Page 24 of Love At First Fright
Immy sent several angry face emojis, followed byWho even IS she???
Are you sure?Dina sent,because my mum read his cards and she said he’s single. And the cards don’t lie.
If you say so,Rosemary replied. She didn’t want to tell Dina her magic wasn’t right, given how many times it had been proven otherwise. But she hadseenthem together, confirmed they were dating. Maybe the cards aren’t right about everything, Rosemary thought, as she headed downstairs.
She could hear Lance tinkling on the piano keys as she made her way, and Ellis’s deep chuckle at something Lance must have said. How did she fit into this world? And how was she meant to experience all of this, staying in this beautiful place and seeing her own book come to life, and then go back to living as she always had? The idea of her going home to a small apartment had always filled Rosemary with joy, but now it felt suffocating. She missed being in the same country as her friends, knowing that they were only ever a drive or a train ride away (England really wassosmall).
Taking in a deep breath, she pushed open the door to the living room. The air was warmer inside, likely because an oakwood fire crackled away in the fireplace, giving the room that sweet, woodsy smell. Lance was playing a duet with an elegant, petite man, who was resting his head on Lance’s shoulder as they sat on the piano stool. It took Rosemary a moment but she recognised him as Arthur, Lance’s husband, who had waved ather briefly from the back of the Zoom call, wearing an apron that read “Kiss the Cook,” when she met with Lance a few months before filming began.
Ellis was sat on the floor, leaning back against a sofa arm. A goofy smile was plastered on his face as he watched Fig wrestling with a chew toy. He couldn’t see it, but Fig was trying to wrench the toy from the ghost dog’s mouth, who was putting up a good play fight. So, the two dogs could see each other—interesting. Animals, as well as young children, were good at spotting ghosts in general, but Rosemary wondered if Fig had known the ghost dog when it was alive.
“Rosemary, darling, I almost thought you weren’t coming. Wondered if that good old jet lag had got the better of you.” Lance beamed at her from the piano, and immediately dove into singing “Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes”—seemingly in her honour. She couldn’t help but smile back; her mama used to sing that song to her when she was little.
“Sorry, I just needed to freshen up a bit,” she said, and moved over to the sofa. She felt Ellis’s eyes on her, even as he played with Fig. Christ, it was getting warm in here with that fire roaring. She pulled off her cardigan, placing it on the sofa beside her.
Arthur left his place beside Lance and came to sit down beside her.
“It’s so lovely to finally meet our scriptwriter extraordinaire. How does it feel to be the most important woman in the room?” Arthur smiled, his blue eyes crinkling in the corners.
“You can’t flatter me like that, I’m not adept at handling compliments offered so openly,” Rosemary joked.
“You’ll have to get used to it, darling.” Arthur patted her hand, as if they were old friends. “When this movie comes out,everyone is going to want a piece of the Rosemary pie. Go on, Ellis, give our girl a compliment to make her feel at home.”
“Oh no, he doesn’t have to…” She turned to face Ellis. “You don’t have to—”
“I like your dress,” Ellis said in a hurried whisper, almost as if he hadn’t wanted to admit it.
“And thosetattoos! My goodness,” Arthur said. “I want to get one with Lance but he keeps refusing.”
“What would you get?”
Arthur smiled softly. “A pair of house sparrows.”
“Why house sparrows?” Ellis asked.
“Because they mate for life,” Rosemary replied, squeezing Arthur’s hand back. “I think that’s a lovely idea.”
“Well, then, you’ll need to persuade Lance, he says he has the pain tolerance of a ninny.”
At the mention of his name, Lance began a rather dramatic piano trill to call their attention.
“Now that I have you all gathered, I hope you will indulge an old man in his eccentricities, and we can have ourselves a little dance? I, of course, shall act as tonight’s orchestra, and Arthur, my darling, will you turn the pages for me?” He offered Rosemary an apologetic smile. “My reflexes are not what they once were.”
As Lance and Arthur picked a song, and Ellis made small talk with Vincent and his partner, who were looking at one of the old maps of the estate, Rosemary busied herself by wandering over to the drinks cabinet. Or, rather, globe. The globe opened up partway, with spirits on the top and a miniature fridge in the bottom half for cold drinks.
Rosemary wasn’t much of a drinker, but some Dutch courage would not go amiss tonight.
“Have you settled into your room?” Ellis came over and stood beside her, angled in such a way that she couldn’t see anyone else in the room, only feel the heat of him.
“The room is lovely, especially the big writing desk. It’s just missing the perfect writing chair.”
“What’s the perfect writing chair, then?” Ellis tilted his head, amusement lifting the corners of his mouth.
“A beanbag chair. Have you ever sat in one?”
“It sounds like something better for napping than writing.”
“You’ll have to trust me on this one, Ellis, the beanbag chair hugs your body in all the right ways.”
