The Midnight Rose (29 page)

“Shall we let the horses have a drink and take in some of this wonderful scenery?” he suggested.

“Sure,” Rebecca answered, dismounting and leading her gray to the brook’s edge. She flopped down onto the coarse ground and stared up at the cloudless sky. Ari did the same and they lay next to each other in comfortable silence.

“Can you hear that?” said Ari.

“What?”

“Exactly.” He smiled at her. “Nothing.”

“And I love it.” Rebecca sighed in pleasure. “How long will you be staying in England?”

“I’ll give it a few days and see if Anthony is inspired to read more of Anahita’s story. There’s some local investigation I can do myself to try to trace her so-called lost son. As a matter of fact, it was good timing. I needed to get away from India for a while.”

“Why’s that?”

“I suppose”—Ari sighed—“I’ve arrived at a turning point, in every area of my life. Perhaps I’m having an early midlife crisis, but everything that used to matter, that seemed important, suddenly doesn’t anymore.”

“Do you know what triggered it?”

“Sadly, yes. I let a wonderful girl go because I was obsessed with my career and success. It’s only in retrospect I can see what I had and lost.”

“Then why can’t you tell her that?”

“She was married two weeks ago to someone else. I can’t blame her for giving up on me. She was beside me all the time I was building my business and I just didn’t notice her. Anyway, what’s past is past and it’s no good wishing for what could have been.”

“Well, I didn’t come here to find answers,” said Rebecca, propping herself up on an elbow and resting her cheek on her hand, “but I guess this place is providing me with some, anyway.”

“Such as?”

Rebecca took a deep breath. “Between you and me, I’ve decided I don’t want to be married just yet.”

“I see. Isn’t that going to cause a problem or two? From what I read the other day in the newspapers, the world is already planning your wedding.”

“Yes, but I’d prefer to have that problem now than that of a messy
divorce in five years’ time. Perhaps Jack and I can just stay engaged for a while, but”—Rebecca rolled over onto her front and picked at the rough grass—“I’m not sure that’s the answer either.”

“Do you love him?” Ari asked bluntly.

“I . . . don’t know anymore.”

“Well, find out for sure before you decide.” Ari turned onto his back, closed his eyes and rested his arms behind his head. Looking at him, Rebecca thought again how attractive he was. She was at the same time relieved and a little disappointed that he had made it clear that he was mourning the loss of someone he had loved. He wasn’t interested in her, that was obvious. She too turned over to lie on her back and closed her eyes, mulling over this unusual state of affairs. After years of men hitting on her at the first opportunity, it was refreshing that Ari seemed happy just to talk.

“You’re smiling,” he said suddenly. “Why?”

She opened her eyes and saw Ari staring down at her. “I’m feeling calm and happy.”

“Enjoying the moment, as all the gurus will tell you, is the key to a happy life. So, are you up for more riding? I’d like to explore a little further.”

“Sure,” she said, and they remounted the horses.

“Now”—Ari’s eyes swept the horizon—“if this is the brook my great-grandmother describes in her story, I’m sure there’s a cottage somewhere close by. Let’s look around and see if we can spot it.”

Rebecca followed Ari off the bridle path and onto the moor itself. Something seemed to be guiding him, for after a few minutes of searching, they saw the chimney tops of a building, half-hidden in a dip by the rugged surroundings.

“That’s it,” said Ari, “I know it is.”

“What?”

“The cottage where Anahita lived. Come on!”

“But I thought she lived up at the hall. Hey, you can’t say something like that and then not tell me what you mean!” she called as Ari set off.

“All in good time,” he shouted back over his shoulder. Rebecca trotted after him, making her way down the slope and around to the front of the cottage.

“This has to be the one,” Ari said as he jumped off his horse. “Let’s take a look around.” Helping Rebecca dismount, he walked with her
up to the gate. The garden beyond it had long ago been overtaken by the coarse grass of the moors, at least a meter high.

“It’s almost as if the moors have reclaimed it,” he commented as he forced the gate open with all his strength. “Looks like this place hasn’t been lived in for years. Maybe not since Anahita was here ninety years ago,” he mused as he trampled down the grass to make a path for them to the front door. Every inch of the cottage was covered in thick ivy, so he used his hands to try to tear it away from the windows, but it was impenetrable. Then he attempted the door, using all his weight to punch it open through the ivy, but that also failed.

