he was to break through the barrier she’d erected around herself. It was probably more like a solid wall than a flimsy curtain, but he needed to find out.
She didn’t say anything, but tilted her chin slightly as she looked at him. Her green eyes were defensive and challenging at the same time.
He stayed a few feet away from her. “I haven’t a clue what’s going on in your head right now. Sometimes I think we’re fine, other times we—you—well, I’m not sure what to think.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it does. At least to me, which is why I think we should talk.”
“I don’t want to—”
He held up his hands. “I don’t mean about the past. I hoped we could get to know each other again.”
“Oh.”
Her face relaxed but he sensed her uncertainty. “I’d also like to know more about the kids in the group.” Perhaps that would open a channel of communication between them.
“Oh, I see.”
There was still wariness in her voice but he decided to take a chance. “How about coming into the house for coffee, or something stronger, if you prefer?”
“Coffee would be fine.”
“Good.” He led the way into the house, and to the kitchen, glad he’d made a jug of coffee earlier and left it on the hot-plate.
Abbey glanced around. “This is different.”
“Yeah, Dad organised it a few years ago. Had some guys in to give the place a makeover.”
“You sound very American at times, you know. Saying things like some guys . At one time, you’d have said blokes or fellas.”
He shrugged. “I lived there for two years. Sometimes I forget what’s British and what’s American.”
“Tell me about Los Angeles.”
“Crazy place. Too much traffic, fumes, smog. All the emphasis on money, and the pressure to be seen in the right places, going to the right functions, meeting the right people. You must have experienced some of that, too?”
She nodded. “I hated having to go to parties or publicity events because the producer or sponsor insisted. My agent once told me I should always go out looking like a glossy celebrity photo, but I can’t play that game. Instead, I tie my hair back and wear casual clothes and hope no one will recognise me. Underneath, I’ll always be Abbey Seton, not Abigail Barton.”
“Yes, that’s the girl I remember. Determined to do it your own way, no matter what anyone else says.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
He suppressed a sigh. She was so brittle and defensive, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. “Nothing’s wrong. On the contrary, I have the greatest respect for people who refuse to play the game, as you put it. It means you retain your own individuality rather than simply doing what others expect you to do.” He finished pouring the coffee and picked up the two mugs. “Come on, let’s go into the lounge instead of standing here in the kitchen.”
As he followed her across the hallway to the lounge, his chest tightened in panic. His laptop was on the coffee-table and he’d left open the document with the first chapter of his fourth Rycroft Saga book. With relief, he saw it had gone into screensaver mode.
This was definitely not the right time to tell her he was the author. Not until he’d had an update from Farrell who said he would contact the casting director. Farrell wasn’t certain they could withdraw the contract which had been offered to another actress, but hopefully everything would be resolved by the end of the week. Until he was sure, he couldn’t raise Abbey’s hopes, or risk giving her another disappointment.
“This room’s different, too,” she said.
He closed his laptop and laughed. “Soulless, isn’t it, without all the family photos and knick-knacks? Most of those were in the boxes we moved on Sunday.”
She sank down into one of the dark green brocade armchairs. “I suppose it’s what you have to do when you rent out a house. Will you be renting it out again when you leave here?”
He sat on the couch and gave
She didn’t say anything, but tilted her chin slightly as she looked at him. Her green eyes were defensive and challenging at the same time.
He stayed a few feet away from her. “I haven’t a clue what’s going on in your head right now. Sometimes I think we’re fine, other times we—you—well, I’m not sure what to think.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it does. At least to me, which is why I think we should talk.”
“I don’t want to—”
He held up his hands. “I don’t mean about the past. I hoped we could get to know each other again.”
“Oh.”
Her face relaxed but he sensed her uncertainty. “I’d also like to know more about the kids in the group.” Perhaps that would open a channel of communication between them.
“Oh, I see.”
There was still wariness in her voice but he decided to take a chance. “How about coming into the house for coffee, or something stronger, if you prefer?”
“Coffee would be fine.”
“Good.” He led the way into the house, and to the kitchen, glad he’d made a jug of coffee earlier and left it on the hot-plate.
Abbey glanced around. “This is different.”
“Yeah, Dad organised it a few years ago. Had some guys in to give the place a makeover.”
“You sound very American at times, you know. Saying things like some guys . At one time, you’d have said blokes or fellas.”
He shrugged. “I lived there for two years. Sometimes I forget what’s British and what’s American.”
“Tell me about Los Angeles.”
“Crazy place. Too much traffic, fumes, smog. All the emphasis on money, and the pressure to be seen in the right places, going to the right functions, meeting the right people. You must have experienced some of that, too?”
She nodded. “I hated having to go to parties or publicity events because the producer or sponsor insisted. My agent once told me I should always go out looking like a glossy celebrity photo, but I can’t play that game. Instead, I tie my hair back and wear casual clothes and hope no one will recognise me. Underneath, I’ll always be Abbey Seton, not Abigail Barton.”
“Yes, that’s the girl I remember. Determined to do it your own way, no matter what anyone else says.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
He suppressed a sigh. She was so brittle and defensive, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. “Nothing’s wrong. On the contrary, I have the greatest respect for people who refuse to play the game, as you put it. It means you retain your own individuality rather than simply doing what others expect you to do.” He finished pouring the coffee and picked up the two mugs. “Come on, let’s go into the lounge instead of standing here in the kitchen.”
As he followed her across the hallway to the lounge, his chest tightened in panic. His laptop was on the coffee-table and he’d left open the document with the first chapter of his fourth Rycroft Saga book. With relief, he saw it had gone into screensaver mode.
This was definitely not the right time to tell her he was the author. Not until he’d had an update from Farrell who said he would contact the casting director. Farrell wasn’t certain they could withdraw the contract which had been offered to another actress, but hopefully everything would be resolved by the end of the week. Until he was sure, he couldn’t raise Abbey’s hopes, or risk giving her another disappointment.
“This room’s different, too,” she said.
He closed his laptop and laughed. “Soulless, isn’t it, without all the family photos and knick-knacks? Most of those were in the boxes we moved on Sunday.”
She sank down into one of the dark green brocade armchairs. “I suppose it’s what you have to do when you rent out a house. Will you be renting it out again when you leave here?”
He sat on the couch and gave
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