“That makes you twenty-five now,” Miles commented. “I must seem like an old man to you.” He laughed as he said it, and she denied it immediately.
“I forget about age, mine and other people’s. It’s really what’s in your head that matters, and how mature you are. Some people never get there, and others arrive early. I’ve been responsible for a long time, and I think Mr. Green recognizes it.” So did Miles. His ex-wife was exactly his age, and had been a spoiled child for all the years he knew her. There was none of that about Alex. She was a sensible woman, no matter what age she was, and he felt like he was talking to an equal as they ate their excellent dinner and explored each other’s lives.
“I bought a wonderful horse farm a number of years ago in Dorset,” he told her halfway through dinner to get off more painful personal subjects. “My children and I love it. I actually breed horses there, Thoroughbreds and Arabians, show horses. It’s a lot of work, but very rewarding and interesting. It costs a fortune to run, but we’ve had a few racehorses that have done very well. I have a new one right now. You’ll have to come and see the place sometime. It’s about three hours from London. If we get a break in the shooting schedule, when we’re further along, I’ll take you there. Sometimes the actors need a few days off, if someone crucial to a scene gets sick, or they just get worn out. It’s better to give them some time off than to keep pushing and screw everything up.” It seemed like a reasonable solution to her, and he was obviously a practical and intelligent person, full of common sense. He was very open and direct, which she liked, and wished she could be more so with him.
“I’d love to see the farm, but I don’t know anything about running a horse farm or country life. There were no horses in the convent when I was growing up.” She laughed. “Although I rode with my father when I was young. I took lessons for a while.”
“What did you and your father like to do?” he asked her gently.
“Read crime thrillers,” she answered instantly, “and every kind of detective story we could lay hands on. He had an amazing collection, some of them first editions. I kept all of them. They’ve been in storage for eleven years.”
“I guess that’s what you have in common with your employer. That must have impressed him when he hired you, your knowledge of his kind of work.” It seemed to have been a passion she and her father shared.
“Some people think that women don’t read or understand crime novels, let alone write them, which really isn’t true. Although my father believed that too. There are some wonderful thrillers and detective stories written by women, despite my father’s personal preference for male writers—he was quite adamant about it. I realize now that his view was somewhat limited and he overlooked some very good women crime writers.” It had taken her most of her life to believe it, but now she did.
“Are you an aspiring writer, Alex?” he asked her, and she shook her head. She certainly wasn’t “aspiring,” she was a full-on pro.
“Not really,” she said blithely, wishing she could be honest with him.
“My own interests lie in an entirely different direction. I love producing quality television shows and I can put a deal together like nobody’s business, but I could never write the material for a show. I can barely write a letter. I just don’t have that creative gene in me, which is why I admire Alexander Green so much. I think your skills are more like mine, organizational. We can make things happen. But don’t ever ask me to write a screenplay or a book. I know a good one when I see it, like great horseflesh. I leave the writing to geniuses like Mr. Green.” As he had been before, Miles was humble about his own talents, but he had misjudged hers. Given all the lies she and others had told him, how could he possibly know? She just seemed like a very efficient assistant to him.
“You could probably write better than you think. You just never tried it,” she said generously.
“I’ll leave that to him.” He smiled, totally satisfied with his life and what he did. The only thing he was unhappy about was the impact of the divorce on his kids. He had explained to her earlier in the meal that neither of them had done anything awful to each other. They had just married too young and run out of gas. He said his wife was a talented photographer, but had no desire to pursue it as a line of work. He said he had far less talent than she did, but had always been excited and ambitious about his career.
Alex told him not to sell himself short. She could tell that he was an ingenious, creative man. It was no small thing to create a successful television show, and put all the essential people together to make it work. She was more grateful than ever as the meal drew to a close that he had chosen her work for his next venture, and she was excited to be associated with him. She told him that her employer was ecstatic about what he was doing, and that pleased Miles too. He said they all hoped it would be a big success, and Alex said she did too.
“Your comments are bound to be the most sincere,” he said to her over a cup of espresso after dinner, “because you have no stake in it and nothing to gain. The rest of us want to make a lot of money. You’re not tainted by greed like we are,” he complimented her, and she winced.
“I have my greedy moments too,” she confessed, and it was truer than he knew.
“You seem like you have your feet on the ground,” he praised her, and she laughed.
“I was thinking the same thing about you,” she admitted.
“I’m not as sensible as I look. Breeding Thoroughbreds is an expensive venture, or raising racehorses. There is nothing reasonable about it. It’s a costly passion, but I love it,” he confessed.
“It sounds like fun, though.”
“That it is. I can’t wait for you to see my farm. The house is an old Tudor manor. It’s quite historically important, and it even has a moat and its own lake, and the land is spectacular. I’m a true Englishman, I have a strong bond to the land. My family lost their property generations ago, and I’ve always wanted land to call my own, and pass on to my children. Now I have it, it’s very important to me.” She had seen a side of him that night that she wouldn’t have known otherwise, and when she left the restaurant with him, she knew she had a friend. He put an arm around her shoulders as they walked back to the car, and there was a warm light in his eyes when he said good night to her, but he didn’t try to kiss her. And as he watched her get through the front door safely, she waved before she closed it, and felt something she had never felt before. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it seemed very direct and simple. Yet there was one complication to it. She hated the fact that she was lying to him about who she really was.
Chapter 18