“Where are we going?” I ask as he leads me to a pebbled path winding away from the actor’s accommodation.
“My parents have arranged a private lunch for us,” he says. “They are very eager to meet you.”
Meeting his parents
. I can just about accept that Berkeley’s family are landed aristocracy. How do I feel about actually meeting them?
My attention
turns, in panic, to my clothing. I’m dressed in a sixties style tunic dress, which is a little on the short side, and ballet pumps.
Should I have worn something different? I’m hardly dressed like Kate Middleton.
“You might have warned me,” I hiss. “What about my outfit?”
James chuckles. “You look beautiful,” he says, “what’s the problem?”
“But is it appropriate?” I insist. “I have no idea what to wear. Your father’s a lord.”
“And my step
mother is a lady,” murmurs James, “but they’re still human, underneath it all. Issy, you really have nothing to worry about. I’m proud to introduce you to my parents.”
He turns to face me. “You look lovely
,” he says. “And besides. You’re the first girlfriend they’ve ever met. They are especially primed to like you.”
I’m the first girlfriend he’s introduced to his parents?
“Really? I am the first girl?” I ask, surprised. “Ever?”
“Ever.” James nods. “I was not on speaking terms with my father for a long period of my youth. And I never met a girl who I was serious enough about to introduce, in any case,” he adds.
Oh.
“That makes it even mo
re nerve-wracking,” I complain.
“Don’t be silly,” says James. “They are desperate to meet the girl who won my heart.”
I feel my own heart skip in response.
“So tell me about them,” I say cautiously, some of my reserve slipping.
“My stepmother took charge of the cottages,” explains James. “She never accepts anything less than the best, and she’s made them into a real working business. They rent out to tourists for very high sums.”
“She sounds very talented,
” I say, wondering whether Lord Berkeley’s fifth wife has something the others don’t.
“She is,” replies James. “And she’s the only one of the bunch who could handle my father. She was an Ambassador for Lithuania.
Very intelligent. Very determined. She’s had to put up with all the prejudice, all the snobbish English people, who hear her accent and think she’s an Eastern European gold-digger.”
He shakes his head.
“Really, she’s a marvel,” he says. “She also took Camilla in when her family had money problems. She paid for Camilla’s schooling and made sure she stayed connected to the right circles.”
The right circles.
I guess that’s a concern of the landed rich.
“So I guess her and Camilla get on well?”
“Camilla adores her. My stepmother has a motto that family is family, whether it’s by birth or by law. She thinks of Camilla as her own flesh and blood.”
“I’m
looking forward to meeting her,” I say.
“She’ll love you,” says James.
“And your father?” My anxieties about meeting a real lord are getting sharper.
“My father,” says James grimly, “will probably be besotted with you.”
We walk in silence for a moment, with nothing but birdsong from the surrounding trees. It really is beautiful here.
“When will we be able to go back to Berkeley Studios?” I find myself asking.
“I don’t know,” says James shortly. Then he seems to catch his tone and adjusts it.
“Soon
, I hope,” he adds softly. “Madison has been out in London. We’re building a picture that she has a new romance. Once the papers have bought into that, their attention will be focused on her.”
“Then what happens?” I try and fail to keep the petulance out of my voice. I never realised that dating a famous guy would be so
hard
.
“In a few weeks, we’ll be off the hook,” he says. “There’ll certainly be a lot of interest in you, as a young and beautiful actress. It wouldn’t be right to announce our relationship whilst filming. But once the premiere is done, we’ll be free to tell who we like.”
Free to tell who we like
. Somehow, that possibility seems so far away.
“Ok,” I say, trying for a s
mile.
“I’m sorry, it’s such a long time away,” says James. “Believe me
, Issy, I hate keeping you under wraps like this. The time will pass quickly, I promise.”
That’s if we get a chance to finish the movie.
By my understanding, a press leak could
still ruin everything.
The hall is firmly in sight now, and I can see the main doorway is open.
The manor is an enormous construction of red brick, with huge sweeping wings on either side.
“Time to meet the parents”
James murmurs, resting a hand on the small of my back. “I hope you’re ready for this.”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I mutter.
Chapter
32
As we near, two figures are waiting for us in the entrance. A small woman in her late fifties, with perfectly groomed blonde hair, I guess to be James’s stepmother.
She stands next to a tall man in brown cords and a tweed jacket, with silver grey hair.
“James!” the blonde woman steps forward and throws her small arms around him. Then she steps back and fixes me with a beaming smile.
“And you must be Isabella!” She looks utterly thrilled, and before I know what’s happening, she hugs me too, grasping my face and planting a determined kiss on each of my cheeks.
“I’m Eliza,” she says, throwing out her hand. I shake it, and her fingers enclose mine warmly.
Even though she’s small, she has an energy and strength about
her which is palpable. Her accent is mild, but noticeably Eastern European. She wears a tweed skirt, with a cream blouse, which she’s accented with a few tasteful pieces of gold jewellery.
It’s a very traditional L
ady of the Manor look, and I’m guessing she chose this style to fit in more readily with English culture.
James
’s father is shaking his son’s hand. He rests another hand on top, in a gesture of affection. But it’s still a far cooler greeting than I would expect a father to give.
Then again, I know nothing about the aristocracy. Perhaps that’s standard.
“Isabella is it?” says Lord Berkeley, turning to me. “Delighted to meet you.”
I’ve never heard such an upper class acce
nt, and I’m reeling from it, as James’s father steps forward and takes my hand.