As Rebecca waited, waist-deep in brambles and grass, a sudden deep color caught her eye amidst the tangle. Parting the weeds surrounding it, Rebecca gasped as she saw a small perfect rose, identical in color to the one Anthony had given her when she’d first arrived at Astbury. As she bent and looked closer, she realized there were other tiny buds desperate to bloom on the plant too, and she felt a sudden sense of sadness that something so beautiful could still be blooming amidst the choking chaos surrounding it.

“Maybe we should smash a windowpane?” Ari called to her. “Or perhaps there’s another door at the back?”

“I don’t think we should be breaking and entering,” said Rebecca nervously. “Someone must own this.”

“Yes, Anthony.”

“Then let’s ask him for a key,” Rebecca suggested, eager to leave. There was something about this place that made her feel uncomfortable.

“I’m going around to the back to see if there’s another way in.” Ari turned tail and walked past her back to the gate.

“We ought to ride home now,” she said, “it’s past six already and we promised Debbie we’d be back by then.”

Ari checked his watch. “Yes, you’re right. At least now I know where the cottage is. Perhaps I can ask Anthony’s permission to come back and investigate.”

“What is it you want to see?” she asked him as they climbed back onto their horses, feeling a palpable sense of relief as they trotted away.

“If there’s anything left inside to indicate the presence of my great-grandmother.”

“Surely if it was ninety years ago, there won’t be?”

“You’re probably right, but I’d like to satisfy my curiosity anyway.”

Arriving at the stables, they turned the horses over to Debbie with profuse apologies for having kept her waiting and walked back toward the hall. As they took the steps to the terrace, Rebecca saw that Anthony was working in the walled garden. He waved them over.

“Good hack?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you for the loan of the horses,” said Ari.

“No problem. The poor nags see so little action these days. Feel free to take one out whenever you wish. How long are you staying for?”

“I’m not sure,” said Ari.

“Well, I’ve been thinking, as I’ve been out here digging, that I really shouldn’t shy away from my family’s past. So, I’ll continue reading your great-grandmother’s story. And when I have we’ll speak again.”

“Thank you, I’m so glad. Then I’ll wait to hear from you.”

“And by all means, feel free to wander Astbury’s grounds in the meantime. They really are at their best this time of year. Good-bye for now.” Anthony retreated back down the steps to the garden.

Rebecca grinned at Ari. “Be careful. If you come by here tomorrow, you might end up in the film.”

“Hardly, unless there’s a walk-on part for an Indian manservant. Right, I’ll be off. And thanks, Rebecca. It’s entirely down to you that Anthony saw me at all.”

“No problem. See you, Ari.”

“Yes, I hope so.” He smiled as he walked away.

A
re you okay, Rebecca?” asked James as they stood on set early Monday morning. “You don’t seem your usual cheery self.”

“I’m not sure.” Rebecca glanced down at her shaking hands and knew the tremor was not from nerves about the scene they were about to shoot. “I do feel kind of weird, even though I’ve had a couple of days off.”

“Probably caught a bug, or maybe our heavy British food isn’t suiting your delicate constitution. We can ask Steve to call a doctor if you need one.”

“It’s this headache I can’t seem to shake. I thought it had gone yesterday, but today it’s back. Maybe it’s a migraine, but I’ve never had one before. Thanks, I guess I’ll just see how I do,” she said, smiling weakly at him.

“Thirty seconds, everyone!”

Rebecca was glad she was sitting down for the scene. As well as the headache, she felt nauseous and dizzy. She’d have to take some more ibuprofen when they broke for lunch.

An hour later, as Rebecca was hurrying toward her bedroom to find the pills, Steve waylaid her.

“The production office had another call earlier this morning from your fiancé. He sounded pretty concerned, as apparently you said you’d contact him over the weekend and you didn’t.”

“It’s impossible to get a cell signal here and I don’t like to use the house phone,” Rebecca explained.

“Look, I understand completely, but obviously your fiancé doesn’t. Listen, as I’ve told you, the company is paying all the bills, so go ahead and use the landline in Lord Astbury’s study.”

