Chapter 10
Lizzie had made what came to be described as her breakthrough film when she was twenty-two. Titled Next to You , it had been a massively successful romantic drama beginning with a meet-cute on a plane. On the one hand it had made her loads of money and upped her asking fee for future movies. On the other, every time she boarded a flight, people endlessly made jokes about sitting next to her.
In reality, she never had been seated beside anyone she would be even fractionally interested in getting to know better, and this time was no different. To her left in business class was an obnoxiously loud banker conducting a series of work-related calls. To her right, a woman was bending her ear about all the films she’d ever watched in her life.
Lizzie could have afforded first class but didn’t enjoy the show-offiness of it so always chose business instead. Now, pretending to be asleep to stop the woman yabbering on, she wished she hadn’t. It would be just her luck if the man of her dreams was up there right now in first, wishing he could have been seated next to someone nice he could chat with and get to know whilst they were cocooned together on the plane from LAX to London Heathrow.
Anyway, never mind. It was finally April and she was on her way to the UK, and that was all that mattered. After months of working her socks off, the break she’d promised herself was about to happen at last. Her agent, Carter Mulligan, hadn’t been thrilled when he heard what she’d done, but she had stuck to her guns. What was the point of working herself into the ground if she had no quality of life as a result? Reluctantly he’d agreed to let her go, but on one condition: that she write her autobiography.
Not write it herself, obviously; putting words down on paper – the right words, in the right order – was a skill she already knew she didn’t possess. Carter, entirely in agreement with this, had contacted several of the leading publishing houses in London, accepted the most enthusiastic offer and arranged a meeting between Lizzie and her new editor, to take place the morning after her arrival in the city. She would also be introduced to the potential ghostwriter. If the two of them worked together speedily enough, Carter had explained, the publisher could rush the book through the various stages of production and get it out on the shelves in time for the lucrative Christmas market.
The next day, Lizzie took a taxi from the Lanesborough Hotel to the publisher’s offices overlooking the Thames.
She didn’t want to be a diva. She really wasn’t one. But whilst Carla, the editor, was charming, the ghostwriter, Piers Sanders, wasn’t. She didn’t like the way he smiled with his mouth whilst his eyes remained cold. He was wearing a grey suit and highly polished shoes, and had cheekbones to die for. He was highly educated, having gained a first-class degree in classics and English from Magdalen College, Oxford. In his fifties, he had published several literary novels under his own name, but now preferred to work as a ghost and was evidently regarded as one of the best in the business.
The trouble was, Lizzie could feel his disapproval of her. Having googled him, and reading between the lines, she guessed his highbrow novels hadn’t done that well and he’d been let go by his own publisher when sales of the books had failed to meet expectations. On the surface he was perfectly polite, but she sensed that deep down he resented the fact that she was less educated than him, an average, unprepossessing woman who’d fallen into showbusiness completely by accident at the age of eight and by some fluke had become a child star, then an adult one. At a guess, he felt she didn’t deserve her success, nor her wealth. And it was true, she undoubtedly didn’t, but it really wasn’t her fault she’d got lucky and he hadn’t.
She also couldn’t imagine talking to him for hours on end, dredging up funny stories from her childhood, silly ones from her time as a hormone-fuelled teenager and embarrassing details of her disastrous dating adventures since.
It didn’t matter how glamorous his cheekbones were, she knew she didn’t want to work with this man.
She also knew he wasn’t going to take kindly to being rejected.
Awkward.
Chickening out of saying it to his face, Lizzie did the standard Hollywood thing and pretended she couldn’t wait to get started. In return, Piers pretended to be equally thrilled at the prospect of working with her.
Carla showed him out of her office. When she returned, Lizzie said, ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. I can’t do this book with him. He doesn’t like me.’
Dismayed, Carla exclaimed, ‘What? Of course he does! How could anyone not like you?’
‘Honestly, it won’t work. I wouldn’t feel comfortable with him. I’m really sorry. It needs to be someone else. Anyone else. Just not him.’
Carla was clearly accustomed to dealing with difficult celebrities. She thought for a long moment, tapped her pen on her writing pad and said, ‘Of course. Not a problem.’ Except it obviously was. ‘One of the reasons we thought of Piers was because he’s a fast worker and we knew he’d be able to meet the deadline. But it’s fine, it’s absolutely fine, we’ll find somebody else. Leave it with me, I’ll see what I can do. We can set up an interview over Zoom and you’ll hopefully feel more comfortable with the next one. And I’ll let Piers’s agent know you didn’t feel he was quite the right fit.’
‘Thank you.’ Lizzie still felt terrible, but it had been what she needed to do.
