The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(36)

“No, I’ve been given my marching orders for the rest of the day. Maf’s running the scenes where Lydia’s a cyanosed corpse. Lying silently on the floor doesn’t require a lot of rehearsal.”

“The silent bit might require some practice,” Griff said blandly, and Freddy aimed a light kick at his boot.

“Dick,” she said. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

“I have an appointment at Mallowren Manor, about fifty minutes’ east.”

“It sounds like something out of Scooby-Doo.”

“It’s the estate where your grandmother met my grandfather at a house party.”

They turned back towards his car, Freddy collecting her bag from a low brick wall nearby and slinging it over her shoulder. “So, what’s at Mallowren Manor now?”

He opened the car door and stood leaning against the roof. “An elderly lady by the unlikely name of Wanda Wanamaker, who remembers both of them and is keen to charge us thousands of pounds to film scenes on location there.”

“Are you going to?”

“From recent aerial shots, it’s even more of a crumbling wreck than Highbrook, but you never know. It might turn up something.”

“That’s always been my philosophy. I’m sure it’ll be interesting.” Freddy glanced at him, the car, and then, with studied care, examined her nails. “It sounds fascinating.”

Reluctant amusement was a warm tug under his ribs. “Freddy,” he said, with exaggerated politeness, “would you care to come for a drive in the country?”

“Why, thank you, Griff, I’d love to.” Freddy grinned at him. She waited until the car was moving before she added, “You don’t mind if I run my lines on the way, do you? I’m on a short deadline to ditch the script.”

He was worryingly happy to have Freddy come along for the ride.

Significantly less keen on being trapped in an enclosed space with Lydia Bennet.

They got stuck behind a tractor on the country lanes, and Griff tapped his fingers impatiently on the wheel. One of the best parts about being home was the break from London traffic jams. He was suddenly remembering the downsides of rural life.

And God, Lydia was a whiner. There was also a downside to Freddy’s knack of completely inhabiting a character.

They picked up speed on the main road, although they were forced to stop at a service station to stock up on “road trip supplies” for a journey of less than an hour in decent traffic flow. He would have gambled on their survival without sustenance, but Freddy claimed to suffer from low blood sugar. He was ninety-nine-percent certain that was a blatant lie, but it wasn’t a bluff he was prepared to call, so she got her Maltesers.

As a silver lining, she took a break from the script to eat.

“Why did it only last two years?” Freddy asked, when the scenery was flashing past the windows and she had a sweet tucked into the pocket of her cheek like a squirrel.

“What?” Following the nasal instructions from his GPS app, he turned into a quieter road.

She swallowed her mouthful of chocolate. “The affair between Henrietta and Sir George. All Dad’s ever said—to me or in print—is that it ‘ran its course,’ which sounds like code for ‘no idea.’ If their relationship was so intense and passionate that it inspired her into writing one of the masterpieces of twentieth-century drama, and him into building her one of the most epic gifts ever—why did it end?”

Exactly what he was hoping to find out.

“There was the small inconvenience of my grandmother,” he murmured.

“Yeah, but he was married when they started the affair, there were children in the equation on both sides, that was all an established fact. Morality, loyalty, it doesn’t seem to have bothered them overmuch while the relationship was in full swing. Do you really think they just had a sudden burst of conscience at the two-year mark and called the whole thing off?”

“More likely the sexual attraction wore off and it no longer seemed worth the trouble.” He heard the cynicism as he spoke, and sensed Freddy glance at him sharply.

“It does happen,” she agreed after a beat, and he found her response equally unpalatable.

Freddy played with the edges of her script. “As soon as the relationship ends in the biography, that’s it, Sir George is wiped from the page. Did they really never see each other again after that?”

“For my grandmother’s sake, we’d hope not.” His grandmother had died long before his birth, and all his father seemed to recall of her was a scathing disposition and widespread dislike of humankind. She’d evidently preferred to live in London with her dogs, rather than at Highbrook with her husband, probably with justification. “However, from a cinematic point of view, it would make for a better story if forbidden love had continued to flourish.”

Once more, Griff couldn’t keep back the derision that laced the words. He had a lot of respect for Henrietta’s talent but reservations about her character. And with the exception of commissioning The Henry, George had been financially savvy, but any desire to follow his grandfather’s path in life ended there. You didn’t fuck around on your wife.

He glanced at Freddy. “Have you spoken to your father yet?”

“No, but he’ll be here next week.”