Write Your Own Script Page 3

  No matter how desperate she was to run after her and ask for an autograph.

  Shit. She recognised me.

  Tamsyn kicked at the path with her boot and grunted. Damn it! She risked a quick glance back over her shoulder, and was relieved to see the woman and her dog had moved on; they were now mere specks in the distance, only visible by the scarlet red of the woman’s coat.

  Well, it had probably been naive of her to think she’d avoid her neighbour the entire time she was here. They did occupy the only two holiday cottages on the property, after all. And braving a walk had seemed like such a great idea when she’d thrown back the curtains and seen the cold, bright day that she’d forgotten all about the woman and the dog across the lake.

  She huffed out a breath, and listened to the birds tweeting somewhere high above her. At least the woman hadn’t pounced—her eyes had been so wide Tamsyn feared they were going to pop out of the poor thing’s head, but she’d kept her distance, and kept her mouth shut. Tamsyn smiled. It had been a long, long time since that had happened, and it felt good.

  I wonder if she walks that dog at the same time every day. I could always make sure I walk in the afternoons, if that’s the case.

  As soon as she thought it, she felt a bit daft. It was only one woman, and they were sharing this space for however long their breaks overlapped. Trying to avoid her was ridiculous. Not that she’d be inviting her over for dinner or anything crazy, but perhaps to say hello to on the path, especially if the woman didn’t go all fangirl on her, wouldn’t be that bad. Besides, if there was one thing Tamsyn had noticed, it was that the woman was delicious to look at. She grinned. Oh yeah—honey-blonde hair that dropped just past her shoulders, hazel eyes with just a hint of crow’s feet at the corners, pitching her age within a few years of Tamsyn’s own, and a face of simple beauty, made even more so by the lack of make-up. She was the same height as Tamsyn, and although she’d been bundled up in that red coat and jeans, appeared to have a similar build.

  Tamsyn breathed in a deep lungful of the woodsy air. It had been quite a while since she’d looked at a woman. Properly looked. Most of her assignations over the years had required the utmost discretion, meeting in dim hotel rooms, arrangements made by Carmen through her extensive channels. Some lovers had lasted more than a week or so, but rarely. Tamsyn was too public, and too much in need of protecting her image to be seen with a woman on her arm. She made sure she was photographed regularly enough with a beard, usually some other actor, or a musician—always younger than her, of course, and grateful enough for the publicity to keep his mouth shut.

  It was the most bizarre Catch-22 these days—just when more and more celebrities were embracing the new dawn and coming out left, right, and centre, Tamsyn was having to do even more to stay in the closet. Roles for a fifty-two-year-old were hard enough to come by without being the fifty-two-year-old lesbian. She was already sick of directors telling her she couldn’t play a love interest anymore—imagine how they’d react if she attempted to read for such roles having just announced her sexuality to the world? She’d never work again, she knew that—at least, not in the roles she wanted. God knew she wasn’t anywhere near ready to be the new Miss Marple.

  Unbidden, thoughts of her friend, Lesley, came to mind. Lesley had taken a different path and come out when they were in their early thirties, nearly twenty years ago. She was just beginning to make a name for herself on British TV dramas and had seemed completely taken by surprise when those roles began to dry up. After working the off-West End theatre scene for a few years, and even trying her hand at hosting a reality TV show for a couple of seasons, in the end she’d admitted defeat and walked away from acting entirely.

  Tamsyn had tried to support her through every step—their friendship stretching back to their late teens and their first breakthroughs in the cut-throat world of acting—but she’d never been in agreement with Lesley’s need to come out. Lesley always maintained that she wasn’t bitter about what had happened, but there was a tightness in her eyes whenever she said it and Tamsyn didn’t believe her for one minute. She wouldn’t say “I told you so”, but Lesley’s experience had only strengthened her decision to stay closeted.

  She spotted a fallen tree trunk just off the path and wandered over to it, perching on it at first to make sure it was steady, then relaxing back fully when she realised it would hold her.

