A Holiday Fling (7 page)

"It’s ironic. I’ve finally reached the point where I could afford a decent house, but when I come back from a location shoot I’m always too tired to call a real estate agent. The next thing I know, I’m off again." He smiled wryly. "I’m this big success, yet I live like a kid just out of college."

"California has wonderful houses. What would you like? A beach house?"

"I’d rather have a place up in the hills where you can see to forever. I love that kind of spaciousness. And I like modern architecture —airiness and lots of texture from natural materials."

"It sounds as if you’ve thought about this." She knew the kind of house he meant. She had visited one or two of that type when she was in California. "As dreams go, this shouldn’t be too hard to achieve. Perhaps you should make a New Year’s resolution to call an estate agent."

"Maybe I will." His gaze traveled around her living room. "Being here reminds me of what I’m missing."

Hearing more than he was saying, she said hesitantly, "It sounds as if you want not only a house, but a home. Real estate is easy. Homes are harder."

"I think you just put your finger on it." He gave a jaw- cracking yawn. "Sorry! Jet lag is mugging me again. I’d better go to bed while I can still manage the stairs."

He stood and offered her his hand, raising her easily. She skimmed her palm across his bare chest, thinking again how well he had filled out since they first met. He’d been an appealing youth. Now he was a rather splendid man. "My bedroom or yours?"

He gave her a slow smile. "Yours, if you don’t mind having me there."

She closed the fireplace doors and turned out the lights, then slid her arm around his waist and they ambled toward the stairs. His height made her feel small and feminine. She tried to remember when she had felt so peaceful, but failed. Too long.

Greg hadn’t been joking about his fatigue. After washing up and brushing his teeth, he hit her bed like a felled tree. She didn’t mind, not when he drew her close against him. She gave a sigh of pure pleasure.

Plato jumped onto the bed, looking for an unoccupied corner. Jenny was about to shoo him off when Greg began absently scratching the cat’s neck. Not bad for a man more asleep than awake.

As Plato settled down, purring, Greg murmured, "If I had asked you to stay after we finished shooting
Almost Crazy
—would you have?"

How had she felt then? Conflicted. "I don’t think so," she said honestly. "I was desperate to go home. Being offered that Jane Austen role went a long way toward repairing my battered professional pride."

He exhaled, his soft breath stirring the hair at her temple. "That’s what I figured." His breathing became slow and steady, but it was a long time until Jenny slept. Probably she would have gone home no matter what Greg said then—but she wished she’d had the choice.

Chapter 6

Greg swiftly checked over the lights, reflectors, and other equipment. "Great," he said as he signed the manifest. "I really appreciate you guys lending me all this."

Sean, the young Londoner who had driven the borrowed equipment to Upper Bassett, said, "It’s an honor, Mr. Marino." He hesitated. "Could I stay and help today? I’m a camera assistant, so I might be useful." Despite numerous piercings and crimson hair that defied description, his gaze was as worshipful as a spaniel. "I really want to see you work."

Greg felt very old. How had he gone from being an eager kid like this one to an elder statesman? Trying not to think of the occasional gray hairs that were starting to appear, he said, "Sure, the help will be welcome. We’ll start by rigging these lights."

They spent a long, sweaty day working on the catwalks above the stage, with Greg explaining the reasons for every equipment placement. His assistant nodded solemnly and jotted quick notes. With Sean’s help, the installation was finished before the evening’s dress rehearsal. Greg could never have managed that on his own.

Jenny flitted in and out, alluring in jeans and sweater as she attended to countless details. Whenever she appeared, all male activity temporarily ceased. She was pleasant to everyone, but for Greg she had a private smile that melted him in his tracks.

The three days since he’d arrived in England were the happiest he could remember. By day he and Jenny worked like maniacs to stage her production, sharing ideas and problems with easy camaraderie. The nights were even better as they talked and laughed and made love until they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Usually with Plato sprawled against Greg’s ankles. The three of them slept well together.

Greg was doing a lighting check when Jenny appeared. "My mother put together a buffet supper for family members involved in the show. The kids have finished, but the adults are eating now. Care to join us, or are you too busy?"

He suppressed a small twitch. Though the family members he’d met were great, he hadn’t met her father yet, and Dr. Lyme might not approve of some ramshackle American hanging out with his younger daughter. Reminding himself that he wasn’t in high school, he said, "Sure. It would be nice to get out of here for a while."

He grabbed his coat and joined Jenny for the walk to her parents’ house. The fresh air was welcome after the long day inside. Taking his hand, she led him along a path that edged a field and decanted them by a sprawling brick house. "This was called a villa when it was built in Edwardian times," Jenny explained. "My father wanted all the woodwork painted lime green in honor of the family name, but Mother wouldn’t let him."

"Sounds like your father has a sense of humor."

"He has to, to put up with the rest of us," she said blithely as they walked inside through the unlocked front door.

The small front hall opened to reception rooms on both sides. The parlor on the right contained a tall Christmas tree, with the dining room visible beyond. High ceilings and handsome moldings gave a formal air to the house, but the furnishings were comfortable and just worn enough to be welcoming.

Jenny hung both their coats, then took Greg into the dining room, where platters and Crock-Pots were set on a sideboard so family members could help themselves to a quick meal. Alice Lyme wasn’t present but Patricia Holmes and her husband, Ken, were already eating, and a white-haired man who had to be Dr. Lyme was nursing a cup of coffee at the head of the table.

