Chapter 17

Alex was in better spirits when she went back to New York after the weekend. She slept late on Monday morning and decided to take a day off. She was just leaving the apartment to do some errands when Rose Porter called her.

“What are you up to?” she asked her. They hadn’t talked in several weeks.

“I was just going to the supermarket, the hardware store, and the cleaner. I was in Boston this weekend.”

“I’m glad I caught you. I just got a very interesting call from a television production company in England. They have three series on TV at the moment.” She named them and Alex knew them all. They were the currently popular ones on television, and aired in the States too. “They want to turn Hear No Evil into a series.” It was her third book, and one of her biggest sellers so far. Rose wasn’t surprised. “I think they’d do a very good job with it. They have some stars in mind. Big ones. The catch, of course, is that they want you too. They want Alexander Green for script consultation on the set. I told them that wasn’t possible, that he never does that, they insisted, and then I told them about the setup in L.A., and that’s fine with them. They’ve already got a writer, and they think they could put the package together by August, and they would want you there for three months. You could be back here by late October, early November. What do you think?”

Rose also mentioned how much they wanted to pay her, it was a huge amount, and very enticing. “It worked in L.A., there’s no reason why it wouldn’t work in London. They wanted to put you up at Claridge’s, and I said Mr. Green needs a house for himself and his staff, and that was fine with them too. Why don’t you give it some thought?”

Alex didn’t need to. It was three more months of pretending to be Mr. Green’s assistant, but the series sounded like fun, and three months wasn’t too long. She’d have to extend her apartment lease or give it up, but that could be worked out.

“I’ll do it,” she said simply. If she didn’t do things like that now, when would she?

“That was easy,” Rose said with a grin. She had thought she’d have to talk her into it, and was prepared to, because it was great exposure for her work for people who didn’t read the books, and TV would pull women in too. “I’ll let them know.” She did, and called Alex when she got back from her errands. “They’re thrilled. They said they’d find a house right away. They want you there on August first.”

Alex was already thinking about going to the South of France for two weeks before that, as long as she was going to Europe. Tim was right. She led a charmed life. “It won’t air till spring, to give them time to edit.” It was her first TV series and sounded very exciting to her. They talked for a few minutes longer, and hung up. She fixed a light lunch for herself, and made lists about what she had to do before she went, and called her realtor to extend the lease till the end of the year, and they told her at six o’clock that the owner was amenable. So she could leave her things there, and didn’t have to drag it all back to Boston. And she wanted to spend some time in New York when she got back. She hadn’t had much opportunity to take advantage of the city and now she was leaving.

She spent a weekend in Boston in July to say goodbye to the nuns and Bert, and see Brigid again. She wasn’t pregnant yet this time.

“You’re slipping,” Alex teased her and Brigid laughed.

“Give me another month.”

“You’re hopeless.” But both her children were adorable and she was happy.

Alex flew from New York to Nice on the twelfth of July to spend two weeks at a hotel in Cap d’Antibes that she had read about and never been to. It was the height of luxury, and she wanted to be pampered and lazy before she started work in London. And the hotel lived up to all her expectations for fabulous food, a great spa, a beautiful room, and private cabanas where she could lie in the sun and read without anyone seeing or bothering her.

She arrived in London on the thirty-first of July with a honey-colored tan, looking rested and relaxed when she checked into Claridge’s for one night. She was picking up the keys to the house the production company had rented for Mr. Green the next day, and they hoped it would be to his liking. There were six bedrooms for himself and his alleged entourage. She needed the house to keep up the charade that he and his staff would be there, although all she needed was the master bedroom for herself. She planned to have her own cleaning service like the one she’d had in L.A. And she called Fiona as soon as she got to her room. Alex had left London almost exactly a year before. Since then, Fiona had gotten married and was pregnant. They had agreed to have dinner that night, and Alex couldn’t wait to see her.

They met at Barrafina in Soho for dinner, and Fiona told her all about married life and how happy she was with Clive, and they were over the moon about the baby.

“What are you doing back here?” She wanted to know.

“I have a job as a production assistant, working on a TV series,” she said humbly. “It’s a low-level job, but I thought it would be fun. It’s only for three months.”

