‘My God. So you’re taking out your petty grievances on an innocent four-year-old boy? How truly pathetic.’
Now it was Sarah’s turn to look shocked. Her mouth dropped open with indignation. ‘Petty grievances? How dare you! Who the hell do you think you are?’
But Laura had already walked away, scooping up Hugh into her arms and marching furiously across the village green, Luca’s pushchair lurching wildly at every bump in the grass.
She was still spitting tacks when she got back to the farm.
‘What on earth’s the matter?’ Gabe was sitting with his legs up on the kitchen table, reading the racing results. So much for his ‘ridiculously busy’ day on the farm, the one that meant he couldn’t go and pick up Hugh, or give Luca his lunch, meaning Laura had had to do it.
‘That bloody cow,’ Laura seethed.
‘Buddy cow,’ said Luca.
She filled him in while Hugh plonked himself down in front of Scooby-Doo.
‘The witch,’ said Gabe. ‘I’ve got a good mind to go over there right now and tell her what I think of her. How dare she!’
‘For God’s sake don’t,’ said Laura.
Slumping down into the tatty armchair by the Aga, she suddenly felt exhausted. Santiago and Penny had come over last night, after the village meeting, and they’d all stayed up far too late drinking and taking the piss out of David Carlyle. Eddie kept telling her the furore over the show would die down, like the proverbial storm in a teacup. But Laura was worried. This particular storm seemed to have brewed pretty damn quickly. Fittlescombe was her and Gabe’s home. It was the children’s home.
‘Are we making a terrible mistake?’ she asked Gabe.
Gabe leaned down and kissed her.
‘No. We’re not. We’re doing something exciting, and new, and different. People are afraid of change, especially round here. And when people are afraid, they lash out. Come on, Laur. We knew this was going to happen. Once the local economy starts improving and everyone’s benefiting, they’ll come around. It’ll be all right.’
Will it? thought Laura.
She hoped so, and not just for Hugh’s sake.
‘Where are you going?’ She noticed with alarm that Gabe had scooped up his car keys from the kitchen table. ‘For God’s sake don’t go and cause a scene at the Groveses.’
‘I wouldn’t set foot in that house for all the tea in China,’ said Gabe, his lip curling with disgust. ‘I’m off to Toys R Us in Chichester. I’m going to buy Hugh the biggest fuck-off bouncy castle on earth. That little shit Dickon is gonna wish he’d never been born.’
Laura rolled her eyes.
Sometimes it was hard work, having three children.
Macy Johanssen pushed her dark hair out of her eyes and leaned back against the kitchen island with satisfaction. On the antique Welsh dresser opposite her, a pretty collection of mismatched china gleamed cheerfully, and a heavily scented jug of peonies made a perfect centrepiece for the table Macy had had shipped over from California.
After a week of solid unpacking, plumping up cushions, making beds and arranging treasures old and new, Cranbourne House was finally coming together. And what a house it was.
Eddie hadn’t been exaggerating about the picture-postcard prettiness of the Swell Valley. If anything he’d played down the majesty of the ancient rolling chalk hills that locals called ‘the Downs’ – it seemed to Macy they went up as well as down, but who was quibbling? – and the quaint loveliness of the villages. Even the names sounded like something out of a storybook: Fittlescombe, Brockhurst, Hinton Down, Lower Cricksmere. As for Cranbourne House, the property Eddie and the network had rented for Macy on the edge of Fittlescombe, it was really more of a large cottage – three cottages knocked together, in fact. It was all Macy could do not to cry when she saw the flint and tile-hung beauty, peeking out coyly from behind its veil of ivy and climbing roses. The garden was small but perfectly formed, and complete with both a pear and a walnut tree, as well as a buddleia smothered in butterflies. Whatever happened with the show, Macy was glad she’d taken a leap of faith and come to England. How could wonderful, happy things not happen to a girl in a place like this?
A loud knocking on the front door broke her reverie. Macy opened it to find Eddie standing on the doorstep with a very pretty woman. She was at least ten years older than Macy, yet there was something appealingly youthful about her. Possibly it was her wild mane of blue-black curls, or the lack of make-up on her pale skin, or the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She wore jeans and a chocolate-brown sweater, and was clutching a laptop and phone in a rather businesslike manner.
‘This is Laura Baxter, our producer, director, creator and all-round wonder-woman.’ Eddie beamed.
‘My boss, you mean?’ Macy looked at Laura appraisingly. She’d never worked for a woman before and wondered whether she was going to like it.
‘Exactly.’ Laura smiled. Macy instantly liked her less. Laura might be the boss on paper, but Macy was the star of the show. She resented Laura’s natural assertion of authority. And she wasn’t keen on the doe-eyed way Eddie looked at her, either. Macy wasn’t at all sure there was room for two beautiful women on the Valley Farm set.
‘I thought it was time the two of you met,’ said Eddie. ‘As you know, we have our first official on-set meeting tomorrow morning at the farm. But we ought to put faces to names before then. May we come in?’
‘Of course.’
Macy led them through to the drawing room, a small but pretty space overlooking the rear garden. It struck Laura how perfect the room looked already, all white linen sofas and artlessly arranged crystal. Clearly Macy had the same flair for decor as Lady Wellesley. Is that what Eddie goes for, I wonder? she thought idly. The perfect homemaker, china-doll look? He wouldn’t last long with me.
‘Tea?’ Macy offered. ‘Or fresh juice? I made some kale-ade this morning, it’s delicious.’
‘Sounds disgusting,’ Eddie said cheerfully. ‘I’m all right, thanks.’
‘Me too,’ said Laura. ‘How are you finding England so far?’
‘So far so good,’ Macy said warily.
‘Have you read over your script for the pilot?’
‘Sure,’ Macy lied. Evidently the small-talk part of the visit was already over. ‘Eddie tells me you’ve never done scripted reality.’
‘Funny,’ Macy shot back. ‘He said the same about you.’
Laura looked up sharply, as if seeing Macy for the first time.
‘It’s true, my background is in drama. To be honest, from a writing perspective, this is easier. But it presents other challenges. A lot rests on the interaction between you and Gabe, your chemistry on screen.’
‘I don’t usually have a problem with chemistry,’ said Macy, catching Eddie’s eye for the most fleeting of moments.
‘Good,’ said Laura.
She didn’t warm to this girl. Eddie had described Macy as ‘very ambitious’ – not a bad thing in itself, as long as she remembered who was boss. Laura had seen Grapevine. Macy was a talented presenter, no doubt about that. But Laura wondered how easy she was going to be to manage. She was clearly used to getting her own way. There would be no room for any diva antics