The Perfect Hero: The perfect summer read for Austen addicts!

Perhaps, she thought, it was also the first time she’d ever really looked at herself. She was thirty-one now. She knew that wasn’t exactly past it by modern standards, but she wasn’t exactly a spring chicken either. Enough years had been wasted. In Jane Austen’s time, thirty-one would have been a very dangerous age for a woman. She would have been rapidly hurtling towards spinsterhood.

Life had to be grasped and what better time than now? What was it Peggy had said? Do something amazing!

‘I will!’ Kay said. ‘I owe it to you, Peggy.’

Getting up from the sofa to pour herself a glass of wine, Kay still couldn’t comprehend everything that had happened to her over the past few months. It was still impossible to believe that she was a relatively wealthy woman. She’d never had so much money and she was determined to use it to its best advantage.

She was going to move to the sea, that much was certain and, as a Jane Austen fan who was currently reading Persuasion for the seventh time, it seemed only right that she should focus her search on Lyme Regis. She’d already Googled it a dozen times, gazing longingly at the images that greeted her. The picturesque fishermen’s cottages, the high street that sloped down to the perfect blue sea and the great grey mass of the Cobb all seemed to speak to her.

Hey there, Kay! What are you waiting for? Come on down. You know you want to!

Having grown up in land-locked Hertfordshire, Kay had always wondered what it would be like to live by the sea. For a moment, she remembered a family holiday in North Norfolk. Other than two glorious sun-drenched days, the weather had been dreadful and Kay had had to spend most of the time trapped in the tiny chalet with her mum and dad who’d done nothing but row. Kay had done her best to shut herself away with an armful of second-hands books she’d found in a nearby junk shop. Reading about dashing highwaymen and handsome cavaliers had helped enormously but it was still a wonder that the whole experience hadn’t put her off the idea of living by the sea for good

But what exactly was she going to do in Lyme Regis? Was she going to buy a tiny cottage as cheaply as possible and live off the rest of the money whilst she hid herself away with her paintings and waited for publication? She’d never been a full-time artist and she had to admit that the thought of it panicked her. What if she wasn’t good enough? What if she spent years striving for publication whilst eating into the money that Peggy had left her? She was a practical girl and the thought of running out of money was terrifying. She might have hundreds of thousands in her name but she also had a lot of life to lead and she was planning on living to a ripe old age. Besides, she’d always worked. Perhaps her job at Barnum and Mason hadn’t been the best in the world but she’d been proud to make her own way and pay her own bills. But what could she do in a house by the sea in Lyme Regis?

‘There’s only one way to find out,’ she said.

It had been decided that Kay could take the annual leave that was owed to her in lieu of her notice and that meant that she could get down to Lyme Regis this very weekend and not have to worry about being back home for work on Monday.

Finishing her glass of wine, she went upstairs to start packing her suitcase and she couldn’t help feeling that Peggy – wherever she might be – was smiling down at her in approval.

Chapter Three

Adam Craig had lived in Lyme Regis all his life or, to be more precise, a tiny village called Marlbury in the Marshwood Vale just a few miles north of the seaside town. He’d studied English at Cambridge and had worked briefly in London but he would never want to live anywhere else.

From the winding country lanes to the tiny stone cottages and the ever-present caress of a breeze laden with the salty scent of the sea, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else coming close. He loved the rolling fields filled with lambs in the spring, the hedgerows stuffed with summer flowers, the tapestry colours of the trees in autumn and the slate grey sea in winter. Every season had its joy and he welcomed each one.

His parents had moved to California twelve years ago. His father had taken early retirement from his antiques business in Honiton and he’d been determined to give the wine business a go, buying an established vineyard in the Napa Valley. Adam had been invited to join them but had declined. The Dorset coast and countryside were in his blood and he could no more leave it than he could his old nan.