“It sounds terrific.” It never dawned on Fiona that they could have hired a production assistant in London, and didn’t need to bring one out from New York. She was just happy to see her friend. She had changed jobs after Alex left, so she hadn’t seen Ivan in over a year. She had heard that he’d gotten fired, but didn’t know if it was true or not.

Fiona dropped Alex off at the hotel on her way home, and they promised to get together soon. Alex had told her the production company was paying for the hotel and she’d be moving to a house in a few days. Alex said she’d call her with the number.

The next morning, Alex reported to work on time, wearing jeans, a tee shirt, and a leather jacket. They had provided a car and driver to take her to the television studio. And they gave her an office as soon as she got there, and showed her around.

“I don’t suppose Mr. Green will be coming in himself?” the head production assistant asked discreetly. “We have an office for him too, if he wants it.”

“That won’t be necessary, he won’t come in,” Alex said crisply. “He does all his work at home, and has me bring the notes in, or email them.”

“Of course.” They treated her like royalty and introduced her to everyone. The screenwriter was a woman, and had a big reputation. And the director was very jovial. Alex was at her desk, trying out the computer, when the producer stuck his head in the door to meet her.

“Hello, welcome! I’m Miles McCarthy,” he said with a broad smile. He looked younger than she’d expected, although she knew from his bio that he was forty-one years old. He strode across the room to shake her hand. He was tall and lanky, wearing the same outfit she was, with a baseball cap on backward that he’d gotten at a concert the night before. “Everything the way you want it?” he inquired with a smile. “Give a shout if we forgot something. My office is just down the hall. And my assistant is in the one next to mine.”

“No, it’s been perfect,” she reassured him, and he disappeared. She went to the house they’d rented for her and “Mr. Green” after that, to meet the realtor and get the keys. It was a beautiful old house near Hyde Park, immaculately furnished and decorated, with drawings of horses and fox hunts everywhere, a formal dining room, a remarkable wood-paneled library, an elevator, and a very elegant master suite. Alex realized that, given the location, it must be costing them a fortune.

She barely had time to move her things from Claridge’s and rush back to the office for a production meeting that afternoon.

There was a large group of people at the table, and the producer and director took turns discussing various aspects of the show. They introduced Alex to everyone, explaining that she would be their liaison to Mr. Green. No one seemed troubled by it, and after the meeting Miles came over to talk to her, and explained that the actors were starting rehearsals the next day. They had gotten everything on track very quickly.

“Is the house all right?” he asked with concern.

“It’s fantastic. He’s going to love it.”

“My assistant picked it,” he said, pleased. She noticed that he had sandy blond hair with gray in it, and striking blue eyes. “When is Mr. Green arriving, by the way?”

“Late tonight, by private plane, with the staff.” It was the same story she’d told in L.A., and everyone believed it.

“We’re so glad he agreed to do the series. It’s going to be really great. And the screenwriter is excellent. I’ve worked with her before, on two shows. She does crime and mystery particularly well.”

“I’m sure he’ll be very happy,” Alex reassured her.

The producer left her then, to take care of a thousand details, and she discovered that he had an assistant just to attend to the needs of the actors. It was an impeccably run operation. She went to see the soundstage then, and was impressed by that too, and then she went home to relax in the fabulous house they had rented without knowing it was for her. While she was unpacking, an enormous bouquet of flowers arrived to her attention, and a magnum of champagne for Mr. Green. She was sorry she couldn’t give the magnum to Bert, and told him about it on the phone when she called him.

“Well, it won’t do me any good if it’s in London,” he complained. She told him about the production company and the house, and he got off the phone after that. He had a leak in his kitchen, and the plumber had just arrived. And Alex went to finish her unpacking and set up everything she needed on her desk. She was all set to start work in earnest the next day, and she couldn’t wait to see the script they were going to give her in the morning. They wanted Mr. Green’s notes on it as soon as possible, which she had assured them she could arrange.

