Chapter 29 Cynthie
A week after the gala, it’s the first day of rehearsals and I can’t believe I’m here: back in England, back at Shepperton Studios, and stepping back into a world I left behind thirteen years ago.
As I enter the rehearsal room, the atmosphere is edgy. Most of the cast are already here, and there’s a swirling mix of nerves and excitement in the air.
“Cynthie!” Simon greets me with a kiss on each cheek.
“Who’d have thought we’d be here again.” Still handsome in an aristocratic way, with his straight teeth, slightly receding hairline and bluff cheeriness, Simon looks like a lost member of the royal family.
Small wonder I heard a rumor he was in consideration for The Crown spin-off.
“Hi, Simon,” I reply with a smile. At least I know I’m more than capable of covering up the nerves I feel. There’s a lot of weighing and measuring going on right now, and I’m not stupid—I’m the focus of a lot of attention.
I knew Jack was here the second I entered the room, even before I saw him.
Somehow I knew. He’s currently hugging an incredibly well-preserved Hattie Prince and laughing at something she says, and the sound of his laugh, rich and deep, hits my bloodstream like an illegal substance.
He hasn’t spotted me yet so I can let my eyes linger on him the way they want to.
I haven’t seen Jack since the night of the gala, and I’m overwhelmed by an inappropriate desire to go and throw my arms around him.
I’ve spent a lot more time than I’m comfortable admitting thinking about seeing him again, wanting to see him again.
Then I remember that everyone thinks we’re together and I don’t have to pretend I’m not happy he’s here.
“Excuse me for a sec,” I say to Simon.
I make my way over to Jack and tap him on the shoulder.
When he turns, his eyes light up and he reaches for me as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, pulling me up into his arms and hugging me tight so that I’m laughing as the toes of my trainers skim the floor, and he presses a kiss to my temple.
“I didn’t see you arrive,” he says.
“Just got here,” I reply. “Hi, Hattie.” I try not to look ruffled as I emerge from Jack’s embrace and move to greet her.
“Hello, darling girl.” She looks from me to Jack and her smile grows. “I always hoped the two of you would work things out. You make such a lovely couple.”
I feel myself stiffen at that. I thought Jack was just happy to see me, but maybe he’s been putting on a show for an old family friend. After all, we agreed that no one outside our immediate circles would be in on the truth.
His face doesn’t offer any clues—all I see when I look at him is a relaxed sort of pleasure, but then I know better than anyone what a good actor he is.
God, this is confusing. I’m fully aware that our relationship is pretend, but there’s a lot of stuff going on that feels frighteningly, exhilaratingly real.
There’s another man standing with Hattie and Jack, and in my flustered state it takes me a moment to recognize him.
“ Scott ?” I gape, finally.
“Hi, Cynthie.” He gives me the same sweet smile that I remember. It’s about the only familiar thing about him. Gone is the scruffy stoner, and in his place is a man with a sharp haircut and an even sharper suit.
“I can’t believe it’s you!” I laugh, hugging him.
“I guess I have changed a bit,” he says solemnly, and over his shoulder Jack is grinning.
“I suppose we all have,” I say faintly. “Hannah will be gutted she missed you. She’s not with me today because there’s so much to do before we leave for location.”
“Tell me about it,” Scott says, tapping the fancy leather portfolio he holds in his hand. “I was just going over some details with Jack, but I can’t wait to catch up with everyone next week.”
With another smile he finishes up his business with Jack and leaves in a flurry of goodbyes.
“I can’t believe it,” I say again after he’s gone.
Jack chuckles. “He drinks protein shakes and color codes his wardrobe,” he says fondly.
I shake my head. “Bizarre. Speaking of which…” I glance around the room where we’re standing. “We’re really here again.”
Shepperton is the studio we used for the first film, and we’re working out of Littleton House, or “the Old House” as everyone calls it, which is a beautiful red brick manor house located smack in the middle of an industrial mess of buildings that includes fourteen enormous sound stages, as well as workshops, backlots, and every other facility you can think of when it comes to filmmaking.
I haven’t been in these particular rooms since we were here for the first movie.
The sense of déjà vu is overwhelming, particularly with all the same faces popping up.
