The Director's Cut Read online

  Her voice is small and sad. Like a little girl’s.

  “Just keep them hidden, and declare them on the way back,” I mutter. My mind is still racing, but some of my anger towards her slides away.

  I decide not to push the issue right now. She looks like she’s on the edge. But once the pills are safely back in her purse, Natalie’s frail expression vanishes.

  She tosses her hair and reaches in her bag for a lipstick.

  “I am so excited,” she beams, painting herself with a pink smile. “I love Spain.”

  I sigh internally, and take a few steps away from her.

  The momentousness of what has just happened is running through my head. Drugs. Do I need to tell James? The thought makes me feel sick.

  They were only prescription drugs. Does that count?

  Natalie’s been through rehab. Perhaps these are part of her treatment and James knows already. That seems likely. But why would she take such steps to hide them?

  I push the thoughts to the back of my head, resolving to address them later.

  During the flight, I’d been hoping to get more familiar with some of the crew, or at least speak with Callum. But the first class seats kept us spread far apart.

  Not that I’m complaining. I’ve never flown first class before, and it was an amazing experience – even for a three hour flight.

  I head off the plane, after Callum, and find that James has assembled us all in a group on the runway.

  With the hot sun on my face, I feel the familiar thrill at being back in Spain. As a child, I often visited relatives with my mother, and I loved it.

  “Everyone’s luggage has already been taken on to the hotel,” says James, speaking to all of us. “The bus will take you there now. The concierge will explain everything when you arrive. We don’t start shooting until tomorrow, so you have a half day to enjoy Barcelona.”

  He turns to me.

  “Isabella,” he says, “I’m afraid I have some costuming for you, which has to be done now. You’ll have to come with me and have that arranged before you have free time.”

  “Bummer,” says Natalie, lowering her glasses to look at me. “We’ll be thinking of you when we’re sipping cocktails in the rooftop bar.”

  James gives her a disapproving glance.

  “Ok,” I say slowly, trying to spot clues for what’s happening in James’s face, and finding none. “I’ll go with you then.”

  James nods.

  “You’ll come with me.”

  Chapter 6

  As the others head to the hotel, James leads me to a private car, which looks practical, rather than romantic.

  It seems as though he was telling the truth then, about a costume requirement.

  I can’t help but feel a tiny bit disappointed that he doesn’t have some wild date planned. But I console myself. At least we’re spending time together.

  “Where are we going?” I ask the moment we’re away from the group.

  “I told you,” says James, his face impassive. “We’re heading for costuming. You need to be fitted for a dress.”

  “What kind of dress?”

  The wishful thinking part of my brain is remembering the tango dancing. Is he dressing me for some exciting occasion?

  “Do you remember this part of the movie?” asks James. “Grace attends a ball, as a reporter. So you’ll need a ball gown.”

  Oh.

  He must have sensed my disappointment, because James leans close and gives my arm a squeeze.

  “Once this boring part of the day is over, I’ll take you somewhere special, I promise,” he adds.

  I nod and squeeze back, feeling a flash of annoyance at myself. Here I am, heading to be fitted out for a dress for a huge movie part. And I’m feeling disappointed that I’m not being wined and dined in some fancy restaurant. Talk about ungrateful!

  Remember how lucky you are, Isabella, I tell myself.

  “It’s not boring for me,” I say with a smile. “I’ve never been fitted for a dress before. It’s exciting.”

  And I mean it too. Now I’ve made my peace with where we’re going, it really is an exciting occasion. A real life dress fitting!

  The car speeds into central Barcelona, and the beautiful buildings take my breath away.

  “Have you been here before?” asks James as I gaze up at the incredible stone carvings and ornate facades.

  “Yes,” I reply, “when I was much younger. But I think this city will always amaze me.”

  “Really?” James sounds pleased.

