Rubies in the Roses

‘I work in a London theatre, but we are currently closed for renovations. We all had to figure out something else to do for the summer. I applied for a job here cataloguing books.’

The applying part had been a bit odd as Oliver and her theatre director Mr Betts had actually set up her arrival between them, to send Lord Bolingbrooke some help, not just with the book collection but also with the castle. But she could hardly explain all that to a virtual stranger.

She continued, ‘Our crew has all gone to different places. We have several retired actors and actresses in the crew, and old Carter, our props man, worked at the theatre in its heyday. It has been under threat through the decades but it always managed to survive. We’re now doing crowdfunding to bring in funds for the renovations, but also to ensure it has a future after that.’

Max listened with a keen interest and said, ‘I have to do a shoot with all of you when the theatre is ready to reopen again. It will be great publicity, and your story will be easy to sell. The theatre obviously has a long history, and publishers are always interested in people who don’t fit into a mould.’

‘How do you mean?’

Max shrugged. ‘The whole cliché of going against the flow. Your mum wanted you to study English lit and become a teacher, but you didn’t want the apartment, the neat little car and the uptown boyfriend. Rebellion sells.’

He saw her expression and added quickly, ‘You can also call it following your dreams, whatever you like. Believe me, all those people tied to their nine-to-five day jobs and mortgages love to read about someone who has a completely different life. The bohemian decadence of working until midnight, then staying into bed until noon.’

‘It isn’t like that at all. And I’m not sure the crew would want to be portrayed like that,’ Guinevere said slowly.

‘Nonsense, you need publicity or you’ll soon be in the street.’

Guinevere glanced at him. ‘Maybe,’ she said hesitantly. Max didn’t even know her friends, but he had already made up his mind about them. They didn’t fit a mould; they were bohemian. Which meant saleable.

Not so negative, she chided herself at once. Max means well with his offer. And he could be a great help. If he really has so many followers online … The theatre’s survival should come first. Not your piqued feelings because he puts into words how people might feel about artists and their jobs, not being real jobs or acceptable jobs.

She had heard all of that before. Maybe she was just projecting something into Max’s words while he didn’t even mean it that way?

To shake her annoyance, she walked ahead of him, stopped to smell a flowering rose. She rested the rich yellow flower in the palm of her hand and inhaled its musky scent. Her life’s choices were hers, and she need not defend herself to anyone about it.

The camera clicked furiously, and Guinevere looked at Max.

‘Just a few snaps of a beautiful lady.’ He smiled at her. ‘You’re photogenic.’

‘Really?’ In theatre school most students had their own dress style and individuality had been appreciated, but in everyday life Guinevere sometimes had the impression that it was better to blend in than to stand out. Stand out she did with her retro clothes and long braided hair, and she wouldn’t call that being photogenic. She thought of herself as rather an oddball.

Max tilted his head as if he was assessing her. ‘Has no one ever told you before you’re beautiful?’

Guinevere stood motionless, unnerved by the direct question. ‘Of course. Gran said it often.’

‘I don’t mean your gran.’

Guinevere leaned down to pick a colourful pebble off the path. To buy time in which she didn’t have to look at Max. Did he mean what he said? Or was he just having a little fun with her?

Memories came flooding back of the moments in theatre school where she had stood behind a curtain waiting for a call and had heard two classmates talking about her. One of them had been the boy she had been in love with. ‘Gwen is just a little awkward, you know,’ he had said. ‘She’s cute, but not girlfriend material.’

Guinevere had never been able to figure out for herself what girlfriend material was. But she wasn’t it. That had been clear enough.

Even though it was years ago, and it was probably silly to make a great deal out of a single remark, it had hurt, and it did come back to her every now and then. Made her insecure, reluctant to believe anyone could be interested in her. That way.

For a few minutes they walked in silence. The easy atmosphere seemed to have been spoiled, and Guinevere blamed herself. She had to take Max’s compliments at face value and simply appreciate that he wanted to make friends with her. No wonder as Wadencourt was so cold to him and only considered him a sort of stage hand along for the job. Where the historian himself would of course be the centre of attention.

