The Director's Cut (5 page)

As predicted, g
etting Natalie onto the bus was a nightmare, and almost all my emerging sympathy for her drained away during the trip.

First we all waited for half an hour whilst Natalie complained and fought for a limo to take her privately to the airport. Then, despite a first class seat, the airline wasn’t her favourite choice
, so we had to hear her complain about that.

The only positive to the whole upheaval was watching how well James dealt with her. He was calm, assured, and firm, never losing his temper, but never letting her get her own way either.

As we boarded the plane, he snuck by my side and gave my hand a secret squeeze.

“How you doing?” he whispered in a voice which
made my insides melt.

“Good,” I whispered back. “Way to go with Natalie. You’
ll make a great father someday.”

His mouth twisted as
he fought back a smile.

“I’m hoping children will be less hard work,” he replied. He squeezed my hand again. “I’ve got to be in a different part of the plane,” he added apologetically.

And then he was gone.

Now that we’ve landed in Spain, Natalie has thrown off the petulant child act and gone straight into travelling starlet. She dons shades, stretches elaborately, and treats us all to a wide smile.

“I
love
Europe,” she murmurs, standing in the aisle. “So much great culture. And parties!” She yawns like a cat and opens the baggage compartment.

Everyone else is taking their belts off and staring at
the sunny view from the window as Natalie reaches inside the overhead and yanks hard at a designer purse.

Barcelona airport is an amazing mesh steel construction, and the modern design has almost everyone riveted. So I’m the only one watching as Natalie’s purse catches a little, and suddenly a flood of pill packages tumble out and onto the floor.

My eyes widen in alarm as I watch the blister packs scatter. Natalie curses and ducks down onto the floor.

Are they painkillers? Something else?

Her assistant Carol is in another part of the plane. And n
o one else seems to have heard the spillage. But from what I can see, they look like prescription drugs. Lots of them. And since Natalie has dived down to stuff them back in her purse, it seems she’s very keen to keep them hidden.

Her fumbling attract
s the attention of an airhostess, who moves towards the spillage and stoops down to help.

“It’s fine,” hisses Natalie, trying to shoo her away. But the hostess has already seen the deluge of blister packs all over the airplane floor. She freezes in the act of helping.

“These need to be declared,” she tells Natalie in a thick Spanish accent. “Any drugs must be declared.”

I see Natalie turn her head left and right to check no one else is paying attention to what’s happened. I pretend to be looking at my lap.

“They’re prescriptions,” I hear Natalie say. “There’s nothing here that needs to be declared.”

I look up to see t
he airhostess is shaking her head.

Oh no
. From the airhostess’s expression, it looks as though this is going to be an issue. A sudden headline shouts out at me.
“
Natalie Ennis arrested for drugs in Barcelona
”
.

Stupid, stupid Natalie.
I feel like screaming in frustration.

Spanish law is strict on prescription medication. If this becomes a customs issue, then the press could easily become involved.

“Drugs need to be declared,” the airhostess is saying. “Spanish law.” But she’s frowning, as if she’s not quite sure what Natalie is saying.

Taking my moment, I slide off my seat and stoop down to join them.

“
Es un problema no de
,” I say, giving the hostess my best smile. “
Estas solo vitaminas. De América
.”

It’s not a problem. They’re only vitamins.
From America.

The hostess looks uncertainly at me. But she at least seems reassured by someone who speaks her language. I smile again.

“They’ve been through customs already,” I say, continuing to speak in Spanish. “From America to England.”

I’m betting this is true, so I don’t feel so bad lying. I pick up a pack and tap the
English writing on the back. It’s a drug name, which I’m unfamiliar with. But there is a price label with a dollar sign.

“You see,” I add. “American.”

The airhostess stands slowly, looking from me to Natalie. I stand too, pulling Natalie up by the arm and hoping no one else is paying attention.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the
ever attentive Will has one eye on what’s happening. But everyone else seems too involved in the excitement of the landing. And the noise of the plane engine can still be heard.

“Ok,” says the hostess after a moment, looking at me. “But next time, they need a cabin label. Even vitamins.”

I nod, my face tight with smiling.

“Of course,” I reply in Spanish. “We’re sorry for the inconvenience.”

I breathe a sigh of relief as the hostess turns away, and tighten my grip on Natalie’s arm.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I hiss. “What are all those pills?”

Natalie pulls her arm away from me and bends to scoop the pills back into her purse. She looks as though she’s going to cry.

“I need them,” she mutters.
“Hey,” she adds, grabbing my arm, “don’t tell anyone.”

Her voice is small and sad.
Like a little girl’s.

“Just keep them hidden, and declare them on the way back,” I mutter
. My mind is still racing, but some of my anger towards her slides away.

I decide not to push the issue right now. She looks like she’s on the edge. But once the pills are safely
back in her purse, Natalie’s frail expression vanishes.

She tosses her hair and reaches in her bag for a lipstick.

“I am
so
excited,” she beams, painting herself with a pink smile. “I
love
Spain.”

I sigh internally, and take a few steps away from her.

The momentousness of what has just happened is running through my head. Drugs.
Do I need to tell James
? The thought makes me feel sick.