  Now that she was at the top, winning awards and able to cherry-pick her roles, it only made the current situation all the more infuriating. That little shit of a director had no right to treat her the way he did. But he was the upcoming star, never mind her reputation, or the glittering list of roles on her résumé. ‘A short illness’ was the excuse fed to the press to explain her sudden departure.

  Bullshit, all of it. Don was threatening to have her axed completely, and Tamsyn knew Carmen was doing everything she could to make sure that didn’t happen, calling in favours from all over the place. If Tamsyn didn’t care so much about the film, and the story it was telling, she’d have told Don to shove it even harder. Still, throwing that orange juice into his face had been rather satisfying.

  She smirked as the image of him with orange bits dripping off his nose came back to her. The snorts and sniggers around set had also been rather pleasing, although they’d been cut short by his threatening, steely-eyed glare.

  A blackbird landed almost at her feet, sticking its beak into the undergrowth to search out a snack. What a simple life. No egos to deal with, no tantrums to throw. She heard a bark, somewhere in the distance, and her smirk, much to her own surprise, transformed into a smile. That dog was pretty cute, she had to admit.

  And then, of course, there was its owner…

  Chapter 4

  Tamsyn bloody Harris is staying in the cottage across the lake! Be still, my beating heart.

  Maggie chuckled, knowing darn well who she’d be thinking of as she snuggled under her duvet later that night. She had followed Tamsyn’s career through the years, seen pretty much every movie she’d made—except for that dodgy period in the early nineties when she’d done those two sci-fi ones—and drooled over her incessantly in her role as the head of the Met Police in the TV drama Blue Lights, which had won her two BAFTAs.

  Gizmo gave one of his short yelps that meant he was up to no good and she shook herself out of her haze. She stepped through the undergrowth to see what had him snuffling so excitedly, his tail twitching and his ears pinned back. She peered over his head and snorted.

  “Gizmo, it’s a bloody frog. Or toad. Whatever. It’s not something you need to bother anymore.” The amphibian was frozen in place, its head hunkered down into its stubby neck as Gizmo sniffed all around it without touching it, clearly very uncertain as to just what sort of creature this was.

  “Come on.” She pulled on his lead. “Leave the poor thing alone.”

  Miraculously, Gizmo obeyed, and Maggie smiled, knowing that for all his boldness, in meeting something he didn’t recognise there was a little bit of fear in him that meant he’d easily give in to her command. He perked his ears up, and trotted off, tail held high, as if continuing on their walk was all his own idea. She laughed.

  God, I love that dog.

  They stayed out in the woods for another hour. The trail between the trees was easy walking—leaves and chipped bark covered the rough path, and very few sections required much more than a scramble past the lowest of branches. Gizmo was in his element, and Maggie knew she was too. She’d often thought about selling up the Putney flat and finding a place like this, somewhere secluded and away from the hustle and bustle. Maybe she should be thinking about that again, given how pressured her life felt these days.

  Gizmo barked, and somehow Maggie wasn’t surprised to see Tamsyn on the path in front of them again. They’d been going in opposite directions before, so it made sense that if they both stayed on the trail they’d meet back up eventually.
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  “Hello, again,” Maggie called, amazed that she not only found her voice but that it came out cheery and strong, rather than weak and star-struck.

  Tamsyn raised her hand in a half wave and then, much to Maggie’s shock, stopped and waited for them. Gizmo, of course, immediately ran up to the new person and began sniffing around her feet and ankles. Tamsyn flinched but held her ground, and Maggie tugged Gizmo back. If the world-famous actress was scared of dogs, Maggie wasn’t going to make it worse.

  “Sorry,” she said, as she reined him in to her side and stepped to within three or four paces of Tamsyn. “He’s just very excitable. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

  Tamsyn smiled. “Actually, he’s okay. I guess it helps that he’s cute.”

  Tamsyn Harris thinks my dog is cute! Maggie held back the beam of delight, but only just.

  “Oh yeah, but he knows it and uses it to his full advantage,” she said, grinning.

  “Listen,” Tamsyn said, her voice suddenly a little croaky. “I… So, I’m guessing you know who I am, yes?”

