The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(58)

Not always cheerful. His gut twisted. His first experience of Freddy had been the girl who was still so fired with enthusiasm and energy after a three-hour show that she bounced on the balls of her feet during curtain calls. He’d always found it exhausting just to watch—but after seeing her with a dark ghost in her eyes that he didn’t understand, her whole bright, shining spirit dulled, and hearing the crack of tears in her voice, she could hop and skip all over the place and he’d just sit back and be profoundly grateful.

It was too soon to know what would happen between them, whether the way he felt now would survive the first hurdle—or the second, or every obstacle that arose—but he wanted to find out.

Providing she was even prepared to have dinner with him at this point, and hadn’t just written him off an unfortunate one-night stand.

At least she’d tell him straight. That disconcertingly direct approach of hers when it came to situations where she wanted snogging licence. He smiled faintly, for the first time in a while.

The door opened, and Charlie stuck his head in, very tentatively. “Morning.” He caught the tail end of the smile, and craned around the door, scanning the room. “No Freddy?”

“Not unless she’s hiding under the desk. Which, to be fair, I wouldn’t put past her if the whim struck.” Pushing his hands into his pockets, Griff studied his brother.

With work on hold and Freddy mysteriously vanishing every time he got within a hundred metres of her, he’d had time to think about several things this weekend. Her blunt words about Charlie were one thing he remembered with crystal clarity from that vicious volleying of home truths and angry retaliation.

“I thought maybe you two had made it up.” Charlie ventured into the room, still eyeing him a bit warily. “You don’t have a face like Mr. Freeze this morning, the caterers have stopped tiptoeing when they pass the library door, and I haven’t seen any weeping production assistants fleeing your path.”

“Did you actually want something?”

Charlie was looking through the pile of invoices. He tucked his lips in, pressing them together, and shook his head. “Is any of this stuff returnable?”

“Since it’s already been transformed into a dozen varieties of magical beast, I’m guessing not.”

His brother walked over to the window. “It is impressive. They do have talent.”

“Yes, they do.” Griff joined Charlie at the window, and they both looked down at the intricately detailed miniature world below. The construction crew had got the train track working. Children would be transfixed. Pity that the youngest member of their family was twenty-six. Although he was their resident balloonist. He’d probably fancy at least one ride if he could squeeze onto a carriage. “I just wish they were the sort of artists who make use of whatever materials they have on hand, and weren’t on first-name terms with luxury suppliers across Europe. I’m not denying their talent. It’s their business acumen that’s shite.”

“Bit like me, then.”

Griff turned his head. Charlie was still smiling a little as he watched the mechanics of the village below, the drawbridge of the castle lowering and lifting, the wheels of a carriage rolling over tiny pebbled stones. The bitter twist to his lips, a shade of something in his expression, were easily missed if you weren’t looking. If you didn’t take the time to look.

“We’re all stronger in different areas,” he said at last, and Charlie snorted.

“My strength certainly isn’t the entrepreneurial life, is it? How many times have I tried to help and made things worse?”

Griff didn’t deny the facts, but—“But you tried.” Charlie turned his head sharply, and Griff managed a faint smile. Wryly, he added, “And I’m not doing any great shakes financially right now, either.”

“It’ll work out for the best, whatever film you make,” Charlie said, propping his shoulder against the wall. It was that blind optimism based on no evidence at all, that Griff usually found totally irritating, but he said nothing this time. “I’m not just throwing out happy-happy-joy-joy statements with no basis in reality. It’s faith, based on twenty-six years of knowing you. You sort things out. It’s what you do.”

It was Griff’s mouth that twisted this time. “Not always.”

“I’m not saying you’re infallible.” Charlie paused. “Although you give a good impression of it. I know we might have reached the end of line where Highbrook is concerned.” They were both silent then, and with no planning, they each reached out and placed a hand against the carved wall of the structure that had sheltered their childhood, during times when little sense of security was to be found elsewhere. “But it’ll...be okay. Whatever happens.” His smile turned crooked. “You might be a bit of a bastard at times, but you’re a very reassuring person to have around.”

Griff shifted. Freddy might be having an alarming influence on him, but he hadn’t had a personality transplant, and he was still on edge wading into sentimental territory. Gruffly, he turned the subject down a more comfortable path. “Charlie, do you want a career with cars?”

Charlie jerked, then his expression turned rueful. “The fair Freddy’s been whispering in your ear, has she?”

“More like hurling verbal knives at my head. You’re obviously enthusiastic about them—”