way to find out,’ she said.

It had been decided that Kay could take the annual leave that was owed to her in lieu of her notice and that meant that she could get down to Lyme Regis this very weekend and not have to worry about being back home for work on Monday.

Finishing her glass of wine, she went upstairs to start packing her suitcase and she couldn’t help feeling that Peggy – wherever she might be – was smiling down at her in approval.

Chapter Three

Adam Craig had lived in Lyme Regis all his life or, to be more precise, a tiny village called Marlbury in the Marshwood Vale just a few miles north of the seaside town. He’d studied English at Cambridge and had worked briefly in London but he would never want to live anywhere else.

From the winding country lanes to the tiny stone cottages and the ever-present caress of a breeze laden with the salty scent of the sea, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else coming close. He loved the rolling fields filled with lambs in the spring, the hedgerows stuffed with summer flowers, the tapestry colours of the trees in autumn and the slate grey sea in winter. Every season had its joy and he welcomed each one.

His parents had moved to California twelve years ago. His father had taken early retirement from his antiques business in Honiton and he’d been determined to give the wine business a go, buying an established vineyard in the Napa Valley. Adam had been invited to join them but had declined. The Dorset coast and countryside were in his blood and he could no more leave it than he could his old nan.

Nana Craig was eighty-four years old and lived in a tiny thatched cottage in a hamlet not far away from Adam’s own. Of all his family members, it was Nana Craig who was his closest. Whilst his parents had been building their business, Nana Craig was the one who’d cleaned his scraped knees as a toddler, bought his first pair of football boots as a youngster and had read each and every one of his screenplays since he’d scribbled his first attempt as a teenager – a rather embarrassing romance called The Princess and the Pirate. Adam sometimes wished that his nan’s memory wasn’t quite so sharp.

He’d been a screenwriter and film producer for over ten years now and his newest project was the one he’d been planning in his head for that entire length of time, for what screenwriter who lived near Lyme Regis wouldn’t – at some point in their career – turn their attention to Jane Austen’s novel Persuasion?

He had to admit that he hadn’t been a fan of Austen growing up but what young lad was? Austen was for girls, wasn’t she? All those endless assemblies and discussions about men’s fortunes that went on for entire chapters weren’t the stuff to stir the imagination of a young boy. But, as an adult – as a writer – her books, particularly Persuasion, had begun to make their mark and, three years ago, he’d started putting things into motion. And it was all coming together wonderfully. Very early on, he’d managed to get highly-respected director, Teresa Hudson, on board. She had a string of period dramas under her belt and had won a BAFTA for her recent adaptation of Thomas Hardy’s Two on a Tower. It was whilst she was filming that in Dorset that they’d got together and started discussing Persuasion.

Now all the crew and actors were on board and filming had begun. They were due to descend on the unsuspecting town of Lyme Regis soon and Adam was looking forward to that. He’d long been envisaging the scenes he’d written around the Cobb, imagining the fateful leap of Louisa Musgrove and the cautious exchanges between Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth.

He was envisaging them now as he walked into town, walking down Broad Street with great strides, shielding his eyes from the sun so that he could catch that wonderful glimpse of sea.

He was heading to the bookshop when he saw her. Tall and slim with a tumble of toffee-coloured hair, she was gazing in the window of an estate agent and was frowning. She was wearing a floral dress that was far more summery than the weather and her hands were busy doing up the buttons of her denim jacket in an attempt to keep the nippy breeze at bay. She had a rosy face and intensely bright eyes which Adam wished would swivel round in his direction. But what would he do then? What exactly would he do if she swivelled? It would take a small miracle for a girl like her to notice him.

It was a sad fact that Adam had spent most of his life unattached and it wasn’t because he was unattractive – far from it – but that he was painfully shy when it came to women. He was the man who stood in the corner at the party waiting for the host to introduce him and, whilst he might have a lot more of interest to say than the party bore who didn’t stop talking all night, Adam’s stories would rarely get an airing because of his shyness.

It had always been the same. At primary school, he had been the one to work behind-the-scenes in the school play because he’d been too shy to put his hand up for the acting roles. At secondary school, he’d never dare ask a girl to dance even when encouraged by all her friends to do so. And university wasn’t much better. He’d spent most of his time with his head in his books.

Maybe that was one of the reasons he’d become a writer. Writers were behind-the-scenes sort of people who could hide away for months at a time.

Oh, there’d been a few relationships over the years but they were more happy accidents where he’d been physically flung together with somebody. Like Camille. She’d been the co-producer on his first film a few years ago and he’d fallen head over heels in love with her. It hadn’t lasted, of course. She’d told him she needed someone to take control of her – to tell her what to do. Adam had given her a baffled look and she’d flung her hands up to the heavens as she’d searched for some words to fling at him.

‘You’re so . . . so quiet, Adam!’

You’re so quiet. The words had haunted him down the years – the long quiet years.

As he was mulling on this, a small miracle occurred. The toffee-haired girl swivelled her eyes in his direction and he was met with a warm smile but – being Adam – all he could manage was a smile back before she turned and entered the estate agents.

Chapter Four

Kay was sitting in the estate agents, looking at the frowning face of Mr Piper.

‘I’m afraid we really don’t have much at all, not with your proposed budget, that is.’

Kay frowned back. She’d set aside a large portion of her inheritance to buy a seaside property and he was telling her it wasn’t enough.

‘There’s a little cottage out in the Marshwood Vale. It’s at the top of your price range, though, and only has two bedrooms.’

‘Are you sure there’s nothing in Lyme itself ? I’d really like to be in the town.’

Mr Piper shook his head. ‘Not with the sea view that you want. As I say, properties move very quickly here. It’s a popular spot with people looking for second homes and holiday rentals. Everything’s snapped up immediately.’

Kay puffed out her cheeks. She hadn’t reckoned on Lyme Regis being quite so popular. For a moment, she looked around the small office, eyeing up the overpriced cottages in which you’d be lucky if you could swing a catkin let alone a cat. They were all beautiful, of course, but there was nothing actually in Lyme Regis itself.

‘Perhaps if you looked further along the coast. How about Axmouth or Seaton?’

Kay shook her head. She hadn’t come all this way to end up in Seaton. Jane Austen hadn’t stayed in Seaton and she was pretty sure that there was no Cobb there.

It was then that her eyes fell on a property she hadn’t noticed before: Wentworth House.

Kay blinked in surprise. Wentworth – as in Captain Frederick Wentworth, the magnificent hero from Persuasion. Well, she thought, if that wasn’t a sign, she didn’t know what was. She got up from her seat so she could read the notes.

It had been a former bed and breakfast but needed ‘some modernisation throughout’.

A bed and breakfast. Kay had never thought of that. It was the perfect way to make a living by the sea, wasn’t it? Lyme Regis had been popular with tourists for centuries and that wasn’t likely to change in the foreseeable future and it was a sure-fire way to enable her to live by the sea – right by the sea judging from the photos of the place.

‘Can I see the details for this one?’ Kay said, pointing to Wentworth House.

‘Oh, I’m afraid that’s way above your budget,’ Mr Piper said.

‘Well,’ Kay said, ‘I could go a bit higher. I mean, if I can make a business out of it.’

Mr Piper opened a drawer and retrieved the details, handing them to Kay who looked them over quickly.

‘I’d love to see it,’ she said. ‘How about now?’

The startled look on Mr Piper’s face made Kay smile. She seemed to be doing nothing but startling men lately.

Mr Piper got up from his seat and muttered something about closing the shop. Kay just smiled. She had a feeling she was about to spend a rather obscene amount of money.

Wentworth House was only a short walk away and Kay’s eyes darted around as they made their way there. Lyme had the most wonderful shops. There were stores selling fossils, mouth-watering bakers, pretty boutiques and a delightful bookshop. But she was shopping for a house and she had to keep focused.

‘This is Marine Parade,’ Mr Piper told her a moment later as they walked along the pavement lined with ice-cream parlours that skirted the seafront. ‘Wentworth House is just up ahead.’

Kay’s eyes widened. Wentworth House, Marine Parade, Lyme Regis. She liked the sound of that address and immediately started to visualise the headed paper she could have made. She looked out across the sea and tried to imagine what it would be like waking up to that view every morning. Life in Lyme would be like a permanent holiday.

‘Here we are,’ Mr Piper said a moment later. They had arrived at Wentworth House.

It was a large Victorian building with bay windows at the front which would make the very best of the fine views. It was painted the palest of pinks like the inside of a shell, and it had a brilliant blue front door. And that was all that was needed really, for Kay was in love before she’d even crossed the threshold.

The door opened with two determined pushes and Mr Piper turned to look at her with a nervous smile. ‘Just needs a bit of oil,’ he said.

Kay nodded. She wasn’t going to let a drop of oil come between her and her dream home. Nor was she going to be put off by the strange musty smell which was like a cross between a wet dog and a peed-in bus shelter.

‘Just needs a good airing,’ Mr Piper said.

Kay nodded again, following him inside.

‘The breakfast room,’ Mr Piper announced as they entered a room at the back of the house.

Kay grimaced, thinking that she wouldn’t want to eat in there. The walls were covered in thick gnarly wallpaper that was the colour of nicotine.

‘Just a splash of paint here and there,’ Mr Piper said.

Kay nodded and he led her to the kitchen which was a long thin room in need of some modernisation. Still, it had everything she needed.

The rooms at the front of the house looked far more promising with a proper dining room and a living room, both with bay windows overlooking the sea. Unfortunately, the nicotine-coloured wallpaper covered the walls here too, but Kay could see beyond that to the rooms’ true potential.

Upstairs, there were six rooms, all en suite, and all in need of a bit of a makeover to bring them into the twenty-first century. There were tatty floral wallpapers with the edging peeling by the doors and window frames, there were carpets covered in dizzying swirls and – everywhere she looked – the ugliest brass light fittings she’d ever seen. It would all have to go.

But there was one thing about the house that didn’t need to be changed because it was absolutely perfect and that was the view. Wentworth House was situated in the very heart of Lyme Regis and that meant it had an unrivalled view of the Cobb. Kay gasped when she caught her first glimpse of it from the first bedroom she viewed. It was like a huge grey runway stretching out to sea and there were people walking along it today to enjoy the views just as they would have done in Jane Austen’s time.

