The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(14)

“Hi, Freddy, how are you? Have you met Charlie? He’s our resident host.”

“Just think of me as the ginger, British equivalent of Julie from The Love Boat,” Charlie said. “At your service, here to answer any question and solve every problem.” He wiggled his brows. “Day or night.”

“Can you instantly recast a few principal roles?” Freddy asked, not entirely joking. Sadie was shooting malicious little peeks in their direction, and looking entirely too pleased for Freddy’s peace of mind, and Dylan was staring at her boobs again.

Maya glanced over at Sadie and winced. “They didn’t miss a trick casting her as Emma Woodhouse, did they? Hopefully the audience votes her into an early, grisly demise before she has to stretch her acting abilities and take Emma from insufferable meddler into an actual growth arc.”

Charlie blinked. People who encountered only the quiet side of Maya were often taken by surprise when she felt at ease enough to share her full personality.

“Sadie’s playing Emma?” There had obviously been a lot of last-minute swaps in the casting. On the bright side, from what Freddy had memorised of the colossal script so far, Lydia and Emma had very few scenes together.

Except in one variant of the storyline. And why did she suddenly have a sinking premonition that would be the way the vote would play out.

She clutched at her rapidly shredding optimism.

“Unfortunately, the Fleshlumpeater isn’t an Austen character,” Maya said, “so they couldn’t completely typecast her.”

Charlie’s crack of laughter was contagious, and several heads turned curiously in their direction.

When she’d regained enough of her composure to speak without a quaver, Freddy said, “And you’re still playing Elizabeth Bennet?”

“Correct, little sis.” Maya grinned at her.

“You almost got to snog Jeremy Bury,” Freddy said, and they both took a moment to reflect wistfully on that.

Maya glanced at Dylan. “In this instance, I reckon Elizabeth was dead-on with her response to Darcy’s initial proposal. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, Fitzwilliam.” She wrinkled her nose. “I hope the theatre is as adorable as promised, because this production has some serious ground to make up.”

“It’s amazing,” Freddy murmured, her attention momentarily snagging back on the rooftop visible through the trees.

Charlie cocked his head. “Have you had a look already?”

“I—” Her mind finally caught up with Maya’s brief introduction. Their host, she’d said. “I think I considerably worsened your...brother’s day?” Her voice lifted on the query, and the twinkle in Charlie’s eyes deepened.

“Griff busted you, did he?”

Curiously, she studied Charlie’s face, cataloguing similarities and differences—there were few of the former. “Fortunately, my ego is battle-hardened where your brother is concerned. Older brother?”

“Does that really need corroboration?” Charlie spread his arms in a self-deprecating gesture. “We’re an embarrassing pantomime of the dictatorial elder and feckless younger.”

It wasn’t difficult to deduce which of them shouldered most responsibility around here, no.

Not that she personally had a leg to stand on when it came to being a forthright, take-charge member of her own family. Grumpus over yonder could be right. She and Charlie probably had all sorts in common.

He offered immediate confirmation of that fact by producing a random roll of sweets from his pocket and offering them around. She was all for people who came with portable snacks. Maya was hailed by the assistant director as she took one, and headed in his direction, her shield of reserve back in place before she’d taken two steps.

“She’s sharp,” Charlie said admiringly, and offered Freddy another sweet. “I can’t really imagine her as a soppy romantic heroine.”

Freddy licked grains of sugar from her thumb. “I’m assuming you haven’t actually read Jane Austen.”

“Careful.” Charlie tossed the rest of the sweets into his mouth. “Your prejudice is showing.” He nudged her. “See what I did there? Prejudice?”

“It’s going to be a long couple of weeks, isn’t it?”

“I think your captain is summoning the troops.” He nodded towards the area where people were setting up a marquee, and Freddy saw a distinctive topknot of grey curls.

Somewhere under that mountain of hair was Maf Reynolds, one-time political activist turned exceptional theatrical director. She rarely worked outside of New York these days, and her attachment to the project had been another big selling point for Freddy. Maf had been her first ever director, in the long-ago days of Oliver!, and she’d never forgotten the woman’s ability to both coax out strength and quell bullshit.

With Maf’s first words to Dylan, Freddy’s afternoon took an upward curve. “Regardless of whether your wife has divorced you, if I catch you putting any particle of your anatomy near any other member of this team and it’s not explicitly instructed in the script, there’s going to be a short, painful meeting between you, me, and the end of this paperclip.”

Maf eyeballed him for a good five seconds, then addressed the assembled cast, cutting through the hum of voices. “We’ll have a first read-through tomorrow morning at nine, in the theatre. Inclusive of all scene variations. If you’re not yet word-perfect, start taking your mammoth scripts to bed with you, folks, because I want everyone off-book in precisely one week. Every person here has extensive experience in live theatre or television and film, or all of the above. Very few of you will have combined the most intense aspects of all three media and performed for a public broadcast. The night of the performance will be stressful, chaotic, and if all goes well, the highlight of your working year.” She slammed a hand down on one cocked hip, and the weathered dark skin around her eyes and mouth creased further into forbidding lines. “Take the rest of the day to get to know any unfamiliar faces, and if there’s anyone here that you’d fancy dropping in the lake, maintain a professional distance, because I have exactly zero tolerance for actors who behave like overgrown, ego-swollen toddlers.”