Page 12 of Love At First Fright

W hen he was in his twenties, Ellis had been able to fall asleep anywhere. Once, during filming for a cheesy action flick about a swashbuckling pirate, he’d taken a nap in one of the stinky old hammocks in the galley.

These days, sleep did not come as easily.

Especially after he was all pent up from the day.

Yesterday morning he’d never even met Rosemary, and then in the course of one day he had managed to piss her off entirely—and ruin her book.

To his British sensibilities, that stung.

He supposed he wasn’t entirely free of blame, however—he had goaded her.

He had tossed and turned in bed for what felt like an age, replaying their conversations.

Or arguments, depending on how you looked at them.

Occasionally, his mind slipped into remembering the way she had blushed in the pool after he’d gently ordered her to get back on the float.

She’d seemed…receptive. Nope. Not going there.

Even thinking about her in that way was dangerous.

It didn’t matter that she was, on paper, precisely his type when it came to women.

Those curves, that hair, would haunt him.

But even if she was interested, which she decidedly was not, he shouldn’t even be considering it.

He was a good ten years older than her, probably more, and he was “dating” Jenna for the next month at least. There were too many reasons not to, even if a tiny, infinitesimally small, part of Ellis wondered what sound she might make if he swiped a thumb over one of her nipples, and lightly bit her full lower lip with his teeth.

Probably the same sound she’d made at dinner when she’d taken a bite of her dessert.

A sound that had, God help him, gone straight to his cock.

He’d woken up that morning still distracted by odd dreams of tattooed legs wrapped around his waist. He only stopped feeling distracted when his driver pulled off the motorway, turning down the wide oak-lined drive that led to Hallowvale manor.

Somewhere nearby, Fig would be running around his PA, Eva, whom he’d brought to join him for the duration of their stay on set.

That was the good thing about being a celebrity; he could take Fig anywhere he wanted. It was probably the closest to being a diva he got, making sure Fig was able to travel with him whenever he filmed away from home.

Hallowvale Manor was certainly more impressive than the pictures he’d seen online, and it was a beautiful day to be seeing it: the air was crisp and cold, not a cloud in the sky.

Surrounded on every side by soft, rolling hillside, the sandy yellow limestone captured the early midday light.

The manor, with its turrets and gothic arched windows and huge wrought iron door, looked more like a castle, lacking only a drawbridge.

Wisteria and ivy clung to the walls, and off to the side of the manor he spied a rose garden.

It was hundreds of years old, built in the mid-1600s, and as they pulled up on the gravel driveway, curving around a cherubic fountain, Ellis looked on in awe at the front windows of the manor, paned with delicate stained glass.

It was the perfect choice for the film; it had an open, inviting warmth in the daytime, but the gothic decoration would appear downright spooky by moonlight.

It wasn’t commonplace to have some of the cast and crew stay on set, but Hallowvale offered a fancy boardinghouse on the edge of the property, called the Gatehouse, where Ellis would be staying.

The rest of the crew would be in hotels nearby.

It was a long enough drive from London, and they would be doing a fair amount of night shoots, so it was safest for everyone to stay local.

Ellis wondered where Rosemary would be set up, given her exec producer and scriptwriter status.

The other cars, one of them driving Rosemary and her assistant, Lyn, whom Ellis had met before on previous films, pulled up beside him.

He watched Rosemary as she took in the manor.

Her eyes went all glassy, a secretive smile playing out on her lips.

He wanted to know what she was thinking.

Was Hallowvale everything she hoped it would be?

Not once did he notice how her jeans hugged her thighs and ass in a particularly delicious way.

In fact, he didn’t even know what she was wearing, that’s how little attention he’d paid her.

Ellis heard a dog barking, and then Fig was by his feet, wagging her tail excitedly and jumping up at him.

“Hi, sweet girl, I missed you,” Ellis said, crouching down to give Fig some love, as she immediately lay down for belly scratches.

“I hope she wasn’t too much trouble,” he said as Eva passed him Fig’s lead. Now that Fig was here, his heart was a little lighter.

“Not at all, she’s always a delight. Tired herself out chasing wood pigeons in the field over there.” Eva smiled down at the little dog.