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she said to Mr Piper. ‘Hmm? Oh, yes,’ he said, noticing what she was looking at. ‘You’re in a very good position here,’ he said. ‘You’ve got the beach, the Cobb and plenty of shops and restaurants. If you really wanted to make a go of this as a bed and breakfast, you should have no trouble at all.’

Kay nodded. A bed and breakfast would be perfect. She could make a good living without having to leave her home which meant she could paint whenever things were quiet. And she liked working with people. Peggy had always been telling her how good she was with people.

‘I’ll take it,’ she said, realising that she’d be spending every penny of her inheritance if she bought it.

Mr Piper looked astounded. ‘But this is the first property you’ve seen.’

‘It’s the only one I need to see. It’s perfect.’

Mr Piper didn’t try to dissuade her. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘shall we get back and make a start on the paperwork?’

Kay smiled. She’d just bought a house – a six-bedroom house and a business venture on the seafront in Lyme Regis. Peggy would be so proud of her.

Chapter Five

Three months later

The rehearsals were over.

Gemma Reilly stood in a corner by the bar, anxiously surveying the rest of the cast. They’d just checked into The Three Palms Hotel in Lyme Regis and welcome drinks were being served in the lounge. A pair of double doors had been opened on to a terrace and most of the cast were enjoying the views of the sea. Most of the cast except Gemma, that was. She felt more like the new girl at school. Everyone seemed to know everyone else. The director, Teresa Hudson, obviously knew everyone, as did the assistant director, Les Brown. Not that he was talking to anyone. He was known as Les Miserable because of his permanent scowl and lack of humour and he wasn’t known for his small talk. Right now, he was emptying a bowl of nuts into the palm of his hand and chasing them down his throat with a gulp of whisky.

Gemma let her eyes roam the room and they rested next on actress Sophie Kerr. Gemma knew of her work – mostly an impressive stint with the Royal Shakespeare Company, wowing audiences with her varied performances from her wonderfully witty Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing to the most heartbreaking Ophelia in Hamlet. She watched as Sophie flirted with ease with one of the guys who was always carrying cables around. Gemma wasn’t quite sure what he did but he was absolutely spellbound by Sophie and why shouldn’t he be? With her bright blonde curls and bubbly personality, she was the answer to most men’s dreams.

Nearby stood another well-known actress, Beth Jenkins, wearing a dress that was slashed to her navel. She had striking red hair that fell to her shoulders in an immaculately straight curtain and lips that were painted a dangerous-looking red. She was beautiful. She was playing Louisa Musgrove and, from the rumours Gemma had heard, nobody would mind too much if she really did crack her head open after flinging herself from the Cobb during the famous scene from Persuasion. Beth Jenkins was a grade-one bitch.

‘I heard she ran off with the producer’s husband on the set of her last film,’ Gemma heard somebody say behind her. She turned to see two young girls serving behind the bar. They were giggling and whispering, pointing at each actor in turn.

‘Wasn’t she having an affair with that pop star at the same time?’ the other girl said.

‘What pop star?’ her colleague asked.

‘I don’t know. All of them, probably!’

The both giggled again.

Best keep my distance from her, Gemma thought.

That was the problem with filming, though. Casts became like families in that you couldn’t easily escape one another. Gemma had already learned that on her first production – a TV drama called Into the Night. Part love story, part whodunnit, it had been cruelly slated by the critics, as had Gemma’s performance.

‘Destined to play nothing more than the blonde bimbo,’ the television critic from Vive! had said.

‘Legs like runner beans,’ Star Turn had said, ‘and they were her best feature.’

Gemma had been mortified and had gone into hiding for months, dyeing her hair black and building her leg muscles up at the gym.

Things weren’t helped by the fact that her mother was the much-loved actress, Kim Reilly, who’d starred in the seventies cult TV show, Bandits. As soon as Gemma had dared to follow in her footsteps, comparisons had been made. It was inevitable, she supposed. Her mother had been beautiful, talented and lucky. Bandits had been one of the biggest shows of the time with sky-high viewing figures. It had run for five series before the lead actor had been tragically killed in a motorbike accident. If that hadn’t happened, it would probably still be running today, Gemma often thought, her mother dressed in her trademark skin-tight trousers and skimpy tops, her hair blow-dried and bouffant.

Her mother had never topped her performance in Bandits although she had tried to top herself a couple of times. In the public’s mind, she personified success; women wanted to be her and men wanted to bed her. But she was incredibly fragile and, although she adored attention, she also found life in the public eye difficult to cope with. Gemma, it seemed, took after her. She was a bag of nerves just thinking about taking part in a film and yet there was something in her that compelled her to do it. At stage school, she used to be physically sick before going on stage but then she always gave the most dazzling performance – well, that’s what the other students and her tutors had told her. So what had happened with the fated TV drama?

‘Just critics trying to get a cheap laugh,’ one of her old stage school friends had told her when they’d met down the pub to discuss it. ‘Don’t pay them any attention. You were marvellous!’

‘What could you possibly do with a script like that?’ another – more honest – friend had told her. ‘I think you did very well, considering.’

Thank goodness Teresa Hudson had believed in her and had given her a much-needed second chance. There’d obviously been something in her performance that she’d liked. If only she had that belief in herself, she thought.

Looking around the room again, she saw a young man with dark tousled hair. A pair of bright grey eyes sparkled from behind his glasses as he listened to Teresa talking about something or other. Gemma had seen him at rehearsals. He was the screenwriter and one of the producers but he never said a lot. He had a kind face and a nice smile and seemed almost as shy as she was. There was another man just behind him and Gemma suddenly caught his eye. He smiled and his eyes almost disappeared into two happy creases. He had thick brown hair and looked as if he was about to cross the room to talk to her but Gemma turned her back to him. She wasn’t interested in being chatted up. She’d heard plenty of stories about on-set relationships and they never ever worked out.

She watched as a couple of actors came in from the terrace and approached the bar. They nodded at Gemma but didn’t start a conversation. She was glad for there was only one actor here that interested her and that was Oli Wade Owen.

Gemma swallowed hard. Of all the actors in the world to play Captain Frederick Wentworth, why did it have to be Oli Wade Owen? She’d had a crush on him for as long as she could remember. All of her walls at stage school had been covered in posters of the young actor and she’d gazed longingly at them, fantasising about playing Juliet to his Romeo or Cleopatra to his Antony.

He was tall and classically handsome with soft blue eyes and thick blond hair that you just wanted to reach out and touch. But it was his smile that was his best feature. ‘The smile that stole a thousand hearts’ the press had called it; Oli Wade Owen was never short of a girl or two. Frequently photographed coming out of expensive restaurants and exclusive nightclubs, he was front page tabloid news and there was always endless speculation as to who was accompanying him.

Gemma watched him as he chatted to Beth Jenkins. She was obviously enjoying the attention and was in full flirt mode. How could she ever compete with the likes of her? Gemma wondered. It was a whole other league of womanhood.

But it was you Teresa chose for the lead role, a little voice told her and it was true. She wouldn’t be surprised if she’d made a mortal enemy of Beth in the process but, nevertheless, here she was – about to act opposite Oli Wade Owen on a big budget film.

As Oli suddenly turned and flashed her a dazzling smile that almost melted the ice in her drink, Gemma still couldn’t believe it. She didn’t feel ready for this. The role of Anne Elliot was her first in a film and she had the feeling that everybody was waiting for her to fail. But – even worse than that – was the fact she was fully expecting to herself.

Chapter Six

It was late by the time Adam left The Three Palms Hotel and headed back to his home in the Marshwood Vale. He had to admit that the party had been fun. He usually tried to avoid social situations. He was far more a stay-at-home-with-a-bottle-of-wine-and-a-good-film type of guy but he had to admit that he’d enjoyed chatting to the cast and crew. Teresa, the director, although never the life and soul of a party, had nevertheless been fascinating, telling him about the ideas she had for the film and how she hoped to use Lyme Regis to its best advantage. She was also excited about the two locations Adam had found for Kellynch Hall and Uppercross but was a little concerned about the weather reports which were promising rain, rain and more rain. They’d just have to keep their fingers crossed.

Adam had been delighted when he’d found Marlcombe Manor. He’d known immediately that it would make an ideal Kellynch Hall and he was thrilled when the owners and the film company agreed with him. Situated just five miles from Lyme Regis, the Jacobean manor house was the perfect answer to the great seat of the Elliots, and the nearby village of Ashbury was going to stand in for Uppercross with the exterior of a fine Georgian house being used for the home of Charles and Mary Musgrove.

It was always so much easier when filming could take place in as few locations as possible. It saved time, money and cut back on no end of hassle. It was also particularly welcome for Adam who was able to stay at his own home instead of booking into the hotel along with the cast and crew. He valued his privacy and preferred his own company once the working day was over.

He thought again about the party. He’d done his best to make conversation with the assistant director, Les Brown, but nothing had come of it. Les had grunted and mumbled and then left to go to the Gents.

‘Take no notice of him!’ Beth Jenkins had said, sidling up to him in her slinky slashed dress. ‘He’s a total bore. You do know his nickname, don’t you? Les Miserable.’

Adam had laughed and Beth had taken the opportunity to link an arm through his.

She hadn’t been interested in him really though. Adam had noticed how she’d kept glancing back at the terrace to where Oli Wade Owen was standing.

As he slowed down to take a bend by a church, Adam chuckled to himself. The only reason a beautiful actress would fling herself at him was in the hope of making another man jealous.

Then there’d been Gemma. Sweet Gemma Reilly. At last, Adam had met a woman who was as shy as himself. He’d watched her hovering around the bar, stirring her drink and watching the action from a distance. He’d spoken to her briefly before and had immediately warmed to her.

‘All ready for the big day tomorrow?’ he’d asked as he’d approached her.

‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ she’d said.

He’d looked at her pale face and the look of uncertainty in her eyes. ‘You nervous?’

‘Yes!’ she’d said, the word leaping from her mouth. She’d looked surprised that she’d confessed such a thing.

