Persuading Austen

‘Okay, I’ll leave you be. But one day they truly will drive you mad,’ Cassie said as she made a twirling motion with her finger against her temple. ‘Anyway enough of this, I have news. Big news. I thought I was going to have to keep it to myself till tomorrow but now you’re here …’

Annie relaxed. She was off the hook with the nagging for a little while. ‘Spill,’ she said.

‘Maybe we need cake for this particular piece of news?’ Cassie said.

‘Just tell me.’

‘No, I really think I should get us some of those cupcakes from the bakery across the way.’

‘If you don’t tell me, Cassandra Steventon, I will personally squash every cupcake within a mile radius with my fist. You know how I feel about them, evil foreign interlopers that have endangered our native fairy cake. It would be a pleasure … and stop distracting me. Tell me!’

‘I don’t know why I employ someone with such heathen taste in baked goods,’ Cassie said.

‘Number one, you “employ” me because I’m the best. Two, I’m the one who is pushing ahead with expanding into production. Oh, and three, I own part of this company too.’ Annie counted off the reasons and summoned up her best withering look. It was one she’d learned from Imogen and her dad. She knew it was a mere shadow of theirs but it worked a treat on non-Elliot people.

‘Okay okay, I’ll tell you,’ Cassie said. She put her hands up in surrender. Then she dropped them to her thighs and leant forward on the counter.

‘I’ve had it from Les Dalrymple’s assistant that he’s got the funding for his TV adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. It is going to have a quick pre-production and then they’ll be filming it on location …’ Cassie leaned even closer. ‘It turns out he got the money from one of the big US networks because he bagged a brilliant Mr Darcy.’

Annie could feel herself lean forward. Cassie was weaving her magic again. Her heart accelerated as she realized that if they hadn’t cast the rest of the production she knew exactly who she would put forward. This was it. This was what she could use to shoehorn her father and sister into gainful employment and put some much-needed cash in the family coffers. And then she could have the peace of mind to go and get a place of her own.

‘Fantastic. Please tell me they still haven’t cast Mr Bennet and Caroline Bingley.’ She crossed her fingers. She could almost see the rental listings she would be looking at.

‘I’m sure we can pull a few strings,’ Cassie said with a wink. Annie wanted to pay her the fifteen per cent that an agent would take. Cassie waved her hands as if it were taken as read. ‘Now shut up and let me tell you who the big star is.’

Annie mimed locking her mouth.

It was going to be Benedict Cumberbatch, she thought. He hadn’t done much Jane Austen yet.

Annie was wondering what the Cumberbitches would make of their hero in breeches when cutting through her thoughts she heard: ‘Can you imagine it, Austen Wentworth in breeches?’ Cassie’s words echoed in her head.

What?

It reverberated round and set neurones firing.

Suddenly her mind was producing images of exactly what Austen Wentworth, voted People magazine’s sexiest man, looked like in breeches. She knew. She’d seen it. Truth be told she also knew what he looked like out of breeches.

She shook her head to dislodge the pictures of her past.

‘You what?’

She felt a burn on her shoulder blade, where ghostly tattoo needles made themselves felt, seven years after she had been inked. The tattoo that she always kept hidden, that no one knew about. Then Annie could feel a shaking start in her hands and gradually move up her arms to join the burn. As if she was having an attack of the chills. She clenched her teeth to stop them chattering.

‘Yes, Austen “phwoar” Wentworth. I mean he is the hottest property around. And when I say hot, I mean it in all possible ways.’ Cassie waggled her eyebrows as if Annie needed it underlined.

Suddenly Annie thought the sugar from a cake would come in very handy. Even if it was a cupcake.

‘Just think – weeks of being on set with Austen Wentworth. I think Les Dalrymple will need our services, yes?’

‘Well I don’t know. As long as Dad and Immy get parts, I’ll be happy.’

‘Yeah, right, we’ll sort them out otherwise. Now think about yourself. This is perfect for you. This is what you’ve dreamt about since I met you. Production. All that solving problems and getting things moving: your forte. Such great exposure for you working with the best in the business. You’ll get seen by some serious TV producers. Eric Cowell is the lead. Hollywood, baby. This is where you swoop in and move into production like we planned.’

