‘Because it’s not my thing.’
‘Being amazingly successful and celebrating it isn’t your thing?’
I flicked a glance to him. ‘You know that’s not what I meant.’
‘Then what do you mean?’
‘The whole publicity show around it all. Movies are all about the actors and the directors and sometimes the producers. Nobody cares about the writer.’
‘Isn’t that even more reason for you to show your face at the premiere? Try and make a change in that direction for both yourself and other writers.’
‘I don’t think me turning up is going to make much difference.’
‘Everything has to start somewhere. You’re a well-known name and who’s to say you wouldn’t give inspiration to a struggling writer watching the coverage, seeing you there and thinking, yeah that’s where I want to be? She can do it so I can do it. You already inspire people, Lily. This is just another step on from that. If you don’t do it for yourself, then do it for your fans and writers all around the world.’
No pressure, then.
‘I do realise that I’m very privileged to be in this position, and that other writers would be falling over themselves to have this opportunity. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it all.’
‘I know,’ he said easily. ‘And I also know how difficult and scary the prospect of going to something like this is for you.’
I pulled a face that suggested he had no idea.
‘I do,’ he said this time with more emphasis on the two words. ‘It’s clear in every fibre of your being that you really don’t want to go. That you’re scared of going. But you can’t go around scared of life forever, Lily.’
‘I’m not scared of life,’ I snapped back at him.
He said nothing but the green gaze was fixed on me, daring me to argue further.
‘You wouldn’t understand.’ I moved to push past him, out of the kitchen, but his hand reached out, catching my wrist gently but firmly, halting me in my tracks.
I looked up, ready to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, but his expression stopped me. There was a softness to it that I wasn’t expecting, and it stilled my words.
His eyes locked with mine. ‘So help me understand,’ he said, his voice quiet and gentle. Almost imperceptibly, his grip tightened, and I felt a wave of something rush through me that I hadn’t felt in so many years. Something I had doubted I’d ever feel again. Something I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to feel again. My body pulsed and my mind raced.
‘I… I can’t,’ I said, pulling away. I wasn’t entirely sure what it was I was saying that I couldn’t do. I sneaked a look at Jack, easier now that there was space between us. Still calm, still relaxed. The only thing Jack Coulsdon-Hart wanted from me was an explanation as to why, according to him, I was scared of the world. But my mind, or perhaps more accurately my body, had got carried away and gone charging ahead of itself. I gave myself a mental slap and told my imagination to keep the romance and spice for my novel writing where it belonged and not interfere in my real life.
‘I’ll be here when you’re ready,’ he said.
I kept my back to him, looking out onto the garden, more of which could be seen after dark now, thanks to the subtle lighting Jack had begun installing out there.
I didn’t answer.
‘And if you do want someone to come with you, assuming you decide to go to the premiere, purely as moral support, of course, you know where I am.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, before turning and leaving the room.
* * *
I added several vegetables and a couple of fruits to my basket, thinking that I ought to shop here more often as the produce looked far better than that delivered from the supermarkets. It would be good to support local businesses, too. It was just a shame it involved actually leaving the house and seeing people. Thankfully, the shop wasn’t busy, and I was nearly done so would soon be back in the safe cocoon of my car to drive home. There had been nobody at the till when I’d come in, so I’d managed to avoid one conversation already.
I stopped at the small selection of books and magazines that the village shop stocked and nosed at them briefly. I was about to move and head towards the till when I heard two women out of sight begin talking.
‘I hear the lord of the manor is back.’
‘Old Charles? I didn’t realise he’d been anywhere.’
‘Not Charles, you daft wotsit. The prodigal son, Jack.’
