Summer Season on the Seafront. Katie GingerЧитать онлайн книгу.
women seemed to like his face, he never had. His cheeks were quite square, coming down into a strong chin. As he aged, his dark hair was receding, the hairline gradually moving backwards, though the papers hadn’t picked up on that yet. Luckily, he didn’t care about ageing. He wasn’t worried about crow’s feet or the deep-set wrinkles that were forming on his forehead. Nate had always made it a habit to not Google himself, having been told by Robin it wasn’t a good idea. It was advice he’d taken. He certainly wasn’t going to start doing it now with everything else that was going on. God only knew what they were saying about him. Gritty eyes burned with tiredness, and today Nate Hardy felt much older than his years.
Every alcove in the small, cosy living room was packed with row upon row of books, or photos of his two hosts together. With the low hum of the television in the background the place felt serene. He’d been watching an interior design programme and was sure he’d met the host on some morning chat show once. The front door opened and he heard the two men he was staying with muttering, and carrier bags rustling. Last night they’d been kindness itself if a little star struck, but he was used to that. They must have been in bed when Robin called because when Nate arrived they were in matching striped pyjamas and fluffy navy dressing gowns. He hadn’t known what to expect from Robin’s description but when they welcomed him in, holding out a cup of tea, it was a strange moment of peace among the chaos of the night.
On the drive down he’d gone over and over things in his head, replaying the scene at the theatre, the faces of his colleagues, the mixture of shock and glee in the audience. Just as he thought his heart was broken and trashed beyond all feeling, Hannah had smashed it even more, taking his pain to a new level. He really needed to call the stage manager and say thank you for handling it so well. If she hadn’t taken charge, he didn’t know what he’d have done.
After his hosts had settled him in and shown him up to his room with kind, gentle words, he’d slept surprisingly well, exhaustion taking over. This morning he’d enjoyed looking out over the sea when he’d woken up. For a moment it had been like he was on location somewhere, but within seconds the realisation of what was actually happening hit him like a smack in the face and any rest had fled his body, leaving him aching and weary. After getting dressed and using the spare toothbrush laid out for him, Nate had come downstairs. He’d definitely fallen on his feet with these people and he must thank them properly when this was all over. If it ended well, that was. If it didn’t, he might not have any money to thank them with.
One of the guys poked his head around the living-room door. ‘Good morning, Mr Hardy. I’m just making tea if you wanted one?’
‘Yes, please, that’d be great. It was Geoffrey, wasn’t it?’ He followed him through into a large, bright and airy kitchen.
‘It’s Gregory actually,’ he corrected, and Nate felt a flush of embarrassment. ‘Come on, Mr Bennett,’ Gregory said cheerfully to the cat.
‘Right, sorry.’ Nate ran his hand through his hair and smoothed it back down, admonishing himself for not getting the name right. The man had taken him in at a moment’s notice. It was the least he could do and the height of bad manners to have got it wrong.
‘No problem, dear boy. I’m sure with everything else that was going on last night, your poor brain was a whirl. And this is Cecil.’
Nate laughed self-consciously and gave Cecil a small smile to show he’d registered his name. ‘Yes, it was all a bit … unexpected, but please call me Nate.’ The French doors were open onto a small courtyard garden filled with plants in brightly coloured pots, all flowering and falling into each other in a strange organised chaos. A small wrought-iron table had been laid with a milk jug, sugar and a biscuit barrel in the shape of a pig. Gregory and Cecil went out to the table and sat down facing each other, leaving Nate to sit between them. He followed and absent-mindedly tapped the side of the tea cup set out for him, wondering how much they knew and how much to tell them. He didn’t want people to think he was a creep, cheating on his wife, but he had an agreement with Emma he didn’t want to break. No one else was to know his marriage was already a wreck. He really needed to speak to her. What had happened last night had changed everything. Maybe once he’d had his tea, he’d call her and talk things through. If she’d answer, that was.
‘Tea?’ asked Cecil, his kind, bright blue eyes twinkling in his tanned face. He’d either been out in the hot summer sun that had stifled the country these last few weeks, or he had a bottle of instant bronzer in the bathroom. Nate made a mental note to check.
‘Yes, please.’
‘It’s just English breakfast tea. Nothing fancy.’
‘That’s the best kind,’ said Nate. He much preferred a good cup of tea to coffee.
‘Help yourself to milk and sugar.’
Mr Bennett strolled lazily out into the garden, flopping down in the sunniest spot, and a strange silence descended. Not uncomfortable, but not easy either. After adding milk to his tea, Nate clasped his hands together in his lap, feeling awkward. Gregory pushed the cheerful porcelain pig towards him. ‘Biscuit?’
‘No, thank you.’
The two men glanced at each other, clearly unsure what to say next. Nate cleared his throat before speaking. ‘I’m very grateful to you both for taking me in at such short notice. Hopefully I won’t be here very long.’
Cecil sat backwards. ‘I see,’ he said after a moment’s pause and Nate realised how ungrateful and rude that had sounded. He hadn’t meant it as an insult; the cottage was beautiful and the town, from what he had seen last night, seemed sweet and quiet. This was not going well. ‘I didn’t mean that rudely,’ he reassured them. ‘I just meant that hopefully I won’t be under your feet for too long. I really am very grateful for your help.’ Cecil relaxed back into his chair and Gregory smiled at Nate.
After a sip of tea, Nate tried a little harder at starting a conservation. ‘You have a beautiful house.’
‘Thank you, dear boy,’ Gregory replied, clearly warmed by the compliment. ‘We moved down here years ago. I used to be on the West End, but when my time was up, we decided to come down and start our little bookshop.’
‘Is that how you know Robin?’
‘Yes, we were around at the same time. We’d often go for the same roles, though he was far better than me, which is why I decided to give up and hideaway down here, but when his career started to wane, as happens ninety-nine times out of a hundred, he stayed and became an amazingly well-known agent. How do you like him?’
‘He’s great,’ Nate said without hesitation. He trusted Robin implicitly and had been with him since the very early days of his career, when the only roles he got were bit parts in Midsomer Murders or three lines on Casualty. If anyone could get him out of this scrape it was Robin. ‘Did you ever act together? You and Robin?’
Gregory nodded as he drank some more tea. ‘A few times. I hate to remember it though, he put me to shame. He really was a very fine actor in his day. I was nearly always relegated to the chorus if we went for the same role. Still, I wouldn’t change it for anything. I had a blast and to end up here, with Cecil, well, I couldn’t be happier.’ He reached out his hand and Cecil gave it a squeeze before returning to their respective cups.
Nate found himself smiling as he listened to Gregory talk of the stage. He hated that he would miss the last few performances of Of Mice and Men. It was odd that no matter how tired you became towards the end of a run, you still craved that thrill of stepping out onto the stage. When doing TV Nate missed the stage, and when on the stage he missed doing TV. Silly, really. The thought of losing both struck him again.
‘Have you spoken to Robin today?’ asked Gregory.
It was the first time they’d referred to what was going on and Nate felt himself stiffen defensively. He drew his arms in closer to his body as if to guard himself, and the muscles of his back tightened. But then he reminded himself that these men were Robin’s trusted friends and not reporters. Robin wouldn’t have suggested Nate