  “Oh yes,” I reply. The car is heading through a backstreet now, zipping past an array of colourful tapas bars and chic little restaurants. “Barcelona has an amazing energy to it, don’t you think? France is sophisticated and luxurious. But this part of Spain is so full of life. It’s as though everyone is on vacation.”

  James smiles.

  “I guess so,” he says, staring past me out onto the streets. “I like that it’s such a warren too,” he adds. “There’s so much history here, piled up. You could turn a corner and see a carving which took someone a lifetime to make, just stuck on the side of a building. With no fanfare or tour guides pointing it out.”

  His voice is softer. “I find that amazing,” he adds.

  “I never knew you were such a lover of history,” I say, regarding the sincerity in his green eyes.

  He shrugs and grins at me. “Maybe I’m just trying to impress you with my culture.”

  I laugh. “You almost succeeded.”

  “Good.” He lets his hand drop onto my leg.

  “Remember what I said last night? About what I was going to do to you later?”

  I feel my heart quicken.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a struggle for me to keep my hands off you right now,” he says, eyeing the driver. “But once we’ve got this fitting out of the way, I’ve got plans for you in my hotel suite.”

  “Of course, it would have to be a suite,” I say, smiling and rolling my eyes. “What else?”

  “What else indeed.” He turns his attention to the road, and the car slows. “We’re here,” he says.

  I look out of the window to see we’ve pulled up at a tiny boutique. In the window is an elegant green ball gown, and a few other cocktail dresses.

  “It looks nice,” I murmur as James opens the car door for me.

  “I thought you’d like it,” he replies. “It’s one of the best dress shops in Barcelona.”

  “Only one of the best?” I tease.

  “In my opinion, the best,” he corrects himself. “But everyone has their own taste. Personally, I prefer gowns which are elegant and understated.”

  “Me too,” I say as he guides me through the small door. “At least,” I add, “that’s what I know from reading magazines.”

  James gives a little chuckle at my honesty as he leads me inside.

  “You’ll have to get used to it,” he mutters. “If you carry on acting as you have been, you’ll need a fitting for the Oscars.”

  I turn to study his face, assessing if he’s joking.

  “First things first, Mr Berkeley,” I say sternly. “Let’s see if we can get the movie completed.”

  I’m not sure I’m ready for compliments on my acting just yet.

  James raises an eyebrow at my comment, but says nothing.

  Inside, the shop is empty, but the door triggers an old-fashioned bell. And within moments, a small dark-haired woman in her late thirties appears in the shop. She is artfully dressed in a perfectly fitted suit and wears bright red lipstick and designer half-moon glasses, over which she peers at us.

  “Hola,” she says, her red lips breaking into a wide smile.

  “Hola,” returns James.

  I’d forgotten he spoke Spanish.

  “Hola,” I say shyly.

  James breaks into a rapid explanation in Spanish. He explains that we have a dress waiting, and I’m here for a fitting.

  The woman’s eyes are ranging over me as
he speaks, and I assume she’s mentally matching me to the dress I’m being fitted for. Her mouth twitches, as though she’s in on some private joke involving me.

  Disconcerted, I catch myself edging a little behind James, and force myself to stand still.

  When James finishes speaking, the woman nods and disappears out back. But something in her expression suggests there is something more than just a dress going on here.

  “What’s happening?” I whisper to James.

  “What do you mean?” he murmurs, his eyes following the woman’s departure.

  “She gave me a look,” I hiss. “Is there something about this dress you’re not telling me?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” James sounds amused. I purse my lips together, wondering what he has planned.

  The woman returns in a few moments with a younger sales assistant. They’re both manhandling an enormous dress bag through the door.

  “It’s big,” I say to James, taking in the width and height inside the bag. “I thought you said you liked understated ball gowns?”

  “I do,” says James. “I think you’ll find this dress is full of surprises.”

  “Es grande,” I explain to the saleswoman with an apologetic smile for excluding her by speaking in English.

  “Si,” she agrees, “es necesario.”

  Yes. It’s necessary.