Nana Craig was eighty-four years old and lived in a tiny thatched cottage in a hamlet not far away from Adam’s own. Of all his family members, it was Nana Craig who was his closest. Whilst his parents had been building their business, Nana Craig was the one who’d cleaned his scraped knees as a toddler, bought his first pair of football boots as a youngster and had read each and every one of his screenplays since he’d scribbled his first attempt as a teenager – a rather embarrassing romance called The Princess and the Pirate. Adam sometimes wished that his nan’s memory wasn’t quite so sharp.

He’d been a screenwriter and film producer for over ten years now and his newest project was the one he’d been planning in his head for that entire length of time, for what screenwriter who lived near Lyme Regis wouldn’t – at some point in their career – turn their attention to Jane Austen’s novel Persuasion?

He had to admit that he hadn’t been a fan of Austen growing up but what young lad was? Austen was for girls, wasn’t she? All those endless assemblies and discussions about men’s fortunes that went on for entire chapters weren’t the stuff to stir the imagination of a young boy. But, as an adult – as a writer – her books, particularly Persuasion, had begun to make their mark and, three years ago, he’d started putting things into motion. And it was all coming together wonderfully. Very early on, he’d managed to get highly-respected director, Teresa Hudson, on board. She had a string of period dramas under her belt and had won a BAFTA for her recent adaptation of Thomas Hardy’s Two on a Tower. It was whilst she was filming that in Dorset that they’d got together and started discussing Persuasion.

Now all the crew and actors were on board and filming had begun. They were due to descend on the unsuspecting town of Lyme Regis soon and Adam was looking forward to that. He’d long been envisaging the scenes he’d written around the Cobb, imagining the fateful leap of Louisa Musgrove and the cautious exchanges between Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth.

He was envisaging them now as he walked into town, walking down Broad Street with great strides, shielding his eyes from the sun so that he could catch that wonderful glimpse of sea.

He was heading to the bookshop when he saw her. Tall and slim with a tumble of toffee-coloured hair, she was gazing in the window of an estate agent and was frowning. She was wearing a floral dress that was far more summery than the weather and her hands were busy doing up the buttons of her denim jacket in an attempt to keep the nippy breeze at bay. She had a rosy face and intensely bright eyes which Adam wished would swivel round in his direction. But what would he do then? What exactly would he do if she swivelled? It would take a small miracle for a girl like her to notice him.

It was a sad fact that Adam had spent most of his life unattached and it wasn’t because he was unattractive – far from it – but that he was painfully shy when it came to women. He was the man who stood in the corner at the party waiting for the host to introduce him and, whilst he might have a lot more of interest to say than the party bore who didn’t stop talking all night, Adam’s stories would rarely get an airing because of his shyness.

It had always been the same. At primary school, he had been the one to work behind-the-scenes in the school play because he’d been too shy to put his hand up for the acting roles. At secondary school, he’d never dare ask a girl to dance even when encouraged by all her friends to do so. And university wasn’t much better. He’d spent most of his time with his head in his books.

Maybe that was one of the reasons he’d become a writer. Writers were behind-the-scenes sort of people who could hide away for months at a time.

Oh, there’d been a few relationships over the years but they were more happy accidents where he’d been physically flung together with somebody. Like Camille. She’d been the co-producer on his first film a few years ago and he’d fallen head over heels in love with her. It hadn’t lasted, of course. She’d told him she needed someone to take control of her – to tell her what to do. Adam had given her a baffled look and she’d flung her hands up to the heavens as she’d searched for some words to fling at him.

‘You’re so . . . so quiet, Adam!’

You’re so quiet. The words had haunted him down the years – the long quiet years.

As he was mulling on this, a small miracle occurred. The toffee-haired girl swivelled her eyes in his direction and he was met with a warm smile but – being Adam – all he could manage was a smile back before she turned and entered the estate agents.

Chapter Four

Kay was sitting in the estate agents, looking at the frowning face of Mr Piper.

‘I’m afraid we really don’t have much at all, not with your proposed budget, that is.’

Kay frowned back. She’d set aside a large portion of her inheritance to buy a seaside property and he was telling her it wasn’t enough.

‘There’s a little cottage out in the Marshwood Vale. It’s at the top of your price range, though, and only has two bedrooms.’

