The Promise of Change

Chapter 8



Sitting at a delicate writing desk in one of the manor’s many rooms, Sarah responded to an e-mail from Ann, contemplating how to answer her question about what Brooke was like.


Not to put too fine a point on it, but ‘she is a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper.’ Despite her frequent declaration that she just adores Jane Austen, she wouldn’t get an allusion to her if it came up and slapped her on the back of her vapid little head. Uh oh. Speak of the devil . . .


“Oh, Sarah. I thought you might be Alex. Have you seen him?”

“I haven’t seen him. Did you check the library?”

She made a little face before saying, “Thanks.”

She couldn’t understand their fascination with the collection of essays, novels, and poetry the well-stocked library offered.

Sarah returned to her e-mail, finishing with a rundown of the schedule over the next week. If all went as planned, the crew would wrap up the shoot here and return to London soon. However, she would be returning to London tomorrow. Elizabeth, her agent, was stopping over on her way to Hong Kong to meet with her about another two-book deal. She sighed, as if that were a bad thing.

She hated leaving Alex, especially with Brooke on the prowl. Even with her previous experience with infidelity, it wasn’t that she didn’t trust Alex. She didn’t trust Brooke. She reminded herself it was only for one night. She’d return on the early morning train the following day and stay for the remainder of the shoot.

She looked forward to the end of the filming. She was tired of sneaking around with Alex like they were having some sort of torrid affair. The pretense was wearing on her. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t already slipped. It was hard to believe her love for him wasn’t tattooed on her face for all to see.

She closed her laptop before returning to the library in search of her script to review it before tomorrow’s shoot, particularly since she wasn’t going to be here. Would there be any kissing tomorrow? Speaking of kissing, if she got lucky, she might run into Alex and corner him for a little make-out session before dinner.

Opening the library door, Sarah froze. Brooke stood close to Alex, face lifted to his. He held her wrists up in front of his chest. Sarah gasped.

“Sarah.” He dropped Brooke’s wrists, pushing her away from him. “It’s not what you think. . . ” He grimaced at the trite expression.

“I know—”

“I was trying to remove her unwelcome hands from my chest—” The anguish was plain on his face.

Sarah glared at Brooke, gritting her teeth to hold back the unladylike string of expletives that threatened to erupt.

“Now I know why you’re producing this claptrap.” Brooke returned Sarah’s astonished look with one of smug satisfaction.

“What?” Sarah looked at Alex, confused. “What did she just say? What did she mean?” It finally dawned on her. She was more shocked by the revelation that Alex was apparently producing the movie, than by Brooke’s blatant attempt to seduce him. “I thought Michael was the producer . . .” Her voice trailed off. She already knew the answer. “Alex?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“All this time, I thought I’d succeeded on my own merits . . . someone had read my book and genuinely loved it enough to make it into a movie . . . and all along it was you,” she said as if to herself. “I should have known. The coincidences were so obvious.” She shook her head.

“Bloody hell. Sarah, can you just forget your damnable pride for one minute.” He strode over to her, his hands raised as if to grab her shoulders.

“My pride?” She took a step back. “This isn’t about my pride.” She smacked his hand aside as he tried to reach for her again. “Why didn’t you tell me? Was this supposed to be another of your surprises? In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t like surprises.”

“Sarah. I’m sorry. I’d planned to tell you . . .”

“Does everyone else know?” She could feel angry, humiliated tears filling her eyes, blurring her vision. “I feel like such a fool.” The tears rolled down her cheeks, temporarily clearing her vision.

“No,” he said softly. “No one else knew, except . . . Michael . . .” He turned to glare at Brooke, understanding mounting. “A little pillow-talk, Brooke?”

She at least had the grace to blush.

“Please leave,” he said to her, his voice barely audible. She turned on her heel and left, giving Sarah a baleful look as she stalked out the door.

“Sarah.” Alex’s hands were on her shoulders. “Look at me, please.”

Sarah stubbornly shook her head, more tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I need to leave.”

“Is that your solution to everything—run?”

“Don’t worry Alex, I’m not going to run off again,” she said with a little sarcasm. “Give me a little more credit than that. I just need to get some air . . . preferably alone.” He dropped his hands, and, stumbling out of the library, tears blurring her vision, she all but ran out the front door into the cool summer evening.



Alone in her room later that night, she saw with clarity how perfectly the pieces fit. The fact that he was cast as Christen–I mean let’s face it, she thought, what were the odds of Alex being cast out of the blue, perfect or not?

As producer, he could cast himself. The deference Michael paid him on the set; his involvement in almost every aspect of the production, including his regular viewing of the dailies, even when he wasn’t in the scenes. Although she was a novice to the move industry, she was surprised she hadn’t seen it before. She was surprised everyone didn’t see it.

She was going to London as planned. Maybe a little separation would do them both good . . . give them some time to think. Besides she wasn’t sure she trusted herself around Brooke without wringing her swan-like little neck.

Cried-out and exhausted, she turned in early, trying not to think about how cold and lonely the bed was without Alex.



He screwed up. He knew that. But damn it, if she wasn’t so stubborn, so determined to do everything on her own, maybe this wouldn’t have gotten blown out of proportion.

Of course it didn’t help that Brooke had been the one to reveal it. He sighed, sat on the edge of the bed. It only added to Sarah’s humiliation. He wanted to belt Brooke, and he wasn’t too happy with Michael at the moment either.

He stood, paced his room, scrubbing his hands through his hair. He should have told her. Of course he should have. If he’d told her weeks ago, maybe she’d have been miffed at first, but after he’d explained to her why, they’d had a good laugh over it and moved on.

He stopped in front of the window and looked out at the black night. He wondered if she were still out there. He didn’t like the thought of her out there at night alone.

Should he go to her? Apologize? Apologize, yes, but go to her, no. She said she wanted to be alone. If she wanted to speak to him, she would have let him know.

Tomorrow he would grovel. Perhaps crawling on his knees would be in order. After what promised to be a long, lonely, sleepless night.