hand. She slid hers into his, and he led her through the rest of his new digs. The two unfurnished bedrooms, and the master bedroom, where the only “furniture” was a mattress on the floor.
“It’s like camping without the bugs,” said Marc, using his foot to shove a discarded sweatshirt out of the way. His open suitcases acted as dresser drawers, and piles of books and papers littered the floor next to his bed.
“What no box springs? No sleeping bag?”
Marc laughed. “Okay, I may have screwed up on the box springs, but I did check with your housekeeping staff about the bedding.”
“Clever man.”
“Thank you,” he said releasing her hand. “We have two choices. Sit on the stools in the kitchen and eat off the counter, or…,” he bent down, grabbed a corner of the duvet, and gave it a rolling tug, “…picnic in front of the fireplace.”
Twenty minutes later the gas fire danced and glowed, and the contents of the hamper lay spread out in front of them on the soft comforter. Everything from champagne flutes to cutlery, to bruschetta and strawberries, had been beautifully prepared and carefully packed for their enjoyment including a pair of candlesticks now casting a soft light from atop the mantelpiece. There was roast duck with spears of asparagus and creamy camembert, and a small jar of caviar bearing The Sadler’s own label.
“This is a feast,” Marc reached for a chilled bottle. “Champagne?”
“Yes, please.” She’d brought dark beer for Marc as well, but he had decided that nothing would do but champagne. Taking one of the linen napkins, he deftly popped the cork and filled their glasses before the bottle overflowed.
“A toast,” he declared. “To the new CEO of The Sadler Hotel.”
They clicked their glasses and sipped. The delicate bubbles tickled Alex’s nose. “And another,” she said raising her glass to his. “To your new life and your directorial debut.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Marc. While he topped up their glasses, Alex filled their plates. She had not felt so happy and relaxed in months, years it seemed. Glancing up at the sparkling look in Marc’s eyes, she was sure he felt the same. Course by course, and glass by glass, they compared notes on their respective jobs and how they were going.
“So,” Alex summed up after Marc had outlined the story behind the film, “that’s why finding your scout was so important. He’s a touchstone for your hero as he readjusts to life after the Great War.”
“Exactly.” Marc reached for another strawberry. “Maybe that’s why I relate to him so much. I’m trying to shake off the chattels of ten years in Hollywood, and he’s trying to rebuild his life after the war. No comparison really.” Marc nibbled at his fruit. “But it helps me figure him out. Nobody took me seriously at first, because all they saw was the character I played.” Marc snorted. “I shouldn’t complain, but it became frustrating.”
Alex nodded. Knowing Marc’s passion for history, it must have grated on him to be typecast as an action figure. But between the candlelight and the flickering glow from the fire, she could see why Hollywood was so anxious to keep him. The shadows in the room emphasized the strength of his jaw and his rugged, handsome features. His broad shoulders and muscled chest were what women dreamt about, and what men envied. Alex was glad she’d never seen Marc’s films; it was the man she’d been attracted to, not the star. And for her, the reality far surpassed any fantasy she may have had. He was kind and considerate; he made her laugh, and had stood doggedly by her side, no questions asked, when she needed him the most.
“Tell about me about these dragoons of yours,” she said softly.
“Are you sure? I’ve been known to bore even the most hardened academics.”
Alex curled up in the folds of the duvet and rested her head on his knee, looking upwards at his face. “You have my
“It’s like camping without the bugs,” said Marc, using his foot to shove a discarded sweatshirt out of the way. His open suitcases acted as dresser drawers, and piles of books and papers littered the floor next to his bed.
“What no box springs? No sleeping bag?”
Marc laughed. “Okay, I may have screwed up on the box springs, but I did check with your housekeeping staff about the bedding.”
“Clever man.”
“Thank you,” he said releasing her hand. “We have two choices. Sit on the stools in the kitchen and eat off the counter, or…,” he bent down, grabbed a corner of the duvet, and gave it a rolling tug, “…picnic in front of the fireplace.”
Twenty minutes later the gas fire danced and glowed, and the contents of the hamper lay spread out in front of them on the soft comforter. Everything from champagne flutes to cutlery, to bruschetta and strawberries, had been beautifully prepared and carefully packed for their enjoyment including a pair of candlesticks now casting a soft light from atop the mantelpiece. There was roast duck with spears of asparagus and creamy camembert, and a small jar of caviar bearing The Sadler’s own label.
“This is a feast,” Marc reached for a chilled bottle. “Champagne?”
“Yes, please.” She’d brought dark beer for Marc as well, but he had decided that nothing would do but champagne. Taking one of the linen napkins, he deftly popped the cork and filled their glasses before the bottle overflowed.
“A toast,” he declared. “To the new CEO of The Sadler Hotel.”
They clicked their glasses and sipped. The delicate bubbles tickled Alex’s nose. “And another,” she said raising her glass to his. “To your new life and your directorial debut.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Marc. While he topped up their glasses, Alex filled their plates. She had not felt so happy and relaxed in months, years it seemed. Glancing up at the sparkling look in Marc’s eyes, she was sure he felt the same. Course by course, and glass by glass, they compared notes on their respective jobs and how they were going.
“So,” Alex summed up after Marc had outlined the story behind the film, “that’s why finding your scout was so important. He’s a touchstone for your hero as he readjusts to life after the Great War.”
“Exactly.” Marc reached for another strawberry. “Maybe that’s why I relate to him so much. I’m trying to shake off the chattels of ten years in Hollywood, and he’s trying to rebuild his life after the war. No comparison really.” Marc nibbled at his fruit. “But it helps me figure him out. Nobody took me seriously at first, because all they saw was the character I played.” Marc snorted. “I shouldn’t complain, but it became frustrating.”
Alex nodded. Knowing Marc’s passion for history, it must have grated on him to be typecast as an action figure. But between the candlelight and the flickering glow from the fire, she could see why Hollywood was so anxious to keep him. The shadows in the room emphasized the strength of his jaw and his rugged, handsome features. His broad shoulders and muscled chest were what women dreamt about, and what men envied. Alex was glad she’d never seen Marc’s films; it was the man she’d been attracted to, not the star. And for her, the reality far surpassed any fantasy she may have had. He was kind and considerate; he made her laugh, and had stood doggedly by her side, no questions asked, when she needed him the most.
“Tell about me about these dragoons of yours,” she said softly.
“Are you sure? I’ve been known to bore even the most hardened academics.”
Alex curled up in the folds of the duvet and rested her head on his knee, looking upwards at his face. “You have my
Similar Books
