Chapter 10 #3
Dalton seemed to get almost high from the buzz of all that attention, and Frankie wished she could be as excited because of what it would mean for the future success of the show, but the old fears still lurked.
For every sweet comment, there’d be someone ready to drop poison.
Dalton had an army of besotted followers and a lot of them were not happy about their pin-up being associated with the nastiest diva on the Internet.
As she stood in front of the mirror and let Becca and Jessie strip her of her costume, wig and make-up, Frankie gave herself a pep talk.
It didn’t matter what strangers said about her, the people she let get close to her knew the truth of who Frankie was.
She knew who she was. A few spiteful comments was a price worth paying to have coaxed that performance from Dalton.
And if the clip she’d filmed for Rosamund could help the Boscowen family in any way, it seemed a small price to pay for their kindness and hospitality.
Like an unofficial protection detail, Jessie and Becca insisted on walking with Frankie down the steep path from the castle and into the heart of the village.
Becca left them when they reached the Penrose House Hotel, where most of the crew were staying, as she had a video call with her kids lined up before their bedtime.
Jessie tried her best to persuade Frankie to join the rest of them for a drink in the pub, but she was desperate to get home and decompress.
She was still a little strung out from the afternoon’s filming and all she wanted was a hot shower and a cold glass of wine.
When she let herself into the cottage, the first thing she noticed was the shiny silver bolt on the back of the door.
With everything else that had happened, she’d completely forgotten about Matt borrowing her keys.
She inspected the mechanism and was surprised at how sturdy it looked.
She’d expected one of those flimsy chains that only gave the illusion of security, but this was more like the solid slide bolts she was used to seeing in hotel rooms. Frankie locked the door behind her, secured the bolt and immediately felt some of the tension she’d been carrying with her all day loosen.
The next thing she noticed was the armchair had been moved back into its usual spot.
Thinking she’d have to shove it in front of the door again, Frankie had shifted it only enough to let herself out that morning.
Matt must’ve put it back for her after he’d sorted out the lock.
She smiled at the quiet thoughtfulness behind his actions.
She dropped her handbag on the chair, then headed into the kitchen.
The room was silent, no nagging drip, drip, drip of water into the sink.
Frankie tested the tap and grinned when it shut off easily.
She made a note to ask Issy in the morning what Matt’s preference was so she could add him to her coffee and treat order by way of thanks.
Half an hour later Frankie was on the right side of a hot shower and clad in her cosiest flannel pyjamas and a thick pair of socks.
Her hair was covered in a leave-in conditioning treatment and slicked back from her face.
Too tired and still too wired to eat much, she put some crisps and a few olives and other picky bits in bowls on the coffee table and poured herself an enormous glass of wine.
Thinking about how inviting the fireplace in the castle had looked, she placed a few logs and bits of kindling on the grate and hunted around in the drawer until she found the safety matches.
It took a few attempts to get it started, but it was worth the effort, she thought, as she curled up in the corner of the sofa with a satisfied sigh.
She cradled the wine in her palm and let the fire mesmerise her into relaxation.
It had been a long day, but a good day. Even the frustration of multiple scene takes couldn’t spoil those magical moments when she and Dalton had truly connected in front of the camera and created something beautiful.
She could still recall the way her heart had pounded the first time she’d read that scene in the book, and she only hoped the viewers would experience the same when they got to see those incredible words brought to life.
She glanced across the room to where she’d dropped her bag in the chair.
She should get her phone and check the fallout from the video.
She knew her PR would be handling everything, but the need to see for herself was already nagging at her.
Ignore it was the advice, but that was easier said than done.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried that in the past. Not knowing was always worse because her imagination went into overdrive and conjured up endless horrors.
It was a boil to be lanced – quick, painful, but fine once the poison had been drawn.
And she knew there would be lots of lovely comments in amongst the nasty ones.
But as with her experiences growing up in social care, the bad stuff had more staying power than the good, and deep down inside she was still that little girl who believed there must be something wrong with her.
Five more minutes, she promised herself, and then she’d get it over and done with.
Knock, knock, knock.
Frankie jolted with a start at the sound of someone banging on the front door.
Assuming it must be Matt, dropping by to check she was happy with the lock, she heaved herself up off the sofa and padded over to the door.
‘Hold on a sec,’ she called as she unhooked the bolt and turned the key.
She was still clutching her glass of wine, so it was a bit of an awkward one-handed fiddle.
‘You did a great job,’ she said as she pulled open the door.
‘Thank…’ The words died on her lips and horror spread through her gut as her vision was filled with blood-red roses.