Taking Greg’s arm, Jenny led him into the dining room. "Hi, all. Dad, you haven’t met my friend Greg Marino, have you?"

Dr. Lyme stood. Tall and angular, he had formidably bushy eyebrows. "No, but Jenny has talked of you a great deal."

"I was afraid of that," Greg said fatalistically. "I swear, practically none of it is true."

The doctor laughed and offered his hand. "It was good of you to come all this way to help out."

As they shook hands, Greg said, "I’m glad Jenny asked me. I’m having a wonderful time."

"You’re from Ohio, I think? I once did a fellowship in Cincinnati." Dr. Lyme sighed nostalgically. "Cincinnati chili. Not like anything else I’ve ever eaten."

"That’s because its ancestors are Greek, not Mexican." Greg made a mental note to send some Cincinnati chili spice packets to Dr. Lyme. "Our local specialty."

That started a lively discussion about regional foods while the new arrivals served themselves and sat down. Luckily, Greg managed not to step on the collie-ish dog that was snoozing peacefully under the sideboard. Given the way Jenny fussed over the elderly pooch, he suspected that stepping on its tail would get him exiled permanently from the house.

Dr. Lyme replenished his coffee. "Is everything in hand for the rehearsal?"

"So far, so good," Jenny replied. "One of the horn dancers broke his right antler, but we were able to super- glue the end on again."

Greg grinned, amused at the contrast of old and new. "I’ve been meaning to ask why moose antlers are worn for a dance."

"Not moose—red deer. The horned god is a pagan deity and tied up with fertility and nature," Patricia explained with schoolteacher precision.

"We included the horn dance because it’s a specialty of this dance group, and it looks impressive," Jenny added. "Excuse me while I go change into my costume. Patricia, can you help?"

The two women disappeared, leaving Greg with the doctor and Ken Holmes. Ken, an engineer, was asking technical questions about film editing when the sisters reappeared. Jenny had traded her jeans for a flowing gown of burgundy velvet with gold embroidered borders, topped by a headdress with a diaphanous golden veil. The medieval finery gave her an otherworldly air at odds with the approachable woman who warmed his nights. "You take my breath away," Greg said honestly.

She dimpled and curtsied gracefully. "‘Tis honored I am to make your acquaintance, Sir Gregory of Ohio."

Their teasing was interrupted when Alice Lyme appeared. Greg had met her several times at the tithe barn, where she helped as needed. A silver fox version of her beautiful daughters, she usually had an unflappable quality that reminded Greg of his own mother, but this evening she was frowning. "Bad news, I’m afraid."

"What’s wrong?" Jenny asked.

"I’ve just learned that the Carthage Corporation has changed its deadline. Originally we had until June thirtieth to meet their price. Now they say we must have the money by January first."

"They can do that?" Greg asked, startled. "Don’t you have an option contract of some sort?"

Alice shrugged. "It was a gentlemen’s agreement, which tends to be worthless when dealing with corporations. Last summer Carthage had the barn appraised and told us if we could raise the amount of the appraisal by the time the lease expired, the barn would be ours. But nothing was in writing."

"Probably they’ve received a higher offer," Patricia said cynically.

"They know the center can’t raise so much money on such short notice." Jenny looked stricken. "When we fail, they accept the other contract. Come June, we’re out."

Greg swore under his breath. Jenny had said once that the center had a good chance to raise the money, but it would take the six months they’d been counting on to edit and polish the Revels production and sell it to television.

Or would it? "Did they say in writing that they would let the village buy the barn if it raised the money by New Year’s?"

Alice raised a paper she had brought in. "Yes, the cowards faxed me rather than telephoning. But what good does that do us?"

"The key is television sales," he replied. "Jenny has plenty of London contacts, and I know some people in American TV. If we can produce some good sample material quickly enough, maybe we can get commitments to buy the finished film for next year. With those in hand, you might be able to get a bridge loan from a bank. I doubt the corporation would dare back out since you have their written promise to sell at the appraisal price. It would look nasty in the newspapers if they reneged, and corporations don’t like looking like bad guys."

"Can that all be done in such a short time?" Alice asked doubtfully.

Jenny bit her lip, calculating. "It’s possible. Barely. If Greg can pull together some fabulous footage in the next day or two. Can you?"

"I think so. I rigged the lights to give even illumination, which means I can shoot the full dress rehearsal tonight digitally. Sean has a similar camera and he would love to act as second unit. Does anyone in Upper Bassett have a really good digital editing setup on his computer?"

"I do." Ken Holmes smiled self-deprecatingly. "We engineers love gadgets."

"He also has first-class recording equipment taking up far too much of the house." Patricia smiled at her husband affectionately. "He records music at our church and we sell the CDs. The sound is professional quality."

"Then let’s go for it." Greg swallowed a last bite of supper and got to his feet. "We’ll shoot and record the rehearsal, edit tonight, and by tomorrow morning we should have something that will convince the BBC that you deserve a piece of their budget."

Ken also stood. "I’ll go home for my sound equipment and meet you at the barn."

After thanking the Lymes for their hospitality, Greg and Jenny collected their coats and left. By the time they reached the tithe barn, the building was teeming with cast members. A flock of cherubs, ridiculously cute in white robes and gilded wings, galloped by as Greg extricated young Sean from a group of dancers and enlisted him for the evening’s shooting.