Well, most of them. Rufus Tait is noticeably absent, his character having been killed off—a wise move, given that he was recently exposed in the press as a massive sex fiend, news that seemed to come as a shock to the man himself, but surprised precisely no one who had ever met him.
I wonder how much of the anxiety I’m feeling now is down to nerves about today and how much is a strange, ghostly echo of what I felt when I rolled up here the first time around and I was barely able to string my lines together.
“Hi, guys!” We’re interrupted then by Brooke bouncing over, looking as bright-eyed and sunny as she did when we met her at the gala.
Jack introduces Brooke to Hattie, and Brooke glances around the room. “This place is unreal,” she hums with appreciation. “Did you know they filmed The Mummy Returns here?”
“I love that film,” I exclaim. “I went to see it four times at the cinema.”
“Wow,” Brooke says, solemnly. “I wish I could have seen it on the big screen, but it came out the year before I was born.”
“Oh,” I manage, feeling as though I’m about to start desiccating in front of her. I am the living embodiment of that Titanic meme… It’s been 84 years .
“If you think that makes you feel old, you should try being me.” Hattie twinkles, clearly reading my expression.
The gentle murmur of conversation in the large, wood-paneled room is interrupted by the arrival of Logan and Jasmine. A small, spontaneous cheer goes up, and Logan hurries in, delighted, his sister behind him.
Jasmine hasn’t changed a bit—it’s almost uncanny.
Perhaps a steady diet of cigarettes and existential dread preserves a person, somehow…
I suppose it is very French. She’s swathed in an angular, oversize black tunic, her pale face impassive as ever, but I think I see a touch of warmth when her gaze lands on me.
Of course, that could be wishful thinking.
Logan, however, does look different. He’s aged significantly and lost a fair amount of weight.
I heard on the grapevine that there was a recent, successful trip to rehab, which is the reason he’s actually available to make the film.
I’m glad that the big enthusiastic energy he always carried still sails into the room with him.
Hopefully now it is no longer powered by cocaine.
“Cynthie!” he exclaims, and I’m surprised that he’s so excited to see me when, in the past, he only tolerated my presence. He begins to reach for a hug but then stops himself. “Do I have your permission to touch you?” he asks earnestly.
“Um, sure,” I say before I’m pulled in and given two smacking kisses. I’m not sure what happened to the guy who once told wardrobe that my Regency costumes “weren’t showing enough in the boob area,” but maybe he’s evolved.
“So happy that we’re working together again,” Logan enthuses.
“I always knew you had it in you! People are forever asking me how it happened, and I tell them that it was obvious from the start, that you had that star quality.” Again, he fixes me with a sudden, serious look.
“And I make it very clear that your success is all you, right? It’s nothing to do with the people who gave you your first break.
You made this happen, not us. We’re just a small part of the story.
I would never want to diminish your power. ”
“Thank you?” I say faintly, so unsure of how to respond to this that the words come out like a question.
“Don’t mind Logan,” Jasmine mutters as she comes to stand beside me while her brother sets off around the room, pumping hands and doling out consensual embraces.
“He’s terrified of being canceled, so now he’s a born-again feminist. It’s very hit-and-miss, but at least he means well.
” She shoots him a look of fond exasperation, which sets off another flood of déjà vu.
Turning her steady gaze on me, she lifts her brows. “Didn’t think we’d ever get you here.”
“I’m excited to work with you again,” I say, honestly. “I learned a lot last time.”
“Mmmm.” Jasmine’s mouth twitches, and I think this means she’s amused. “Well, you certainly put it to good use.”
It feels like getting a gold star off your favorite teacher, and I practically levitate. Apparently I’m still desperate for Jasmine Gallow’s approval. Given the soft cough of laughter I hear Jack make, I’d guess my feelings are obvious.
“Good to see you, Jack,” Jasmine says, and his amusement vanishes, his spine straightening like a soldier snapping to attention as he offers a polite, “You, too.”
“God, she’s still terrifying,” he whispers to me as she moves on to talk to Hattie and Brooke.
I laugh. “I didn’t know you were ever scared of her.”
“Are you kidding?” Jack lifts his hand to rub the back of his neck. “I always felt like she could see right through me.”
I think about the conversation we had after my panic attack. While I was oblivious to everything going on with Jack under the surface, I’d be willing to bet that Jasmine wasn’t.