‘Are you sure there’s nothing in Lyme itself ? I’d really like to be in the town.’

Mr Piper shook his head. ‘Not with the sea view that you want. As I say, properties move very quickly here. It’s a popular spot with people looking for second homes and holiday rentals. Everything’s snapped up immediately.’

Kay puffed out her cheeks. She hadn’t reckoned on Lyme Regis being quite so popular. For a moment, she looked around the small office, eyeing up the overpriced cottages in which you’d be lucky if you could swing a catkin let alone a cat. They were all beautiful, of course, but there was nothing actually in Lyme Regis itself.

‘Perhaps if you looked further along the coast. How about Axmouth or Seaton?’

Kay shook her head. She hadn’t come all this way to end up in Seaton. Jane Austen hadn’t stayed in Seaton and she was pretty sure that there was no Cobb there.

It was then that her eyes fell on a property she hadn’t noticed before: Wentworth House.

Kay blinked in surprise. Wentworth – as in Captain Frederick Wentworth, the magnificent hero from Persuasion. Well, she thought, if that wasn’t a sign, she didn’t know what was. She got up from her seat so she could read the notes.

It had been a former bed and breakfast but needed ‘some modernisation throughout’.

A bed and breakfast. Kay had never thought of that. It was the perfect way to make a living by the sea, wasn’t it? Lyme Regis had been popular with tourists for centuries and that wasn’t likely to change in the foreseeable future and it was a sure-fire way to enable her to live by the sea – right by the sea judging from the photos of the place.

‘Can I see the details for this one?’ Kay said, pointing to Wentworth House.

‘Oh, I’m afraid that’s way above your budget,’ Mr Piper said.

‘Well,’ Kay said, ‘I could go a bit higher. I mean, if I can make a business out of it.’

Mr Piper opened a drawer and retrieved the details, handing them to Kay who looked them over quickly.

‘I’d love to see it,’ she said. ‘How about now?’

The startled look on Mr Piper’s face made Kay smile. She seemed to be doing nothing but startling men lately.

Mr Piper got up from his seat and muttered something about closing the shop. Kay just smiled. She had a feeling she was about to spend a rather obscene amount of money.

Wentworth House was only a short walk away and Kay’s eyes darted around as they made their way there. Lyme had the most wonderful shops. There were stores selling fossils, mouth-watering bakers, pretty boutiques and a delightful bookshop. But she was shopping for a house and she had to keep focused.

‘This is Marine Parade,’ Mr Piper told her a moment later as they walked along the pavement lined with ice-cream parlours that skirted the seafront. ‘Wentworth House is just up ahead.’

Kay’s eyes widened. Wentworth House, Marine Parade, Lyme Regis. She liked the sound of that address and immediately started to visualise the headed paper she could have made. She looked out across the sea and tried to imagine what it would be like waking up to that view every morning. Life in Lyme would be like a permanent holiday.

‘Here we are,’ Mr Piper said a moment later. They had arrived at Wentworth House.

It was a large Victorian building with bay windows at the front which would make the very best of the fine views. It was painted the palest of pinks like the inside of a shell, and it had a brilliant blue front door. And that was all that was needed really, for Kay was in love before she’d even crossed the threshold.

The door opened with two determined pushes and Mr Piper turned to look at her with a nervous smile. ‘Just needs a bit of oil,’ he said.

Kay nodded. She wasn’t going to let a drop of oil come between her and her dream home. Nor was she going to be put off by the strange musty smell which was like a cross between a wet dog and a peed-in bus shelter.

‘Just needs a good airing,’ Mr Piper said.

Kay nodded again, following him inside.

‘The breakfast room,’ Mr Piper announced as they entered a room at the back of the house.

Kay grimaced, thinking that she wouldn’t want to eat in there. The walls were covered in thick gnarly wallpaper that was the colour of nicotine.

‘Just a splash of paint here and there,’ Mr Piper said.

Kay nodded and he led her to the kitchen which was a long thin room in need of some modernisation. Still, it had everything she needed.

