Chapter 50
‘I had a call from my friend Tess last night,’ Cami told Hugo a week later. ‘We were at school together, then she moved to Wales when she got married. She has a caravan in a field behind their farm; it’s pretty old but still usable. If I’m desperate, she says I’m welcome to stay there for as long as I want.’ Her eyes were shining as she shifted Ellie onto her shoulder to rub her back and wait for the inevitable tiny burp. ‘Isn’t that fantastic?’
Hugo didn’t think it was. ‘Whereabouts in Wales?’
‘North Wales. Snowdonia.’
His heart sank. Worse and worse.
‘Here.’ Eagerly Cami showed him her phone. ‘She sent me photos of it. I think it looks OK!’
It looked like a mouldy, down-on-its-luck vintage caravan surrounded by thistles, crates and old car tyres.
‘I mean, it needs cleaning up. But I can do that. And it’s free!’
Hugo frowned. ‘How will you be able to work?’
‘Tess says I can use their Wi-Fi. It’s so kind of her.’
‘Right.’ Was it really?
She looked perturbed. ‘You don’t seem very excited. I thought you’d be pleased for me.’
‘It’s just a long way from here.’
Four hours in a car, at a guess. Eight hours there and back. Hugo couldn’t begin to describe how he was feeling, but it was something like jealousy bordering on panic. ‘I wouldn’t be able to see Ellie.’
Or you .
‘Yay, good girl!’ Diverted by the productive burp happening on her shoulder, Cami used a muslin to clean up the small deposit of milk. ‘Look, I know it’s a bit of a journey, but you’d be welcome to come and stay whenever you like.’
Hugo closed his eyes and willed his blood pressure to calm down. ‘Well, you still have time to think about it. No need to decide right away.’
Lizzie had been craving a bag of fruit pastilles – her latest British obsession. On her way up to the village shop to buy some, she was stopped in her tracks by a furious rapping of knuckles on glass.
Having just passed his cottage, she assumed it was Nick. But no, it was the living room window belonging to the next property along, and the hand now gesturing to attract her attention was far more wrinkled. A gnarled finger pointed at her, instructing her to stay where she was, and from inside the house a dog barked.
Lizzie waited and wondered what the old woman wanted. Her name was Dora Catchpole, she knew that much, and her equally ancient dog was the sweet Labrador called Benny who’d had the unfortunate accident in the hallway of Nella’s cottage. Maybe she was about to ask for Lizzie’s autograph, or even a selfie.
‘On your way to the shop?’ The front door had swung open and there was Dora in a furry beige dressing gown and fluorescent orange slippers.
‘Um . . . yes, I am.’ Lizzie gave her a bright smile. ‘Good guess!’
‘It was either that or you’re off to see your fancy man.’
‘Oh.’ She’d been hoping to do that too, obviously. It was still weird, though, being made aware that the entire village was au fait with this aspect of her so-called private life.
Evidently her not-so-private life.
‘Want to be careful, mind. Don’t want to go causing more misery, just for your own amusement. Anyway,’ Dora barrelled on before Lizzie could protest, ‘get me a pack of toilet rolls, will you? While you’re there.’
‘Of course.’ It was midday and Dora wasn’t yet dressed. ‘I’m sorry, are you not well?’
The older woman looked surprised. ‘Oh no, just woken up, that’s all. Stayed up till five to watch the boxing in Vegas on TV. Had a little bet and won sixty quid. Not the fancy quilted kind, OK? Just the cheapest ones.’
‘A pack of four?’
‘Make it sixteen. Save me having to carry ’em home next time. Here you go.’ Scooping a handful of change from her dressing gown pocket, she tipped it into Lizzie’s palm along with a crumpled bus ticket and a dusty-looking mint imperial.
‘Thanks,’ said Lizzie.
‘And don’t take too long about it,’ Dora said briskly, shooing her away from the front door. ‘I finished the last one last night.’
It was a tad embarrassing, Lizzie discovered, buying a gigantic pack of really cheap loo rolls. She tried not to imagine what the teenage boy on the till was thinking as he then looked at her in disbelief when she asked if he had a bag she could put it in.
‘We sell bin bags,’ he said finally.
Lizzie shook her head. ‘Never mind.’
So of course she bumped into someone the moment she left the shop.
‘Careful!’ the someone said.
Clutching the unwieldy pack of economy loo rolls in both arms, she almost bounced off the man’s chest and blurted out, ‘Whoops, sorry!’ before belatedly realising who the chest belonged to.
Grey suit, light brown hair flecked with silver at the temples, long Roman nose, and pale grey eyes for once not regarding her with disdain . . .
‘Well, well, well,’ said Piers Sanders, ‘we meet again. Hello.’
Lizzie recovered herself and really wished he wasn’t eyeing the loo rolls with faint amusement. OK, he lived in Dorset and wasn’t looking that astounded to be bumping into her.
‘This can’t be a coincidence.’
‘It isn’t. I came to see you.’ He paused. ‘I went to the house, but you weren’t there. Your friend said you’d gone out for a while, so I thought I’d explore the village. And now here you are.’ He indicated the loo rolls. ‘Stocking up.’
She winced. ‘They’re not for me. I was buying them for someone else. And how did you know where I was staying, anyway?’
‘The same way you tracked me down, I imagine. A bit of gentle internet sleuthing.’
‘Mine involved more than a bit.’
‘I’m sure it did.’
‘Why were you so determined to stay anonymous?’