When Alex got to the office the next day, the place was buzzing. The actors were in their dressing rooms. Catering had set up a breakfast buffet for anyone who wanted it. Hairdressers and makeup artists were everywhere, and, as promised, one of the producer’s assistants handed her two scripts, one for her and the other for her employer, and Alex went to her office to read it. It was extremely good. She made notes as she was reading, but had very few changes or comments.

“How does it look to you?” Miles stuck his head in and asked her when he saw that she was reading the script.

“It’s excellent. He’s going to be very pleased.” She had almost no work to do.

“Why don’t you come to the first reading?” he invited her. It was in a large meeting hall with many chairs set up in groups, where the actors would do their first informal run-through of the script and make comments. The readings were very good, and the actors real pros, and much less difficult than their American counterparts. Miles had Alex sit next to him, and gave her little explanations and running comments about the actors sotto voce. He was doing all he could to make her feel part of their team, and Rachel Wooster, the screenwriter, came over afterward to ask Alex to sit at her table for lunch, and the director joined them. He was Irish and very funny and had everyone laughing all through lunch. The atmosphere and collegial relationship they all had were terrific, and Alex felt totally at ease in their midst, and even though she was allegedly only Mr. Green’s assistant, they treated her very well. She had status in the group.

At the end of the day, she walked out to her car and driver. Miles was leaving at the same time on a fierce-looking motorcycle, and stopped to chat with her for a minute.

“I hope you feel it went well today,” he said. He had been attentive all day, and so had the entire crew.

“It couldn’t be better. And I don’t think Mr. Green will have any problems with the script.” She had two small changes to send later, which were negligible, but she couldn’t tell him that now until “Mr. Green” had officially seen it.

“I do wish he’d drop by so we can make him feel welcome,” Miles said pleasantly, “but I know he doesn’t do that. If he changes his mind, though, we’d love to have him.”

“He’ll be very grateful. But he sends me out as his emissary to the world.” She smiled at him and he noticed her tan, which made her eyes look strikingly green.

“He certainly has an excellent ambassador to represent him.” Miles smiled at her and she laughed.

“Thank you. I’m not sure everyone would agree with you, but I feel very fortunate to have the job. He’s very easy to work for.”

“So are you. You had the whole team falling in love with you today, and I’m top of that list. I’m a great fan of his, and now of yours. I read all his books. They’re extraordinary.”

“He’ll be pleased that you think so.” It was like talking about herself in the third person, which felt strange, even though she had done it in L.A. for six months and never gave herself away. And she hoped she didn’t here. They seemed to pay much closer attention than the movie crew had, and the actors were less lavishly treated. Miles had been exceptionally helpful and welcoming, and was a pleasure to work with.

“I can give you a lift home on my bike, by the way, if you’d prefer it.”

“I’m too big a coward,” she said honestly.

“That’s probably sensible,” he said, waved at her, and then took off, and she went home sedately in the car they had provided her, and let herself into the house.

She sent Miles an email shortly after, with the two minor changes from “Mr. Green,” and went to relax in the small, cozy den next to her bedroom. She had had a really enjoyable time on the set, and liked them all. She hadn’t met anyone that she found difficult, and she was really looking forward to working with them. Even the actors were well behaved and fun to talk to, and not prima donnas despite their big names and reputations. The leaders, both director and producer, set a tone and example that put everyone in a good mood, and anxious to do their best for the team. It was a first-rate production company in every way. Even the food had been great.

She was surprised when the phone rang in the kitchen when she was opening a takeaway salad for dinner that she had picked up on the way home. Since no one had that number, she couldn’t imagine who it was. It was Miles McCarthy, checking in with her that all was to Mr. Green’s liking.

“He’s resting right now, but I told him when I got in how well everything went today, and he was very pleased.”

“Excellent,” he said, and hung up a moment later, as Alex sat down to eat her salad at the kitchen table and thought about him. It had been a very, very good first day.

It took the actors a week to hit their stride with the script, and start to play well off each other and even improvise occasionally, which Alex didn’t object to, and neither did “Mr. Green” when she reported his reaction and comments back to them. It took about the same amount of time for the whole team to adjust to working together, and by two weeks in, they all felt like old friends. It was a very experienced, professional cast and crew.

