The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(15)

“Was that the typical pep talk you get in theatre?” Charlie was still hovering at Freddy’s side, watching with fascination as the cast drifted into two main groups—the West End regulars and the various TV and film actors who’d been brought in as the main audience draw. Everyone was taking each other’s measure with various degrees of condescension. “It sounded about as morale-boosting as being hit over the head with a two-by-four.”

“It depends whether you need to be spoon-fed instructions and verbally patted on the head before you can turn in a good performance,” said a silky voice, and Sadie joined them. She somehow managed to make an entrance in all situations. Even when she was just rocking up and interrupting someone else’s conversation, she generated a vibe of a starlet flinging open double doors or posing at the top of a grand staircase.

She cast one brief, disparaging glance over Charlie before she dismissed him and focused her attention on Freddy. She definitely looked pleased to see her. Ominous.

“Charlie, this is Sadie Foster. Sadie, Charlie Ford-Griffin. Our host,” Freddy said bluntly, and was unsurprised by the blink-and-miss-it alteration in the other woman’s attitude.

Sadie’s lips moved into the smile she reserved for theatre management, the press, and young men whose families owned multimillion-pound property. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah.” Charlie hadn’t missed the changing dynamic, either. He’d stopped bouncing around and shifting on his feet like a child hyped on sugar. “You too. I saw you in Oklahoma! recently.”

“Oh?” Sadie studied him through long lashes.

“Treated myself after a bad week at work.” The breeziness of Charlie’s voice had taken on a suspicious note. “After my brother’s review, I thought it would help me put things back into perspective.”

Freddy didn’t make eye contact with either of them. She’d read his brother’s review of that production, as well.

It was never a good sign when the first sentence contained the phrase “self-flagellation.”

Sadie tossed back her glossy waves of blond hair, refrained from audibly sniffing, and looked at Freddy again. “I was so thrilled to hear that you’d signed on for this.” The words were verbal syrup, slick and sweet.

“Were you.” Freddy’s response emerged flatly, but at least it wasn’t the “Oh, yeah?” that tickled her throat.

“It’s been forever since we worked together.”

Three years. They’d done a short run of From Vita to Virginia after Freddy had finished up in 1553. She’d been twenty at the time, and she’d come out of the experience with stress-induced shingles, something she’d previously associated with pensioners. Sadie’s constant transformation from her warm, witty persona onstage to the nasty viper backstage had given Freddy mental whiplash.

“I was just thinking about you recently.” The saccharine tone was turning into a purr, and Freddy had the creeping sensation of standing on a rug and feeling someone take an experimental pull at it, waiting to rip it out from under her feet. “I did a festival run of Cymbeline at the Globe.” There was a gleam in Sadie’s eyes. “Great team. It’s always a pleasure when you work with such...knowledgeable people. When you’ve been in this business for a while, it’s so fun to realise you can still learn something new. Don’t you think?”

That crawling feeling was an itch at the base of Freddy’s neck, sliding down her spine. “I suppose.” She felt as if she was navigating a path in the dark, stepping gingerly to avoid the landmines.

“Yes.” Sadie’s smile widened. “I’m sure even you must find that, and you’re an actor of such vast experience.”

Annoyance was starting to fizz under the apprehension. Freddy had never had any patience for the bullshit mind games in this profession. She had no idea what Sadie thought she knew—whatever it was, she was just about hugging herself with the secret—but she’d seen too many poor puppets dancing on the other woman’s strings over the years to let her slip the knot around her own neck.

She was about to say something short and rude that would probably act like lighter fluid on the situation, when Charlie shifted and spoke at her side. “Sorry to interrupt the shop talk, but I have to head out soon, so if you still want to see the library, Freddy, this would be a good time.”

She felt the light squeeze of his fingers around her elbow and looked at him.

“You wanted to see our Wythburn Group first editions?” Charlie prompted, lightly, and she latched thankfully on to the rescue attempt. It was much more gracefully managed than the suggestions her own mind had rapidly offered, which ranged from four-letter words to taking Maf’s unintentional suggestion and kicking Sadie into the lake.

“Are you sure you have time?”

One side of Charlie’s mouth turned up. Somehow it seemed like a comradely high-five. “Never let it be said I disappointed a lady.” He tucked a strong arm cosily through hers. “Sorry,” he said to Sadie. “I’m going to steal her for a while.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” Sadie infused the light comment with layers of meaning. She saved her subtlety for the stage. “Plenty of time to continue our chat.”

They left her humming with self-satisfaction and headed past the rest of the chattering cast towards the main house.