The Director's Cut Page 7

  James steps in quickly behind me, surveying the scene on the street.

  He yanks out his phone suddenly and stares at the screen.

  “Shit!”

  It’s one of the few times I’ve heard him swear. Something must be very wrong.

  “What is it?” I venture, my earlier hysterics completely forgotten in the sudden drama.

  “There was a man outside,” he says. “I think I recognise him. He’s a reporter.”

  My eyes widen as I try and take in what he might mean.

  James holds his phone out to me in explanation. “And it looks like my press people have been desperately trying to get hold of me in the last few minutes,” he adds.

  My heart sinks.

  “Does that mean they’ve found us?”

  James makes another peak outside the church entrance.

  “Maybe.”

  He looks as though he’s considering something for a moment.

  “Wait here,” he says. “Don’t move an inch.” And before I can protest, he steps back out onto the street, in the direction of the newspaper reporter.

  Chapter 10

  I stand in an agony of suspense for what feels like an age. And then I hear footsteps and see James return. His face is grim as he walks towards me. Without saying a word, he wraps his arms around my waist, and I feel myself falling into the familiar smell of him, warming in his body heat.

  “What happened?” I ask, frightened of the expression on his face.

  “I took care of it,” he says, his voice dark.

  “Wait. You took care of it? What does that mean?” I pull back a little from his arms.

  “We were lucky,” he says. “I knew that reporter. I’ve met him before a few times, in London. I have a good connection with him.”

  James sighs.

  “But it still confirms my worst fears. It looks as though someone in the cast or crew is still leaking information. That reporter wasn’t here by accident. He was following a lead.”

  My eyes widen.

  “There’s nothing to worry about for the moment,” adds James. “I was able to persuade him to take his interests elsewhere.” His face looks strained.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” says James, “I made it worth his while to drop the possibility of a story.”

  “You mean, you bribed him?” I am shocked.

  James smiles a little and shakes his head. “No, Issy, I didn’t bribe him. I don’t go in for illegal acts,” he adds.

  “Then what?”

  “I negotiated a story swap,” he says. “I promised him an exclusive interview.”

  An interview? James told me didn’t do interviews anymore.

  “I thought you hated interviews?”

  His mouth sets in a grim line.

  “They’re not my favourite thing.”

  “And that’s all it took?” I ask slowly. “An interview with you? To make him drop a story about us?” This seems very unlikely.

  What has James promised?

  James leans forward and kisses my nose.

  “Shhh,” he says, “I don’t want you overthinking this. I would walk over hot coals, Issy, to protect you. In comparison, an interview is easy.”

  He gives me a half-smile at this, and I don’t know whether to be mad at him.

  “Did you find out anything more, about where the leak came from?” I ask.

  James eyes darken.

  “No,” he says shortly. “Not really. Although we can presume it was the same mystery person who made the first leak.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “The leak was made using the same phone – the same number. The reporter was good enough to share that with me. Newspapers track things like that,” he adds.

  “Then can’t the reporter give you the phone number?”

  James shakes his head resolutely. “Journalists have gone to prison rather than give up their sources, Issy,” he says grimly. “I know better than to even ask.”

  I am quiet for a moment, turning this around in my mind.

  “Do you have any more ideas who it might be?” I say eventually.

  “I have a few ideas,” says James.

  I am thinking through the crew. Aside from Natalie, Callum, and I, we have Will on security and around twenty crew members. Natalie’s entourage was mostly left in London, with the exception of a hair and make-up expert and her downtrodden personal assistant.

  “Would someone get money?” I ask. “From leaking information?”

  “Only if a story runs,” says James, “but yes. They would stand to make tens of thousands, if they brokered the right deal.”

  “Do your press people think it’s someone who knows that?” I ask. “Is it someone who knows how to make deals with the press?”

  “I don’t have that information yet,” says James, but he’s looking at me admiringly. “I’m expecting a full report tomorrow.”

  “What do we do in the meantime?”

  James’s mouth sets in a hard line.

  “We wait and hope whoever’s doing this messes up.”

  By the time we arrive back at the car, I can hardly believe what a carefree couple we were only hours ago.

  As he opens the door to let me in, James is brooding and silent, clearly turning over in his head how best to track down the press informant.

  I’m still wondering what to make of it all. I’m new to this, so I don’t really know if this is commonplace. But something about James’s reaction suggests this is serious.

  Once he sees me safely belted, James pops the gear and races out onto the Barcelona roads.

  Whoa. This is fast. Something about James’s driving tells me more about his mood, than his silence.

  I throw a nervous glance his way, and he sighs and slows fractionally.

  Now that I’m not watching the Spanish streets hurl past at quite the same pace, I have more space to reflect.

  I let myself tussle over the mystery of the leak.

  Who might it be?

  My first thought would always be Natalie. Since she has an addiction to press coverage. But since James says it’s the same person making the leak, it couldn’t possibly be her.