Cassie punched the air.

Eric Cowell. If Annie’s body hadn’t already been dealing with the Wentworth bombshell, she would be tingling with excitement instead of going into shock.

Yeah, suddenly Hollywood was looking good. It was a place that she had actively avoided, turning down work so she didn’t have to go. Great for her sanity, not so great for her career.

But now, for the first time in eight years, it would be Austen-free. Even sitting in the kitchen in the office she could feel the UK shrinking round her just with the thought that he was in the same country. A few miles between them instead of thousands and the likelihood that she could turn any corner and he’d be there had exponentially increased.

Annie wasn’t stupid. She knew that he had been back in the UK sometime in the past eight years. But she wouldn’t have known when that was; she had been oblivious.

‘So what do you reckon?’ Cassie was looking at her expectantly.

A shudder went through her.

What did she reckon?

She reckoned it was the worst thing that had ever happened.

She reckoned that it would be hell on earth.

She reckoned that if she didn’t get her dad and sister parts she might be flayed.

‘It’ll be interesting,’ she croaked in understatement.

The kettle clicked off and Annie turned away, reaching to grab a mug, her hand shaking.

‘Tea?’ She was surprised her voice came out so steady.

‘Sure,’ said Cassie. ‘And cupcakes later, yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ Annie said not capable of restarting the cupcake debate. Even the mention of his name had her almost giving in.

Was getting Immy and Dad jobs worth pulling the scab off her wounds? Maybe she could pull in other favours to find other jobs for Immy and Dad? Some other high-profile production, which also had literary merit, and was far far away? If only someone would do a production of King Lear in Iceland. Then she would have a viable alternative.

Of course, it would be cold and there was always the worry of volcanic eruptions. These weren’t things that bothered her. It sounded like a regular week at home.

There had to be another way, but how did you turn down Pride and Prejudice?

Slopping tea over the side of her mug, Annie tottered into her small office across from Cassie’s. She collapsed at her desk and acting on automatic she turned on her laptop.

Eight years should’ve been enough time to move on. Annie knew this in her head but she wished her heart would get with the programme. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried. The first few years had been okay. Austen had popped up in bit parts on US crime shows, his American accent getting better each time. It was easy, in between those occasional shocks, to pretend that he didn’t exist.

But then the Google alert she had set up on his name started going wild. He became the British actor who went from obscurity to stardom the night after the first episode of his Netflix show Ten Peaks was released. And suddenly every woman was staying in or hosting parties with her friends to binge-watch the show when the whole of the first season had been released in one go.

He was everywhere: chat shows, internet memes. It wasn’t until the alert led her to a small article online about him dating a US TV star, that she’d taken off the notifications and signed up to a dating site. But he was always there like Banquo’s ghost. She shuddered at the memory of the few blind dates Marie had set her up on. Paunchy merchant bankers who thought John Donne was the new signing for Chelsea.

And really, it wasn’t as if she had any spare room for a half-hearted love affair in her life. Every part outside of work – and sometimes in it – was occupied and furnished by her family and their problems. Manoeuvring through the cluttered junk shop that was her life would take a lot more than most men would like to try. That or they would have to smash through the walls and clear out the detritus.

He could have done that. If she’d let him.

He, Austen Wentworth, written about as the ‘one to watch’ by TV and film journalists everywhere.

But for her, he’d always been the one to watch.

She took a sip of her tea, not caring that the heat was almost too much, revelling in feeling pain somewhere else than the centre of her chest.

The first time she’d seen him was in Stratford-upon-Avon in the doorway of a dusty rehearsal room. He was propped against the wall, the script dangling from his hand as he leant his head back, eyes closed. His lips moving, muttering his lines, and even before he opened his eyes she’d been hooked. The legs, that now had fan fiction written about them, had been a bit ganglier then. When she’d tried to step over them to get into the room they’d tangled with hers; she’d started to fall. He’d caught her round the waist.

‘Oops,’ he said as she landed on his chest.

‘Hi,’ she whispered. His eyes were so green. She’d spent days afterwards trying to find an exact match for the shade. She’d had to settle for bottle green glistening in the sun.