Carla showed her down to the ground floor and promised to be in touch, hopefully by tomorrow, with an alternative ghostwriter. Having apologised yet again, Lizzie paid a visit to the bathroom, then left the building to hail a taxi and head back to the hotel. Carla had offered to take her out to lunch, but jet lag was setting in and she was keen to reach her home for the next few months in the Cotswolds. If she hired a car and driver to take her and all her luggage down to Starbourne, she could be there by five.
She couldn’t wait. Rest, relaxation and as much sleep as she needed.
‘Just so you know,’ said a clipped voice behind her, ‘I gave up an entire day to come here for this meeting.’
The tone was cool and disdainful and sent a shiver down Lizzie’s spine. She swung round and felt a rush of blood to her face. He was holding up his phone; he clearly knew.
‘What a shame you didn’t feel I was suitable,’ said Piers Sanders.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Your editor called my agent.’ His jaw was rigid, his grey eyes sending out sparks. ‘Who called to let me know you’d decided to look elsewhere. It’s a pity I won’t get home in time to be with my son on his birthday. I did ask yesterday if we could have our meeting online. But no, that evidently wasn’t good enough, so I had to leave the house early to travel up to London at a time that suited you.’
‘What?’ Lizzie was indignant. ‘Hang on, I wasn’t asked about an online meeting – of course I’d have agreed if I’d known it suited you better. And I had no idea it was your son’s birthday. You can’t blame me for that!’
‘I know I can’t. I don’t suppose you’re used to being blamed for anything. Anyway, never mind.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m only a ghostwriter. You’re the important one. It’s fine.’
‘I don’t think this is fine at all. I think you’re being really unfair. You don’t even like me.’ Lizzie’s voice rose. ‘That’s how I knew we wouldn’t be a good fit. I need someone I can talk to, who isn’t looking down their nose at me.’ There, she’d said it. If he could be rude, so could she.
‘If you thought that was what I was doing, I apologise. Unreservedly.’ He exhaled and shifted his stance as Londoners and tourists veered past them on the wide pavement. ‘It’s no excuse, but this hasn’t been the easiest day for me. I shouldn’t have confronted you, though. Highly unprofessional. Sorry.’
He might be apologising now, but he had been unprofessional. And if he was expecting her to change her mind and decide she did want him to be her ghostwriter after all . . . well, that wasn’t going to happen. So what if he was having a stressful day? Thanks to him, so was she.
‘Apology accepted,’ she lied. He was proffering his hand, so she shook it. ‘I hope you manage to see your son.’
He hesitated, then nodded. ‘Me too. I’ve never done anything like this before, by the way.’ His gaze was unwavering, his tone tinged with discomfort.
Guessing at what he wasn’t quite brave enough to ask of her, she nodded in return. ‘It’s OK. I won’t mention it to anyone.’
‘Thank you.’ Discomfort morphed into relief.
Unable to resist it, Lizzie said, ‘I may not have been to university, but I can still be nice when I want to be.’
The faintest glimmer of a smile lit his face. ‘Touché.’
Unlike Piers Sanders, with his pale eyes and air of chilly disapproval, Nick Callaghan was friendly, welcoming and as attractive in real life as he was in the photos she’d seen of him on the company website. Lizzie had called earlier to let him know her time of arrival, and he was there to welcome her, his streaky blond hair gleaming in the afternoon sunshine, when the driver pulled up outside Pine Lodge.
Nick had dark blue eyes, an infectious smile and the kind of body that gave your hormones an unexpected jolt in a way she hadn’t experienced in a while. All work and no play had been pretty much the order of the day for the last year, ever since the break-up with Travis. Ooh , whispered Lizzie’s hormones, nudging her as she took in the details of his tanned, finely muscled forearms, long legs and easy stance, this could be interesting .
Except the whole purpose of coming here for a break was to relax, rest and recoup her energy, which had to be her number one priority. She was going to read books, take long, solitary walks in the stunning countryside, swim in her own private pool and clear her mind of all the pressures and stresses of her full-on life over in LA.
Pine Lodge was as perfect as it had looked on the website. Nick carried her cases upstairs and showed her how to work the huge TVs, the sound system and the various ovens in the kitchen. He said, ‘I’m afraid our concierge had to leave us last week, but we have a new one starting on Wednesday. Until then, just give me a call or send me a text if there’s anything at all you need. Now, I’ll leave you to look around the rest of the place in your own time. And if you have friends to stay, that’s fine.’
‘Thanks, but I’m not planning on it.’
‘That’s fine too.’ Nick patted the red information folder on the boardroom-sized kitchen table. ‘Everything you need to know should be in here, but if you have any other questions at all, just give me a shout.’ He paused, then flashed her a smile. ‘It’s good to have you staying with us.’
‘Thanks.’ Lizzie yawned; the jet lag was creeping up on her again. ‘It’s good to be here.’