‘But you’re a great actress,’ Adam had told her. ‘I’ve seen you in rehearsals and you’re fabulous. I’m really excited about this production.’

She looked up at him and smiled. ‘That’s really sweet of you.’

‘I’m just being honest.’

‘It’s just—’ She stopped.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Well, this is my first film and I’m terrified of letting everyone down.’ Her eyes were wide and fearful.

‘But you won’t!’ he said.

She nodded. ‘I mean, what if I’m just not a very good actress?’

Adam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was one insecure lady. There was only one thing for it – to lie. ‘But everyone feels like that on a film set.’

‘They do?’ She didn’t look convinced.

‘They certainly do. I was talking to Beth Jenkins before. She was shaking with nerves. I couldn’t believe it!’

‘No way! Beth Jenkins is nervous?’

Adam nodded, wondering where all this was coming from and if he could keep it up. He supposed it was just an extension of his storytelling abilities. ‘She said that there hasn’t been a single film where she’s felt confident beforehand but that it’s those very nerves that drive a good performance.’

Gemma nodded. ‘I was the same at stage school. Every performance gave me the shakes.’

‘But I bet every performance was brilliant?’ Adam said.

‘Well, I’m not sure about that,’ she said with a little blush.

‘You wouldn’t be standing here right now if anyone doubted your ability. A film’s too expensive a project to cast the wrong person,’ Adam said and then regretted it as he saw her pale again. ‘Which is why you’ve nothing to worry about. Teresa was just telling me how wonderful you are. This production’s already in the can. It was the day you were cast.’

Gemma let out a long sigh and reached out a hand to touch his arm. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

Driving back through the darkening country lanes, Adam thought about Gemma’s beautiful young face and how genuinely scared she’d been. He hoped his words had calmed her and he hoped he’d be around to comfort her if she had another attack of nerves.

* * *

Later that night, Gemma woke up with the strange sensation of feeling wet. She flung back the bedclothes and leapt out of bed, turning on her bedside lamp and shrieking as she saw a huge wet patch on her pillow. She looked up to see the ceiling dripping.

‘Oh my goodness!’ she exclaimed, stuffing her feet into a pair of shoes and grabbing a jumper from her suitcase. Where was it coming from? Was the ceiling about to collapse? Was she in danger of dying before she could make her mark in the world of film?

There were voices in the corridor and Gemma opened her door.

‘My room’s turned into a swimming pool!’ Beth was squealing. Gemma couldn’t help noticing that she’d still managed to brush her hair and apply a coating of mascara and lipstick in her panic.

‘My bed’s completely soaked,’ Sophie said. She was wearing a cute pair of pyjamas covered in teddy bears and, like Gemma, hadn’t been anxious to apply make-up in such circumstances.

‘Everyone all right?’ Oli said, coming down from the floor above them. ‘There’s a burst pipe. Everywhere’s drenched.’

‘Oh, this is dreadful!’ Beth said.

‘You should see our rooms,’ Oli said and Gemma noticed that his jeans were soaked and his hair was plastered to his face.

Teresa appeared on the landing, her face dark and drawn. ‘Grab your things as quickly as you can,’ she said.

‘I’m not going back in my room,’ Beth said. ‘I could drown!’

Oli shook his head and dashed in for her. Gemma returned to hers and started packing, grabbing her things as quickly as she could and meeting everyone out on the landing a few minutes later.

‘What the hell are we going to do?’ Les Miserable said, scratching his head and making his hair stick up even more than usual. ‘Where are we going to sleep?’

‘I don’t know,’ Teresa said. ‘They must have more rooms available here.’

Les shook his head. ‘Fully booked.’

‘What are we going to do?’ wailed Beth. ‘I need my beauty sleep. I can’t work without a good night’s rest.’

Gemma tuned out as she watched Oli shaking the excess water from his hair. His t-shirt was soaking too. Gemma turned away. Now was not the time to be thinking about heroes in wet shirts.

It was then that the hotel manager appeared, his arms waving around like the blades of a windmill.

‘I am so sorry, ladies and gentlemen! Is everybody okay?’

‘I’m not okay!’ Beth announced, stepping forward and looking pristine.

‘Oh, my dear!’ the manager said. ‘I will never forgive myself if my favourite actress was hurt whilst in my establishment. Where are you hurt, my dear?’

Beth looked shifty for a moment, rearranging her dressing gown. ‘Well, my toes got a bit wet but my suitcase is ruined! Everything will need replacing.’

‘Oh, don’t fuss,’ Sophie admonished.

Teresa stepped forward to take charge. ‘Are there any other rooms we can use?’

The manager pulled a face. ‘I’m afraid we are completely booked.’

‘Oh, this is ridiculous!’ Beth said. ‘Do you expect me to hang around all night on a draughty wet landing in only a thin little lacy negligee?’ she said, batting her eyelashes in Oli’s direction. Oli grinned and Les Miserable did too, only it was more of a leer and Beth thought it prudent to cover at least half of her cleavage up.

‘I’ll tell you what we can do,’ the manager said. ‘We have lots of spare bedding and can make beds up in the lounge for the rest of tonight.’

Beth tutted. ‘I’ve never heard the like!’

‘There is only about two hours left before we’re due to get up anyway,’ Sophie said. ‘I don’t see what the big problem is.’

The two actresses glared at each other.

‘We’ll make proper arrangements tomorrow,’ Teresa cried above the chaos. ‘Let’s just try and get through the rest of tonight.’

Gemma sighed and watched as Oli sauntered casually downstairs with his suitcase and there was a sudden scramble between Beth and Sophie to follow, both no doubt intent on grabbing the nearest makeshift bed next to him.

Chapter Seven

The last few weeks had passed in a blur of activity for Kay. She’d sold her little house in Hertfordshire and had moved from the county that had been the home of the Bennet family in Pride and Prejudice and the scene of so much of her own personal sadness, into Wentworth House in Lyme Regis and a brand new beginning. The trouble was, her dream to be an artist by the sea hadn’t quite materialised. She hadn’t even had time to unpack her paintbrushes let alone paint anything. There was just so much to do, like saying goodbye to all her old friends and promising that they could come and stay at the B & B as soon as it was ready.

Mr Piper had recommended a local painter and decorator, Charlie Evans. He’d turned up with his seventeen-year-old son who didn’t look at all happy to be there and kept disappearing only to be found at the nearest slot machines. Still, they’d made a start with the hallway, dining room and the bedrooms as they were the most visually horrific rooms and the ones that paying guests would be most likely to notice. The living room and kitchen would have to wait.

Out went the headache-inducing carpets and the pink sinks and in came tin after tin of cream paint and an army of white sinks. To replace the carpets, Kay chose seagrass. She’d always loved it but had never been able to afford it before. Then the fun bit had arrived – choosing the accessories. There were some gorgeous shops in the area and bedding, towels, lamps and mirrors were chosen with love and care until all the rooms were worthy of featuring in a glossy magazine and Kay could feel just a little bit proud of the new home she’d created for her and her guests.

How quickly she’d got used to her new life on the coast. She loved waking up to the sound of seagulls. Their raucous cries were the most efficient of alarm clocks and she always tried to get a quick walk along the Cobb before breakfast, taking in the bracing sea air and watching the ever-changing moods of the sea.

She’d bought a map of the area and was learning all the names. To the west of the Cobb was Monmouth Beach and, further along, Pinhay Bay. But her favourite place was still Lyme. She loved the view across Lyme Bay to the great hulk of Golden Cap and, on a very clear day, it was possible to see as far as the Isle of Portland.

There was so much she wanted to see and explore too. All of the places had magical-sounding names like Gabriel’s Ledge and Black Ven along the coast and, inland, villages with names like Wootton Fitzpaine and Whitchurch Canonicorum.

She loved the street lamps along the front in Lyme Regis that were shaped like ammonites. She loved the shiny mud of the harbour which reminded her of the bitterest chocolate and she loved the evenings when the sea and the sky turned the palest pearly blue and it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. In short, she loved everything. But her favourite thing was the Cobb. She’d looked at it and walked along it, photographed it and worshipped it from every angle, admiring the sloping sweep of it, sketching it in her pad over and over again, determining to paint it one day soon. It seemed like a living thing to her and she desperately wanted to capture that energy on paper.

But what she loved most about the Cobb was how welcoming it seemed to be – how everyone could walk there from toddlers with grandparents to the dozens of dogs who came to Lyme with wagging tails and lolling tongues.

It was at the end of a particularly long day of ripping out old shelves and painting walls that there was a knock on the door. Kay had been sitting in the living room at the front of the house. Although it hadn’t been decorated yet, it looked jolly enough with her old sofa and a couple of armchairs and she was already beginning to feel quite at home there.

She’d just been rereading a few of the Lyme Regis pages from Persuasion and wondered who on earth it was calling. She hadn’t been in Lyme long enough to make any friends and she hadn’t yet opened Wentworth House for business. Kay walked down the hallway and unlocked the door. There was a slim woman standing on the step. She looked about forty years old with an unsmiling and careworn face.

‘You are a bed and breakfast, aren’t you?’ the woman asked, desperation in her voice.

‘Well, I guess I am,’ Kay said.

‘Good,’ the woman said. ‘It’s just possible that you could save my life.’

Kay didn’t quite know what to say to that as she’d never saved anyone’s life up to this point but, before she could respond, the careworn woman had invited herself in and was talking ten to the dozen.

‘I’m Teresa Hudson. You’ve probably seen some of my films. Passion of a Lady, Two on a Tower – that sort of thing. I’m a director. We’re making Persuasion here in Lyme and the whole cast and crew are with me. How many rooms do you have?’ she asked, bustling about and poking her head round the door. ‘It’s very small, isn’t it?’

‘Five,’ Kay said. ‘I have five rooms, all en suite.’

‘Five? Twins, double?’

‘Three double, two twin but the twins aren’t quite ready. We’ve been redecorating and I wanted to—’

‘I’ll take them. I’ll take all of them. Doesn’t matter if they’re ready. We’re a bit desperate, you see. We’ve been staying at The Three Palms up the road but a burst pipe’s made a few of us homeless and there’s absolutely nowhere left in town. I’ve got production assistants running up and down the streets hammering on doors. It’s ridiculous. But somebody mentioned this place only it didn’t look very promising from the outside.’