He was playing Lodovico to her dad’s Othello. A small part but it was with the RSC, and Austen was fresh from drama school and bouncing on his toes to get somewhere, to prove to his parents that being an actor wasn’t a complete waste of time. Annie had gone to act as Dad’s assistant, knowing that if he was left on his own who knew what nonsense he would get up to or what scandal could come from his indiscretions.

And because they were the youngest ones there, they had naturally stuck together.

Annie remembered those months as if it had been constructed and lit by an Oscar-winning cinematographer. Golden days and nights, vignettes of Austen and her locked in their own world.

‘We’ll get married and go to Hollywood and rent a little apartment. I’ll audition; you can be free to do what you want to do. And then when I make it big …’ His smile was wide as the world, as he hugged her to him. Admittedly his teeth had been a little less white in those days.

Her heart clenched even now and more tea spilled. All those dreams that had died and dried up and blown away.

Who got married at twenty-four to a penniless actor who only had his looks to recommend him? she heard her dad say, echoed by Aunt Lil, her mum’s best friend who was also her godmother. It was stupid beyond words, Lil had said. Didn’t she know how fickle the industry was?

And what would she do in Hollywood except become some housewife? It wasn’t as if she could do anything, was it? And why would she want to be away from her family? Hadn’t she made that promise? And once the idea was planted in her head, once it got its roots in her that she would be disposable again, could be disposable again … that she would be breaking her promise …

Her mobile rang and half the cup of tea ended up on the desk. Cursing quietly she grabbed some tissues and tried to mop it up at the same time as taking the call without checking the caller ID.

‘Hello.’

‘Annie, where are you? You should be here by now. You know it’s Angelique’s day off and I need to get ready for the awards show tonight.’ Marie’s voice ran out the last of her Austen Wentworth memories for the moment. It had an edge to it that cut through most things.

Bugger. She’d promised to babysit. So much for hiding away at work.

‘I’m on my way.’ Annie hung up and then briefly rolled her forehead on the desk, not caring about the dampness and the faint aroma of tea she was now carrying. Sighing, she pushed herself up. Pastries would have to wait for another day.

***

Standing rocking in the Tube she held on to the strap and wondered whether she should’ve picked up a bag of Haribo to bribe the kids with. Marie had done a whole segment last year for Easy Ladies on the dangers of sugar. Ever since then sugar was treated like a class A drug in her household.

Annie came off the Tube at Pimlico. The wind had picked up and whirled round the exit. She pulled her scarf further up over the bottom of her face. Before she headed up Tachbrook Street to Marie’s house, she popped into the corner shop. Annie grabbed the largest bag of Haribo she could see for the boys and a bar of Lindt chocolate that she would slip to Charlie. Ever since she discovered him in her kitchen looking guilty with a tell-tale smear of chocolate by his mouth, she’d kept him in chocolate. He might be a successful investment banker but in his own house he was definitely the second-class citizen.

Annie stood at the till waiting to pay and then she saw Austen Wentworth.

Her heart dropped as if falling off a cliff. It started beating again after it hit the floor.

Austen wasn’t actually there. No, it was his face on glossy paper staring at her. Make that faces. He was on the front cover of at least three gossip magazines.

‘Austen Wentworth – tells all on life and love’

‘Austen gives hope to women everywhere’

‘Austen Wentworth – who is he dating?’

Her fingers itched to pick them up. Surely it was better that she knew what was happening? Her hand reached out.

No.

She pulled it back.

But what if it was only one, for research?

Annie felt like a smoker being peer pressured into ‘just one more cigarette’.

‘Next,’ called the newsagent.

Annie moved forward and put down the Haribo and chocolate.

‘Anything else?’ The question hung there.

Two minutes later she shuffled out of the shop clutching a blue plastic bag, the tops of three glossy magazines peeking from it.

She was pathetic. She’d been clean for years.

Buying them didn’t mean reading them though.

She could leave them for Marie, as untouched as they were now. No thumbprints on the pages.

She was glad she’d added a bag of crisps. She needed the comfort.

***

‘Darling,’ Marie said. Annie winced at the volume. Marie then descended on her in a swirl of heavy floral perfume and pressed her cheek against Annie’s. The touch was fleeting.

