Chapter 18

The break that Miles had been hoping for so he could take her to his horse farm came a month into the filming of the show. They’d had dinner together several times by then, and had learned a lot about each other. He knew all about the nuns, her friend Brigid, and her years in college. He knew about her father and how she had never been in love. He could see how hard she worked, and how dedicated she was. He saw her vulnerable side and her strengths, and how intelligent she was. But what he didn’t know, and couldn’t, was that she wrote the Alexander Green books. It was the only thing she had concealed from him, and she knew she had no choice. She couldn’t take him into the inner circle of her life—he didn’t belong there, and if he ever misused the knowledge, he could destroy her career, and she would let no one and nothing do that. She protected her work with every ounce of her soul, even more than her heart.

Miles had shared with her his childhood in the north of England, in Yorkshire, boarding school at Eton, a year in Ireland after college, his work for the BBC when he came back, his passion for horses, love of his children, and disappointments of his marriage. He had no desire to be married again. He had dated a few women since his separation and divorce from his wife, but no one he cared about particularly or loved, or wanted to see more of.

He said he had a weakness for actresses, which didn’t serve him well. “They’re so incredibly narcissistic,” he said, and she confessed that her nemeses were would-be writers. He asked her again if she and Alexander Green had ever been romantically involved during the years they’d worked together. It seemed logical to him that it could have happened—she was a beautiful woman—but when he asked her, she said no, and he could see in her eyes that she was telling the truth, although he still had a sense at times that there were things she wasn’t telling him. He assumed they were the painful parts of her youth, like the mother who had abandoned her, and the father she had lost. It never dawned on him that it could be something else much more complicated than that.

He was incredibly drawn to Alex, but he didn’t want to create a difficult situation for either of them with their work, so he held back. And he had no idea how she felt about him. He loved their evenings together, but she was demure and very shy and in some ways very young. He guessed that she had little experience, and she had admitted to him that she had gone out with only a few men. Her entire life was devoted to her work. She was just the kind of woman he would have wanted to find, if he wanted to marry again, but he didn’t. He had vowed after his divorce never to make that mistake a second time. Alex wasn’t the kind of woman he could take lightly, and he didn’t want her to get hurt. Having a casual affair with her would have seemed like profound disrespect, even if she’d been willing, but she wasn’t that kind of woman. He felt it best to remain good friends. And their friendship was deepening day by day. They enjoyed many of the same things, and had a lot in common. It became increasingly natural to spend time together when they could. It was all very wholesome and pure, which was comfortable for them both.

The male lead in the series got a terrible flu that ended in bronchitis, the female lead caught it from him, and they had to stop shooting for a few days, and it could even turn into a week. They shot around them for as long as they were able, and then they had to stop, and Miles turned up in her office grinning broadly.

“We’ve got it!” he whispered as he approached her desk.

“Got what?” She was looking at one of the latest scripts and was distracted.

“The time we need to go to my farm. They’re sick as dogs, and the doctor just said it could turn into pneumonia if we don’t let them rest. Do you think Mr. Green would give you a few days off?”

“I’ll ask, but I’m sure he would. He’s writing right now anyway, and he doesn’t like to be bothered when he is.” Her lies were getting better, and she embellished them as needed. She smiled up at Miles. She felt peaceful whenever she was with him. There was nothing heated or awkward in their relationship. It was a haven for them both. “When do you want to go?”

“Tonight?” His son had just gone back to Johannesburg, so Miles was free. “We could go when we finish this afternoon.” They had to tie up a few loose ends before taking a shooting break. “We could leave by six or seven, and not get there too late. It’s two and a half hours away, three at most. All you need are sweaters and jeans and some boots to muck around in if it gets wet. You could borrow a pair of my daughter’s if you don’t have any with you. You’re about the same size.” Although they looked entirely different. Both of his children were as blond as he, Alex knew from the photographs he’d shown her. She’d had dinner one night in his flat, which was a cozy, eclectic, appealing mess that put its arms around you and made you never want to leave. She had hated to go home to the elegant townhouse that night and wished that things were different and she could stay with him. But thinking that was absurd, and he had never behaved as anything but a friend. “Can you call and ask Green now?” Miles asked hopefully.