Alex was sitting on the soundstage, reading some changes in the script, when Miles came in and sat down in the chair next to her. She looked up and they exchanged a smile. He treated her like someone he knew well whenever they met. She knew how important and successful he was, and he was not what she had expected at all. He was much more casual and warmer than anyone she’d met on the set so far. He was a very modest person, unlike people in Hollywood, where posturing was a way of life. Malcolm had been a prime example.

“What do you think of the latest changes?” he asked her.

“I like them. They make the dialogue smoother.”

“Good. I don’t like playing with the master’s words.” He smiled at her, and he had an intelligent face.

“That’s nice of you, but this works,” she said, satisfied.

“I hope he agrees with you,” he said cautiously, but there had been no problems so far. “I know you meet with him at night, so it’s a long day for you. But would you ever want to have dinner? We can do it late, if that’s better for you. I’m a bit of a night owl myself.”

“I’m usually free by eight o’clock,” she said easily. “He doesn’t take up that much of my time. He’s very considerate about it.”

“That’s good to know. Somehow, I could imagine that someone so intensely reclusive could be a bit of a tyrant.”

“He’s not a tyrant. He’s just very shy.” She covered for the employer who didn’t exist, but everyone believed in.

“We would love to welcome him here,” he said again and then turned his attention to Alex. “What kind of food do you like?”

“Anything, and casual is fine.” He suggested Mon Plaisir, which she knew from when she lived there, and liked a lot.

“That would be great.”

“How would tonight be? Or would tomorrow be better?”

“Tonight’s fine,” she said, smiling broadly. She felt pampered and spoiled.

“You’re a very important person here,” he said seriously.

“You certainly make me feel that way.”

“I’ll pick you up at eight then, in a car, not on my motorcycle.” He grinned at her.

“Thank you.” He went back to the others then, and she didn’t see him for the rest of the day.

When she got to the house after work, she emailed her approvals from “Mr. Green,” bathed and dressed, and was ready when Miles rang the doorbell at eight. She opened the door to him wearing a short denim skirt, a leather jacket, and heels, and he looked at her warmly, in black leather pants and jacket himself, and she noticed that he had shaved.

“Do you want to come in for a drink?” she offered. She could say that Mr. Green was in seclusion upstairs, without giving anything away. But he lowered his voice immediately in response.

“I don’t want to disturb him. Why don’t we just go.”

Miles led her out to his car parked in front of the house. It was a beaten-up old Jaguar, with cracked leather upholstery and tremendous charm. Miles had his own distinctive style, and he turned to her as they drove away.

“Does he mind you going out with me? I never thought about it till after I suggested dinner.” She reassured him immediately. It was the same question Malcolm had asked her in L.A.

“I’m free to do whatever I like. He doesn’t monopolize my evenings or personal time. He’s a very reasonable person. I’m not his girlfriend,” she stated clearly. “There are no nights or weekends involved.” It seemed like all he needed to know, and Miles seemed more relaxed after that. They talked easily about a variety of subjects on the way to the restaurant, and he was surprised to discover that she had lived in London for almost two years.

“So you haven’t worked for him for that long? I thought your CV said you did.” He was confused.

“I have, I was with him here.”

“I had no idea he spent time in England too. I know he has a place in the wilds of Scotland, but no one mentioned London.”

“We took a flat in Knightsbridge for two years, while he was writing here.” Everything she said to him was a half-truth, and it was exhausting lying all the time and trying to avoid dangerous slips.

The restaurant was as she remembered it from the last time she’d been there, cozy and intimate, without being so dark you couldn’t read the menu, or looking like a location for a tryst for married lovers. It was a perfect place to unwind with a friend after a long day, which was his purpose in bringing her here. She was surprised at how comfortable she was with him, and had been since they met. It was just his style, but the way he spoke to her was warm, and there was something very sexy about him with his rugged good looks.

They ordered dinner, and had a glass of wine, and he sighed as he smiled at her. “You’re too young to have been married yet, I suppose. I just finished a bad divorce, it’s a relief to focus on work. And this is such a great project.” He was so enthused about it that it thrilled Alex every time he said it. He was full of energy and great ideas for the series.

