The Director's Cut (9 page)

“Oh yes?”
He releases me a little from his arms, his eyebrows raised in amusement. I feel the dark shadow of his mood slip away.

“If you lose,” I continue
slowly, “I get to do whatever I like with you, this evening.”

I see his breathing tighten.

“And if I win?” His voice has thickened.

I pause, letting the words sink in.

“You get to do whatever you like with me.”

“Whatever I like?”

“Yes.”

He grins wickedly. “I’m looking forward to this evening already.”

“You have to win the bet first,” I remind him.

“What are your terms?
” he says, his voice filled with mock gravity. But his eyes are deadly serious.

I turn my head slightly, taking in the view from the top. And then I
back away from him, slowly.

“See the summit?”

“Yes.”

I smile at
him, backing away further, and then I turn and run.

“First one to the top!” I shout over my shoulder. And then I r
ace full pelt for the top of the steps.

I hit the first few steps at speed, weaving in and out of the day trippers and tourists. The steps are just narrow enough for me to take them two at a time.

I know I’ve got a great lead, and it’s only when I’m halfway up that I
risk a quick look behind me. It’s then I realise that James is faster than I gave him credit for.

Damn.
He’s closed a lot of the distance already. I dig in and keep my pace. I have good cardio from all my time in the dance studio, so I know I can beat him.

Close but no cigar, Mr Berkeley.
I’m a fast runner.

I’m all but grinning to myself at the thought of it as I power up the steps. I can’t wait to see his face when he loses.

I’m still taking the approach two at a time, steaming past the baffled tourists who are meandering up at their own pace.

He must be closing in now, but my lead is too good. I let my breathing deepen, panting as I take
the last few steps. I’m only a couple of strides from victory.

And then suddenly, James is ahead of me, bounding up the last part of the stair
s. He grabs me full by the waist as I get within one step of the top and spins me bodily around and upwards to the top.

I am shrieking with shocked laughter as he lifts me up the last two steps.

“You didn’t think I’d let you win, did you?” he growls, whirling me around by my waist. “Not with a prize like that.”

“Put me down!” I laugh.

“Oh Isabella,” he says, setting me to the floor but keeping his arms around me. “You have put yourself in serious danger.”

“Oh
have I?” I push a lock of dark hair out of my face.

He kisses my mouth, slowly.

“Yes,” he whispers, pulling back a little. “But I’m guessing you knew that before you started the bet.”

He shakes his head. “Gambling with me over a running challenge, Isabella. Very foolish.”

“How come you run so fast?”

“With an opportunity like that at the finish line?”
He grins. “I would have won with lead weights on my legs.”

We wander through the rest of the park, conscious that our time together is drawing to a close. James has scheduled at actor’s meeting this evening, in lieu of dinner. He’s already explained to me that food will be provided, but the main agenda will be work.

I sigh at the thought of giving him up. Even for a few hours.

Now seems like the right time to bring up the Natalie issue. So I raise it tentatively.

“I saw something,” I say, “
in Natalie’s bag.”

James’s face flickers.

“Oh?”

“Natalie had some… medication of some sort,” I continue. “She seemed quite keen to hide it.”

“I imagine you would too,” says James levelly, “if you were taking medication for a mental health issue.”

His voice sounds calm, but there is just a touch of danger behind it. As though he’s warning me not to push the issue further.

I weigh up what I saw, and what he’s telling me. James knows then, that much is clear, that Natalie is using prescription drugs. So I’ve nothing more to worry about, I suppose. Though I can’t help but have a lot of questions.

How can James work with her, when she’s taking drugs – even prescription ones?

“Natalie can be difficult to understand,” says James, conceding to my unspoken curiosity. “At the moment, she needs medication. Your friend Lorna has medication for her diabetes. I don’t see the two issues as particularly different.”

He sighs. “I’m hoping that Natalie will become a little more likable. Right now, she’s battling some serious
issues.”

I feel a childish stab of jealously that he
seems to know so much about Natalie. But something in his tone warns me not to ask any more.

We’
ve walked back onto the main street now, and there’s a large elaborate church just across the street.

“You want to go in?” asks James. “It’s beautiful. Inside.”

“Sure,” I shrug, happy to have a reason to change the subject. The church is Catholic, which is my mother’s religion. I’m not a devoted practitioner of Catholicism, but I feel comfortable in Catholic churches.

We cross the road, and James pulls out his phone and clicks it to silent as we near the entrance.

I cross myself as we enter the church, and James smiles at me.

Inside is quiet, peaceful. And I
feel myself slip into a thoughtful mood with James beside me.

All this devotiona
l beauty has put me in another frame of mind, and I find myself thinking seriously about our future together.

In the short time I’ve know
n James, I’ve fallen for him hard. There is no question in my mind that I am deeply in love with him.

Of course,
I’ve never thought about marriage, or what it might be like to live with him. It’s too soon.

But I’m suddenly realising,
with a kind of shock, that I can’t imagine my future without him. The church seems to be prompting these thoughts, and I don’t try to dispel them.

