Page 16 of A Change of Location
***
“You’re stark, raving mad!”
“I daresay,” Martin responded as he and Poppy squidged through the thick mud created by overnight rainfall.
“You can’t have a movie crew invading Stanwell. The lorries and caravans will tear up this Home Park. And the green. Not to mention the unpaved roads connecting the villages. The boom microphone will knock your chandeliers about. They’ll roll cameras into your antique furniture. Old Rufus must be gyrating in the family vault.”
“Why would he object? You know how much he appreciated artistic types. So do I.”
“Isn’t this all about shagging that movie woman?”
“You’re the second person to charge me with an ulterior motive.”
“Who else?”
“Dan Wheeler.”
“You’re not denying it,” Poppy pointed out.
He couldn’t, not truthfully, because he had thought about it. Frequently. “I swear, I didn’t lure Hannah Ballard to Stanwell because I’m sex-starved. She’s far too sophisticated to be interested in a simple country lad like me.” Ignoring her guffaws, he added, “I lust after her film production.”
“To the extent that you’d risk your precious privacy?”
“Temporarily. A short-term inconvenience with long-term benefits.”
She halted so abruptly that they nearly collided. “I don’t see any, Mart. Not even if they pay you pots of money.”
He surveyed the landscape, aware that their companions had deserted them. “Where the hell are those dogs?”
“Ariel must’ve led Millie into trouble. Too adventurous by half. Just like her master.”
Despite Poppy’s accusation, he knew he didn’t set a bad example for his dog. Quite the contrary, he’d trained her well and taught her proper manners. If they shared some personality traits, it wasn’t his fault.
The lurcher bounded ahead of the sleek black Labrador loping towards them in response to Poppy’s call. Unlike the panting Millie, Ariel wasn’t winded. She pranced about as if eager to race or chase.
As they proceeded along the footpath, Poppy asked when filming would start.
“Late summer. Eight weeks, at a minimum. Followed by editing and scoring and I don’t know what else at the studio in Bristol or some other place. Hannah’s boss, the executive producer, will screen the movie at the festival in Cannes about a year from now, for international distributors. Followed by a limited release in autumn, to qualify for the Academy Awards. With wide release before Christmas.”
“You’ve picked up a new vocabulary,” she commented, at her driest. “Why are you grinning like a demented monkey?”
“I’m thinking about something significant that will occur in this district next year.”
“The official opening of the Milver Vale Recreational Area.”
“After that.”
When she turned, he read the comprehension in her expression. “Right. Autumn Harvest Week. The prince comes for the ribbon-cutting at the Rural Heritage Center.”
“Exactly. At about the time of the royal visit, Forsaken Fortune will be getting a big promotional push. Our villages could be featured in a major motion picture in cinemas across America and the U.K., in Europe, and far beyond. If the film receives Oscar nominations, there’s added publicity—opportunities to promote our ecological tourism ventures throughout winter and spring, when people are planning summer holidays. And it costs nothing.”
“Except what’s left of your sanity,” Poppy muttered. “And your solitude.”
Martin kept a watchful eye on Ariel, whose cocked ears and erect tail indicated that she would fly at any unwary rabbit. “This motion picture is destined to have a long life, possibly eternal. Eventually it will be accessible through video streaming on ServeFlix. That’s a perpetual advert.” He drew an invigorating breath of morning air, and continued, “London day-trippers will come to the museum to see rural life and farming displays and learn about regenerative agriculture. Our experts will demonstrate how to thatch a roof and construct a hurdle and milk a cow. After watching flour being ground at the watermill and cheeses being turned, they’ll want to take the products home. Nature lovers will come here for rambles through the woodland and pony-trekking in the Milver Vale and walks along the river.”
Her tone reflective, she admitted he could be right.
“Now I’ve got you thinking I’m clever, not crazy.”
