The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(48)
The last of Griff’s inner contentment vanished into the ether. “What’s gone wrong with the theatre?”
Freddy had somehow disposed of Wanda, and she came to stand by his side. Her fingers lightly touched his elbow and he glanced down at her.
As Griff moved his thumb over her knuckles, Charlie’s expression seemed to momentarily soften, but his apprehension swept straight back in.
“It’s not the theatre,” he said. “It’s Mum and Dad.”
Chapter Ten
The best sex of her life should have led to a truly epic afterglow. But even an orgasm that had blown Freddy’s nerve-endings into orbit somewhere around Saturn couldn’t compete with the sense of impending disaster as they neared Highbrook.
With an anxious eye on the car clock, she made an aborted attempt at running through the scenes on the schedule for today, but Griff had gone into frosty automaton mode at the wheel and she didn’t think he’d appreciate having Lydia Bennet foisted on him again. She was an acquired taste at the best of times.
“Your parents are all right?” she asked again into the silence. “They haven’t had an accident or anything?”
“By the sounds of it, nothing has happened to them.” The words had more edges than a Rubik’s Cube. “It’s what they’ve done that’s the problem.”
What they’d done became apparent the moment that Griff’s car, purring like a kitten after Charlie’s adept ministrations, turned into the Highbrook driveway, and Freddy saw the crane.
“Holy crap,” she said faintly, when she stepped out onto the gravel. She closed the car door without looking away from the scene unfolding on the east lawn.
To the obvious dismay of bystanders from both The Austen Playbook crew and Griff’s own production team, a whole new set of builders and some very heavy-duty machinery had arrived to join the party. They were in the beginning stages of turning a section of the Highbrook grounds into a miniature village, complete with a child-size, rideable train track.
“Village” was an understatement. Miniature city, judging by the dimensions being roped off. It wasn’t quite Legoland, but it would make a lot of the fantasy creations that sprang up around London at Christmastime look like pound-store toy sets.
Griff’s face set into dark lines as he located his parents in the crowd. He touched his hand to the base of Freddy’s spine, then strode towards them. When he passed what appeared to be the structural framework of a castle, Freddy tilted her head. There was something—Oh, wow. Not just a village. If she was correctly identifying some of those smaller structures, what was coming together was a child-sized replica of Anathorn, the hidden city from the Allegra Hawthorne books.
Honestly, in other circumstances, she’d want to go and have an enchanted peek at the plans, but the visual reminder of the approaching audition for Anathorn the musical kicked nerves into her gut, and she had a rehearsal to get to. If she didn’t pull off this performance in The Austen Playbook and impress Fiona Gallagher, there would be no future path leading to Anathorn for her, and with everything that had happened during the brief visit to Mallowren, it was going to be hard enough to concentrate as it was.
In any case, she didn’t think ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the miniatures would go down well. It wasn’t difficult to pick up on the vibes from Griff and Charlie. After the conversation she’d overheard between Griff and his dreamily extravagant mother, she could guess the reason for the gathering thunderclouds.
And he’d been so beautifully relaxed this morning. For about ten minutes.
“Jesus God.” Charlie spoke over her shoulder. “They’ve actually hired a crane.”
“I think it’s safe to assume none of this comes cheap?”
“Even when they started with single, simple dollhouses, their cost of materials was twice the price they charged for the work. And they give away a lot to kids in need and good causes. Admirable, obviously, but...” Charlie shook his head.
“Did Griff really have to mortgage his flat once to pay for repairs on the house?” Freddy asked in a low voice, and wasn’t expecting Charlie’s sudden sharp turn.
“What?”
“Uh.” She tucked a curl behind her ear. The nervous tic again. “I sort of overheard... I may have got it wrong.”
“No.” Charlie looked at the rigid lines of his brother’s back as Griff cut an uncompromising path through the crowds of onlookers. All of a sudden, he looked older, that air of the Eton-and-Oxford playboy disappearing behind a grave exterior. Actually, for the first time there was a family resemblance to Griff. “Knowing Griff, I doubt if you did. He’s been sliding us all out of scrapes since he was old enough to walk. The first time I can remember Mum and Dad blowing the annual budget on whatever hobby they had at the time, I was at school, and there was no ready money to pay the next term’s fees. Griff emptied his savings account, talked his way into one of the most exclusive clubs in the financial district, and managed to get stock advice from the most powerful broker in London. Made enough to keep me at school for six more years. He was only a kid himself, just started at uni.”
Silently, Freddy watched Griff’s restrained, frustrated gestures as he spoke to his parents.
“He still invests in stocks,” Charlie said. “And apparently pays for a lot more than I’d thought.” When she tore her eyes from Griff, Charlie’s mouth looked tight. “But it’s never enough. You can only invest what you have, and the place needs a whacking big cash injection, or it’s going to end up the property of the bank or some wealthy overseas tycoon, who’ll use it as a summer pad a few days a year.” He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe it would be better if we just sold it.”