‘Well, I’ve just moved in,’ Kay said, feeling it necessary to explain but annoyed that she had to. This was, perhaps, the rudest woman she’d ever met.

‘We’ll want breakfast and dinner. No lunch. We’ll be eating early and late, okay? Now, let me see the rooms.’

Teresa didn’t bother to wait for Kay to lead her upstairs but made her own way, opening doors and peering inside.

‘Nice,’ she said. ‘Small but nice. Paint smells a bit strong.’

‘We’ve just decorated,’ Kay said. ‘As I explained.’

Teresa nodded and got out her mobile from her jacket pocket. ‘Les, it’s Teresa. I’ve found somewhere. Parking?’ she said. ‘Is there parking?’

‘Not far away,’ Kay said, pointing in the direction.

‘Yes, there’s parking nearby. You know what Lyme’s like.’ There was a pause and Teresa frowned. ‘Well, hurry up and finish eating and then get yourselves down here. Marine Parade. It’s a place called—’ She stopped and looked at Kay with raised eyebrows.

‘Wentworth House,’ Kay filled in.

‘Wentworth House,’ Teresa repeated with a wry smile. ‘I know. It’s fate,’ she said, snapping her phone shut. ‘Right, I’ll choose myself a room.’

Kay watched in total bemusement as her first guest disappeared up the stairs.

‘Extraordinary,’ she said to herself.

Things got a bit chaotic after that. The next time Kay opened the door, she came face to face with a droopy sort of a man who was stubbing his cigarette out in Kay’s new terracotta pot. He didn’t say anything, only nodded and pushed into the hallway where he hollered, ‘TERESA!’

Kay jumped.

‘Les!’ Teresa shouted back, appearing on the landing. ‘Everyone with you?’

‘They’re on their way. I’ve got Gemma, Sophie, Beth and Oli. The others are okay at The Palms.’

‘Their rooms okay?’

Les nodded.

Before Kay had time to hear more, there was another knock on the door.

‘Is this Wentworth House?’ a young woman with a pretty heart-shaped face and blonde curly hair asked.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘I’m Sophie,’ the woman said. ‘Sophie Kerr.’

Kay frowned. She’d heard the name before. Recognition suddenly dawned as she ushered her inside. ‘You were in The Solitary Neighbour!’

Sophie nodded. ‘I was. How sweet of you to remember. That was years ago!’

Kay smiled. The Solitary Neighbour was a gothic Victorian made-for-TV movie – just the sort of thing that Kay lapped up – and Sophie had played the heroine.

‘So you’re in this production of Persuasion now?’ Kay asked, hoping she didn’t sound too star-struck.

‘Henrietta Musgrove,’ Sophie said. ‘The boring sister who doesn’t get to jump off the Cobb and nearly break her neck in the name of flirtation.’

Kay laughed.

‘To be honest, I don’t mind. At least I don’t have to risk an injury doing stunts like Beth will be.’

‘Beth?’ Kay asked.

‘Somebody mention my name?’ a voice called and Kay and Sophie looked round to see the red-haired actress entering the bed and breakfast.

‘BETH JENKINS!’ Kay all but screamed.

Beth batted her eyelashes. ‘Oh, a fan!’ she said.

‘I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it. I’ve just been reading Persuasion – look!’ Kay ran into the sitting room and came out holding the book.

‘Well, how funny!’ Sophie said.

‘I had no idea it was being filmed here.’

‘Yes, well, one has to slum it occasionally,’ Beth said, looking up and down the narrow hallway. ‘My last job was filming in a villa in Marbella. Stunning views. Simply stunning. Got to top up my tan and everything.’

‘Yes, but Jane Austen heroines are meant to be pale and interesting,’ Sophie said, ‘and not look like an old leather handbag.’

Beth glared at her and Kay’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t believe it. There were two famous actresses standing in the hallway of her bed and breakfast and they were fighting!

‘I’ll show you to your rooms,’ Kay said.

‘I want a double,’ Beth said. ‘With a view.’

Kay nodded. ‘Sophie?’

‘Oh, just stick me in anywhere,’ she said with a wave of her hand.

‘Do you have any bags?’ Kay asked.

‘Oli’s bringing them,’ Beth said.

Kay wondered who Oli was. Probably some poor put-upon assistant.

‘This is the best double,’ Kay said. ‘You can see the Cobb and the whole of the front.’

‘Is there a bath? I must have a bath and a shower.’

Kay nodded. ‘The shower’s above the bath—’

‘Oh, God! Not one of those pathetic pieces of work that dribbles tepid water, is it?’

‘Don’t pay any attention to her,’ Sophie said. ‘She’s nothing but a spoilt brat.’

Beth turned round to face Sophie and, for one frightening moment, Kay really thought she was going to punch her.

‘And there’s a lovely twin next door,’ Kay said, thinking it wise to move Sophie out of harm’s way.

‘Oh, it’s lovely!’ Sophie said. ‘Will I be sharing it?’

‘Depends how many of you there are,’ Kay said.

‘Hasn’t Teresa told you?’

Kay shook her head.

‘Well, I think there’s only Gemma and Oli and I’d better not be sharing with Oli – no matter how divine he is.’ She flopped back on to the bed and sighed. ‘I wouldn’t want to make Beth jealous. She’s such a diva. All the attention’s got to be on her twenty-four seven. I wouldn’t mind but she’s not even the lead.’

‘No?’

Sophie sat back up. ‘Gemma’s the lead and you wouldn’t find a sweeter actress anywhere, but she’s as jumpy as anything. The complete antithesis of diva-face next door. God! I can’t believe I’m working with her again. She haunts me!’

Kay grinned. ‘What have you been in together?’

‘There was that dreadful TV thriller last year and, before that, we were in that boarding school drama that seemed to go on for decades without any of us growing any older.’

‘Oh, yes!’ Kay said. ‘I remember that. Gosh, you’ve both been acting for years then.’

Sophie grinned. ‘You make me sound like an ancient dame.’

‘Oh, no! I mean, you’ve got so much experience. You make me feel so ordinary.’

Sophie looked at Kay. ‘But you’ve got this place. It’s pretty amazing.’

‘Thanks. I’ve just bought it. I was left some money,’ she said, thinking how easy it was to talk to this woman. ‘I’ve always wanted to live by the sea.’

‘I live near Waterloo station in London. It’s horrible. My flat’s not too bad, I suppose, but it’s so ugly there. I try and work as much as possible so I don’t have to stay there.’

‘But isn’t it odd living in hotels all the time?’ Kay asked.

‘You get used to it. I don’t mind living out of a suitcase and I love acting. I love becoming someone else.’

‘It must be a strange life,’ Kay said. ‘I can’t quite imagine it.’

‘Some are better suited to it than others,’ Sophie said. ‘Diva-face next door makes life miserable for everyone whose path she crosses. You won’t have to let her get to you. But Oli, now he’s brilliant.’

‘Who’s Oli?’ Kay asked.

‘HELLO?’ a male voice yelled from downstairs. ‘Anyone there?’

Sophie smoothed down her hair with her hands. ‘I think you’re about to find out.’

Suddenly, everyone was out on the landing.

‘We’re up here, Oli,’ Teresa shouted.

‘I hope you’ve got my bags!’ Beth said, walking out from her bedroom, her lips now painted a fierce scarlet.

‘There’s a double left for you, Oliver,’ Teresa said and that’s when Kay saw him for the first time. He was walking up the stairs and, at first, all she could see was a shock of butter-blond hair. Then he lifted his head and a pair of blue eyes met her own and a huge smile broke across his face.

‘Hello,’ he said.

Kay’s mouth dropped open. It was the actor, Oli Wade Owen, and he was the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on.

Chapter Eight

If she could have taken her eyes away from him for a second, Kay would surely have done a prize-winning double take. To have a director in her house had been excitement enough, to have two famous actresses had almost caused Kay to combust with delight, but to have one of Britain’s most handsome actors – the man who’d played a thousand heroes, the man who’d adorned every cover of every magazine and newspaper – was almost too much to bear. And he was walking straight towards her.

‘You must be the good lady of the house,’ Oli said, extending a hand towards her. Kay held hers out and he took it in his and shook it. It was a warm, melting sort of a moment and Kay felt sure that her entire store of blood had rushed to her face because she felt as if her cheeks were on fire.

‘Kay,’ she managed to say. ‘Welcome to Wentworth House.’

‘Very apt,’ Oli said. ‘Seeing as I’m Wentworth.’ He looked around at the group that had gathered on the landing and everyone laughed. It was as if he was a king holding court.

‘Right,’ he said, breaking the spell as he retrieved his hand, ‘who’s for a drink?’

‘I am,’ Beth declared.

Teresa stepped in, holding her hand up. ‘One drink,’ she said. ‘We’ve got an early start in the morning in case you’d forgotten.’

Oli clapped his hands together. ‘The Harbour Inn it is then. For one drink,’ he added.

Kay watched in bemusement as everyone bundled downstairs and she couldn’t resist following. The front door was flung open and Oli exclaimed as he almost smashed into a young woman standing on the step.

‘Gemma! What took you so long?’

‘I was carrying all these!’ she said, gesturing to the two suitcases and a bundle of carrier bags.

‘Oh, my hats!’ Beth said, nodding to the bags. ‘I found this divine hat shop here in Lyme. Take them upstairs, will you, Gemma? I’m in the double at the front.’

‘I bet you are,’ Kay heard Gemma say under her breath as she squeezed into the hallway.

‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Kay said, stepping forward and smiling at the pale-faced actress.

‘Oh, you’re not coming with us?’ Sophie said. ‘And Gem – you’re coming, aren’t you?’

‘I’m a bit tired,’ Gemma said.

‘She’s always tired,’ Beth said. ‘Come on, Oli.’

Kay watched as they all left. ‘Hi,’ she said, turning to Gemma. ‘I’m Kay.’

‘Gemma.’

‘Gemma Reilly?’ Kay asked, thinking that life couldn’t get much more exciting. ‘I saw that film of yours last year.’

Gemma pulled a face. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘But I liked it!’