“I promise, it will be fine. I’ll ask him when I get home, but he won’t say no. And he’d rather not have me around when he’s writing.”

“All right, if you think so. I’ll leave early, if I can, and pick you up at six.” He was thrilled to be taking her to his farm. He had been wanting to show it to her for weeks and didn’t see how he could. Two of the stars getting sick was providential, though unfortunate for them. Alex beamed at him as he rushed off. She left a little early too, and went home with her driver, to pack. She let him off for the next two days, and told him she’d call when she returned.

“Mr. Green won’t be needing me, ma’am?” He never did, nor any of the staff the driver never saw but knew was there, or so he thought.

“No, Lambert. Thank you.”

She hurried to the master suite and put some music on while she packed. There was a fabulous sound system in the house and she used it a lot to listen to Prince, the Black Eyed Peas, Santana, Michael Jackson, Stevie Wonder, and others. She packed in fifteen minutes, after calling Miles to confirm that Mr. Green had no problem with her leaving. Miles called and said he was outside twenty minutes later. He didn’t want to ring the bell and disturb Mr. Green while he was writing. Alex came out with a small overnight bag and a tote stuffed with everything she could think of that she might need for the weekend.

“You’ve got a cheek,” Miles said as he took her bags from her and put them in what he called the “boot,” the trunk. He sounded mildly scolding, as he would to a child.

“Why?” She had no idea what he meant, or if he was annoyed at her, and she looked worried.

“I could hear the music blaring when I called you. The poor man is trying to write, Alex. How can you put that on? I’m surprised he didn’t kill you.”

She laughed in response. “He was having an early dinner in the kitchen. And he’s very nice about things like that. I wouldn’t put it on when he’s actually writing.”

“What did he say? Was he really okay about your leaving?”

“Very much so. He told me to have fun.”

“He sounds like a benevolent father.”

“Sometimes he is,” she said, glancing out the window. She hated the lies that came so easily to her now. So much so that at times she believed them herself, and she knew he did. It seemed so wrong with someone she really liked and respected. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t put her life in his hands, and it would be if she ever confided in him. Instead, she had created a persona who didn’t exist but seemed real to her now.

It took them three hours, going at a leisurely pace on back roads, to get to his farm in Dorset. The first hour was on highway, and the last two on old, winding country roads that were beautiful in the September light. The trees were still green, the weather not too chilly yet, but one could tell that fall was coming. They passed old farmhouses and some gated properties. There were orchards and rolling hills, cows and sheep, and horses. They talked the whole way, first about the scenes they were filming, and then about life, how they viewed things, the people they cared about, the dreams they’d had when they were younger. His children were very important to him and he missed them.

“You’re so lucky you have a whole life ahead of you,” he said to Alex with feeling. “You’re just starting out.”

“So are you,” she said generously.

“No, I’m not. I’m halfway there, what’s done is done. And the mistakes one makes at your age follow you forever.” They were wise words. But it didn’t seem as though he had made too many mistakes. He had two children he loved, and a booming career. His only mistake was one bad marriage, which didn’t seem so terrible to her. And she had the books she had dedicated her life to writing for the past six years, and nothing else. She had built no relationships except the ones she grew up with. And she was almost certain she didn’t want children in the future. There was too much risk involved in having them, she thought. What if something happened to her or their father? They would be alone as she had been, and maybe not as lucky to find a family of loving nuns. She didn’t want to inflict those dangers on a child, and she had said as much to Miles one night at dinner, and he was surprised. He couldn’t imagine his life without his children, and she couldn’t imagine hers with children of her own. It terrified her.

