The Perfect Hero: The perfect summer read for Austen addicts!. Victoria Connelly

       Chapter Ten

      Gemma couldn’t believe that they might be shooting the Uppercross scenes that day. She’d thought they were doing the ones on the Cobb. She was ready for the Cobb.

      How could film companies do that? It seemed perverse to her – like reading a book out of sequence. Of course, she knew what it was all about – making the most of the weather conditions and making sure the locations worked for you but, for actors, it was always difficult. Take her first job on Into the Night for example. She’d arrived on set that first day and had had to shoot the final scene. It was a topsy-turvy sort of a world and such things could easily unbalance an insecure actress.

      Gemma sank down on to her bed and picked up her script. She was quite sure her mother had never had such a problem with learning her lines. Gemma could remember her with her scripts throughout her childhood.

      ‘Mum,’ Gemma would say. ‘Can you help me with my homework?’

      ‘Darling, I have homework of my own!’ her mum would say, flicking her long dark hair over her shoulder and then sitting herself on the floor in a strange yoga position, her script in front of her and her back to her daughter.

      Gemma would go upstairs to her room and, about an hour later, there’d be a knock at the door.

      ‘Did you still want some help?’ her mum would ask. Gemma would shake her head. She’d have done her homework by then.

      Thinking back to those times now, her mother had never needed more than one read through a script and she had it down. Maybe she’d had a photographic memory or maybe her crime caper lines had been easier to learn than a Jane Austen adaptation, but one thing was for sure – her mother had never got nervous. She’d thrived on the adrenalin that filming produced. There was a permanent buzz about her – she oozed energy and was always the life and soul of the party – and there’d been quite a few at the height of her success in Bandits. Gemma remembered them well. She’d be trying to sleep upstairs when, downstairs, dozens of guests would be dancing and shouting in the living room. And the dining room, kitchen and garden. Even Gemma’s bedroom hadn’t escaped with one amorous couple once falling on to her bed in a lusty heap, the woman screaming to high heaven when she realised there was somebody already in it.

      ‘Come on! It’s time to go home,’ Kim Reilly would yell several hours later. ‘It is a school night, after all!’ There’d be ripples of laughter and Gemma would check the little light on her bedside clock. Her mother’s idea of ending a party early would be somewhere around three o’clock. Then, because she didn’t like to shirk her motherly duties, she’d come into Gemma’s room and squeeze her shoulder. ‘I didn’t wake you, did I, darling?’

      ‘No, Mummy,’ Gemma would say.

      ‘We were nice and quiet, weren’t we?’

      Gemma would nod, the shrieking of the guests still ringing in her ears.

      She’d lost count of the number of nights’ sleep she’d disturbed over the years and the number of tests she’d failed because she’d just been too tired the next day in class.

      Gosh, Gemma thought to herself, is that who I’ll turn into in a few years’ time? The thought terrified her because, more than anything else, Gemma wanted to settle down with the perfect man and have lots of perfect babies. But what if she turned into her mother, putting her career as an actress first and partying hard into the night? She shook her head. She was never going to allow that to happen. It just wasn’t her. She was more of your sit-at-home-with-a-good-book-and-a-cup-of-tea sort of girl. And then there was the knitting. Gemma really wasn’t your typical young actress courting the press by spilling out of taxis wearing the latest fashions, and schmoozing with her fellow celebrities at every red carpet event going. Getting drunk in the newest bar or dancing at the trendiest nightclub just wasn’t her style. She’d rather get comfortable in the big old armchair she’d inherited from a maiden aunt and pick up her beloved basket of wool.

      Beth had already sussed Gemma’s little knitting quirk.

      ‘Oh, it’s so wonderfully mumsy!’ she’d said, making the word mumsy sound like the foulest of insults whilst also insinuating that Gemma didn’t have a sexy bone in her body. Everyone in rehearsal had turned to stare at Gemma and the ball of lilac wool she was clutching, and there’d been a few sniggers which had cut her to the quick. But Gemma needed her knitting. Not only was it her passion but it calmed her down too. The click clack of the needles was mesmeric and her work in progress took her mind off things when she wasn’t needed on set. At least she didn’t spend her spare time bitching about people behind their backs, she thought, remembering the vitriol which had spilled from Beth’s mouth in between takes in the studio. That woman might have a face that could grace any magazine cover in the world but her language was as foul as a cesspit.

      Gemma closed her eyes. It was people like Beth that really made working in this industry difficult. For some reason, the world of acting seemed to attract some of the nastiest examples of humankind and it pained Gemma that she had to spend hours of her life doing her best to dodge them.

      ‘You ready to rock?’ a voice said, startling Gemma from her thoughts. She looked up to see Sophie enter the room. At least there was one ally on this film set, she thought, thanking her lucky stars that she’d bonded so quickly with Sophie. ‘Time we were out of here.’

      Gemma nodded and got up off the bed, her script in her hand.

      ‘You don’t need that, do you?’ Sophie said light-heartedly.

      ‘Oh, you know,’ Gemma said, ‘it’s just in case. I like to have it with me.’ She turned round and grabbed her oversized bag, her knitting needles poking out of the opening.

      ‘Are they yours?’ Sophie asked in bemusement.

      Gemma nodded.

      ‘I didn’t know Anne Elliot knitted. Can I see?’

      ‘Well, it’s just a little something. It’s not really fin—’

      But Sophie had already pulled it out of her bag and was inspecting it. ‘Oh, it’s adorable!’ she said, holding up a little baby’s jacket in pearly pink wool.

      ‘My sister-in-law’s just had a little girl – Harriet.’

      ‘This is gorgeous,’ Sophie said. ‘Really gorgeous. Could you make one in a size ten for me?’

      Gemma grinned, delighted at the praise.

      Sophie returned the little jacket to her. ‘Into the fray,’ she said and, as they closed the bedroom door behind them, Gemma couldn’t help wishing, with all her heart, that she could stay on the other side of that door with her knitting needles.

      Kay watched as everybody congregated in the hallway. She’d never heard such a small group of people make so much noise before.

      ‘We’ve just had the latest weather report,’ Teresa announced, ‘and we might be able to get a couple of shots in on the Cobb before the heavens open. Anyway, into make-up and costume first and we’ll take things from there.’

      Les opened the door and everybody spilled out into the early morning.

      ‘Bye, Kay,’ Sophie said.

      Kay beamed her a smile. It was nice of at least one of them to remember her. Then Oli turned around and winked at her. Kay’s mouth dropped open but then clamped shut again as Teresa glared at him and pushed him out of the door and Kay turned away in embarrassment. She should be getting on with tidying up, not standing in the hallway flirting with film stars.

      Flirting! He had been flirting with her, hadn’t he? Teresa had said they’d all be wanting an evening meal tonight and Kay had quite enough on her plate preparing to fill theirs without the distraction of flirting.

      As the door finally closed, silence filled Wentworth House. It was funny. They’d only been there one night but the bed and breakfast felt strangely empty