‘Did you?’ Gemma said, sounding genuinely surprised.

The two of them made a slow progress up the stairs with the suitcases.

‘I did. You were great.’

‘Well, you’re the only person in the country who thinks so.’

‘But it was one of those roles, wasn’t it?’ Kay said. ‘I mean, it probably didn’t really stretch you – acting-wise – the character was just a spoilt little rich girl, wasn’t she? But you were so convincing.’

‘Was I?’

Kay nodded as they reached the landing. ‘And, by the end, I really warmed to her, you know? I began to understand her.’

‘Thanks,’ Gemma said. ‘That means a lot to me.’

Kay smiled. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to share.’

Gemma’s face fell. ‘Not with Beth?’

‘No,’ Kay laughed. ‘Beth grabbed a double. With Sophie. Is that okay?’

Gemma sighed with relief. ‘That’s fine,’ she said and the two of them entered the room. ‘Sophie’s one of those people you feel like you’ve known forever – in a good way, I mean.’

‘But not Beth?’

‘Beth’s an acquired taste,’ Gemma said with the tiniest of smiles.

‘Can I get you anything? A cup of tea?’ Kay asked. ‘I was just going to make a quick bite to eat. Not much, just some soup or something. You’re welcome to join me – if you’re not going to the pub, that is.’

‘I won’t be going to the pub,’ Gemma said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘I think I’ll just have an early night with a book.’

‘Okay,’ Kay said. ‘I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.’

Gemma nodded and Kay left the room, closing the door and returning to the living room downstairs. She saw the opened paperback of Persuasion on the chair where she’d left it and smiled. It was as if the characters from the book had walked out of the page and right into her bed and breakfast.

She sat down heavily in her chair by the window. Sophie Kerr, Beth Jenkins, Gemma Reilly and Oli Wade Owen.

Oli Wade Owen! Kay’s eyes widened at the thought. How many daydreams had Kay had over the years about Oli Wade Owen? How many boring office hours had been enlivened by thoughts of that gorgeous smile of his and that twinkle in his blue eyes? She remembered cutting out a picture of him from Vive! once because she’d thought he would make the perfect hero to paint. Where was the painting now? she wondered. But maybe she could get on with some new ones. Maybe he would sit for her – in costume!

She picked up her copy of Persuasion but she couldn’t concentrate and so put it down again. She could hear Gemma moving about upstairs and wondered whether she should make her a cup of tea anyway and take it up to her. But she was probably exhausted and wouldn’t want to be disturbed which was a shame because Kay would have loved to talk to her.

‘Don’t rush things,’ she told herself. ‘They’ll all be here for a while.’

For a blissful moment, she thought about what the next few days might bring. She might end up best friends with Gemma Reilly and Sophie Kerr! They’d invite her to red carpet premieres and Kay would get a swishy new haircut and become a media darling. ‘Confidante to the stars’ they’d call her. ‘Former B & B owner, Kay Ashton, is now a star in her own right with her bestselling book, The Illustrated Darcy.’ She’d be an overnight sensation and Oli Wade Owen would fall desperately in love with her. Teresa Hudson would also be dazzled by her talents and insist she take up the lead role in her next film – starring opposite Oli, of course. They’d have just come back from their honeymoon and the film would be the talk of the—

‘I’ve changed my mind about that cup of tea,’ a shy voice interrupted her. Kay blinked her delicious daydream away and saw Gemma standing in the doorway.

‘Of course,’ Kay said with a smile, and she couldn’t help thinking that her daydream wasn’t quite so outrageous after all and that she and Gemma were going to be friends in no time.

She led Gemma through to the kitchen.

‘You’ll have to excuse the mess. I’ve not been here long and wanted to get the bedrooms done first.’

‘They’re lovely,’ Gemma said.

‘Thanks. This will be too when I get round to it.’

‘So have you always run a B & B?’

‘Oh, no!’ Kay laughed. ‘I’ve only just bought this place. I’ve just done office work up until recently.’ She filled the kettle with water and switched it on. ‘I – well, I came into some money,’ she said. ‘Unexpectedly.’

‘Oh!’ Gemma said and she smiled. ‘Oh,’ she added, seeing Kay’s face.

Kay nodded. ‘I’m afraid a very sweet friend of mine died.’ She sighed. ‘I still can’t believe it. The last few months have been so strange and I sometimes can’t believe that I’m here leading this new life.’

‘You mean you’ve not always lived here?’

‘No. I moved down from Hertfordshire, but after my mother died and then my friend, I really didn’t have anything keeping me there. I mean, there are a few friends I’ll miss and some of my work colleagues but I didn’t really feel I belonged there any more and I felt it was the right time to make a move.’

Gemma’s face softened. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘You’ve been through a lot.’

The kettle boiled and Kay got two floral mugs out of the cupboard and made the tea, noticing that Gemma liked hers with milk and one sugar – just like her.

‘It’s hard some days,’ Kay said at last as they walked back through to the sitting room with their tea. ‘I can’t help feeling a bit lonely. I walk around with all these thoughts in my head like, I must tell Mum this or Peggy will laugh when I show her this. But then I remember they’re not here any more.’

‘Oh, Kay!’ Gemma said, leaning forward in the chair she’d sat down in.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s easier with me living here. If I was still in my old town, I’d be reminded of them everywhere I went but it’s different here. Everything’s new.’ She looked out of the window. The sky was darkening and the lamps had come on. ‘But I still find it all impossible to believe. It’s horrible to think that I can’t pick a phone up and talk to them. I can’t ask their opinions about things any more. All that’s been taken away from me and I wasn’t ready for it.’

Gemma put her mug of tea down and leant forward to take Kay’s hand in hers.

Kay blinked her tears away and then waved her hand in front of her face. ‘I’m okay,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about me. I didn’t mean to be miserable. You shouldn’t be sitting here, listening to me wittering on. You should be down at the pub with the others.’

Gemma shook her head. ‘I’m not into all that. They’ll all be drinking too much and bitching about the business. It’s not me.’

‘No,’ Kay said, ‘it wouldn’t be me either. I’d rather curl up with a good book.’ She picked up her copy of Persuasion and showed Gemma.

‘You’re reading Persuasion?’

‘It’s one of my favourites. It’s why I chose to move here.’

‘And then the whole cast descended on you!’

They sat quietly for a moment, sipping their tea.

‘Well,’ Gemma said at last, ‘thanks for the tea. I think I’ll go and do a bit of swotting.’

Kay looked quizzical.

‘It’s what Beth calls learning your lines,’ Gemma explained. ‘She’s always teasing me that I’m swotting again but I can’t help it. I need things fresh in my mind.’

Kay smiled and watched as Gemma left the room. She was one of the sweetest people Kay had ever met and she was going to make a wonderful Anne Elliot, she thought.

Suddenly, Kay got very excited at the thought of being able to watch some of the scenes being filmed. She had a front row view of the Cobb for a start and she wondered if Teresa would let her get even closer whilst they were filming. Maybe she’d be asked to be an extra! Or maybe nasty Beth would twist her ankle during the scene on the Cobb steps and Kay would stand in for her, doing such an amazing piece of acting that Teresa would be completely bowled over and recast Kay as Louisa Musgrove. And, during that wonderful scene where Louisa jumps down the steps into Captain Wentworth’s arms, she’d look deep into the blue eyes of Oli Wade Owen and he’d fall madly in love with her.

It would be a small wedding with six hundred guests, Kay thought, and a few helicopters from rival magazines flying overhead trying to get a shot of Oli’s bride. They’d become media darlings – their every move photographed.

She shook her head. It was so easy to get carried away and daydream – it was one of the little quirks from her childhood that had followed her into her adult life and she knew she really had to learn how to control it because daydreams, as harmless as they might seem, had a way of disappointing the daydreamer by not coming true. Kay was just an ordinary young woman running a bed and breakfast and Oli Wade Owen was never going to pay her the slightest bit of attention, was he?

Chapter Nine

As predicted, the cast and crew came home only once they’d been chucked out of the pub. Kay heard them halfway down Marine Parade from her bedroom and was sure she could hear Beth Jenkins singing. Well, screeching really. It wasn’t melodious enough to be called singing.

There was a banging and a scratching at the front door as somebody tried to get it open and then it sounded as if everybody was trying to get in all at once. Kay giggled as she opened her bedroom door and dared to peep over the stairs.

‘Shusssssshhhh!’ Sophie was whispering. ‘You shusssshhhhh!’ Beth retorted, stumbling up the first stair.

‘You always have to overdo things, Beth. That’s your problem.’

‘Don’t you tell me what my problem is!’ Beth said. ‘My problem is you!’ she said, poking a finger into Sophie’s chest.

‘Yeah? Well my problem is you!’ Sophie said in response.

‘Ladies, ladies!’ Oli cut in. ‘We can’t have the Musgrove sisters at war with each other now, can we?’

Kay watched as they all came tripping up the stairs. Beth’s face was bright red and she had a naughty gleam in her eye. Oli’s blond hair was tousled as if somebody had been ruffling it – Beth, probably, Kay thought. Teresa’s eyes were almost completely shut as if her mind was already in bed and only her body had to catch up. Then Les brought up the rear with Sophie. He looked as morose as ever, his face sullen and sunken as if it had been sat on. Sophie was the only one who looked relatively normal. Her face looked a little flushed but she was smiling and managing the stairs better than any of the others.

‘Night!’ she said when she reached the top.

Beth shoved a hand in the air by way of response and fell into her bedroom.

‘Goodnight, my sweet princesses,’ Oli said before disappearing into his own room. The others did likewise and Kay quietly closed her own door.

For a moment, she stood perfectly still wondering, once again, if she’d imagined the whole thing.

‘Where’s my hairdryer?’ a voice suddenly bellowed into the corridor. It was Beth Jenkins’s voice.

No, Kay thought, she hadn’t imagined it. There really were several film stars staying in her home.

‘Sophie? Have you got my hairdryer?’

‘No, I haven’t got your poxy hairdryer. Keep your voice down. Gemma’s trying to sleep in here.’