Darkness fell about an hour before they got to the farm, and he drove between a pair of old iron gates at last. They had been left unlocked and open, and he turned the Jaguar onto a narrow rutted road that went on for a long time, and then finally she saw an enormous old-fashioned barn and a large stone house. There were wildflowers in a field, splendid old trees, and in the distance the lake he had mentioned, and a bright moon shedding light on the scene. He stopped the car and they got out, and he carried her bags across a little bridge over the moat as she followed him to the huge front door with a big brass knocker. He opened it with a key and stepped inside, and she walked in behind him into the hall, and he turned on the light.

She could see beautiful old country antiques, a long hallway, threadbare and once-handsome carpets hundreds of years old, and they walked into a living room of perfect proportions to be grand but still cozy, with a huge fireplace. There was a library, a smaller sitting room, a boot room, and an enormous country kitchen. It was what one imagined an English country estate should look like, not on a TV show or in a magazine, but in real life, and he was instantly relaxed and at home. He loved being there and came as often as he could. His children had grown up there, and he had spent much of his marriage there. The property was one of the fruits of his successful career and was one of the first things he had bought with his first hit series years before. He was deeply attached to his home, and he was happy to share it with Alex now. She felt honored to be there, in the inner sanctum of his life.

“Miles, it’s just perfect.” He could see instantly how much she liked it, and he was so touched by it and the warmth in her eyes that he couldn’t stop himself. He walked toward her and put his arms around her and kissed her for the first time, and she didn’t stop him. It was what they both wanted, and it was the perfect place for it to happen. They both felt as though they had come home.

“It means so much to me that you like it.” He took her by the hand and walked her upstairs then, and showed her all the bedrooms, including the big canopied bed in his that looked like a peaceful place to hide from the world. His children’s rooms were down the hall from his, each had their own suite that had been decorated for them as children, but they didn’t want to change them. And there were half a dozen imposing guest bedrooms. The manor had been built for country house parties and shooting weekends. There were a dozen servants’ bedrooms upstairs. And behind the barn he said there was a building where all the men who worked in the stable lived. And another that they no longer used, for additional servants that they no longer had, and hadn’t during his tenure. He had thought of transforming both houses into homes for his children one day when they were grown so they could bring their families there once they were married. It was his dream home and she could see why. It was filled with love. She could feel his strong bond to it as they walked around.

“My ex-wife always wanted me to sell it. She hated it here. There’s nothing much around except an ancient village, and other farms and manors. She wanted to live in the city, and buy a house in Saint-Tropez instead of this, but we never did. Maybe that would have saved my marriage, but I couldn’t bring myself to part with this place, and the children love it as much as I do. This is my refuge, and a piece of my soul,” he confided to her and kissed her again, and she couldn’t stop kissing him. She had never felt for anyone as she did for him, and he wanted her so much he could hardly breathe. He had since the beginning and now the floodgates had opened and there was no holding back what they felt for each other. “Alex…I know this sounds crazy, but I love you…I don’t want you to get hurt…and I don’t know what will happen…” She would go back to New York in a few months, to her own world, and his was here, but he couldn’t tear himself away from her, and he knew this was much more than lust.

“I don’t care…I love you…” she answered. They walked back to his bedroom, and he paused at the door and kissed her again. He picked her up in his arms like a doll then and laid her gently on the enormous bed. It was a huge modern size, built into the original antique frame for comfort, with enormous drapes around the bed that they could close in winter when it was cold. The bed had never known love and warmth before as it did at that moment, and he gently peeled her clothes away and his own and they slipped under the covers. He lit a candle next to the bed, and the shadows flickered around them as he made love to her and she gave herself as she never had to any man, and then she fell asleep in his arms afterward, feeling safe for the first time in her life.

They woke up two hours later, at the same time, with the candle still burning, and she smiled into his eyes and then kissed him.

“Did I dream this?” he asked her, almost afraid to believe it. The strong, powerful, confident man that she had met a month before had melted in her arms, and she could have had anything she wanted from him. “How did I get so lucky? Thank God Green brought you here with him.”

“I always go with him,” she said softly, burrowing deeper into Miles’s arms as he held her like spun glass. His lovemaking had been just strong enough to transport her, but gentle enough to drive her to heights she had never known.