“Okay, gang,” Logan says, clapping his hands together. “Before we get down to business, I want to take this opportunity to introduce Brooke and her team, who are filming for the documentary you’ve all signed on to, so please… everyone on your best behavior!” His smile is strained.
“Please don’t be on your best behavior.” Brooke grins, and a flutter of nervous laughter runs around the room.
“Seriously though,” Brooke continues, “we’re not here to make your lives harder.
We’re going to be very fly-on-the-wall. Most of the time you should hardly notice we’re here, though we will be taking you aside for interviews when it’s convenient. ”
She gestures to three other people standing in the corner of the room.
“Our team is small but perfectly formed. There’s Dec, our videographer with his trusty camera.
” Dec, who I recognize, is already filming, but he lifts his hand in greeting.
“Then we have Kara, our sound technician.” She gestures to a small blond woman with blue streaks in her hair.
“And Cooper, who is our runner and general gofer.” The boy next to Kara looks about thirteen, though I assume he is actually older, his face set in sullen lines.
“We’re really excited to be working on this project,” Brooke finishes up. “All of us love the original movie, and I know the fans are going to be thrilled to get such an extensive look behind the scenes of the sequel.”
“Thank you, Brooke,” Jasmine says. “I think we’re all intrigued to see what you come up with.”
Brooke beams at her, and I can tell that she’s a fellow acolyte, a certified member of the Jasmine Gallow fan club.
Logan steps forward. “You’re probably wondering why we’ve gathered you in this room ahead of the read-through, but it’s because I’d like us to start the day right, to enter into our practice with our hearts open, so with that in mind, we’ll begin with a brief meditation and sound bath.”
While more than one confused set of eyes looks on, Logan moves to the door and opens it with a flourish.
“I’d like you to welcome my friend, Acorn. We’ll give her a moment to set up her Tibetan singing bowls…”
At this, a petite woman in a cream tunic comes staggering in with a stack of hammered metal bowls of various sizes.
“My goodness,” Hattie murmurs. “A sound bath? That seems rather… intimate.”
“It’s not an actual bath,” I reassure her.
“They sort of bathe you in sound waves. I’ve done one before, and they’re quite nice.
” I don’t share that this was part of an ill-advised yoga trip that Hannah and I took together.
I got food poisoning from a horrific wheatgrass concoction and vomited a stream of bright green puke during the sound bath.
The instructor did not take that as a compliment. Hopefully this one will go better.
Hattie isn’t the only one having doubts. “I’m off for a smoke,” Jasmine says. “I hate this sort of thing.”
“Negative emotions can be very aging,” Acorn murmurs, overhearing. She is seemingly unmoved by the ice in Jasmine’s glare.
“Unless that face of yours conceals the fact you’re actually a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old sea hag, I’m not interested in your opinion on aging,” Jasmine announces, before clamping an unlit cigarette between her lips and stalking off.
God, I love her so much.
Acorn only laughs, the sound like a peal of sweet, chiming bells. “It’s not for everyone,” she says serenely, and actually, maybe I could use a sound bath if it’s going to give me that sort of sangfroid.
We’re encouraged to sit on the floor and Acorn guides us through a thirty-minute meditation.
It’s not her fault that I’m absolutely not in the headspace to be able to focus.
I keep getting distracted. First by Jack, who is sitting beside me.
He doesn’t have to actually do anything to upset my concentration; he just has to sit there, breathing handsomely.
He looks so still and serene, and I wonder what he’s thinking.
I wonder if it’s normal to fancy someone so much that you want to crack their heads open and climb inside. Probably not.
Then I am distracted by Logan, who smiles beatifically like a happy toddler throughout the session, and keeps humming as if the bowls are playing a familiar tune.
Finally, when Simon starts lightly snoring, I know that it’s hopeless. There’s to be no relaxation for me, and I have to question if I’m the only person to leave a meditation more stressed-out than when I started.
I tune Acorn’s soft voice out, and instead I start to hear a different one: one that tells me I’m not a good actor, that I’ve lost my edge, that I’m soft, and that I lack subtlety. My heart starts beating harder, and as soon as I notice that, my breath starts coming faster, too.
The room feels hot and stuffy, and there are too many people sitting too close to me. They’re going to hear me, going to notice that I’m breathing too hard.
I get abruptly to my feet and head for the door.