Beth slammed her bedroom door and all was quiet again. Kay giggled. This was just too strange. Just a couple of doors away, Oli Wade Owen would be getting ready for bed. Kay got into her own bed. She must stop thinking about him but it was so hard to ignore somebody who had crossed her threshold with the true panache of a Jane Austen hero and, as she closed her eyes that night, Kay didn’t dream about Mr Darcy but Oli Wade Owen.

* * *

Making breakfast for six people was a novelty for Kay but not one that she wasn’t enjoying. Sophie had been the first one up, looking bright-eyed and eager to throw herself into the day ahead even though it was only six in the morning. Which was more than could be said for Beth who entered the dining room with her eyes half-closed.

‘Good morning, bright eyes!’ Sophie chirped. ‘And how are you this morning?’

‘Shut up, Soph!’ Beth groaned as she pulled out a chair at the dining table and sat down. ‘Oh, my head. Who bought me all those drinks?’

‘You did!’ Sophie told her with a bright laugh.

‘Don’t laugh. Don’t say anything. It’s too painful.’

‘You’d better smarten yourself up before Teresa makes an appearance,’ Sophie warned her. ‘You know what she’s like.’

‘Oh, God! If she tells me to wake up and shake up, I’ll scream,’ Beth said.

As Kay placed two pots of coffee on the table she watched as Teresa and Les walked in together.

‘Good morning,’ Teresa said. ‘Good God, Beth! What happened to you?’

‘Nothing. I’m fine,’ Beth lied, wincing at the sound of her own voice.

‘You look appalling. You’d better wake up and shake up before we start filming. The make-up artists can’t perform miracles, you know.’

Beth glared at her tormentor and Sophie did her best to stifle a giggle.

Les grabbed the coffee pot and started pouring. ‘Looks like it might rain,’ he said in a voice that reminded Kay of a rainy grey morning.

‘Forecast isn’t good,’ Teresa agreed. ‘We might have to do the Uppercross scenes instead.’

Gemma, who was just walking into the room, suddenly looked startled. ‘The Uppercross scenes?’

‘Unless the rain holds off and we can shoot some of the Cobb stuff,’ Teresa said.

Kay watched as Gemma pulled out a chair and sat down. She didn’t look happy.

‘Good morning!’ A bright voice filled the room and Kay looked up to see Oli striding into the dining room, his smile filling his face. It was all Kay could do not to tip Sophie’s juice into her lap. ‘How are we all this morning?’

‘God, Oli!’ Beth said. ‘How can you be so unrelentingly joyous? And how did you escape without a hangover? I saw the amount you put away last night.’

Oli grabbed a piece of toast from the centre of the table and started spreading it thickly with yellow butter. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, my poppet,’ he said, taking a big mouthful and munching happily. ‘I hardly touched a drop.’

Beth shook her head and returned to her cereal in disgust.

‘I did warn you all,’ Teresa said. ‘I said one drink, didn’t I?’

Kay grinned at the conversation but her eyes hadn’t left Oli’s face. As she fussed around making sure everyone had what they needed, her eyes kept flicking back to him and she recalled the films that she’d swooned over in the past. It had been the adaptation of Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities when he’d first caught her eye. He’d played Sydney Carton and Kay had cried her eyes out when he’d sacrificed his life for the woman he loved.

There’d followed some rather awful romantic comedies where he’d played vacuous heroes who always got the girl. Still, he’d been very cute and his audience had swelled. Then the temptation of Hollywood had beckoned and he’d been cast as the wife stealer in a film called – unsurprisingly – The Wife Stealer. It had been dreadful. The only redeeming thing about it had been the near-nude scene and the press that had followed. Many a still from the film had been published in the tabloids and Kay had to admit that it had brightened up a few dreary lunch hours.

Looking at him now, she tried not to think about the near-nude scene and the length of his bronzed back and his tight firm . . .

‘I’ll get some more toast,’ she blurted, causing everyone to turn and look at her.

‘You all right, Kay?’ Sophie asked. ‘You look all flushed.’

‘I’m fine,’ Kay said, hurrying from the room as quickly as she could.

She must not fall in love with him. She must not fall in love with him. Handsome men were bad news. How many times had she had her heart broken? She didn’t like to think about the number of handsome men who’d won her heart and then stepped all over it. She hadn’t come to Lyme Regis just to repeat her past. She was going to throw herself into her work and make a go of her new business, and focus on her illustrations too. She did not need a man in her life.

But, as soon as she returned to the dining room with a pot of tea and more toast, she knew it was too late and, when Oli looked up and beamed a smile at her, she knew that she was totally smitten.

Chapter Ten

Gemma couldn’t believe that they might be shooting the Uppercross scenes that day. She’d thought they were doing the ones on the Cobb. She was ready for the Cobb.

How could film companies do that? It seemed perverse to her – like reading a book out of sequence. Of course, she knew what it was all about – making the most of the weather conditions and making sure the locations worked for you but, for actors, it was always difficult. Take her first job on Into the Night for example. She’d arrived on set that first day and had had to shoot the final scene. It was a topsy-turvy sort of a world and such things could easily unbalance an insecure actress.

Gemma sank down on to her bed and picked up her script. She was quite sure her mother had never had such a problem with learning her lines. Gemma could remember her with her scripts throughout her childhood.

‘Mum,’ Gemma would say. ‘Can you help me with my homework?’

‘Darling, I have homework of my own!’ her mum would say, flicking her long dark hair over her shoulder and then sitting herself on the floor in a strange yoga position, her script in front of her and her back to her daughter.

Gemma would go upstairs to her room and, about an hour later, there’d be a knock at the door.

‘Did you still want some help?’ her mum would ask. Gemma would shake her head. She’d have done her homework by then.

Thinking back to those times now, her mother had never needed more than one read through a script and she had it down. Maybe she’d had a photographic memory or maybe her crime caper lines had been easier to learn than a Jane Austen adaptation, but one thing was for sure – her mother had never got nervous. She’d thrived on the adrenalin that filming produced. There was a permanent buzz about her – she oozed energy and was always the life and soul of the party – and there’d been quite a few at the height of her success in Bandits. Gemma remembered them well. She’d be trying to sleep upstairs when, downstairs, dozens of guests would be dancing and shouting in the living room. And the dining room, kitchen and garden. Even Gemma’s bedroom hadn’t escaped with one amorous couple once falling on to her bed in a lusty heap, the woman screaming to high heaven when she realised there was somebody already in it.

‘Come on! It’s time to go home,’ Kim Reilly would yell several hours later. ‘It is a school night, after all!’ There’d be ripples of laughter and Gemma would check the little light on her bedside clock. Her mother’s idea of ending a party early would be somewhere around three o’clock. Then, because she didn’t like to shirk her motherly duties, she’d come into Gemma’s room and squeeze her shoulder. ‘I didn’t wake you, did I, darling?’

‘No, Mummy,’ Gemma would say.

‘We were nice and quiet, weren’t we?’

Gemma would nod, the shrieking of the guests still ringing in her ears.

She’d lost count of the number of nights’ sleep she’d disturbed over the years and the number of tests she’d failed because she’d just been too tired the next day in class.

Gosh, Gemma thought to herself, is that who I’ll turn into in a few years’ time? The thought terrified her because, more than anything else, Gemma wanted to settle down with the perfect man and have lots of perfect babies. But what if she turned into her mother, putting her career as an actress first and partying hard into the night? She shook her head. She was never going to allow that to happen. It just wasn’t her. She was more of your sit-at-home-with-a-good-book-and-a-cup-of-tea sort of girl. And then there was the knitting. Gemma really wasn’t your typical young actress courting the press by spilling out of taxis wearing the latest fashions, and schmoozing with her fellow celebrities at every red carpet event going. Getting drunk in the newest bar or dancing at the trendiest nightclub just wasn’t her style. She’d rather get comfortable in the big old armchair she’d inherited from a maiden aunt and pick up her beloved basket of wool.

Beth had already sussed Gemma’s little knitting quirk.

‘Oh, it’s so wonderfully mumsy!’ she’d said, making the word mumsy sound like the foulest of insults whilst also insinuating that Gemma didn’t have a sexy bone in her body. Everyone in rehearsal had turned to stare at Gemma and the ball of lilac wool she was clutching, and there’d been a few sniggers which had cut her to the quick. But Gemma needed her knitting. Not only was it her passion but it calmed her down too. The click clack of the needles was mesmeric and her work in progress took her mind off things when she wasn’t needed on set. At least she didn’t spend her spare time bitching about people behind their backs, she thought, remembering the vitriol which had spilled from Beth’s mouth in between takes in the studio. That woman might have a face that could grace any magazine cover in the world but her language was as foul as a cesspit.

Gemma closed her eyes. It was people like Beth that really made working in this industry difficult. For some reason, the world of acting seemed to attract some of the nastiest examples of humankind and it pained Gemma that she had to spend hours of her life doing her best to dodge them.

‘You ready to rock?’ a voice said, startling Gemma from her thoughts. She looked up to see Sophie enter the room. At least there was one ally on this film set, she thought, thanking her lucky stars that she’d bonded so quickly with Sophie. ‘Time we were out of here.’

Gemma nodded and got up off the bed, her script in her hand.

‘You don’t need that, do you?’ Sophie said light-heartedly.

‘Oh, you know,’ Gemma said, ‘it’s just in case. I like to have it with me.’ She turned round and grabbed her oversized bag, her knitting needles poking out of the opening.

‘Are they yours?’ Sophie asked in bemusement.

Gemma nodded.

‘I didn’t know Anne Elliot knitted. Can I see?’

‘Well, it’s just a little something. It’s not really fin—’

But Sophie had already pulled it out of her bag and was inspecting it. ‘Oh, it’s adorable!’ she said, holding up a little baby’s jacket in pearly pink wool.

‘My sister-in-law’s just had a little girl – Harriet.’

‘This is gorgeous,’ Sophie said. ‘Really gorgeous. Could you make one in a size ten for me?’

Gemma grinned, delighted at the praise.

Sophie returned the little jacket to her. ‘Into the fray,’ she said and, as they closed the bedroom door behind them, Gemma couldn’t help wishing, with all her heart, that she could stay on the other side of that door with her knitting needles.

Kay watched as everybody congregated in the hallway. She’d never heard such a small group of people make so much noise before.

