Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Evan’s expression was carrying almost as much weariness from the journey as mine was.
He fetched his case from my car boot and then manoeuvred out my pink wheelie one. He tugged up the handle for me. ‘There you go.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Under the Lake District stars and the soupy glow from the streetlamps, he towered over me. But our Entente Cordiale was short-lived. When he saw me let out a big yawn, Evan gave me a wry, ‘I told you so’ expression. ‘If we hadn’t got involved in rescuing that furball, we’d have got here earlier.’
I locked my driver side door.
Even though I knew deep down that Evan had done the right thing by stopping my impulsive streak, he could protest all he wanted.
He was more like the arrogant critic than he thought.
‘And if you hadn’t interfered this morning, your critic friend Fox would’ve been wearing champagne, and I’d feel satisfied. ’
Evan shook his head in exasperation. ‘Yes, satisfied but out of work. And like I told you, that ignorant idiot is no friend of mine.’
My mouth flatlined. Yeah, right. He would say that.
Just across the street was our snug little bed and breakfast, with blossoming planters stationed at the windows. From outside, I could see twinkling gold lights strung around a couple of paintings by the reception area.
All I wanted to do after such a long drive was sink into a deep sleep.
Evan studied me. I shuffled from trainer to trainer on the lit-up pavement.
I tried to cover up my appraisal of Evan with a dry laugh. ‘People like Fox only think of themselves. They’re narcissists.’ More pictures of Leon went through my head. ‘Believe me, I’ve come across guys like him before.’
Evan gave me a prolonged look. ‘That guy certainly didn’t do himself any favours earlier today.’
Behind Evan were the smoked glass windows of an Italian restaurant. A loved-up couple inside were clinking glasses, lost in each other’s eyes.
There was a slight bite to the evening breeze now.
I huddled deeper into my pink denim jacket. ‘He’s a judgemental, unfeeling piece of work.’
I snatched hold of the handle of my case and brushed past Evan, the wheels rumbling. Tiredness was pulling at me. ‘I wonder how that man can sleep at night, which is what I intend to do right now.’
I headed onwards, tugging open the door and stepping ahead of Evan into the softly lit, welcoming interior.
The reception desk was to the left, and stationed behind it was a lady with shiny, copper hair and a pair of spectacles draped around her neck on a chain. I gave my name, and she replied, ‘Double room, is it?’
I blinked at her. ‘Sorry?’
‘A double room for you both.’
In my post-driving fog, it took a few seconds for me to realise that she thought Evan and I were a couple.
Not again. This was getting embarrassing.
‘Oh no! Good grief, no!’ I blabbed, before letting out an odd laugh.
‘We’re travel companions. We’ve travelled together. I mean, I’m giving him a lift…’
Evan bent down by my ear. I got a shot of his woody cologne. ‘You don’t have to tell her your life story, Daisy.’
I threw him a look and gave the lady at reception a pleading smile. ‘No, separate rooms please. I did say that when I rang earlier to make the booking.’
As she got us to sign in and took our details, Evan lowered his voice. ‘Let me know if you change your mind about the room situation. I could ask for a connecting door.’
I tutted and turned away from him. ‘No, you’re fine, thank you.’ I should never have agreed to giving this man a lift back to Scotland.
For many reasons.
It was a relief to sink into the bed, which smelled of sunshine and lavender, and to try to put behind me my disastrous day, my troubling travel companion and the reasons why he was making me feel on edge.
* * *
After a deep sleep, I fumbled out of bed, showered, dressed myself in clean jeans and my American baseball T-shirt and fired my hair up into a messy topknot.
The dining room had a few guests enjoying their breakfast when I entered.
I took a table up by the window and gazed out past the tie-back cream curtains. I could see the Sunday morning sunshine lighting up the stippled roofs opposite.
It was like a paintbrush over the hills beyond, sweeping across to highlight the different mountainous palettes of jade and burgundy.
The breakfast room consisted of circular tables draped in long, white tablecloths. Dinky little vases of shocking pink roses sat on each, giving the room an extra pop of colour.
The crockery was like something out of a Victorian dollhouse: delicate china, sprigged with poppies.
The efficient-looking bed and breakfast owner, a lady with a blue rinse, took my order of scrambled egg, potato scones, fried tomato, button mushrooms and a pot of tea. I vowed to walk it off when I got back to Strath Ross.