We walk through the nave, keeping a silent respect for the church. And come to a standstill in front of a collection of flickering candles.

“Would you like to light one?” asks James quietly.

My mother and I always used to light a candle for my father. It’s been years since I did that. But standing with James, I feel strong. I feel as though I want to remember some of the things I tried so hard to forget.

“Yes,” I whisper.

James
pushes a handful of euros into the box and passes me a candle.

Keeping my gaze centred on the flames, I tilt my wick into the fire and watch as it blazes to life. Slowly, I press it into place, amongst the other burning lights.

As I watch it burn, a few faint memories of my father swirl in my brain. I let them rise and fall in the candle flame. Thinking of him feels comfortable.

Then unbidden
words pop into my mind that I haven’t heard for a long time.

P
apa. Why did you leave us?

The
memory shocks me so rigidly, my entire body freezes. Then I see that beside me, James has lit two candles and is placing them reverently with the others.

Two candles.
One for his mother. Who is the other one for?

Suddenly
I know, and the thought fills me with horrified outrage.

The ex
-girlfriend. The one who died.

I know I should feel
respectful for his loss. But the anger rises up so quickly, I hardly know where it’s come from. All I know is that I don’t want this. I don’t want these feelings which come so thick and fast when this man is here.

Why is he always making me think about
painful memories?

And before I know what I’m doing, I turn and race out of the church.

“Issy!” James is stumbling after me as I run, blinking into the sunlight. “Issy! What’s wrong?”

He catches me in his arms, and I wriggle to be free of him, but he’s too strong.

“I don’t want this!” I shout, not caring who hears. “I don’t want any of it!”

“Shhh.” He pulls me closer, and I feel my body begin to convulse in sobs.

“It’s your stupid method, isn’t it?” I accuse, although some of the anger is coming out of me now. “Your acting method. You want me to feel… All this
pain.
”

I am struggling to breath
e and get the words out through the sobs.

“Well I…
Don’t. Want. It!
”

I take a deep, juddering breath, and James holds me close. I don’t know why, but I let him.

“Issy,” he says softly. “This is nothing to do with my method. I wouldn’t do that. Not without telling you.”

“Then why?” I accuse. “Why take me in there and let me see that?”

He’s quiet for a moment, and his face shows confusion.

“You didn’t like me lighting two candles,” he says
slowly, as though working something out.

I say nothing in reply.

“Listen.” He pulls me away from him a little, so he’s looking in my face. “I respect the dead, Issy, and I like to honour those who have passed. But I have never felt about anyone, living or dead, the way I feel about you.”

His face is so sincere, that I give another sob. And then I’m
halfway between laughing and crying.

James’s face breaks in
slight relief, but there’s still an anxiety there.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I say. And I don’t. This laughing, crying mess, is not who I usually am.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” says James. “You’ve just never let things out, that’s all.”

Is that true?

But I don’t have time to analyse what he’s saying. In the next moment, he’s pulling me back inside the church.

“Quick, Issy,” he hisses. “Get inside.”

“What? What is it?” I can hardly make sense of what’s going on before I’m dragged back.

“What
?” I repeat as I’m physically bundled back inside the large church opening.

James steps in quickly behind me, surveying the scene on the street.

He yanks out his phone suddenly and stares at the screen.

“Shit!”

It’s one of the few times I’ve heard him swear. Something must be very wrong.

“What is it?” I venture, my earlier hysterics completely forgotten in the sudden drama.

“There was a man outside,” he says. “I think I recognise him. He’s a reporter.”

My eyes widen as I try and take in what he might mean.

James holds his phone out to me in explanation. “And it looks like my press people have been desperately trying to get hold of me in the last few minutes,” he adds.

My heart sinks.

“Does that mean they’ve found us?”

James makes another peak outside the church entrance.

“Maybe.”

He looks as though he’s considering
something for a moment.

“Wait here,” he says. “Don’t move an inch.” And before I can protest, he steps back out onto the street, in the direction of the newspaper reporter.

Chapter 10

I stand in an agony of suspense for what feels like an age. And then
I hear footsteps and see James return. His face is grim as he walks towards me. Without saying a word, he wraps his arms around my waist, and I feel myself falling into the familiar smell of him, warming in his body heat.

“What happened?” I ask,
frightened of the expression on his face.

“I took care of it,” he says, his voice dark.

“Wait. You took care of it? What does that mean?” I pull back a little from his arms.

“
We were lucky,” he says. “I knew that reporter. I’ve met him before a few times, in London. I have a good connection with him.”

James
sighs.

“
But it still confirms my worst fears. It looks as though someone in the cast or crew is still leaking information. That reporter wasn’t here by accident. He was following a lead.”

My eyes widen.

“There’s nothing to worry about for the moment,” adds James. “I was able to persuade him to take his interests elsewhere.” His face looks strained.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” says James, “I made it worth his while to drop the possibility of a story.”