‘We’ve just had the latest weather report,’ Teresa announced, ‘and we might be able to get a couple of shots in on the Cobb before the heavens open. Anyway, into make-up and costume first and we’ll take things from there.’

Les opened the door and everybody spilled out into the early morning.

‘Bye, Kay,’ Sophie said.

Kay beamed her a smile. It was nice of at least one of them to remember her. Then Oli turned around and winked at her. Kay’s mouth dropped open but then clamped shut again as Teresa glared at him and pushed him out of the door and Kay turned away in embarrassment. She should be getting on with tidying up, not standing in the hallway flirting with film stars.

Flirting! He had been flirting with her, hadn’t he? Teresa had said they’d all be wanting an evening meal tonight and Kay had quite enough on her plate preparing to fill theirs without the distraction of flirting.

As the door finally closed, silence filled Wentworth House. It was funny. They’d only been there one night but the bed and breakfast felt strangely empty once they’d left. Kay looked at the enormous pile of dirty bowls, plates and cups, knowing she had plenty to be getting on with but she had a better idea and, flinging her tea towel over a chair, she took the stairs two at a time, rushing into her bedroom and staring out of the window. Her guests had reached the Cobb now where several vans were already in position. It was too early yet for tourists to get in the way but Kay could see that the area had been roped off.

She looked around her bedroom. Now, where had she put them? She started hunting through her wardrobe and the drawers of her bedside table. They were here somewhere, she was quite sure of it. Ah, there they were! Tucked away at the back of the second drawer, behind a notebook featuring the face of Mr Darcy, was a pair of miniature binoculars. Kay pulled them out, grabbed a drawing pad and pencil and ran downstairs, pulling on a pair of boots and heading along Marine Parade in the direction of the Cobb. She didn’t want to make a nuisance of herself and so found a quiet stretch of wall along the beach and sat down.

‘That’s better,’ she said to herself as she brought the binoculars into focus and settled on the little crowd of people who had joined her guests on the Cobb. There was a lot of pointing going on and everyone looked out to sea where a heap of bruised clouds was looming over the horizon. Teresa was nodding her head and Les was looking as miserable as ever. And Oli was looking handsome. He had such a great profile. Just the sort of profile a heroine would sketch as a silhouette. Kay smiled. What a great idea that would be! She could get him to sit for her one evening and make one of those fabulous Austenesque silhouettes – just like the one Marianne had made of Willoughby in the film adaptation of Sense and Sensibility.

In the meantime, the artist in her got the better of her and she opened her pad and began sketching. That beautiful slope of his forehead, that perfect nose and strong jaw, the sensual curve of his smile and the buttery floppiness of his hair. Kay quickly sketched – her eyes focusing through the binoculars and then down on her pad, capturing the magic of the man as quickly as she could. She was just putting the finishing touches to it when she looked through the binoculars again. Oli had turned around and he was waving. Kay moved the bin oculars to the right, trying to see who he was waving to and then something odd happened: Oli pointed towards her, a big grin on his face.

Kay gasped. He was waving at her. She bit her lip and quickly got up to leave but it was too late, of course. She’d been well and truly rumbled. She closed her eyes for a moment and allowed herself a good old cringe. What on earth would Oli think of her now? He’d think she was some ogling star-struck fan. It was awful! She’d just have to try and explain what she was doing.

You were ogling him, a little voice inside her said as she quickly headed back home.

‘No I wasn’t. I was sketching him as part of my work. He is playing Captain Wentworth, after all.’

You were ogling him! You know you were!

Kay groaned. She had better things to do than stand around arguing with herself. There was the dishwater to load for a start.

She was just piling in the dishes and thanking her lucky stars that she’d had the foresight to buy one when there was a knock at the door. For a moment, her heart raced. Maybe it was Oli. He’d raced back to the B & B after seeing her ogling him – watching him. It had suddenly dawned on him that she was the girl for him. How hadn’t he seen it sooner? He should have realised it when she’d been serving him breakfast. Oh, all the time they’d wasted!

Kay opened the door. It was a man all right but it wasn’t Oli.

‘Hello,’ he said.

‘Hello,’ Kay said, her heartbeat returning to something approaching normality again.

‘I’m Adam. Adam Craig.’

‘I’m afraid we’re full at the moment. If you’re looking for a room,’ Kay said.

‘Oh, I’m not,’ he said. ‘I’m looking for Teresa. I believe she’s staying here.’

‘She’s down at the Cobb,’ Kay said. ‘They left about ten minutes ago. You can’t miss them – they’ve practically taken over the whole of that part of town.’

Adam turned to look in the direction of the Cobb. ‘Ah, yes. I should have thought to go there first.’

‘You’re with the film people?’ Kay asked.

He nodded. ‘I’m the screenwriter and producer.’

‘Oh,’ Kay said.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Nobody ever knows what a producer does and nobody ever cares what a writer does.’

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘It’s okay.’

‘Would you like to come in?’ Kay asked, not quite sure what she was going to do with a screenwriter/producer but feeling it was the polite thing to ask.

‘This place was empty for a while, wasn’t it?’ Adam said, stepping inside and looking around. ‘It’s good to see you’re breathing new life into it,’ he said with a smile.

‘I’ve just had all the bedrooms redecorated, and the dining room. The rest will have to wait, I’m afraid,’ she said, leading him into the living room.

‘Ah, yes. I see what you mean.’

Kay nodded as Adam took in the nicotine-coloured wall-paper and swirly patterned carpet.

‘An acquired taste, perhaps,’ Kay said. ‘And one I have no intention of acquiring. Oh,’ she suddenly added, ‘I’m Kay.’

Adam smiled and stretched out a hand to shake hers and then his eye caught the book she’d left open over the arm of a chair.

‘You’re reading Persuasion?’ he said.

‘It’s one of the reasons I’m here in Lyme now. I was reading it when Teresa arrived and told me she was filming it right here in Lyme.’ Then something occurred to Kay. ‘You must be staying somewhere else?’

‘In a way. I’ve got a little place a few miles away.’

‘Oh, you’re local?’

‘Born and bred,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a few acres of land in the Marshwood Vale.’

‘What do you use the land for?’ Kay asked.

‘To walk on, mostly,’ he said with a smile. ‘Although I’ve been thinking of getting a horse. What do you think?’

Kay’s eyebrows rose. She wasn’t used to strange men asking her advice about equestrian matters.

‘I used to ride but I got out of the habit when I had to work for a living.’

‘Well, I’ve got nothing against horses,’ Kay said. ‘All the best heroes have them.’

‘Heroes?’

‘In books.’

‘I see,’ he said with a nod of recognition. ‘I suppose horses were the status symbols of their day.’

‘But where would you park a horse in Lyme?’ Kay asked.

‘That’s a very good question,’ Adam said. ‘Still, imagine the fun of turning up to work on a horse with your briefcase in your hand.’

Kay laughed. She’d only known Adam for about five minutes but she already liked him.

It was then that the front door opened and closed.

‘Kay?’ a voice called. It was Gemma. ‘Oh, Adam!’ she said as she came into the room and Kay couldn’t help noticing how Adam’s face suddenly lit up and – in true Emma Woodhouse style – she had them matched and married off in a blink of an eye. After all, Adam wasn’t bad-looking now that she came to think of it. He had dark brown hair that was a little bit tousled as if he’d been cycling down a windswept hill, and his eyes were an intense grey behind his glasses and his smile was very cute too.

‘Everything all right?’ Kay asked.

‘Teresa wants to know if we can borrow your copy of Persuasion. She wants to check something and nobody has a copy. Can you believe it?’

Kay picked up her copy and handed it to her.

‘Thanks,’ Gemma said. ‘We’ll bring it right back.’

‘How’s it going?’

‘Not good. We think we might get a couple of shots in but the wind’s really picked up and it’s going to rain,’ Gemma said.

Adam nodded. ‘It’s meant to be quite heavy.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Gemma said, looking anxious.

‘It’ll be all right,’ Adam said. ‘You worry too much, Gemma.’

Kay observed the look that passed between Adam and Gemma, and smiled. They were so cute together.

What Kay didn’t notice, however, was the fact that Adam’s gaze soon left Gemma’s face and returned to hers.

Chapter Eleven

Of course, it shouldn’t have been Gemma who’d run back to Wentworth House to find a copy of Persuasion but she’d taken off before Teresa could stop her. Any excuse to get off the set for a while and postpone the inevitable.

And Adam had been there. He’d even walked back with her, giving her loads of encouragement and being such a sweetheart.

Gemma had then climbed the steps up into one of the vans that was being used as a dressing room and sat down in what she had come to think of as ‘the chair of doom’ whilst a make-up artist turned her into a nineteenth-century heroine. It was the most bizarre of processes, Gemma thought. She didn’t usually bother much with make-up and having somebody else attacking you with sponges, brushes and pencils was somewhat alarming.

Beth, of course, was loving it. She adored any form of attention and would always be sure to complain if she thought she wasn’t getting enough.

‘Shouldn’t I be wearing more mascara than that?’ Beth asked, peering into the mirror with a horrified expression on her face.

‘You’re playing Louisa Musgrove in Persuasion,’ Sophie said with a laugh. ‘Not Sally Bowles in Cabaret!’

Gemma tried to hide her smile. Beth had already been severely reprimanded by Teresa for wearing scarlet lipstick. They’d been halfway through shooting a scene before Teresa had noticed and then she’d gone completely mad.

Make-up complete, it was time for the costumes which were so beautiful that it was hard not to fall in love with them and try to smuggle them home with you, especially if you were an Austen fan like Gemma and Sophie were. It was such a novelty to be wearing something other than jeans. How many women wore pretty, feminine dresses any more? And the fabrics that had been chosen were exquisite. The only problem was that they did absolutely nothing to keep the cold out and, when shooting on a windblown Cobb, that could result in white limbs covered in goosebumps.