When was the last time she’d had a proper hug from someone? Annie sighed – too long ago. She was sure her family loved her. If they thought about her, which wasn’t often.

‘Auntie Annie.’

Her knees came under attack from Archie and Hector. Okay so she did get hugs. Maybe she should amend that to grown-up hugs, ones with less snot.

‘Hello, you horrors.’

She quickly held the bag out of the way. So they didn’t get the Haribo, of course. Nothing to do with grubby fingers on the magazines.

‘Where have you been? The car will be here in an hour and I can’t get anything done with these two under my feet. Of course, Charlie was supposed to be home by now to help. You’d think I had nothing better to do than wait on him. No, Archie. Mummy can’t pick you up.’

Marie stood with her hands in the air while Archie leapt up.

‘You’ll ruin my manicure, Archie.’

‘Come here.’ Annie dropped the bag on the table and scooped up Archie before the tears, which threatened, exploded. His bottom lip was trembling and there was a sheen across his eyes.

‘You and Hector are going to tell me all about what happened at nursery today. And Mummy is going to finish getting ready.’ She motioned Marie to go with her head.

As Marie left, she whispered, ‘And then if you are very good, I have a treat for you.’

She lurched through to the kitchen with Hector clinging to her leg and Archie clasping his arms round her neck.

Marie’s house was a magazine idea of a family home. It was warm and welcoming as long as there was no one in it. As soon as you added a small child, or two, then the image was ruined, as were the distressed white surfaces. Annie herded them to the kitchen table and pulled out the bright-coloured table covering that was hidden behind the large dresser full of beautiful glass and crockery.

Paper and crayons were in a small tub in the bottom of the dresser.

Annie prayed that the boys would keep their drawing skills to the table area and not try and re-create the Sistine Chapel on the skirting boards.

***

‘Hey up, is it safe?’ a voice said from the doorway.

It was fifteen minutes later, and a balding man put his head round the door.

‘Hi, Charlie. I’d say we’re at DEFCON 3.’ Annie studied him as he came fully into the room. His suit was crumpled, his tie pulled loose, his hair mussed on top.

‘You look tired,’ she said and was then drowned out by the shouts and yells from the boys when they spotted their dad.

Charlie grimaced and then grinned as the boys threw themselves at him and started climbing him like a tree.

Annie smiled as she watched him wrestle with his kids.

It was weird to think this could’ve been her life. Charlie had wanted to date her first. They’d been friends through uni and Annie had known he had a crush on her. But then there had been Austen. And, much as Charlie was a nice guy …

No. It was silly to think about this. Austen or no Austen, she’d never have gone out with Charlie. They didn’t work that way. Of course, there was no way that Marie knew about Charlie’s crush on her. Annie shuddered at the thought of the fallout if she ever found out.

She caught Charlie’s eye. Surreptitiously she waved the bar of chocolate at him.

Thank you, he mouthed at her.

Annie popped it into the pan cupboard. Marie would never find it there; she never used them.

‘Charlie. Where have you been? The car will be here soon. Hector, let Daddy go. Charles Musgrove, go and change.’ Marie marched back into the kitchen, putting on her earrings. Her dress probably cost the same amount as the mortgage payment on the house in Clapham. Thank God Charlie could afford to keep her.

Maybe he could afford to keep Dad and Immy too?

Annie’s stomach clenched at the thought of going cap in hand to either of them.

No, she needed to work out another way. She was the one who was left with the job of looking after them. Not Charlie.

She stopped thinking about it – it wasn’t feasible – and unclasped the kids from Charlie as he rolled his eyes at Marie’s remarks. He then walked out of the kitchen, briefly air-kissing his wife’s cheek. He’d learnt the hard way not to mess with Marie’s make-up.

‘I don’t know how he can be so selfish,’ Marie said as she finished putting her earrings in. ‘Oh and I forgot to say that Henrietta and Louisa are coming with us tonight. They should be here by now. Selfishness seems to be a Musgrove trait.’ Marie’s lips thinned and Annie could see her father and Immy reflected back to her. Even though Marie was the spitting image of her mum, Molly.

‘Hallo!’

Sound and light burst into the kitchen. Annie blinked.