“Well, if it isn’t Ellis Finch,” came a posh, bellowing voice.

Lance Lilitree, jewel in the crown of classical British actors, sauntered over to Ellis, decorative cane in hand. If Ellis didn’t know better, he’d have thought Lance was already in costume as the Victorian lord of the manor.

“Lance, it’s lovely to see you.” Ellis grinned as they hugged. “It’s been far too long.”

“So it has. A few more greys in your hair now, though still none in mine.” Lance laughed, aware of the running joke the tabloids ran about his penchant for dyeing his hair.

“We can’t all be gifted at birth,” Ellis said. “I’m sorry you couldn’t join us last night.”

“As am I,” Lance said mournfully, “but my darling Arthur was onstage at the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. He plays a truly devious Iago.”

“I can believe it.”

Lance leant closer, conspiratorially whispering in Ellis’s ear, “So, have you met her yet?”

Ellis frowned. “Who?”

“Our talented author, our scriptwriter extraordinaire. Rosemary Shaw.”

“I…have. She was there last night.”

“And?” Lance’s eyes widened. “I had a brief call with her a few months ago, so she could answer queries about the old Lord Parlow, and she was cute as a button. If I batted for the other team and was forty years younger, well, I’d certainly have put my name on her dance card.

For someone so young, she’s wonderfully bold and bright, wouldn’t you agree? ”

Rosemary wasn’t nearby to overhear him, so Ellis admitted the truth. “Definitely. She’s very sharp.”

—

Ellis had barely any more time to chat with Lance before the entire group of senior cast and crew, among them Vincent, Jeremy, Cathy, Lance, Marissa, and Rosemary, were taken on a guided recce of the manor.

Vincent and Jeremy had been there before, so the point of this recce was more to familiarise Ellis and Lance with the layout of the house, as well as a few crucial locations where they would be filming.

Vincent took a very hands-on approach to directing, and Ellis appreciated him all the more for it.

They were led on the tour by a stately older white woman named Mrs. Fairfax, steward of the manor. She reminded Ellis of a stern primary school maths teacher.

Throughout the start of the tour, just around the front facade of the house, Vincent pulled Ellis into conversation about a few important shots he wanted to get, and how he wanted Ellis to approach them.

As much as he was focusing on being in “work mode,” Ellis couldn’t help but be keenly aware of Rosemary’s position behind him on the tour, nattering away with Lance.

Every now and again, he heard a burst of her Southern accent or her laughter.

She barely smiled around him, let alone laughed.

What was Lance doing that he wasn’t? Oh, that’s right.

Lance wasn’t going out of his way to rile her up.

They paused on the tour by the tech base, located to the right of the main entrance, where various departmental trucks and gazebos were stationed, a slew of crew unloading and building equipment for the following day’s shooting.

As Vincent and Jeremy paused to discuss something with one of the ADs, Ellis felt Fig pull her lead taut, and before he could grab it, she went bounding off.

Fortunately, Fig didn’t go far. Unfortunately, she appeared to have taken a liking to Rosemary, and was wagging her tail furiously as she nuzzled into Rosemary’s hand.

“You’re so cute,” he heard her say as he approached. Their eyes met; Ellis noticed her expression darken almost immediately, like a sudden April rainstorm.

“I suppose I should thank you for the book,” she said, not sounding very thankful at all.

“No, you shouldn’t. It’s my fault it was ruined in the first place.”

“Well. Thanks anyway.”

“You probably should be apologising,” Ellis found himself saying, somewhat against his own will. Was he flirting with her? God damn it.

Rosemary raised an eyebrow and stood. As she did so, a cold October gust picked up, sending her hair billowing in his direction. The scent of lavender and mint.

“Why is that?” she asked.

“I read a little bit of it, the killer mermaid book. Scary stuff. Kept me up all night.”

“So I’m to blame for your not having a good night’s sleep?”

Yes, you keep haunting me, he wanted to say.

“Only your choice of reading material.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a wimp.”

Ellis barked out a laugh loud enough that Lance glanced his way. “I am not a wimp.”