  Maggie nodded. “Tamsyn Harris. Or her stunt double, maybe.”

  Tamsyn’s laugh was like a bell chiming in the woods. “Unfortunately, I’m the real one.”

  Maggie cocked her head. “Unfortunately?”

  Tamsyn’s face fell. “Sorry, ignore me. Look, I just wanted to say, firstly, thank you for not saying anything earlier. I can’t tell you how refreshing it was to be left alone.”

  Maggie shrugged. “You’re here on your own, as far as I can tell, and that spoke volumes. I…I just wanted to respect that. Even though I am, I have to admit, a huge fan.”

  Tamsyn tipped her head in acknowledgement. “Then I appreciate it even more.” She inhaled deeply. “I need some peace and quiet, for a couple of weeks. But I’m aware we’re now sharing this space, so I didn’t want to come over all diva and ignore you. I suppose I just wanted to say, meeting like this, saying hello, checking out your cute dog—all of that would be okay. I don’t want you to think you have to steer clear.” She shook her head. “God, even that sounds diva-esque.”

  Maggie chuckled. “No, it doesn’t. I get it. I’m here for some quiet too, and I understand where you might be at.” She shrugged again. “I guess we all have things we have to deal with, don’t we? No matter how famous or not we are.”

  “Thank you.” Her eyes went wide. “God, I haven’t even asked you your name. Sorry, that’s so rude—”

  “It’s Maggie.” She smiled at Tamsyn. “It’s nice to meet you.” Quite how she was remaining so calm in this surreal situation she couldn’t say.

  Tamsyn smiled. “Nice to meet you too, Maggie.” She blinked a couple of times, then glanced up at the sky, where clouds were starting to scud across above the trees. “Looks like the weather’s turning. I’m going to head back now.”

  “Yes, us too. This one’s hungry and needs his food.” At the mention of the F-word, Gizmo turned circles and whimpered.

  Tamsyn laughed. “Clever dog.”

  “Hmm,” Maggie replied, “I’m not so sure about that. Trust me, he can do some pretty stupid things too.”

  “But I bet you forgive him because he’s so cute?”

  Maggie laughed. “Oh, yeah. Trouble is, he knows it.”

  “One can always forgive the cute ones anything,” Tamsyn said in that smoky voice, and an exquisite shiver ran down Maggie’s spine. Tamsyn was smiling, and her eyes—those famous deep brown eyes—were sparkling, and Maggie, for one brief moment, saw something else in them. Something very much like hunger of a different kind.

  The moment passed, and Tamsyn’s eyes shut down. “Right, I’ll be off then.” She smiled tightly and walked past Maggie, who was left standing in the path, a hungry dog whimpering at her feet, in a state of confused shock.

  Tamsyn was shaking as she hurried back into her cottage, but it wasn’t from the cold. It’s been way too long since I got laid. That’s the only explanation.

  She hadn’t been able to stop it. That lowering of her voice, the want—no, need, crawling over her skin. Standing in the middle of the woods, face glowing as she smiled in the weak sunshine, Maggie had looked…edible. Tamsyn had almost twitched. Almost stepped forward and done something so ludicrous she still couldn’t get over how even the thought of it had entered her brain.

  I wanted to kiss her. To run my hands over that beautiful face, pull her in close, and kiss her.

  She slumped down on the small armchair that flanked the fireplace. What the hell was going on with her? Yes, she had short flings, but they were with women she at least spent an evening getting to know before taking them to her bed. Maggie was a complete stranger, someone she’d only had a five-minute conversation with.

  Yes, but a gorgeous stranger. And God knows you haven’t had anyone gorgeous to spend time with in a long while, stranger or otherwise.

  Yoga. Its calming rhythm would quiet her soul and snap her out of this strange head space. She hauled herself out of the chair with a grunt, and set up in the bedroom for her usual routine.

  An hour later she felt physically revived, but mentally…not so much. Maggie’s hazel eyes haunted her. That smile tugged at somewhere deep down inside. Damn it! She didn’t need any stupid distractions. She needed calm, and tranquillity, and an escape from stress.