“What if he had brought some awful ancient crone?” Miles whispered, and she laughed, and half an hour later they both admitted that they were starving. He’d had the house heated before they arrived, and had asked the stable master to leave food in the refrigerator. He took her hand then and they went down to the kitchen naked. They had the whole place to themselves, and Miles admired her exquisite body as they stood in the ancient kitchen. She looked like a beautiful nymph in the forest. He loved her so much he thought he could die, and wouldn’t have minded dying of ecstasy in her arms. “What have you done to me?” he said to her as he pulled her into his arms again. “You have bewitched me.” She smiled shyly and nestled close to him. She had never known life could be so perfect, and suddenly she remembered Bert’s words to her, reiterated recently, that one day the right man would come along at the right time. He would find her, she didn’t have to look for him, and then she would be happy. He was right.

She told Miles about him as they sat down to a dinner of cheese and bread, some sliced cold sausages, and a glass of wine he poured her, which was very good French wine of an important vintage.

“And whose editor is he? I’m confused.” She had spoken as though he were hers and she said he was her mentor, and she corrected herself quickly.

“He’s Mr. Green’s, but he spends a lot of time with us, and he’s very wise.” Miles nodded. She led an interesting life, full of unusual people, aged sages and mentors and nuns, and her best friend was an ex-nun with two babies, and she worked for one of the most important writers in the world. It was an extraordinary existence for someone her age, and she was an extraordinary woman. He wasn’t sure he deserved her, and she felt the same way about him. She was in awe of Miles, and full of admiration for him, head over heels in love with him, and couldn’t believe this was happening.

They went back upstairs after dinner and made love again, and then lay in the candlelight, talking softly, and he lit a fire as she watched him. She was as mesmerized by his body as he was by hers. He felt as though they were Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.

They fell asleep with the fire blazing, still talking to each other, and woke up at dawn, as he looked at her and grinned. Her silky black hair was like a mysterious curtain over her face, and he ran a gentle hand along her body, and then leaned down to kiss her.

“I think I died and went to heaven last night.” He knew it wasn’t just the lovemaking, it was everything he felt for her. He had never known a woman like her in his entire life. It made his heart ache thinking of what he would have missed if they had never come here. But he felt destiny taking a hand in his life, and so did she.

They luxuriated in the enormous antique bathtub before they went out, and stopped in the kitchen for a piece of fruit and a cup of coffee, and then he took her for a walk in the garden. It was a beautiful sunny day. They walked past the orchards to an ancient cemetery at the rear of the property. The dates on the tombstones were as early as the 1600s, like many houses in the area. They paused at a little brook on the way back, sat down on the grass, talked for a while, and made love again. And they went to the stables so he could show her all the horses, and the impeccably kept stalls. They walked into several of them so she could see the horses more closely, and even the very modern breeding section of the barn, where other breeders brought their horses to combine with his bloodlines. They spent an hour there, and then he drove her to the village, and they had lunch at a small ancient pub, where the owner greeted him warmly and the simple fare was good, and after lunch they went back to the house.

His home was so inviting and Alex was completely under its spell and his. He pointed out some of the books in his library, which were very valuable and very old, and she told him how much her father would have loved it. And at the end of the day he made a fire in the library and they curled up, looking at the books while he kissed her. It was all so new and so perfect that they knew instinctively that this moment would never come again, while their love was being born. And they slept like peaceful children that night in each other’s arms.

They went riding together early the next morning, just as the sun was coming up over the hills. He took her on hidden paths. He was an excellent rider, he had given her a gentle horse, and she was comfortable next to him. They stayed out for several hours, and then walked the horses back to the barn. She felt as though she could stay there forever, and wished they would. But they knew they had to go back the next day. He had called to check, and their stars were feeling better. They had one day left in paradise and had to resume shooting the day after.

Miles cooked eggs for her after their long ride, and they were talking quietly when he looked at her strangely, and seemed embarrassed by what he wanted to ask her.