The Musgrove girls had arrived. They were all long gold hair and caramel coltish limbs. They glittered as if they carried their own light source with them. Annie sometimes struggled to tell them apart unless they were standing together – then it was obvious. Louisa was brighter, bolder, hair more golden, limbs longer. Henrietta was a muted copy. Louisa was an actress. It seemed that no part of the family was immune from the family disease, even by marriage.

‘Annie, darling,’ they cooed.

Why had she been worrying about hugs? She was enveloped by their brown limbs, their fragrant hair drifting over her like thistledown. But yet, it didn’t seem enough; it was as insubstantial as candyfloss.

‘Henrietta, Louisa,’ Marie said and kept them at arm’s length and gave them air kisses.

‘Hey, Annie, how are things?’ Louisa leant against the island in the centre of the kitchen, trying for nonchalant, but Annie could see her quivering like a greyhound ready to run.

‘I’m good, busy. You?’ Annie asked.

‘I’ve got an audition with Les Dalrymple.’ Louisa was now bouncing on her toes. ‘It’s the Pride and Prejudice production. The one everyone’s talking about. Have you heard who’s playing Mr Darcy?’ Louisa looked hopefully at Annie.

‘Be still my heart,’ said Henrietta from across the room. ‘Austen Wentworth. Such a hottie.’

Chapter Three

How did she know?

Annie’s head snapped round to look at Henrietta.

It was supposed to be a secret. Cassie would kill her if somehow she had given it away.

Then she saw that Henrietta had found the bag with the magazines and was clutching them. Annie couldn’t help but think her hands looked predatory as they touched his face.

‘Not sure yet …’ Annie mumbled.

Bloody hell. Could the world stop showing her that all roads led back to Austen?

‘He is seriously sexy. I wouldn’t mind playing opposite him,’ said Louisa.

Annie felt sick at the thought of seeing Louisa play Lizzy Bennet to Austen’s Darcy. Not that it would happen. Louisa wasn’t a big enough name yet to play Lizzy. Annie’s stomach cramped when she realized that someone would be playing opposite him though. She would have to tell Cassie there was no way she could work on the production. No way.

‘I’d rather play underneath him,’ Henrietta said as she flicked through the magazine. Annie closed her eyes and swallowed back the nausea. Why didn’t they see that he was another human being and not a piece of meat?

‘Hush, Henry, what would Robbie say if he could hear you?’ Louisa joked as she tried to grab the magazine from Henrietta.

‘We knew him didn’t we, Annie,’ Marie said as she watched the Musgrove girls with a distasteful twist to her lips.

Crap.

How did Marie know? Hadn’t she been away at university at the time, disappointing Dad having not got into drama school? Although she’d made up for it by quickly scaling the TV presenter ladder. But surely, she couldn’t remember some bit-part actor from eight years ago? Marie never noticed anything unless it directly affected her.

Annie made a choking sound as she stared at Marie; she hoped everyone would take it as agreement.

‘Yes, he was in a play with Daddy in Stratford – I forget which one. Anyway I was still a student at the time but I remember him from going to visit. He was a bit geeky at the time but still sexy,’ Marie said. ‘Of course, he fancied me but I was too young and he wasn’t willing to wait.’

Annie could feel her tongue drying out, which was when she realized she had been standing there with her mouth open. Fancied Marie? Why was she even surprised? Marie never saw anything except in how it related to herself, which did explain why she remembered Austen.

‘You remember him, Annie? I think you had a crush on him; you followed him round like a puppy. Dad said it was cute if a bit annoying. Supposedly Austen hadn’t wanted to hurt your feelings by telling you to get lost.’

Everyone turned to look at her.

She could tell them. Tell them that the man thousands of women wanted to sleep with had wanted to marry her.

How he’d quoted Shakespeare and Donne to her when they’d been wrapped round each other in that cramped single bed in his lodgings.

How she knew that now he waxed his chest, which she could see was glistening, peeking out of the V-neck shirt in the photo that Henrietta and Louisa were drooling over. She knew because she’d liked to stroke the little tuft of hair that used to curl out of his T-shirts. Had wrapped it round her finger as they’d cuddled watching TV.