The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(8)

“Lydia Bennet?” Freddy stopped trying to pull the hem of her jumper over her knees and leaned forward. Her talent agency’s office was always cold, and she tended to leave these meetings with another booking she didn’t want, so she usually dreaded coming.

However, it seemed to be a day for unexpected plot twists.

“It should be a dream role for you.” Lisa, her agent, was turning a pen over and over between her fingers as she studied Freddy.

Lydia Bennet, Pride and Prejudice’s archetypal bratty little sister, who had dismal taste in men and wreaked havoc on all around her.

“If you’re suggesting a temperamental similarity, I’m not overly flattered.”

“You’re an Austen fan, and The Austen Playbook is straight romantic comedy and cosy mystery, right up your street. This production is already raising a huge amount of interest. Word leaked on social media and people are here for it. The studio is predicting high ratings. It’s such good exposure that even your father might be on board.” Lisa’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Relations could be strained between an agent and a manager in any circumstances, but since he’d contributed half of the talent’s DNA, Rupert felt that he had seniority when it came to professional decisions. Freddy had gone through three agents before she’d found Lisa four years ago, and she did not want Rupert driving this one off as well.

“Is he being difficult?” Freddy asked bluntly. This show did sound like something she’d enjoy a hell of a lot more than anything she’d done in recent memory. It also sounded like something her father would dismiss as time-wasting froth.

Lisa set the pen down on her desk and steepled her fingers. “Rupert is a very savvy manager.” Tactful. Clearly only the very surface of her opinion. “The casting call is going out in six months for The Velvet Room.” Lisa watched her narrowly.

She’d learned by rote to manufacture and hide emotion, but she couldn’t stop herself reaching up to tuck the hair behind her ears. Nervous tic 101.

“He wants to see you playing Marguerite.”

Marguerite, one of the most iconic characters in twentieth-century drama. The character created and first played by Henrietta. Clever, cynical, morally ambiguous Marguerite. The literary creation who walked the line between sacrifice and cunning so narrowly that when the curtain went down, the audience was divided on whether they’d witnessed the evolution of a transformative heroine or had their emotions jerked on puppet strings by a master manipulator.

One of the most difficult characters in British theatre to carry off successfully, and one of the most emotionally draining performances written into a script.

Her nails dug into her palms. “I know.”

This endless run of Masquerade had clarified several things for Freddy, and every time she thought about doing a year-long stint in The Velvet Room, she ended up eating an entire family-sized bar of chocolate.

Masquerade had been forced to close last Saturday afternoon because of a fire in a nearby building, and she’d spontaneously decided to buy a last-minute ticket for the matinée of Singin’ in the Rain. She’d loved every minute of it. She’d realised about halfway through that her feet were unconsciously tapping out the steps.

Her friend at the Westminster Post with the cutting comments and disturbing eyes had been quite right on press night: she would rather be twirling through puddles than trying to dramatic-monologue her way to a supreme National Theatre Award and the highest tier of industry cred.

At some point during the past five years, she’d become another cog in the West End machine. Constantly driving for more. Always looking to the next step. Feeling that pure, intrinsic joy of performing slipping through her fingers with every calculated career move.

After a moment of silence Lisa said, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Where’s your head at right now?” She reached for the cup of tea on her desk. “Not just professionally. Full package. How are you feeling?”

Freddy turned the words over in her mind, testing them, and voiced them slowly. “I guess...at times lately... I feel like Freddy, the performing doll. With multiple people holding the strings and all pulling in different directions.” She ran her thumbnail down the seam of her leggings. “I’ve done nothing but theatre for over twelve years. I’ve had no real outside interests in the past. I’ve never had a hobby that’s completely unrelated to the job.” Most of her friends were involved in the industry. So were a lot of the people she dated. She sometimes wished she had someone who just...saw her. Saw just the person. Not the actor, not the characters. Not the commodity. “I’m just feeling a bit boxed in.”

“Do you need a complete break?” Lisa asked neutrally. “Because that’s what I’m hearing.”

“I don’t want to stop performing. I do love it. I always have.” But she wasn’t sure that she wanted to live solely for it anymore. She wanted to do productions that she wholeheartedly enjoyed, she wanted a passion outside of theatre, and really—she just wanted to be happy.

She also wanted other people to be happy, and it often seemed to be an either/or choice.

She physically shook off the strain that had crept into her shoulders. “I’m making better use of my days off. Expanding my horizons.” She ticked off on her fingers. “So far, art history lessons are a success, I’m surprisingly good at mug-painting, biscuit-decorating was a catastrophe but I ate the evidence, and I’m crossing all team sports off the list.”