As they reached the picturesque harbour area, Max started to snap shots of fishermen repairing their nets, the bobbing boats with their white sails, a house front with authentic woodwork, the details of elaborate ironwork on a gate. He saw a special shot in every little thing that was around him, whether a sprawling view or a super close-up, and seemed to have forgotten he was with someone.

His camera clicked and clicked as he quickly moved around, one moment sitting on his haunches, then stretching up again to full length to reach to the top of a wall or hold the camera high for a better viewpoint.

Guinevere studied the concentration in his posture and expression as he was at it. He obviously loved what he did. The assignment here was more to him than just work, even though he had said jokingly that he came cheap and one had to sacrifice for one’s career.

With a playful bounce Dolly ran to him and jumped at him.

Max looked down. ‘Not now, you stupid dog. I’m working.’

Guinevere winced that he would talk to her dog like that. Working or not, he need not snap.

She pulled Dolly along and looked into the window of the bakery to see what was on offer today. They had delicious buns and small breads. Holding a hand over her eyes, she peered into the dimness inside. There were quite a few tourists lining up to buy something. Summer seemed to bring in the bounty that small businesses on an island needed to survive.

Someone came to stand beside her, and a warm hand landed on her arm. ‘I’m sorry. I get irritable when I’m snapped out of my focus. When I’m in the zone, the rest of the world just doesn’t exist to me. But I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, you know.’

Guinevere kept looking into the window, not sure if she should just forgive Max or stay angry a little longer. Dolly meant everything to her, and someone calling her stupid … Besides, Max’s tone had been curt enough to suggest he had barely controlled his urge to slap at the dog.

Max said softly, ‘Look, I’m under a bit of pressure here.’

She looked up at him. ‘Why? Wadencourt needs to find the goblet to save his career, not you.’

‘Maybe not, but … He told you that I’m popular because I get lots of likes and shares. And I do. But that’s not the same as assignments. I need actual paid jobs to live off. Working with Wadencourt can get my name out to people like him.’

Guinevere hitched a brow. ‘You really want to do more jobs where the employer treats you like dirt?’

Max’s expression softened with a smile. ‘Not really, but hey, I can’t afford to be choosy. There are so many photographers out there. People have their phones to snap sights and events and … Even news pics come from ordinary people these days, not from press photographers any more. The landscape has changed, and I have to change with it. A little talent isn’t enough. I need a portfolio full of serious assignments I can show off to potential new clients. So can you forgive me?’

Max squeezed her arm and added, ‘I’ll make it up to you for the dog. Just wait.’

‘How?’ she asked.

‘Just wait.’ He winked at her. ‘Let’s go back up and see if Wadencourt and his lordship have already come to blows.’

‘Why do you say that?’

Max shrugged. ‘It’s no secret Wadencourt likes the ladies. I heard he was kicked off Cornisea Island in the past because he was after his lordship’s wife.’

‘What?’ So that had been the reason they had fallen out. That had made Bolingbrooke so pensive and sad. His late wife … Oliver’s mother who had so far been an elusive shadow. Oliver never mentioned her. ‘And Wadencourt dares to show his face down here again?’

‘Well, it was a long time ago. He probably thinks it’s all forgiven and forgotten.’

It sounded a bit grim, and Guinevere saw the tension in Max’s jawline. He turned away from her and took some more shots, of random objects it seemed. His earlier concentration was gone.

She wondered why Max would care what Wadencourt had once done at the castle. Max didn’t know Bolingbrooke at all.

Did he?

***

‘So what did you manage to find out about DeBurgh?’ Oliver asked. He had knocked at her bedroom door just as Guinevere had finished dressing for dinner. She had put on a light blue dress that fell all the way to the floor, combined with open shoes with silvery embroidery. She was studying her mirror image with a critical eye she had never applied before during her stay here.