Page 9 of A Change of Location
“Size isn’t everything.”
“Your opinion about that will change when you’ve seen it.”
Leaving her chair, she grabbed a notepad and pen from the desk. “Directions, please.”
“I can keep it up a lot longer.”
She groaned. “No more double entendres. Tell me where I can find your enormous prized possession?”
“Somerset.” He extended his right hand to show his signet ring. “The county emblem. Dragon rampant.”
Her eyebrows shifted upwards before she echoed his question from yesterday. “North or south?”
“South. Milver Vale.”
“Where the cheese is made.”
He nodded. “Stanwell House is close to Yeovil and not far from the Dorset border. I’m confident it meets your every requirement. Picturesque and photogenic, with gobs of period appeal. Royal associations, too. King Alfred traipsed across the property. Henry the Eighth used it for a hunting lodge before selling it to Sir Rufus Latimer. Edward the Seventh popped in once—there’s a menu of the dinner he was served, which must have lasted for hours. I shouldn’t wonder if Edward the Eighth shagged Wallis Simpson in one of the bedrooms when they visited, before his abdication.”
“Website?”
“None. It’s my private home, in no way connected to the National Trust or English Heritage.”
“If it’s architecturally interesting, I’ll be able to find pictures on the internet.”
“Nobody can get near enough to photograph it, and fewer still have been inside. A footpath cutting through the property is a right of way, accessible to walkers and ramblers. At a considerable distance from the house, which isn’t visible.”
“Freshness and uniqueness are rare and desirable commodities,” she acknowledged. “I already rejected one historic house because it’s so frequently filmed. Advertisements, magazines, movies. My producer doesn’t want the audience noticing our country mansion is the same one from a Jane Austen flick. Or the Bridgerton saga. Or a Charles Dickens series on public television.”
“Any existing footage of Stanwell would’ve been shot decades ago, by guests of the family. It’s in dusty attics or cellars, disintegrating.”
With an intensity that proved his optimism wasn’t misplaced, she asked him to estimate the driving time from Bristol.
“Something just under or over an hour, depending on the time of day and the route. Is that important?”
“Our production is based at Hartcliffe Film Studios in a Bristol suburb. A major facility, with office space, sound stages, wardrobe. The works. We’ll construct interiors there as necessary. But if I do my job well, we won’t need many.” She reached for a sheaf of papers. “The entire story takes place in a rural area. In addition to the big house, I’m looking for a site with farmers’ cottages, preferably with thatched roofs. A tavern. A barn with hayloft. Parish church, ideally with tombstones all around. Water—either a pond or stream will do. And some sort of woodland, for the gamekeeper’s hut. He’s a major character.”
“Certain areas within the Milver Vale are forested. Can you use a river? I’ve got one.”
Phone in hand, she pressed the screen with her thumb. “I need to look at a map. Where is your territory?”
He took out his own device. Swiping outward, he enlarged the image so she could read the place names. “Milverston Magna oozes character. It’s got a village green surrounded by shops and two very historic pubs. Milver Cross and Milver St. Mary have a few thatched cottages. Near the river there’s a working mill and millpond. Our oldest churches are quite pretty. Each village is a separate parish, with a single lady vicar serving all. And there’s an ancient tithe barn.”
“What about a courtroom? A jail?”
“Newbridge has a well-preserved eighteenth-century assembly room. And a market hall, originally built for selling sheep fleeces and produce. Plus several historically listed buildings. Brick, stone, even some half-timbered ones.”
“I’ve included two open days in my itinerary, in case an appointment is postponed or I get a hot tip from my primary contact at the location company. I can tack your Stanwell and Milver Vale onto the end of my tour.”
“Trust me, you’re saving the best for last.”
Lifting her head, she said, “The places on my longlist were selected by expert location finders.”
He leaned over the desk and used the hotel pen to scribble the estate office phone number on the pad. “If you’ve got questions, ring Poppy Deane. She’ll get you sorted. I can book a superior room at the Latimer Arms in Milverston Magna. Nothing like as grand as this place, but very highly rated. Bed and breakfast?”
“Bed only. I’m no tourist, stuffing myself with the full English. All I require is a pot of yogurt from the village shop. My tastes are simple, and I’m easy to please. Except,” she concluded in a tone of warning, “when it comes to choosing locations for the most important film of my career.”
Chapter 4