  I flick my mind back to our conversation outside the chalet. There’s no way she could have phoned through a leak to the press without me seeing it.

  My thoughts turn to Natalie’s personal assistant. Poor, downtrodden Carol. Could she be leaking information?

  Carol isn’t as self-obsessed as Natalie. Maybe she drew a different deduction from the truck which filled my chalet with flowers.

  I decide it’s an unfair suspicion. I’m only considering Carol because she’s associated with Natalie. I have no more reason to suspect her than anyone else in the crew.

  I let out a little huff of air, frustrated with the whole situation.

  James glances to me for a second, and then turns back to the road. I resume my thinking.

  How horrible, to be betrayed by someone and not know who. It must be worse for James. He’s worked with this crew before, and he obviously trusts them. It would be terrible if one of them has started leaking information.

  Then again, there is a lot of money at stake. Maybe the temptation of thousands of pounds is too much, even for an honest person to bear.

  James turns to me again.

  “Are you nervous about the actor’s meeting?”

  “I was,” I admit, “but it seems as though there might be bigger things to worry about.”

  James returns his eyes to the road.

  “Once we’ve found out who the leak is, we’ll have nothing to worry about,” he says. His tone is unreadable.

  “In any case,” he adds. “I have some news about the movie.”

  Oh?

  “I was hoping to be able to tell you in a more relaxed fashion,” he says, his face serious. “But the latest leak has rather put paid to that.”

  “It’s ok, James,” I say, touching his forearm. “Whatev
er I need to know, just tell me.”

  My heart has started to beat slightly faster. I know the scheduled meeting tonight will involve his Berkeley Method. But I don’t know the details. Is he about to tell me it will be worse than I feared?

  “I told you I would reveal who the male lead is at the meeting,” he continues. “But I may as well tell you now.”

  My heart slows almost instantly.

  The mystery male lead. I had all but forgotten about it.

  “Who is it?” I’m not as excited as I usually would be, given the circumstances. But I’m still keen to know.

  “Until about a week ago, I was still seriously considering Michael Bass,” he says slowly.

  Michael Bass. Gorgeous. Screen God. Am I glad it’s not him? It’s hard to know.

  “But on measure,” continues James, “I think that would create too many problems with Natalie.”

  The other slated male leaps to mind. It must be Shane Peters then. I’ve seen Shane in a couple of movies. He’s known as a bit of a bad boy.

  “So you’ve cast Shane?” I conclude.

  “No,” says James, still concentrating on the road. He lands his green eyes on mine. “I’ve decided against Shane as well.”

  “Who then?” I ask. “Someone unknown?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s me,” he says. “I’ll be playing the male lead.”

  “You?”

  James plans to act in his own movie?

  I have to admit, it’s less of a surprise than I might have imagined.

  I think on some subconscious level, I must have suspected this would happen.

  The question is, how do I feel about it?

  “That sounds like a challenge,” I say carefully. Because I honestly don’t quite know how to take this.

  “Yes,” answers James shortly. “But you understand why it’s necessary.” He says it like it’s not a question.

  “I do?”

  James smiles. “I could hardly watch another man kiss you and retain a professional job to my directing.”

  I smile at this.

  “Oh James. You can’t possibly be suggesting changing your whole movie because you’d be jealous of a screen kiss.”

  “I’m not,” he says quickly. “Well,” he revises, “if I’m totally honest, that was a small part of the decision. But not all of it,” he adds hastily, his eyes on mine again.

  Then he faces forward, and his face sets, as though what he plans to say is difficult for him. I wait for a moment, giving him space to speak.

  “I started out in acting,” he says, “when I lived in Hong Kong. A long time ago.”

  I say nothing, letting him get the words out.

  “I went into direction because it gave me more control,” he continues. “And after I developed my method…” he pauses for a moment, “I realised I wasn’t ready to give that level of honesty to my work. So I stayed out of acting.”

  “And now?” I ask quietly.

  “Now I’m ready,” he says. His voice sounds determined. “Things have changed. I think I can be more open.” His eyes seek out mine. “You’re a big part of the reason.”

  His words bring a surge of joy. I’m so proud that I’ve helped him become ready to open up.

  But the happy feelings are quickly replaced by a strong jet of fear.

  Does this mean I’ll be expected to open up too?

  I’d pushed the idea of his acting method to the back of my mind. If I’m honest, I’d lied to myself, pretending it wouldn’t be the confessional I feared.

  Now he’s telling me, it would be exactly that.

  James is prepared to give more. To tell more. Using his method.

  Am I willing to do the same?

  “What’s wrong, Issy?” he asks.

  “Nothing… I.”

  I realise, suddenly, what he’s giving me. And a few happy feelings spill over. A little.

  “I’m touched,” I say, “that you feel you can be more open. Because of me. I didn’t know I’d had that effect on you.”

  “I hope you never know the effect you have on me,” he says. “You might realise that you could take full advantage.”

  He’s smiling now, and the moment to voice my fears has passed.