  She has that twitching smile again. What is going on? Are they dressing me as the world’s biggest prom queen?

  I eye the huge bag warily, wondering what on earth could be inside.

  James nods for the sales lady to unzip the bag. And she pulls down the opening with a flourish.

  To my shock, instead of a dress inside, there’s a face.

  I gasp. It’s a person.

  What the hell?

  Someone has been zipped inside.

  Then I realise. It’s Lorna!

  I give a loud, delighted shriek, unable to believe what’s just happened.

  On either side of the dress bag, the female shop staff are beaming. They were obviously in on it all along.

  I dive towards Lorna and throw my arms around her. And in a moment, we are both bouncing up and down and shrieking.

  “Lorna!”

  My grin threatens to split my face open as I hug her. It’s as much as I can do to take in. Lorna is here, with me, in Barcelona.

  “Surprise!” she grins. “Hey, let me out of the bag, Issy! It’s claustrophobic in here.”

  I squeal again and hug her tight before letting her fully emerge. We’re both laughing as I help pull her out. And then it registers how hard James must have worked to get her here.

  I turn to him in wonder.

  “How did you do this? You brought Lorna over here?”

  James is grinning. “You’re pleased?”

  “I… I am so pleased. How did you do it?”

  “It’s less difficult than you think to corral women to take part in a surprise,” he says dryly.

  My face hurts from smiling.

  He cocks his head a little.

  “I thought maybe you could use some female company, since Camilla is gone,” he adds.

  How did he know that?

  “I… I did. I do,” I say, still smiling ear to ear. I grab Lorna again, shrieking, and we both do a delighted little dance. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

  “Tell me about it,” grins Lorna. “Taking a last minute first class flight. Phew.” She wipes imaginary sweat off her brow. “It was a hardship, I can tell you.”

  “But what about your modelling?” I ask, suddenly anxious for her. Lorna has to make castings constantly, or she loses work.

  Lorna tips her head towards James.

  “Ask Mr Berkeley there,” she says. “He got me a sweet gig out here.”

  I turn to him, questioningly.

  James shrugs. “We needed extras on the movie,” he says. “Given our recent experience with the paparazzi, I wasn’t comfortable hiring unknowns at short notice. I thought it best to pay a little extra for a professional.”

  Lorna grins at me. “Most movies can’t afford models as extras,” she adds, “but Berkeley studios has splashed out for beautiful background people.” She winks at me, and fluffs her afro hair out from where it’s been flattened from the dress bag. “I am way looking forward to movie work. Ex…cit…ing,” she concludes, drawing out the word.

  Now I’m looking questioningly at James. Is he blowing big movie budgets just to keep me happy?

  “I’d rather pay extra for a known quantity,” he repeats, answering my unspoken question.

  Suddenly I don’t care how it was all arranged. I’m just so delighted to see my best friend.

  “Thank you,” I say to James. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how happy this makes me.”

  “My pleasure,” he says, and I see something dancing in his eyes. “There’s a tapas bar over the street. Perhaps you and Lorna would like to have lunch? Catch up? I’ll come pick you up later. Take you out for the afternoon.”

  This day is getting better and better.

  “Sure,” I say. “Is that ok with you?” I add, turning to Lorna. I don’t want to leave her alone in some strange city after lunch.

  “Oh, don’t you worry about me,” she says, sensing my tone. “I’ve already met some of the crew, and we’re all staying at the same hotel. Come on, let’s get something to eat. I am starved.”

  Chapter 7

  Lorna and I pull up bar stools inside the tapas bar.

  Inside is cosy, and a few regulars have already taken seats. But it’s still early by Spanish standards, and we have the bar mostly to ourselves.

  James has already arranged us a tab, leaving instructions and a fistful of euros with the amazed restaurant owner. I was sad to see James go, but happy to have time alone with Lorna.

  “What’s the deal with tapas?” she asks, eyeing the counter of prepared meats and cheeses.

