The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(18)

“Two options, little brother.” Griff’s abrupt interjection bumped Freddy out of her glum reverie. She looked up and met his dark gaze. “Pipe down or clear out.”

“Oops.” Charlie tugged on the end of one of Freddy’s curls, in a manner so reminiscent of a chastened child playing with a doll that it made her smile. Griff, on the other hand, looked even more pissed off. It was evident only in a certain tautness to his cheeks, but she figured that was the equivalent of an out-and-out scowl from another man. “Sorry. Sore point?”

She made a short movement with her head, gently pulling away from his touch. “It’s just life, isn’t it? Ups and downs.”

“Always best to focus on the ups.” Despite his words, there was a funny note in Charlie’s voice as he glanced at his brother. Freddy looked at him frowningly, but even as she blinked, that happy-go-lucky demeanour was back in place. “Very much a family affair in your case, theatre. Your dad is your manager, isn’t he?” It had been a whole thirty seconds since his last tactless remark, so Charlie rushed to fill the void. “I’m surprised he signed off on you taking this role. Griff can’t be his favourite person right now, so the property ought to be blacklisted by association.”

Freddy tried not to tighten her fingers on the photo she’d picked up. It was the thin woman with the bobbed hair again. She was scowling out of the faded image. Actually—Griff wasn’t such an outlier in his family appearance-wise after all. This lady hadn’t shared the blond gene, but she had his nose, his chin, and his aura of impatience. “My father doesn’t actually know I’m doing this show yet. The initial casting option fell through, so my agent back-benched the idea, and then a concrete offer came through again a few weeks ago. Dad’s in New York this month for meetings, so—”

“Your head’s on the chopping block as soon as his plane touches down at Heathrow?” Charlie suggested helpfully, and she winced.

She was in for a strongly worded lecture when Rupert got back to the UK and revisited his opinion that this production would torpedo her credibility. He emphatically didn’t share her view that the world would be a sad, dull place without light entertainment.

However, since she hadn’t been aware that he was involved in some sort of High Noon standoff with Griff, she’d expected he’d get over it. The Austen Playbook script was based on respected classic literature, after all. It hadn’t retained as many of Jane’s pearls of wisdoms as it should have, but there were a good few satirical zingers in there. And on a cynical note, Lisa was quite right: the TV ratings were predicted to be high, thanks to the screen celebs in the cast. It was also very well paid, for just a few weeks of rehearsal and one performance. Regardless of Rupert’s personal tastes in drama, he had a razor-sharp business brain, and he was getting commission.

And his focus would be mostly on the upcoming audition for The Velvet Room.

“It’ll be fine.” Carefully, she passed the photographs she was holding back to Griff, and determinedly directed her mind down a less troubling path. “Can I see what you’re doing with the film?”

Apparently she’d found the magic button to end his impassivity. “No, you bloody well cannot.”

“Have you learned your lines yet?” Charlie didn’t seem fazed by his brother’s rudeness. Obviously it was an everyday event, so Freddy chose to ignore it as well. “Your director doesn’t look like a lady who brooks many mistakes, and Sadie Foster looks like she’ll take the first opportunity to drop you in it.”

“I can handle Sadie,” Freddy said, with more confidence than she felt. By nature, Sadie would prefer to taunt and play rather than divulge whatever she thought she knew and give up her new toy. In other words, she would do her best to make the next few weeks extremely unpleasant. “And I don’t usually have a problem learning lines.”

Things had been more stressful than usual this year, but at least she hadn’t repeated the incident with the Springsteen song.

However, the multiple-choice scenes were proving a challenge. There were four voting opportunities for the audience, each with three variant scenes, but it wasn’t so much the number that was tricky as the connections. When the cues could shift at any moment, there was no orderly progression to fix on.

Covertly, she watched Griff turning the pages of a folder. The sun glow was bright on his face, and as he twisted away from it, the shadows cast hollows into his cheeks and threw that interesting nose into greater prominence.

Her gaze lowered to the large studio portrait of Henrietta that Charlie had tossed carelessly down on the desk. Even in a faded, sepia-toned image, her grandmother radiated assertive ownership of her space, and the pursuit of Life with a capital L. In some ways, it was difficult to believe that Henrietta had ever been a flesh-and-blood woman. She couldn’t imagine the woman in that photograph ever doubting the path she was on, or letting someone else sway her decisions.

But if anyone was likely to provide a more nuanced view of Henrietta, present the human being and not the sum of her achievements, it was Griff. There was a reason so many people watched his programmes on telly, and clearly it wasn’t for the raging charisma. He had a knack of getting to the heart of a subject.

He looked up suddenly from his papers and their eyes met.

And suddenly her mouth felt dry, and she was very aware of her heartbeat, thudding a bit too hard against the wall of her chest.