“Oh yeah?” She tilted her head. “Prove it. Tell me what other scary things you’ve read, or watched. I’ll accept both movies and books at this time.”

“How gracious of you. When the Devil Takes Hold. ”

“That doesn’t count and you know it.” She took a step closer and Ellis felt his hand twitch at his side; for a desperate moment he wanted to reach out to her.

“You caught me.” He leant close, close enough to see the blush rise in her cherry-stained lips. “I don’t really watch much horror, Rosemary. That’s my deep, dark secret.”

She looked like she was resisting the urge to swat him.

“You’re not serious.”

“Deathly, I’m afraid. Just never in the mood for it. More of a rom-com guy, myself.”

“What about The Exorcist ?”

“Nope.”

“But it’s a classic.” Rosemary looked like she was going to weep. “ Event Horizon ? The Thing ? What about The Shining ?”

“Sorry, I’m a horror newbie.”

“If you’re going to play Alfred, you need to have watched the classics. I’m going to write you a list. Consider it research.”

“You want me to watch a load of horror movies while we’re staying in a big old house that may very well be haunted?”

“Scared, are you?”

“No, I don’t believe in ghosts, or whatever else.”

Rosemary stepped closer, an almost imperceptible grin pulling up the corners of her mouth. “You should.”

“And if I watch them, will that finally make you believe I’m the right choice for your movie?”

There she went, looking up at him with those piercing brown eyes again. Deep enough to drown in.

“I’ll consider it.”

—

Mrs. Fairfax took them to the Gatehouse next, mostly because Jeremy was complaining about the chill of the country weather and he wanted to change clothes before the remainder of the tour around the—likely very draughty—old manor house.

The Gatehouse must have been a quarter of the size of Hallowvale Manor, and Ellis liked it all the more for that.

Bathed in sunlight and standing in an open glade, the Gatehouse was where Ellis, Lance, Rosemary, Vincent, Jeremy, and a few other senior crew members would be staying during filming.

He tried not to think about how Rosemary would be sleeping under the same roof, or why that even bothered him.

He’d gathered from a brief chat with Lance that Rosemary’s film agent was a shark, and had negotiated for her to be fully part of the production, including staying with the senior cast and crew.

“It’s gorgeous,” Rosemary exhaled, and he agreed wholeheartedly.

It almost looked like a large cottage, with a bright red wooden door, warm stone, and welcoming facade.

Two tall evergreen trees stood on either side of the house, and Ellis could hear birds chirping merrily away.

He was looking forwards to waking up with birdsong again after a night spent in the birdless London hotel.

“Come in, come in,” Mrs. Fairfax said, holding open the front door. Before bringing Fig inside, Ellis crouched down to check that Fig’s paws hadn’t accumulated any mud.

The entryway opened up to a curving staircase, with a tall window bathing the hall, and its black and white tiles, in buttery light.

“Through there you’ll find the kitchen, with a gas stove and a fully stocked fridge.

Do let us know if there’s anything specific you want, and we’ll send someone to town for it.

For now, I just bought a selection of things.

” Mrs. Fairfax then turned to the left, leading them through to a pale-blue-panelled living room that looked out over the front of the house.

A hearth stacked with firewood, currently unlit, was the heart of the room.

Cosy armchairs and a sofa that looked large enough for five people took up the rest of the space by the fire.

On the other side of the room were a few bookshelves and a small piano.

The walls were covered in various mismatched landscape paintings and miniature portraits—it was maximalist heaven.

“This is the main living room of the house, feel free to use it anytime you like.”

“Who would have lived in this house, back in the day?” Rosemary asked.

“The Gatehouse was once occupied by Dowager Lady Lightbourne, mother of the duke of Lightbourne. It was said she hosted some beautiful parties in this room,” Mrs. Fairfax said, running a hand over the polished cherrywood of the mantelpiece.

“As shall we,” Lance exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“Now that I’ve seen there’s a piano, we absolutely must host a soiree of our own, don’t you think?

Tonight, we shall congregate here after dinner so I can get to know you all better.

” He smiled and nodded at them in a way that brooked no disagreement.