  “Little dishes,” I answer. “You can get the cold ones straight away from the counter. Hot ones they’ll bring out fresh. You’ll like it,” I add, seeing her uncertainty at being in a foreign place.

  “This sure is surreal,” she says, grinning at me. “A few hours ago, I was in London. Now I’m eating Spanish food in Barcelona. That James Berkeley really is something,” she adds.

  I smile at her.

  “Want me to order?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Get me some of that,” she adds, pointing to a plate of cured ham. “Ooo and some of those please.” She’s spotted another tasty looking plate.

  “I’ll get a selection,” I reply. Lorna’s always been able to eat what she likes and hardly gain an ounce. She says she envies my curves, but I wouldn’t mind being able to eat like a horse and stay super-skinny like she does.

  I order a few house specialities. Small dishes of meats, cheese, and salad. And they’re slid onto the counter in front of us. Then I order a dish of hot squid and cooked sausage.

  “Cold beer?” asks Lorna, eyeing the fridge behind the bar.

  I glower at her, and she holds her hands up, innocently.

  “Alright, alright,” she laughs. “So diabetics shouldn’t drink beer. Water then?”

  “Water.” I agree. I order for both of us, and within moments, we’re served two glasses of ice cold water with lemon slices.

  We chink glasses.

  “This is amazing,” says Lorna, looking round. “Tapas. I love it.” She takes a forkful of the cured ham and pairs it with Manchego cheese. “Can’t beat Spanish cheese and ham,” she adds.

  I take a drink of water and a few bites of food.

  “I’ve missed you,” I say. “What’s been going on?”

  Lorna chews thoughtfully.

  “Oh, nothing much,” she says carefully. “Just working. You know.”

  “You weren’t answering your phone for three days,” I remind her.

  She looks down at her plate. I fill in the blanks.

  “Were you hanging out with Ben Gracey?�
� I ask. I try not to sound disapproving.

  Lorna sighs, swallows, and picks at the plate in front of her with a fork.

  “I don’t know, Issy,” she says. Her violet eyes land on mine. She sighs. “I just don’t know what to make of him,” she shrugs. “It’s so hot and cold with him. One minute he’s interested. The next he seems distant…”

  She trails off.

  “That doesn’t sound like you,” I observe, taking another bite of food. “Getting involved with someone like that. Usually, you’re the one messing the boys around.”

  She lets her elbows sink deeper on the table.

  “I know,” she says. “I feel like I can’t help myself when I’m around him. And he always has an excuse for when he’s been out of touch.”

  I ponder this.

  Ben Gracey. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s bad news. Not to mention, I now know he’s been involved with Camilla. Likely when she was much too young.

  You don’t know that for sure, I remind myself.

  “I think you should find someone else, Lorna,” I say gently.

  “I know, I know. But you know how it is, Issy. The heart wants what it wants,” she protests.

  I feel my lips pursing. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Then again, who am I to judge? I’m hardly pursuing the most normal of relationships.

  “How are things with you?” asks Lorna. She’s changing the subject, but I let her because I’m honestly not sure what else I can add.

  “Good,” I admit. “Really good.”

  “Really,” she’s breaking into a grin. “With you and James?”

  There’s a momentary pause as two steaming dishes of fresh squid and sausage arrive.

  “Mmmm!” announces Lorna, smiling at the handsome waiter. “These look good!”

  The waiter gives her a meaningful smile in return before exiting.

  Lorna leans close to me and mouths ‘hot!’ after the disappearing waiter.

  I laugh, feeling some of my anxiety dissolve. Lorna can’t be too hung up on Ben Gracey. She seems like her old self.

  “So, you and the movie mogul,” she presses. “Things developing?”

  “Yeah,” I say shyly. “He told me he loved me.”

  Lorna gives a comedy choke on a mouthful of squid.

  “Seriously? So soon?” She has a huge smile. “Did you tell him back?”