The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(13)

“Your grandmother’s influence must have been potent.” Griff rolled his sleeves back down and cast a critical glance over whatever he’d been doing to the roof. “My grandfather was a notoriously tight old bastard before—and after—that affair.”

“Maybe my father’s right,” Freddy said lightly, setting her fingertips to a wall beam with a gentle touch. “Henrietta is the goalpost in all aspects of life. She must have been an impressive lady.”

And a daunting one. Freddy had looked up to Henrietta for as long as she could remember, but she was almost glad that their lifetimes hadn’t coincided. She somehow didn’t see her as the sort of granny who handed out sweets and hugs.

Griff’s eyes flicked over her as he started to gather his tools together. “Is that the idea? To guide your career along a similar path to Henrietta’s?” His tone was neutral, but she could guess at the thoughts underlying the bland fa?ade.

“My father has always fancied the idea of producing a Henrietta 2.0.” She scuffed her foot against the wooden floor. “I don’t think it’s going to plan.”

Griff’s sudden narrowed scrutiny poked at a vulnerable spot, and she gave herself a little shake and changed the subject. “I am surprised that you’d agree to let us perform here. Given your side gig with the Post, I’d have thought you’d prefer your name wasn’t professionally associated with any particular production. Might look like you have financial interests swaying your reviews.”

“Yes. It might.”

“Not great for your reputation in general.”

“No.” He closed his toolbox with a distinct click.

“Even worse if we bomb,” she added with great sympathy, and after a few more grim seconds, she saw a flicker that might have been a puny, barely there smile, but was probably muscle tension. She wondered what he looked like when he laughed.

She wondered if he laughed.

Slightly pointedly, he held the door open for her, and she half expected him to close it in her face once she’d passed through, but he followed her back out into the stalls.

“It’s a beautiful stage.” She really wanted to get up there but didn’t want to fall through the floorboards if the construction team hadn’t signed off on that bit yet.

“It’s safe.” At the creepily intuitive comment, she twisted her head to look up at Griff, and he inclined his towards the stage. “Go on up.”

She almost fell up the stairs in her hasty scramble and, with an unnecessarily heavy sigh, he caught her outflung fingers and steadied her. As she reached the top and walked forward, he took several steps back and stood watching her, arms folded.

Her footsteps echoed through the resonant timber as she paced, measuring the space, looking out and up. “This is so wicked.”

Her voice carried, clear as a bell. The acoustics were fab. Her smile grew.

“You have nothing to worry about,” she said confidently. “We’re going to sweep the ratings. Even with the more dubious casting choices.”

“Waitely?”

“Amongst others.” She slipped her hand over one of the pillars, tracing the intricate carvings. Sir George had restrained his personal tastes here and just decorated them with berries and fig leaves. At least—were those berries? “If the plan is to bugger off back to London and pretend that none of this is happening, I expect things will come off without tarnishing your reputation.”

“I have every intention of avoiding The Henry, but I’m working from Highbrook for a couple of weeks.”

Poor thing. The arduousness of having to work from your family mansion, surrounded by roses and peacocks. Weathered-but-gorgeous country estates were just wasted on some people.

“You might want to keep your door locked at night, then,” Freddy said. “And check your morning coffee for traces of cyanide.”

“Planning to exact revenge for the safety scissors comment after all?”

“I’m a forgiving soul, me.” She grinned down at him. “Can’t say the same for some of that lot out there. And it’s a murder-mystery play. All the suspects gathered together for a house party. It could give someone ideas.” She twirled in a circle centre-stage, enjoying the faint breeze that fluttered the hem of her skirt. “The sarcastic critic with his poison pen and scores of embittered enemies. If this was Midsomer Murders, you wouldn’t even make it to the opening credits. If you hear the faint strains of ominous music, come find me. I’ll protect you.”

“I can’t tell you how reassured I feel.” When he set his mouth in long-suffering lines, his lips disappeared. “Do your thoughts always bounce around your brain like a pinball game?”

“I think of it more like ten-pin bowling. Pick up an idea, chuck it at the rest, and hope for the best.”

Griff looked up at her in speaking silence before he shook his head. “When you encounter my brother later, introduce yourself. You’re soulmates.”



Chapter Four


Freddy encountered the less scowly Ford-Griffin brother sooner than expected. When she returned to the lawn for the cast meeting, the largest circle of people had formed around Sadie and Dylan, so she gave them a wide berth and went to say hello to Maya Dutta.

Tall, with deep olive skin, high cheekbones, and an abundance of thick black hair, Maya was the Sadie antithesis in Freddy’s work circle. She had a sarcastic sense of humour that made Freddy laugh, but she was often shy with strangers, one of the professional actors whose parents had originally put them in drama classes to get them talking. And she was an all-around general good egg. She had been cornered by a muscular man with red hair and laughing blue eyes, and was flushing and playing with her fringe while she slipped the occasional word into his stream of chatter. She turned to smile at Freddy with a certain amount of relief. Freddy wasn’t in the least shy, but after seeing who else was in the cast, they were obviously both thinking the same thing: thank God, a friendly face.