‘OK, my agent is rather old-fashioned. He hated the manuscript when I sent it to him and warned me that I shouldn’t sully my literary reputation by putting my name to it. So I self-published under a pseudonym and didn’t tell him I’d done it. I thought it was good and wanted to prove him wrong, but of course it didn’t work out that way. And a neighbour uploaded the e-book for me, but the formatting was atrocious, so that was another disaster. Basically, the whole experience was mortifying and I just gave up on the idea after that. Until somehow – and I had no clue how – a copy of the book managed to find its way over to LA and into the hands of one of the best movie producers working today. Would you like me to carry those for you?’
He was walking alongside Lizzie down the high street towards Dora’s cottage. She offloaded the loo rolls into his arms and instantly felt better.
‘You took your time,’ Dora announced brusquely, flinging open the front door whilst Benny barked behind her. ‘I’ve been watching from my bedroom window. Just chattering away outside the shop without a care in the world. I did tell you it was urgent.’
‘Sorry,’ said Lizzie. ‘Well, they’re here now.’
‘Any change from that money I gave you?’
‘Afraid not.’ There hadn’t been nearly enough; she’d made up the difference herself.
‘Hmm.’ Dora clearly suspected her of having made a sneaky profit. Her beady gaze shifted to Piers. ‘And who’s this? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. Remember what I said to you about messing people about?’ She wagged a finger at Lizzie. ‘You just think on, young lady. Watch yourself.’
When Dora had closed the front door on the two of them, Piers said, ‘If this is what the villagers are like, I bet you can’t wait to get back to LA.’
The thought of leaving Starbourne was something Lizzie shied away from. ‘Dora’s a one-off. I love this place.’ She wondered if he was the bearer of good news. ‘Why don’t you tell me why you’re here today?’
Piers smiled. ‘I came to say thank you. Yesterday I met up with your friend Niall Cameron while he was in Stratford-upon-Avon visiting his sister. We signed the contract giving him the film rights to One Way to Die .’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘For an insane amount of money. I mean, insane . It was a pre-empt, to get the deal signed off before anyone else could read the book and start a bidding war. I mean, I’d have let him have it for nothing.’
Lizzie nodded. ‘In Hollywood, flashing the cash is all part of the hype. Pick up an option on a book for a couple of thousand dollars and no A-lister will even look at it. That’s the way the business works over there. It is insane.’
‘I’d already tried to find out who’d sent him the copy of the book, but Niall wouldn’t tell me. Said it didn’t matter. Then last night over dinner, once the contract was signed, I gave it another go. He’d had a few drinks by then and gave in.’
Typical Niall. ‘Were you surprised?’
Piers raised an eyebrow at her. ‘I think that would be in the running for understatement of the year.’
‘I was tempted not to,’ Lizzie admitted. ‘Especially after watching the video of you being interviewed about the joys of ghostwriting for ghastly self-obsessed celebrities.’
‘Oh God, you saw that?’ Piers shuddered. ‘In that case, I wouldn’t have blamed you one bit. What changed your mind?’
‘Honestly? I thought I might try being a celebrity who wasn’t self-obsessed for a change.’
He nodded. ‘Well, I can’t thank you enough. This is going to make a real difference to my life.’
‘Plus, I was blown away by the book.’
‘I’m so glad. Niall says I need to make a start on the next one. He’s talking about a potential franchise. I think I’m still in shock, if I’m honest.’
‘I’m not surprised. I’m feeling quite smug about being a nice person. And I’m so glad this is happening for you.’ As they passed the entrance to the graveyard, Lizzie trailed her hand across the smooth sun-warmed wood of the church gate. ‘Your son must be thrilled too.’
This time Piers didn’t reply, and her initial suspicion resurfaced. Casually she went on, ‘I couldn’t find any mention online of you having a son. Did you maybe say that about missing his birthday to make me feel bad?’
More silence. Bingo . Then he suddenly halted on the pavement and drew his wallet from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Flipping it open, he showed her a well-worn photograph of a teenage boy in an adapted motorised wheelchair.
‘This is Will. He had cerebral palsy. He died six years ago and I miss him every minute of every day. Even more so on his birthday, when I like to spend a good couple of hours with him in the cemetery. So yes, it’s always an emotional time, but of course you weren’t to know that, and I shouldn’t have said what I did. But yes again, if he were still here, he would be thrilled for me.’
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’ Appalled, Lizzie clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘I can’t believe I just said that. Look at his beautiful face . . . and that smile. I bet he was a character!’
‘Absolutely, he really was. He used to read my historical novels.’
‘And did he like them?’
‘Not at all. He told me they were boring.’ Piers smiled wryly at the memory. ‘But I know he would have loved this latest one.’
When they arrived back at Pine Lodge, Lizzie said, ‘You’ll come in, won’t you?’ She pointed through the full-length windows. ‘That’s Cami—’
‘Cami Jepson. I know, she’s your ghostwriter. And it’s OK, I only dropped by on my way back from Stratford to give you something.’ Heading over to his car parked on the gravelled driveway, Piers opened the passenger door and lifted out an impressive bouquet of lilacs, stargazer lilies and old-fashioned pink and cream roses.
‘They’re stunning.’ Taking them and inhaling their scent, Lizzie did something she’d never imagined doing and gave Piers Sanders a genuinely warm hug.
He smelled of starched linen and Givenchy’s Gentleman cologne, and as he straightened back up he said with a rueful smile, ‘Just goes to show, doesn’t it? Sometimes first impressions aren’t so accurate after all.’