He’s a tall man,
which adds to his sense of presence, and he has green eyes, like James’s, which twinkle.
“What a
lovely girl you are,” he says, enclosing my hand in his large fingers.
I feel myself blushing. Lord Berkeley’s
features bear more than a passing resemblance to James’s. But where his son has a rugged crookedness to his face which I love, Lord Berkeley’s features are large and straight.
I can imagine he was handsome, as a younger man.
“Let the poor girl go,” laughs Eliza. “I’m sorry, Isabella, about a hundred years ago, you would have been just my husband’s type. And he’s forgetful, now that he’s so old.”
She’s beaming as she says this, and Lord Berkeley releases my hand and shakes with laughter. He glances at his wife, approvingly.
“Luckily, I have my wife to keep me in line,” he says.
“Won’t you come sit for dinner?” says Lady Berkeley. “You must be hungry. And we have a surprise guest for you.”
“You do?” asks James.
“Oh yes,” says Eliza. “I invited Camilla. Isn’t that nice? She hasn’t stopped talking about
you
Isabella. You must be some actress.”
We follow James’s father and stepmother into an enormous dining hall, which takes my breath away. The last time I saw a room like this, it was on a tour of Buckingham Palace.
It’s
not so much luxurious, as grand. There are stuffed animal heads, placed high on the walls, and a huge table, which looks like it came from medieval times.
I’m trying to take it all in, wondering whether real people actually eat here with any kind of regularity.
“I’m so sorry for the décor,” says Eliza, welcoming us in. “David won’t let me decorate in here just yet. But I’m working on him. No one wants to eat with dead animals staring at them. And that table is like a great monolith, lurking there.”
Lord Berkeley smiles at this. “This table has been in our family ten generations,” he says to me. “It was given to Lord Berkeley by King Charles for his loyalty in the Civil War.”
“Don’t bore her with your family history,” says Lady Berkeley. “Isabella, he’s trying to impress you my dear. Just ignore him.”
Once again, Lord Berkeley looks delighted, and I realise
he enjoys his wife’s playful banter.
“Please sit,” says Lady Berkeley. “Ah,” she adds, “here comes Camilla.”
“Issy!” I turn to see Camilla beaming at me with delight. “It’s so great to see you!” She rushes towards me and flings her arms around me.
“It’s good to see you too!” I hug her back. It’s great to have her back.
Despite the formal surroundings, Camilla is dressed in a pink maxi dress with spaghetti straps and converse trainers.
I feel instantly more at ease with my own outfit. Maybe this isn’t going to be as hard as I thought.
We sit for lunch, and between Camilla’s lively chatter and Lady Berkeley’s keen sense of humour, it’s a far less formal affair than I feared. In fact, I’m really enjoying myself.
The food arrives, and we have
asparagus soup, followed by trout, which James’s father proudly explains was caught on the estate that morning.
Lady Berkeley disappears to dig out some family photos, and Camilla takes the opportunity to tuck in a little closer to me and drop
s her voice.
“Is everything ok on set
, Issy?” she asks. “Some of the crew told me there’d been some issues with leaks to the press.”
She glances to where James and his father are sitting to check they can’t hear. But they’re deep in their own conversation.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “James says he’s taking care of it. I think that’s part of the reason we’re filming here now. But he won’t tell me why.”
“Oh
, he’ll never tell anything!” says Camilla, continuing to keep her voice low. She glances at James and his father again, to satisfy herself they’re not listening. “It’s maddening,” she adds.
I notice that James
looks relaxed and happy talking to his father.
I wonder how long it took them to be on speaking terms.
I remember what Ben told me. That when James was a drug user, his father had made it clear he wasn’t welcome at Berkeley Hall.
Between being blamed for his mother’s death and being sent to boarding school, I would imagine that relations with his father would be permanently strained. But it looks as though they get on.
I return my attention to Camilla. Maybe now is the time to ask about Ben.
“Listen,” I say, “I hope you don’t mind my asking
, Cam. I thought that Ben Gracey might know something about the leak. But James seems to think he has some hold over Ben. Do you know anything about that?”
I see Camilla’s cheeks turn pink, and I
instantly regret asking.
Then she sighs and rests her hand on mine.
“Ok, look, don’t tell anyone,” she says, looking at me, pleadingly. “Remember I told you Ben and I had a romance gone wrong?”
She closes her eyes, as though the memory is painful.
“It was a little more than that.”
I squeeze her fingers, letting her know I feel for her.
“Ben Gracey,” she says, with a long sigh. “I wish I’d never met him.”
Camilla shakes her head, and a strand of her mussed blonde hair falls over her features.
“I was barely sixteen when we met,” she continues. “I was at an event organised by Lady Berkeley. Ben was older, and handsome. And of course I had a little crush. But I never thought anything of it, until Ben started pursuing me.”
I make a silent c
alculation in my head. As I figure it, Ben must have been at least ten years older than Camilla.
“Lady Berkeley was taking care of me,” continues Camilla. “So Ben assumed that I was from a moneyed family.
Because I had access to the debutante events.”
“But you weren’t?” I ask. I always assumed Camilla was old money.
She shakes her head. “My father has a title. But he also had a gambling problem, when I was younger. Our estate was almost broken up and sold. It was only down to the Berkeley’s help that we still have it.” She raises an eyebrow. “Even though it’s mortgaged up to the hilt,” she adds.