I looked down at my watch. It was approaching half past eight. My attention drifted to the dining room entrance.
I wondered when Evan might appear. I wanted to set off straight after breakfast. I couldn’t wait to see my grandpa.
Not only that, but I was keen to deposit Evan and put yesterday behind me. He made me feel self-conscious and defensive, like I suddenly consisted of awkward limbs and angles. He rubbed me up the wrong way with his sarcastic remarks.
It would be wonderful to step back into the fresh, clear scenery of Strath Ross and try to reset. I couldn’t give up on being an actor. The very thought of it made my heart sink. It was what I was. It was all I wanted.
But after Fox’s savage review of Sinister and the drought of acting roles my agent felt she could put me forward for as a result… My mind drifted back to Fox’s self-satisfied red face and twisted mouth. The way he’d been holding court with his two friends, braying and bellowing.
For something to do while I waited for my breakfast and for Evan to arrive, I delved one hand into my bag, which was swinging from the back of my chair, and pulled out my mobile.
I clicked into my emails in the desperate hope Octavia had sent me a message telling me that the most fantastic theatre/TV/film role had come up; that it was perfect for me, and she was putting me forward for it.
But there was nothing apart from recommendations and an African President asking me to send him fifteen thousand pounds for an emergency operation.
Jade had sent me a text though, confirming that she’d arrived at her writing retreat safely and that she would be taking part in a free verse writing session today with her crush poetry lecturer.
I dashed off a reply saying to keep me posted, and that in a matter of hours I’d be back home in Scotland.
I decided not to mention Evan. She’d want a full briefing.
I’d tell her later on in the week about him, and about rescuing Pirate.
I smiled to myself, and a little glow of satisfaction lit up in my chest. At least I’d done a good deed there.
I was busy scrolling through an online copy of The Stage, hoping that a suitable audition might leap out at me, when a flicker of movement to my right made me look up.
Evan was approaching the table. He was dressed in a dark pair of jeans and a black, tight-fitting, V-neck T-shirt that clung to his muscles. It was a far cry from the well-cut three-piece suit and slick tie.
I found myself fumbling around with my phone. Frustration gripped me. For goodness’ sake!
‘Morning Daisy. Sleep well?’
‘Yes, thanks. Did you?’
At that moment, the bed and breakfast owner materialised at the table with my breakfast and teapot on a tray.
Evan eyed the plate with appreciation as he sat down opposite me. ‘That looks wonderful. Same again for me, please, but with coffee instead of tea. Thank you.’
As soon as the blue-rinsed lady had scribbled on her notepad and vanished, Evan pinned me to the spot with his melting, chocolate eyes.
I shifted in my chair and tried to appear nonplussed.
I bet he did this to every woman he met, laying on the sexy smiles and the flirtatious looks.
Little did he know that I’d been privy to Leon.
I’d been treated like his consolation prize.
It was all a show. An act. And acting was something I was good at.
At that moment, my mobile pinged at my elbow.
I snatched it up. Maybe it was an email from my agent after all, or a text telling me about an audition?
My eyes greedily read the screen.
As if.
It was a reminder from my opticians, telling me that my next eye test was due.
Dumping the phone, I reached for the pot of tea and glugged it into my cup.
‘Another acting job?’ asked Evan with interest.
I set the teapot down. ‘No. It wasn’t. It was a reminder from my opticians to get my eyes tested.’ I folded my arms. ‘I’ll contact the hospitality agency when I get back to London and ask for whatever shifts they can give me.’
‘Oh, come on, Daisy. Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun a bit?’
My jaw clamped shut. ‘Are you kidding?’ I shook my head, exasperated.
‘In the acting profession, you’re only as good as your next role, and you can go months and months without any money.
’ I shook my topknot, exasperated. ‘I wonder what it feels like to wield the sort of power that critics like Fox have? To be able to make or break people’s careers with just a few sentences? ’
I picked up my knife and fork again and proceeded to cut into the tomato with relish. A part of me was imagining it to be Fox’s head. ‘I bet he really gets off on it, the tosser.’
Evan eyed me across the table as the sound of clinking cutlery echoed around us. ‘I read the review of Sinister online. He was complimentary about your performance.’
I made a snorting sound, which drew a few curious looks from other guests. ‘Complimentary? Did you read the same review of Sinister that I did? He said my acting was competent; satisfactory but unable to rescue a car crash of a show. That’s hardly glowing.’