“Okay, I’ll call him later. I’m sorry if he’s being a bother.” She turned away from Steve and made her way wearily up the stairs.

•  •  •

Luckily, Rebecca wasn’t needed on set that evening. Having felt no better during the day, she returned to her room and sank down gratefully on the bed.

Mrs. Trevathan appeared a few minutes later, her face full of concern.

“Are you not well, my love?” she said as she bustled over and put her hand on Rebecca’s forehead.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve just got a bad headache, that’s all.”

“You don’t feel as if you’ve got a temperature. Why don’t I bring you up some nice soup in a bit and then you can have an early night?”

“Thanks, but I really couldn’t eat anything,” she said, wishing Mrs. Trevathan would leave the room so that she could close her eyes.

“All right, dear, but I’ll come up and check on you later.”

“That really won’t be necessary.”

“You want some peace and quiet,” Mrs. Trevathan said, lowering her voice to almost a whisper. “I understand. Good night then, my dear.”

As she left the room, Rebecca wondered if those who’d lived at Astbury in the past had ever felt smothered by the cloying attentions of their servants. There was simply no privacy. She sighed as she removed her clothes and slipped between the sheets. She hadn’t called Jack yet, but she felt too sick to do so. After a good night’s sleep, she was sure she’d feel more up to it.

Rebecca dreamed strange dreams that night. She was in the cottage on the moors and there was danger, but the door was stuck fast and when she tried to open the windows, the ivy covering them curled around her hands and held her fast. Once again she smelled the heady scent of perfume as a hand closed over her nose and mouth and she could no longer breathe . . .

Rebecca jumped awake with a start, her heart banging against her chest. She reached for the light, knocking over the glass of water on the night table beside her. Climbing out of bed and reassuring herself that it had simply been a nightmare, probably born of a fever—she certainly felt warm when she touched her brow—Rebecca opened the door and stumbled along the corridor to the bathroom to refill her glass. Washing her face in cold water, she emerged and walked back in the dim light toward her room.

She stifled a scream as a shadowy figure accosted her by her door.

“Are you all right?”

“I—” She managed to focus her eyes on the shape and saw it was Anthony, clad in a paisley dressing gown. “I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone,” she said as she tried to catch her breath.

“I’m sorry to have startled you. I heard a scream from along the corridor and came to investigate.”

“I guess I just had a nightmare. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Don’t worry about that, I rarely sleep soundly. Well, if you’re sure everything is all right, I’ll say good night.”

“Good night.” Rebecca opened the door to her bedroom and closed it firmly behind her.

•  •  •

“Jack’s called again,” said Steve, finding Rebecca the next morning. “Go to the study and call him now while you have a break, before I end up in the tabloids accused of thwarting your fairy-tale romance.” He grinned at her and walked away.

Rebecca left the set on the terrace where she’d just finished filming and walked toward Anthony’s study. Her headache had cleared this morning and she finally felt able to cope with speaking to Jack.

As was typical, both his home number and his cell went straight to voice mail. Sighing in frustration, Rebecca wandered back to the far end of the south terrace, where location catering had set up tables in the sunshine, and joined the rest of the cast for lunch.

“Come here, darling, and sit next to me,” Marion Devereaux said, patting the empty seat beside her.

“Thanks,” Rebecca said, smiling, and feeling a flutter of nerves in her stomach. So far, she’d been too shy to approach the legendary actress, whose career had brought her every award and accolade under the sun.

“I was watching you on set this morning, darling, and I want to tell you that you’re good. In fact, you’re very good.”

“Thank you.” Rebecca blushed in pleasure.

“Yes, you have a lovely, natural quality in front of the camera. Have you done much stage acting?”

“I did when I was at Juilliard in New York, but since I graduated I’ve only appeared in films.”

“I hope you’ll find a chance to be on the stage again. Nothing like a live audience to make the adrenaline run and pull the best out of an actor.” Marion smiled as she lit a slim cigarette. “Mind you, one is paid a pittance.”

“I don’t care about the money, I never really have.”

“No, darling, I don’t suppose you would, what with all those big Hollywood films under your belt,” Marion commented drily.