  “Are you ok with this?” he says. “Could you act alongside me?”

  “Do I have a choice?” I keep my tone light, to deflect attention from how I’m truly feeling. But James seems to pick up on my uncertainty.

  “Yes. I could still cast Shane. He’s already told me he’d come at a moment’s notice for one of my movies.”

  I don’t want that, I realise. I don’t want to be kissing another man in front of James. Even a screen kiss.

  But do I want to act with James. A memory of the first audition is burned on my brain. Acting with him. It was so… intense.

  “Don’t cast Shane,” I hear myself saying. “I want you.”

  “Interesting choice of phrase.”

  “It’s true.”

  “I need you to think about it carefully. I can’t change things once it’s all set. For one thing, it would look suspicious.”

  “Yes,” I say determinedly. “I do want that. I want to find out more about you. Every last bit of you.”

  But do I want you to find out about me?

  Lost in thought, I hardly notice when we pull up at the hotel.

  And despite my troubled mood, I am at least able to acknowledge that James has once again picked a fabulous spot.

  The hotel is on one of Barcelona’s incredible plaza-style squares. It’s an enormous old building, built in the neo-classical style, with a grand façade and intricate stonework.

  “Wow,” I say, as we slow to enter the underground car park of the hotel. “This looks amazing.”

  James blinks and turns to look at me. Clearly, his mind was elsewhere.

  Poor James. First the stalker, now this press leak.

  “I’m glad you like it,” he says. But his voice sounds distracted. I feel my stomach tighten. Is this going to be a real problem? We’ve only just dealt with a dangerous stalker. In comparison, surely a newspaper leak couldn’t be so bad? But something about James’s demeanour warns me that he’s taking this very seriously.

  I sigh as the car enters the car park.

  It’s like everything else in life, Issy, I tell myself, drenching up a familiar motto, which I often use in times of trouble. One foot in front of the other. Just keep going forward.

  Chapter 11

  All the actors are assembled in one of the hotel conference rooms, which has been temporarily convened for rehearsal purposes.

  After we got back, James and I just about had time to shower and change in our separate rooms before making it down to the scheduled meeting.

  Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, James looks younger. He seems to have been able to leave his fears for press leaks at the door. And he slips into professional director mode with ease.

  There’s something authoritative about him in this guise, which I love. Even though I can’t be close to him physically, I find this part of his personality super attractive.

  What’s with that, Issy? Do you like him being in charge?

  Whatever the reason, I feel my eyes roaming over his sculpted features and broad chest. I can’t wait to be in his arms, later.

  Then I remember the bet I lost, and a fission of thrilled fear runs through me.

  The riding crop. I promised him he could do whatever he liked with me.

  Will he even remember? With the dramatic turn of events, he might have forgotten.

  I push the thought to the back of my mind. For the time being, I’m called upon to be professional.

  It’s only Natalie, Callum and me in the room. We’re seated in a semi-circle, with James standing.

  Lorna and the other extras and crew are at a different meeting, elsewhere in the hotel.

  “I’ve talked to you all, individually, about my method,” James says after hav
ing welcomed us to the meeting. “And I have another important fact to inform you of.”

  He runs his fingers through his hair.

  “A few of you will know that my background is in acting,” he says.

  Callum nods at this, but Natalie looks blank.

  “So I hope you’ll be pleased,” continues James, “to know that I’ll be taking the lead role in this movie.”

  “You?” Natalie voices the word in pure shock, and then looks embarrassed.

  “I mean. That’s great,” she backtracks, turning to include Callum and I. “But can you be sure you’ll be able to give the rest of us enough attention as a director?”

  James nods patiently.

  “You don’t need to worry about that, Natalie. It won’t affect my direction.”

  Natalie looks unconvinced. But sensing she has no support from Callum or me, she shuts her mouth tight, looking pained.

  “What it means for this session,” continues James, “is I’ll be joining you.”

  He gives this a moment to sink in.

  It suddenly hits me with full force what a sacrifice he’s making. James Berkeley. Introverted and fiercely protective of his personal life, prepared to lay everything on the line and open up to all of us.

  He’s doing it for you.

  The thought almost brings tears to my eyes.

  “Now it’s time to get started with the first exercise,” James is saying. “It will take real bravery. But I know you all have what it takes to get deeper into your roles.”

  I let my eyes slide over Natalie’s face. She’s chewing her lower lip, and she looks nervous. Callum’s face is impassive, resigned almost. As those he’s mentally preparing himself.

  I know they must have been briefed in part, before accepting their roles, as to what they might expect. But I don’t know how much they know about The Berkeley Method. Probably as little as I do.

  No wonder they both look anxious. For my part, I am absolutely terrified.

  James reaches into his pocket and draws out a small fabric bag.

  “Inside this bag, I have four slips of paper,” he says. “Each has on it a different word explaining a different emotion.”

  I feel my stomach tighten, and my heart begin to quicken.