But there was more to a part than make-up and a costume, Gemma thought. You had to be the character. When she’d got the call from her agent telling her she’d got the part of Anne Elliot, she’d done a little dance in her living room and had then grabbed a copy of the book and read it right through. And then the panic had set in. Playing Anne Elliot was a huge responsibility. For many readers, she was the perfect Jane Austen heroine: selfless, loyal and compassionate. Some even felt that she was Jane Austen herself and it was made all the more special for being the last novel she wrote. She’d been writing it when she was dying and, to ardent fans, it was felt that it was the closest they would ever get to their beloved author. There was an honesty and a simplicity about Persuasion. It might not have the exuberance of Pride and Prejudice or the naughtiness of Emma but it was all the more dear because of that, Gemma thought.

But the reason Gemma loved the novel so much was because of Anne. Readers couldn’t fail to feel Anne’s pain, for which of us hasn’t experienced the pain of a lost love? We have all had our hearts broken and we have all made mistakes, Gemma thought. Perhaps that’s why it was so easy to identify with Anne.

So, what if the fans didn’t like Gemma? What if she let them down? What if they didn’t believe that she was Anne? That was one of the major worries about adapting a much-loved novel. People knew them so well and had incredibly strong views as to how a character should be portrayed.

‘I don’t care how handsome he was,’ a fan might say, ‘he was not my idea of Mr Darcy.’

‘Her hair! Did you see Fanny Price’s hair? What were they thinking of ?’

Gemma sighed. Adapting a classic novel was a minefield and taking on the role of its heroine was fraught with potential disasters.

As Gemma got up to leave the relative warmth of the van and was rudely accosted by the wind which quickly whipped around her thin muslin dress, she could only hope that her performance wouldn’t disappoint the legion of fans out there.

She was just trying to take shelter in the curve of the Cobb until she was needed when a dark-haired man walked past her. It was the man from the bar at The Three Palms – the one on whom she’d turned her back.

‘Hello,’ he said.

Gemma nodded.

‘You okay?’ he asked. ‘You look cold.’

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Gemma said politely, half-expecting him to move on to wherever he had to move on to. But he didn’t.

‘That dress doesn’t look very substantial,’ he said.

‘It isn’t,’ Gemma said and then blushed as she saw his eyes sweep over her exposed bosom.

‘ROB?’ a voice yelled from the other end of the Cobb. ‘Get over here, will you?’

The man shrugged. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ he said and, as quickly as he’d appeared, he disappeared, leaving Gemma with the impression that he was, indeed, very wicked. But rather cute too.

Adam always felt like a bit of a spare part when he was on set. For a start, he wasn’t really needed. Nobody asked him his opinion about the way a scene should be shot and, if there were any questions about the script, they were always directed to Teresa. But he didn’t mind. He quite liked being in the background. It gave him a chance to observe everything that was going on around him. He loved the bustle of film sets – the excitement had never waned over the years. No matter how many he’d been on one, there was always something different to experience. For the Persuasion shoot, it was the transformation of the Cobb. There were canteen trucks, trucks for the actors full of costumes and make-up, vans full of cables, dolly tracks down for the camera, and ropes cordoning off several streets with notices up apologising for any inconvenience. He’d been working on a film up in Scotland when the 2006 production of Persuasion had been shooting in Lyme Regis and he’d been gutted to miss it. Now, he took a step back and gloried in the chaos that he’d caused by sitting down to write a script one day.

He’d been told about the burst pipe at The Three Palms and how Teresa had managed to find Wentworth House. Adam smiled as he’d thought about its new owner. It had been her, hadn’t it? The girl with the toffee-coloured hair he’d seen outside the estate agents. She hadn’t recognised him but how could she have? He hadn’t exactly made his presence known that day, had he? But he remembered her. There’d been something about her that had captivated him immediately. She had a sweetness about her the like of which he’d never seen before and it had been so easy to talk to her. He’d been surprised at how at ease he’d felt in her company. Women usually had the effect of tying him up in knots but Kay had loosened him. Gemma was the same. He adored Gemma and cared enormously about her but she didn’t give him that fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach that Kay did.

Adam took a deep breath of salty air. Now was not a good time to fall head over heels. He’d just started a new screenplay and was up to his eyeballs in ideas plus there was still so much to sort out with the film. His phone never stopped ringing. Unless he switched it off, of course, which he often did when he was writing. His imagination was working at full capacity at the moment and there really wasn’t room to start imagining romantic scenarios in his own life. He had to write those of his characters first. But that was easier said than done, wasn’t it?

A sudden gust of wind buffeted Adam and he buttoned up his coat. It was cold for May and the sea was a menacing grey to match the sky. He watched as the actresses left the safety of the make-up vans, the fine fabric of their dresses wrapping around their legs. They were all wearing coats and he could see strands of hair desperately trying to escape from the confines of their bonnets.

‘It’s impossible!’ Beth shouted above the wind. ‘I can hardly get my breath.’

Sophie and Gemma linked arms and struggled along behind Beth as they approached the Cobb. The sea was whipping up some alarming waves now and they were hitting the Cobb on the far side and spraying over the top, soaking anyone who dared to stand nearby.

Teresa was shaking her head. ‘It’s no good,’ she bellowed. ‘We can’t shoot in this.’

‘I told you!’ Beth bellowed back. ‘We should have had that lie-in!’

‘Best hangover cure, though!’ Oli said with a laugh. He was wearing an enormous coat over his Captain Wentworth clothes and his face was damp with sea spray. The other actors who were part of the Cobb scene were similarly attired and most were bent double to try to cope with the ever-increasing wind.

And then the rain came. There was no build-up – no hesitant drops to warn of an impending downpour – the heavens just opened and dumped their load on to the poor unfortunates below.

Adam pulled the hood of his coat up and ran towards the nearest van for cover, as did everyone else. Bonnets and hair were flattened in an instant and make-up rivered down each actor’s face. Dampened dresses clung to the actresses’ legs and everyone’s face was now as glum as Les Miserable’s.

Towels were quickly passed around and the make-up girls went into standby to repair the damage but Teresa was shaking her head.

‘Get out of those wet things,’ she was shouting. ‘Get dried and then we’re heading out to do the Uppercross scenes.’

Adam saw Gemma’s face fall and he could guess why. She’d psyched herself up for the Cobb scene and now the weather had put paid to that.

‘Hey,’ he said, sidling up to her, ‘you’ll be fine.’

She looked up at him with wide eyes, reminding him of a traffic-startled deer. But then she nodded.

‘Come on, everyone,’ Teresa suddenly bellowed. ‘Get moving!’

Adam knew that they’d hired a minibus and it wasn’t long before the cast were battling their way along the windy Cobb and boarding it. Nobody asked him if he wanted to join them, but he hadn’t expected that they would and he didn’t mind. He had his own wheels and he also had an idea brewing.

‘Kay,’ he said quietly to himself as he left the Cobb. Kay could go with him. She was reading Persuasion. She was bound to want to see it being filmed and it would be the perfect opportunity to get to know her.

Bowing his head against the wind, he walked along Marine Parade towards Wentworth House, making a couple of quick calls to the production team first so that he couldn’t be accused of skiving.

This is a good idea, isn’t it? a little voice inside him said as he approached Kay’s. He cleared his throat and pulled down his hood, raking a hand through his hair which, he feared, was even more tousled than usual with the wind he’d been battling. Then, before he could change his mind, he knocked on the door.

And waited.

He knocked again, rapping the knocker as loudly as he could.

And then he waited some more. Lucky there was a porch, he thought, otherwise he would have been soaked to the skin by now.

Finally, the door opened. ‘Oh!’ Kay said.

‘Hello,’ Adam said, noticing her face was flushed and her long toffee-coloured hair had been piled on top of her head in a funny sort of bun.

‘I was under the bed,’ she said.

He gave her a quizzical look.

‘Vacuuming,’ she explained. ‘Did you forget something?’

‘No. Can I come in?’ he asked, knowing he was the kind of guy who girls didn’t automatically invite into their homes. ‘It’s a bit blustery out here.’

‘Oh, right,’ Kay said.

‘There’s something I want to ask you,’ he said as he walked inside, waiting for her to close the door behind them. ‘They’ve broken off filming at the Cobb. The weather’s too bad. They’re going to do some of the Uppercross scenes – up in the Marshwood Vale.’

‘Where you live?’

‘Nearby, yes. I was going to drive up there and wondered if you wanted to come along.’ He paused, his heart thudding in his chest. This isn’t a date, he told himself. There’s no need to get tied up into nervous knots about it.

‘Right now?’ she asked, her bright eyes widening.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I don’t know,’ Kay said. ‘There’s so much to do here. I’ve got beds to make and towels to wash and carpets to vacuum and sinks to clean. And I’ve got to prepare a meal for tonight.’

Adam watched as she puffed her cheeks out.

‘Okay,’ he said.

‘Maybe another time?’

‘No. I mean – okay, I’ll help you,’ he said. ‘I’ll make the beds and wash the towels and vacuum anything that needs vacuuming.’

She gave him a quizzical look. ‘Why?’

‘Because I think you should come and see Persuasion being filmed and I want to show you the Marshwood Vale.’

Kay looked thoughtful for a moment.

‘All the cast will be there. I’m sure they’d be happy to see you,’ he added and he watched as Kay’s expression changed.

‘You’ll really help out here?’ she asked.

‘Of course. Just point me to the nearest sink that needs scrubbing.’

A smile broke across Kay’s face and Adam found himself mirroring it. He’d known this would be a good idea.

Chapter Twelve

There followed a mad frenzy of vacuuming, dusting and scrubbing as Adam and Kay worked their way around the bedrooms of Wentworth House. Bed sheets were straightened and tucked, pillows and duvets were shaken and fluffed, towels were swapped and washed and everything else was cleaned until it shone.

Finally, when Kay was quite sure everything looked perfect, she turned to Adam. He was ready with a smile for her.

‘I think we deserve the rest of the day off, don’t you?’

Kay nodded. ‘That’s certainly a job well done,’ she said. ‘Thanks so much for helping. If you ever give up the film world, there’s a job for you right here.’

‘I might take you up on that,’ he said, thinking how wonderful it would be to work alongside Kay all day. But how distracting it would be too. No, he decided, he probably wouldn’t get any work done at all if he knew she was just in the next room because the temptation to down tools and take her in his arms and – well, it just wouldn’t be viable, would it?

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