The rooms at the front of the house looked far more promising with a proper dining room and a living room, both with bay windows overlooking the sea. Unfortunately, the nicotine-coloured wallpaper covered the walls here too, but Kay could see beyond that to the rooms’ true potential.

Upstairs, there were six rooms, all en suite, and all in need of a bit of a makeover to bring them into the twenty-first century. There were tatty floral wallpapers with the edging peeling by the doors and window frames, there were carpets covered in dizzying swirls and – everywhere she looked – the ugliest brass light fittings she’d ever seen. It would all have to go.

But there was one thing about the house that didn’t need to be changed because it was absolutely perfect and that was the view. Wentworth House was situated in the very heart of Lyme Regis and that meant it had an unrivalled view of the Cobb. Kay gasped when she caught her first glimpse of it from the first bedroom she viewed. It was like a huge grey runway stretching out to sea and there were people walking along it today to enjoy the views just as they would have done in Jane Austen’s time.

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she said to Mr Piper. ‘Hmm? Oh, yes,’ he said, noticing what she was looking at. ‘You’re in a very good position here,’ he said. ‘You’ve got the beach, the Cobb and plenty of shops and restaurants. If you really wanted to make a go of this as a bed and breakfast, you should have no trouble at all.’

Kay nodded. A bed and breakfast would be perfect. She could make a good living without having to leave her home which meant she could paint whenever things were quiet. And she liked working with people. Peggy had always been telling her how good she was with people.

‘I’ll take it,’ she said, realising that she’d be spending every penny of her inheritance if she bought it.

Mr Piper looked astounded. ‘But this is the first property you’ve seen.’

‘It’s the only one I need to see. It’s perfect.’

Mr Piper didn’t try to dissuade her. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘shall we get back and make a start on the paperwork?’

Kay smiled. She’d just bought a house – a six-bedroom house and a business venture on the seafront in Lyme Regis. Peggy would be so proud of her.

Chapter Five

Three months later

The rehearsals were over.

Gemma Reilly stood in a corner by the bar, anxiously surveying the rest of the cast. They’d just checked into The Three Palms Hotel in Lyme Regis and welcome drinks were being served in the lounge. A pair of double doors had been opened on to a terrace and most of the cast were enjoying the views of the sea. Most of the cast except Gemma, that was. She felt more like the new girl at school. Everyone seemed to know everyone else. The director, Teresa Hudson, obviously knew everyone, as did the assistant director, Les Brown. Not that he was talking to anyone. He was known as Les Miserable because of his permanent scowl and lack of humour and he wasn’t known for his small talk. Right now, he was emptying a bowl of nuts into the palm of his hand and chasing them down his throat with a gulp of whisky.

Gemma let her eyes roam the room and they rested next on actress Sophie Kerr. Gemma knew of her work – mostly an impressive stint with the Royal Shakespeare Company, wowing audiences with her varied performances from her wonderfully witty Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing to the most heartbreaking Ophelia in Hamlet. She watched as Sophie flirted with ease with one of the guys who was always carrying cables around. Gemma wasn’t quite sure what he did but he was absolutely spellbound by Sophie and why shouldn’t he be? With her bright blonde curls and bubbly personality, she was the answer to most men’s dreams.

Nearby stood another well-known actress, Beth Jenkins, wearing a dress that was slashed to her navel. She had striking red hair that fell to her shoulders in an immaculately straight curtain and lips that were painted a dangerous-looking red. She was beautiful. She was playing Louisa Musgrove and, from the rumours Gemma had heard, nobody would mind too much if she really did crack her head open after flinging herself from the Cobb during the famous scene from Persuasion. Beth Jenkins was a grade-one bitch.

‘I heard she ran off with the producer’s husband on the set of her last film,’ Gemma heard somebody say behind her. She turned to see two young girls serving behind the bar. They were giggling and whispering, pointing at each actor in turn.

‘Wasn’t she having an affair with that pop star at the same time?’ the other girl said.

‘What pop star?’ her colleague asked.

‘I don’t know. All of them, probably!’

The both giggled again.

Best keep my distance from her, Gemma thought.