“Can I ask you something that probably sounds crazy to you, and I could be wrong. Do you ever want to write? I know I’ve asked you before and you said no, but with your love of books, I just get the feeling there’s a writer in there somewhere. You work for a great writer. You and your father had a passion for crime stories and mysteries. Are you never inspired to write a book too? I think I would be, in your shoes.” A chill ran down her spine when he said it.

“It’s not something you just decide to do,” she said quietly. “It’s a talent that I don’t have. Just being near it doesn’t make you capable of it. People always think they can decide to write a book if they want to and have the time. It doesn’t work like that.” He nodded and realized that what she said was true.

“I used to want to write a book, and then I realized I can’t. I don’t have it in me,” he admitted, and she nodded, relieved to have fobbed him off, but feeling guilty about it too. And after she’d said it, she was quiet for a long moment, haunted by her own lies. He was the one person she didn’t want to be untruthful with, and she just had been again. It felt so wrong to her, although what she had just said to him about writing was true, just not about her. She stared down at her plate lost in thought. Suddenly she had reached a crossroads she had never expected to come to, with this man she loved. And when she looked up at him again, there was something raw and naked in her eyes that frightened him. He couldn’t tell what was on her mind, but he could see that she was upset.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” she said in an agonized voice.

“Have you?” He looked surprised. She seemed like an honest person. She was suddenly afraid. Telling him the truth was so high risk for her. She trusted him, but what if she was wrong?

He could sense that he had ventured onto dangerous ground, and opened a door to something she was afraid of, but he didn’t know what it was. His question about writing had been benign and posed no threat to her, or so he thought. But she seemed panicked, and he had no idea why. She appeared as though she might bolt and run as he reached out and held her hand in his own. Miles kissed her then to calm her down, but there was no turning back now, for her. She realized now that she couldn’t lie to him, or have an honest relationship with him as a man unless she told him the truth.

“I haven’t been truthful with you,” she said in a ragged voice, needing to confess it to him now. “But if I am, you could destroy me. You have to swear to me you will never tell.” He couldn’t even imagine what she was about to tell him, and perhaps the lie was that she was Green’s mistress after all. Miles prayed it wasn’t that.

“I promise you,” he said, holding tightly to her hand to give her the strength to tell him whatever it was that he needed to know. “I promise you solemnly that whatever happens between us, I will not tell anyone what you tell me now.” The look in her eyes said she believed him and he could see her shaking. Whatever it was, it was life-threatening to her, and that was good enough for him. He loved her. “What is it, Alex? Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.

“I’m not who or what you think I am.” He had no idea what she meant and looked mystified, and he was in agony now too. Maybe it was worse. Maybe she was married to Green. He was almost certain now that Alex was the celebrated writer’s lover, and Miles had only borrowed her, or stolen her for a few days. Clearly she wasn’t free, or she wouldn’t be so tortured now. And then she said it, in such a low, small voice that he barely heard her at first. “I’m Alexander Green.”

He stared at her blankly, unable to absorb what she’d said, and sure he had heard her wrong. He thought she had said “I’m Alexander Green’s,” confirming his worst fears that he had fallen in love with another man’s woman or wife, and a very important man to him now. And then she said it louder, more distinctly, seeing that he didn’t understand her.

“I am Alexander Green.” There was no mistaking what she said this time.

He stared at her in disbelief. “You’re what? What do you mean? You can’t be. He’s a man.” And that was one thing he knew for certain she was not. They had demonstrated that fully since they got there.

“I’m him. It’s my pen name. He doesn’t exist. I created an imaginary person, because my father told me no one would ever read crime books if they were written by a woman. I believed him, and I was nineteen when I wrote the first one and no one would have taken me seriously. So I invented the name ‘Alexander Green.’ I lie to everyone about it to protect it, but I don’t want to lie to you,” she said miserably. “I love you too much,” she added, as tears rolled down her face, and he stared at her, too stunned to react at first, and then he wiped the tears from her cheeks and kissed her, while he tried to understand what she had said.