“I’m sorry about your divorce. That must be rough. Do you have children?” She knew very little about him, except that his bio for publicity said he had gone to Oxford and was forty-one years old.

“I have two kids. I married very young, right after college, so they’re fairly grown up, but not entirely yet. My daughter is seventeen, and my son is fifteen. Not easy ages, and they’ve been pulled back and forth quite a lot. Their mother wants to move to South Africa with her boyfriend, who’s from there and still lives there and has his business in Johannesburg, and I don’t want them that far away. I’m very close to my kids,” he said with a bittersweet tone to his voice.

“Are you able to stop her from moving?” He shook his head and Alex felt sorry for him. His eyes told her how painful it was for him.

“The judge ruled against me and said I can’t keep her prisoner here. We have shared custody, and the children love both of us. They don’t want to leave either of us, and the court ruled that we’ll have to send them back and forth as much as possible, which is hard on them. My daughter is in boarding school here, as most kids her age are, and she’ll be going to university next year, but my son is moving to Johannesburg with his mother. And my schedule is crazy, so I can’t always foresee how much free time I’ll have when he’s here. And he doesn’t want to go to boarding school.”

“I didn’t want to either at his age.”

“It’s not as common in the States, but almost everyone does here. He was accepted at Eton, which is a wonderful school, where I went, and he refused to go.” The school he had gone to told her he was from a good family with considerable social standing, but he had none of the snobbishness that usually went with it, and didn’t put on airs. She had met some men in England who went to the best schools and were insufferable. Miles was nothing like them. “Why would you have gone to boarding school? Were you badly behaved so they wanted to send you away?” he teased her.

“No, my father died when I was fourteen, and my mother long before that, so it was a matter of necessity. I had nowhere to live, and couldn’t stay alone in his house with just a housekeeper. It worked out really well in the end. I lived in a convent with a house full of loving nuns. I still stay there when I’m in Boston. I just moved to New York recently.” Her history touched him. She seemed like a very unusual woman and he found her warm and intriguing. He hadn’t figured her out yet, but was trying his best to. He could sense that there was a part of her she didn’t let anyone know or see. She was very guarded, like a child hiding behind a tree, thinking no one could see them, although they were partially visible. Miles was watching her closely and trying to understand her better.

“So when did you meet up with the amazing Mr. Green?” He was fascinated by that too. He was such an extraordinary writer, and he was impressed that the famous writer put so much faith in such a young woman. She was clearly as capable as she had demonstrated so far to them.

“When he wrote his first book. I was nineteen and still in college.”

“And where was that?” She seemed to have moved around a bit. He knew she had spent six months in L.A. working on Green’s movie, and now he knew they’d been in London for two years.

“He spent some time in Boston, and we met then. I’ve been working for him for six years,” she said quietly as their dinner arrived, and he continued questioning her, trying to piece the puzzle of her together. The stabilizing element appeared to be her work for Alexander Green, which was ironically true.

“That makes you twenty-five now,” Miles commented. “I must seem like an old man to you.” He laughed as he said it, and she denied it immediately.

“I forget about age, mine and other people’s. It’s really what’s in your head that matters, and how mature you are. Some people never get there, and others arrive early. I’ve been responsible for a long time, and I think Mr. Green recognizes it.” So did Miles. His ex-wife was exactly his age, and had been a spoiled child for all the years he knew her. There was none of that about Alex. She was a sensible woman, no matter what age she was, and he felt like he was talking to an equal as they ate their excellent dinner and explored each other’s lives.

“I bought a wonderful horse farm a number of years ago in Dorset,” he told her halfway through dinner to get off more painful personal subjects. “My children and I love it. I actually breed horses there, Thoroughbreds and Arabians, show horses. It’s a lot of work, but very rewarding and interesting. It costs a fortune to run, but we’ve had a few racehorses that have done very well. I have a new one right now. You’ll have to come and see the place sometime. It’s about three hours from London. If we get a break in the shooting schedule, when we’re further along, I’ll take you there. Sometimes the actors need a few days off, if someone crucial to a scene gets sick, or they just get worn out. It’s better to give them some time off than to keep pushing and screw everything up.” It seemed like a reasonable solution to her, and he was obviously a practical and intelligent person, full of common sense. He was very open and direct, which she liked, and wished she could be more so with him.