They were only prescription drugs. Does that count?

Natalie’s been through rehab. Perhaps these are part of her treatment and James knows already. That seems likely. But why would she take such steps to hide them?

I push the thoughts to the back of my head, resolving to address them later.

During the flight, I’d been hoping to get more familiar with some of the crew, or at least speak with Callum. But the first class seats kept us spread far apart.

Not that I’m complaining. I’ve never flown first class before, and it was an amazing experience – even for a
three hour flight.

I head off the plane, after Callum, and find that James has assembled us all in a group on the runway.

With the hot sun on my face, I feel the familiar thrill at being back in Spain. As a child, I often visited relatives with my mother, and I loved it.

“
Everyone’s luggage has already been taken on to the hotel,” says James, speaking to all of us. “The bus will take you there now. The concierge will explain everything when you arrive. We don’t start shooting until tomorrow, so you have a half day to enjoy Barcelona.”

He turns to me.

“Isabella,” he says, “I’m afraid I have some costuming for you, which has to be done now. You’ll have to come with me and have that arranged before you have free time.”

“Bummer,” says Natalie, lowering her glasses to look at me. “We’ll be thinking of you when we’re sipping cocktails in the rooftop bar.”

James gives her a disapproving glance.

“Ok,” I say slowly, trying to spot clues for what’s happening in James’s face, and finding none. “I’ll go with you then.”

James nods.

“You’ll come with me.”

Chapter 6

As the others head to the hotel, James leads me to a private car, which looks practical, rather than romantic.

It seems as though he was telling the truth then, about a costume requirement.

I can’t help but feel a tiny bit disappointed that he doesn’t have some wild date planned. But
I console myself. At least we’re spending time together.

“Where are we going?” I ask the moment we’re away from the group.

“I told you,” says James, his face impassive. “We’re heading for costuming. You need to be fitted for a dress.”

“What kind of dress?”

The wishful thinking part of my brain is remembering the tango dancing. Is he dressing me for some exciting occasion?

“Do you remember this part of the movie?” asks James. “Grace attends a ball, as a reporter. So you’ll need a ball gown.”

Oh.

He must have sensed my disappointment, because James leans close and gives my arm a squeeze.

“Once this boring part of the day is over, I’ll take you somewhere special, I promise,” he adds.

I
nod and squeeze back, feeling a flash of annoyance at myself. Here I am, heading to be fitted out for a dress for a huge movie part. And I’m feeling disappointed that I’m not being wined and dined in some fancy restaurant. Talk about ungrateful!

Remember how lucky you are, Isabella
, I tell myself.

“It’s not boring for me,” I say with a smile. “I’ve never been fitted for a dress before. It’s exciting.”

And I mean it too. Now I’ve made my peace with where we’re going, it really is an exciting occasion. A real life dress fitting!

The car speeds into central Barcelona, and the beautiful buildings take my breath away.

“Have you been here before?” asks James as I gaze up at the incredible stone carvings and ornate facades.

“Yes,” I reply, “when I was much younger. But I think this city will always amaze me.”

“Really?” James sounds pleased.

“Oh yes,
” I reply. The car is heading through a backstreet now, zipping past an array of colourful tapas bars and chic little restaurants. “Barcelona has an amazing energy to it, don’t you think? France is sophisticated and luxurious. But this part of Spain is so full of life. It’s as though everyone is on vacation.”

James smiles
.

“I guess so,” he says, staring past me out onto the streets. “I like that it’s such a warren too,” he adds. “There’s so much history here, piled up. You could turn a corner and see a carving which took someone a lifetime to make, just stuck on the s
ide of a building. With no fanfare or tour guides pointing it out.”

His voice is softer. “
I find that amazing,” he adds.

“I never knew y
ou were such a lover of history,” I say, regarding the sincerity in his green eyes.

He shrugs and grins at me. “Maybe I’m just trying to impress you with my cultur
e.”

I laugh. “You
almost succeeded.”

“Good.
” He lets his hand drop onto my leg.

“Remember what I said last night? About what
I was going to do to you later?”

I feel my heart quicken.

“Yes.”

“It’s a struggle for me to keep my hands off you right now,” he says, eyeing the driver. “But once we’ve got
this fitting out of the way, I’ve got plans for you in my hotel suite.”

“Of course, it would have to be a suite,” I say, smiling and rolling my eyes. “What else?”

“What else indeed.” He turns his attention to the road, and the car slows. “We’re here,” he says.

I look out of the window to see we’ve pulled up at a tiny boutique. In the window
is an elegant green ball gown, and a few other cocktail dresses.

“It looks nice,” I murmur as James opens the car door for me.

“I thought you’d like it,” he replies. “It’s one of the best dress shops in Barcelona.”

“Only one of the best?” I tease.

“In my opinion, the best,” he corrects himself. “But everyone has their own taste. Personally, I prefer gowns which are elegant and understated.”

“Me too,” I say as he guides me through the small door. “At least,” I add, “
that’s what I know from reading magazines.”

James gives a little chuckle at my honesty as he
leads me inside.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” he mutters. “If you carry on acting as you have been, you’ll need
a fitting for the Oscars.”

I turn to study his face, assessing if he’s joking.