“Wait a minute. Who’s at the house in London? He’s there, for God’s sake.” For a sickening instant, he wondered if she was psychotic and trying to claim Green’s identity and talent as her own. But she looked at Miles steadily, and her eyes didn’t waver. If she was lying now, she was very good at it, or very sick.

“I’m at the house in London. There’s no one else there. He doesn’t exist.” Miles observed her for a long beat and put his head down on the table and started laughing.

“Oh my God,” he said, and raised his head to look at her again. “Oh my God, you are incredible. You write those amazing books that the whole world loves? A little girl like you? You scare everyone to death with the crimes, and write the most intricate plots I’ve ever read? You minx!” He couldn’t stop laughing, and he got up and pulled her into his arms and held her, and she felt safe again. She trusted him completely, and now he could trust her too. She had told him the truth. “I swear, I will never, ever tell anyone. I thought you were going to tell me you’re married to him, or his girlfriend, and you could never see me again.” She smiled at what he said. She was as relieved as he was, having shed the burden of six years of lies and secrecy.

“You can’t tell anyone,” she reminded him again, with a look of panic.

“Of course not. And how brilliantly you created him, the famous recluse. Who else knows?”

“My agent, my editor, and the nuns. And I had to tell my publisher or they wouldn’t buy any more books, after the first three. But they have to pay me ten million dollars if they talk.” Miles walked around the room alternately laughing and shaking his head, so happy that he was free to love her as much as he did, and totally bowled over by the hoax she had perpetrated on the world. And she was smiling too. She was so glad that she had told him. A huge weight had been lifted from her heart. She didn’t have to lie to him anymore. She could be honest with him.

“You’ve played the game masterfully. I never, never suspected it for a minute,” he said, still grinning.

“But I lie all the time,” she said unhappily.

“That’s the price you have to pay for your success. And there is one, for all of us. You cannot ever tell, Alex,” he said seriously. “Your readers would never forgive you for lying to them about being a man. They trust you and idolize you. They’ll feel betrayed now if you tell them the truth. But I think you are absolutely the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met and I adore you.”

“You’re not mad at me for lying to you?”

“How could I be? What choice did you have? I’m honored that you trust me now. And you never slipped!”

“I almost do once in a while, but I’m pretty good at it by now. I’ve never told any man before, or anyone really, except Rose, Bert, and the nuns.”

“I’m truly honored,” he said again and meant it, and then looked at her with a broad smile. “Well, this certainly is interesting.” He had huge respect for her, even more than he’d had before, and it showed.

They talked about her writing career late into the night, in the library after dinner, and then they went upstairs and made love again. She was an honest woman now, and felt as light as air. She loved sharing the secret with him, and he teased her about it and had brought out a bottle of fabulous champagne to celebrate her confession and the fact that she was not secretly Mrs. Alexander Green, which was the greatest relief of Miles’s life.

He woke up in the morning smiling at her, and they went back to the city as late as possible, after riding in the hills one last time, and taking a long walk. He told her how much he loved her, and that he wanted to come back here with her as soon as they could get away.

And when he dropped her off at the house, she asked if he wanted to come in. He hesitated, not wanting to get caught, but there was no one to catch them now. She was living in the house alone.

“Are you sure Mr. Green won’t mind?” he teased her.

“I’ll talk to him. I handle him pretty well.”

“You certainly do, you devilish little creature I adore,” he said, and then followed her into the house, looking very circumspect, as though he were going to a meeting with the author himself at eleven o’clock at night. And as soon as they closed the door behind them, he kissed her, and they made love in the master suite, and then sat in the bathtub together for hours.

It was as though their two lives and hearts and souls had blended in the past three days.

“I don’t know how I’m going to pretend we’re just friends on the set tomorrow,” she said wistfully while they were sitting in the bathtub drinking champagne.

“Are you serious? You’ve been leading a double life as an imaginary man for six years, you can do damn near anything…and you write the best fucking books in the world. And I’m going to make you the best TV series you’ve ever seen.” He kissed her and grinned. “And then I’m going to make love to you for the rest of your life. You are the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known, even if you’re an incredible liar.” He laughed, set down his glass, and made love to her again.