  A book. That was what she needed. Another good book and a glass—or two—of champagne in front of the fire. She’d finished that Maddie Jones book in one sitting the night before, and hadn’t been disappointed. Tamsyn had read nearly all of hers now, and every single one touched something in a place she thought couldn’t be touched. Sometimes she allowed herself to dream about falling in love the way the women did in Jones’s books. In her stories, they always found each other at their hour of deepest need, and pulled each other through while having lots of lovely, steamy sex. Yeah, if only.

  She pondered the remaining selection and picked up something different, a historical romance by Jae. She’d tried reading historical fiction years ago at the recommendation of a friend, but although the author, Jessica Stewart, was the biggest seller in the genre, all those heaving bosoms and over-the-top macho men did nothing for her. But surely historical lesbian fiction would be something very different, and this one had garnered rave reviews on Amazon, so she was willing to give it a try.

  After pouring herself a glass of fizz, she went to stoke the fire. It was then she realised she’d already run out of kindling. She had logs, yes, but something to start the damn thing with, no. She hunted around the cottage for a newspaper or anything else that would serve as an alternative. Her gaze fell on the trashy novels on the bookshelf in the bedroom. Could she? No, that would be rather rude—and possibly drop her into hot water with Carmen. After another minute or so, she gave up. There was nothing she could use.

  How had this got missed? She was on the verge of getting angry, and even considered marching over to the main house to complain, when she realised just how ridiculous she was being. So one small thing was missed in the rush to get her set up in this cottage, so what? She should be grateful that so much of what she needed and wanted had been taken care of by Carmen’s aunt. A lack of kindling was not the end of the world—she’d just turn up the regular heating.

  Oh, but sitting by the fire is so nice…

  She sighed. There was, of course, one person she could ask without having to traipse all the way over to the main house. Maggie might have a bit to spare. Just for one night. It was the sort of thing neighbours did for each other in remote places like this, wasn’t it? It would be a quick trip over there, a little bit of small talk, grab some kindling and back home. Nothing to it.

  No ulterior motive.

  Not at all.

  The loudness of her snort surprised her. Yeah, right. Who are you kidding, Harris?

  Before she could change her mind, she strode over to the front doo
r and pulled on her boots. A quick glance outside confirmed her suspicions. Those clouds had decided this little bit of Norfolk was exactly where they wanted to dump their rain. It wasn’t heavy yet, but it looked like it would be soon, so that meant coat and umbrella too. The sky, while gloomy with clouds, still allowed enough light through for her to easily see her way, but she decided the path that skirted the lake would be better than going through the woods, where it looked much darker and, if she was honest, creepy.

  She hadn’t really looked at the lake since she’d first arrived, but as she walked along its edge now, she knew she’d need to spend some time here when the weather was clearer. Reeds and rushes moved in the wind with a swishing sound that was soothing and almost musical. Somewhere off in the middle, a small squadron of ducks swam in formation, unfazed by the raindrops that splattered the surface of the lake around them. It made her smile, to see creatures so small carrying on oblivious to the weather while she, the big human, was scurrying along under an umbrella as fast as her legs would take her without breaking into a jog.

  She slowed down. If the ducks could handle it, so could she.

  Two minutes later, she reached Maggie’s cottage. Soft lights lit each of the windows and a drift of smoke escaped the chimney.

  All right. I just need some kindling, that’s all. Quick visit in, grab what I need, then get out just as quick.

  She took a deep breath, and veered off the lake path onto the gravel driveway.

  Maggie switched on the lamps that were dotted around the living room and switched off the main light. Much better. The warm glow of the lamps competed with the small flames from the fire she’d only just lit.

  She was feeling down and couldn’t quite put her finger on why. When she’d first returned to the empty, cool cottage she’d thought it was just the gloomy weather. After the last few days of perfect blue skies and thin but cheery sunshine, the change was disheartening.

  But it wasn’t that, not really. So maybe it was the fact that she’d been here a week and still not written a word? If this trip was supposed to unblock her, it was failing dismally so far. But she knew that wasn’t the reason either.