That was the problem with filming, though. Casts became like families in that you couldn’t easily escape one another. Gemma had already learned that on her first production – a TV drama called Into the Night. Part love story, part whodunnit, it had been cruelly slated by the critics, as had Gemma’s performance.

‘Destined to play nothing more than the blonde bimbo,’ the television critic from Vive! had said.

‘Legs like runner beans,’ Star Turn had said, ‘and they were her best feature.’

Gemma had been mortified and had gone into hiding for months, dyeing her hair black and building her leg muscles up at the gym.

Things weren’t helped by the fact that her mother was the much-loved actress, Kim Reilly, who’d starred in the seventies cult TV show, Bandits. As soon as Gemma had dared to follow in her footsteps, comparisons had been made. It was inevitable, she supposed. Her mother had been beautiful, talented and lucky. Bandits had been one of the biggest shows of the time with sky-high viewing figures. It had run for five series before the lead actor had been tragically killed in a motorbike accident. If that hadn’t happened, it would probably still be running today, Gemma often thought, her mother dressed in her trademark skin-tight trousers and skimpy tops, her hair blow-dried and bouffant.

Her mother had never topped her performance in Bandits although she had tried to top herself a couple of times. In the public’s mind, she personified success; women wanted to be her and men wanted to bed her. But she was incredibly fragile and, although she adored attention, she also found life in the public eye difficult to cope with. Gemma, it seemed, took after her. She was a bag of nerves just thinking about taking part in a film and yet there was something in her that compelled her to do it. At stage school, she used to be physically sick before going on stage but then she always gave the most dazzling performance – well, that’s what the other students and her tutors had told her. So what had happened with the fated TV drama?

‘Just critics trying to get a cheap laugh,’ one of her old stage school friends had told her when they’d met down the pub to discuss it. ‘Don’t pay them any attention. You were marvellous!’

‘What could you possibly do with a script like that?’ another – more honest – friend had told her. ‘I think you did very well, considering.’

Thank goodness Teresa Hudson had believed in her and had given her a much-needed second chance. There’d obviously been something in her performance that she’d liked. If only she had that belief in herself, she thought.

Looking around the room again, she saw a young man with dark tousled hair. A pair of bright grey eyes sparkled from behind his glasses as he listened to Teresa talking about something or other. Gemma had seen him at rehearsals. He was the screenwriter and one of the producers but he never said a lot. He had a kind face and a nice smile and seemed almost as shy as she was. There was another man just behind him and Gemma suddenly caught his eye. He smiled and his eyes almost disappeared into two happy creases. He had thick brown hair and looked as if he was about to cross the room to talk to her but Gemma turned her back to him. She wasn’t interested in being chatted up. She’d heard plenty of stories about on-set relationships and they never ever worked out.

She watched as a couple of actors came in from the terrace and approached the bar. They nodded at Gemma but didn’t start a conversation. She was glad for there was only one actor here that interested her and that was Oli Wade Owen.

Gemma swallowed hard. Of all the actors in the world to play Captain Frederick Wentworth, why did it have to be Oli Wade Owen? She’d had a crush on him for as long as she could remember. All of her walls at stage school had been covered in posters of the young actor and she’d gazed longingly at them, fantasising about playing Juliet to his Romeo or Cleopatra to his Antony.

He was tall and classically handsome with soft blue eyes and thick blond hair that you just wanted to reach out and touch. But it was his smile that was his best feature. ‘The smile that stole a thousand hearts’ the press had called it; Oli Wade Owen was never short of a girl or two. Frequently photographed coming out of expensive restaurants and exclusive nightclubs, he was front page tabloid news and there was always endless speculation as to who was accompanying him.

Gemma watched him as he chatted to Beth Jenkins. She was obviously enjoying the attention and was in full flirt mode. How could she ever compete with the likes of her? Gemma wondered. It was a whole other league of womanhood.

But it was you Teresa chose for the lead role, a little voice told her and it was true. She wouldn’t be surprised if she’d made a mortal enemy of Beth in the process but, nevertheless, here she was – about to act opposite Oli Wade Owen on a big budget film.