“I’d love to see the farm, but I don’t know anything about running a horse farm or country life. There were no horses in the convent when I was growing up.” She laughed. “Although I rode with my father when I was young. I took lessons for a while.”

“What did you and your father like to do?” he asked her gently.

“Read crime thrillers,” she answered instantly, “and every kind of detective story we could lay hands on. He had an amazing collection, some of them first editions. I kept all of them. They’ve been in storage for eleven years.”

“I guess that’s what you have in common with your employer. That must have impressed him when he hired you, your knowledge of his kind of work.” It seemed to have been a passion she and her father shared.

“Some people think that women don’t read or understand crime novels, let alone write them, which really isn’t true. Although my father believed that too. There are some wonderful thrillers and detective stories written by women, despite my father’s personal preference for male writers—he was quite adamant about it. I realize now that his view was somewhat limited and he overlooked some very good women crime writers.” It had taken her most of her life to believe it, but now she did.

“Are you an aspiring writer, Alex?” he asked her, and she shook her head. She certainly wasn’t “aspiring,” she was a full-on pro.

“Not really,” she said blithely, wishing she could be honest with him.

“My own interests lie in an entirely different direction. I love producing quality television shows and I can put a deal together like nobody’s business, but I could never write the material for a show. I can barely write a letter. I just don’t have that creative gene in me, which is why I admire Alexander Green so much. I think your skills are more like mine, organizational. We can make things happen. But don’t ever ask me to write a screenplay or a book. I know a good one when I see it, like great horseflesh. I leave the writing to geniuses like Mr. Green.” As he had been before, Miles was humble about his own talents, but he had misjudged hers. Given all the lies she and others had told him, how could he possibly know? She just seemed like a very efficient assistant to him.

“You could probably write better than you think. You just never tried it,” she said generously.

“I’ll leave that to him.” He smiled, totally satisfied with his life and what he did. The only thing he was unhappy about was the impact of the divorce on his kids. He had explained to her earlier in the meal that neither of them had done anything awful to each other. They had just married too young and run out of gas. He said his wife was a talented photographer, but had no desire to pursue it as a line of work. He said he had far less talent than she did, but had always been excited and ambitious about his career.

Alex told him not to sell himself short. She could tell that he was an ingenious, creative man. It was no small thing to create a successful television show, and put all the essential people together to make it work. She was more grateful than ever as the meal drew to a close that he had chosen her work for his next venture, and she was excited to be associated with him. She told him that her employer was ecstatic about what he was doing, and that pleased Miles too. He said they all hoped it would be a big success, and Alex said she did too.

“Your comments are bound to be the most sincere,” he said to her over a cup of espresso after dinner, “because you have no stake in it and nothing to gain. The rest of us want to make a lot of money. You’re not tainted by greed like we are,” he complimented her, and she winced.

“I have my greedy moments too,” she confessed, and it was truer than he knew.

“You seem like you have your feet on the ground,” he praised her, and she laughed.

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” she admitted.

“I’m not as sensible as I look. Breeding Thoroughbreds is an expensive venture, or raising racehorses. There is nothing reasonable about it. It’s a costly passion, but I love it,” he confessed.

“It sounds like fun, though.”

“That it is. I can’t wait for you to see my farm. The house is an old Tudor manor. It’s quite historically important, and it even has a moat and its own lake, and the land is spectacular. I’m a true Englishman, I have a strong bond to the land. My family lost their property generations ago, and I’ve always wanted land to call my own, and pass on to my children. Now I have it, it’s very important to me.” She had seen a side of him that night that she wouldn’t have known otherwise, and when she left the restaurant with him, she knew she had a friend. He put an arm around her shoulders as they walked back to the car, and there was a warm light in his eyes when he said good night to her, but he didn’t try to kiss her. And as he watched her get through the front door safely, she waved before she closed it, and felt something she had never felt before. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it seemed very direct and simple. Yet there was one complication to it. She hated the fact that she was lying to him about who she really was.