Page 23 of A Change of Location
Her coordination was disgraceful. Nevertheless, she almost managed a bullseye, a triumph to report in her next email to Chase.
With a nod at the gloomy young waiter loitering between the bar and the kitchen, Martin called out, “Cheers, Andy. Working for Jack, are you? He needs more help round here. Good to know you’re able to unglue yourself from the seat of that quad bike.”
“You saw me? Today?”
“I won’t tell your dad.”
“He lets me,” Andy said defensively. “Sometimes. But he says if I don’t study enough to pass my exams...” His voice trailed into awkward silence.
“There’s a running bet that you will.”
Answering a summons from his boss, the young man shuffled away, shoulders rounded.
“He’s the son of my Home Farm tenant. Harold Riddell.”
“Who loathes lurchers,” Hannah recalled.
On their way out, a fellow at the bar stopped Martin to ask after Millie.
“A clean break and well-mended. She’s young and healthy and strong.”
“Just like her mistress, eh?” The questioner winked at Martin. “How’d it happen?”
“Hit and run. Poppy’s frustrated that she can’t blame my Ariel.”
After pondering the numerous temptations on the hotel restaurant’s menu, Hannah ordered pan-seared trout. She let Martin choose the wine.
“To Acorn Films.” He touched his glass to hers. “And future associations. I know, I know. Not your decision.”
Meeting his gaze, Hannah said, “I’m willing to answer any questions you might have. Except for specific contractual stipulations—the day-rate we’d pay, legal liabilities, security protocols. Those get worked out later.”
“I’m less concerned with the fees than with how filming might affect tenants and neighbors. Presumably they can opt in or opt out.”
“The locations department will hold public informational gatherings, and meet with individuals as necessary.”
“You’ll want to keep the local constabulary fully apprised.”
“Their cooperation is essential to a smooth shoot. We depend on them to close roads and assist with traffic control.”
“Do you suppose your boss, the famous producer, will look favorably on Stanwell?”
“Possibly,” Hannah hedged. “We don’t often disagree. Although I didn’t encourage her to pursue this particular literary property. Liz adores adaptations and the challenges they pose. I prefer original screenplays.”
“Why is that?”
“Artistic freedom. No built-in audience expectation, or the inevitable comparisons to the source material. Most people say the book was better, and often they’re right. But Liz has great instincts. And she persuaded Owen Parry to direct Forsaken Fortune.”
She watched him tip the wine bottle towards her glass. Hadn’t he realized that alcohol increased her verbosity?
Throughout their meal he interrogated her about the film process and the shooting schedule. At his insistence, she tried the treacle pudding. As they waited for coffee to arrive, he excused himself. On his way back to their table a couple accosted him. He’d denied celebrity status at her London party, but on his own turf he obviously possessed it. While he was otherwise occupied, she slipped away to the ladies’ room for a brief check in with the Boston office. It wouldn’t hurt to mention Stanwell to Liz, in advance of her official report to the team at Hartcliffe Studios.
Cell phone pressed to her ear, she listened to what sounded like an instrumental version of the theme song from one of Liz’s movies.
“Who are you holding for?”
“Who’s speaking?”
“Pam.”
