Page 27 of A Change of Location
A full week from her due date. It was pointless to obsess about her friend’s ordeal or speculate about its duration and intensity. Taking into account the time difference, the producer and her professor husband might already be cuddling their bundle of joy.
While the technicians inspected a vacant industrial building, Alistair cornered her.
“We’ll be here for a while. Best warn the driver.”
Her gofer days were far behind her. “Take care of it for me. Please,” she added, as pleasantly as she could.
“I’m shadowing Nigel. His request.”
Although the tone was apologetic, not triumphant, she seethed.
How can I work comfortably with him, she wondered on her way to their minibus to report the delay.
Poppy, leaning against the vehicle, smoked a cigarette she’d bummed from the driver.
“I gave these up ages ago. On rare occasions the craving returns, and I succumb. Do you smoke?”
“Just once.” Her words sparked a memory. Chase seated on their favorite rock, shielding his lighter from the winds whipping across Casco Bay. He’d offered his pack. As she tentatively drew out a cigarette, he warned her she wouldn’t like it. He was right.
Poppy muttered, “When I stopped, the person I did it for never even noticed.” Grinding the butt against the bottom of her shoe, she added, “Smoking is strictly forbidden at Stanwell. Make that clear to your crew.”
Owen Parry, Nigel Rossiter, and Alistair exited the factory. The Scotsman loomed over them, exuding the self-confidence that inevitably eroded Hannah’s.
Poppy, watching her closely, asked, “Is Sex-on-Stilts your boyfriend?”
“We’ve hardly known each other a fortnight.” Time enough to decide she disliked him. “He’s my subordinate. And way too tall.”
“No such thing, from my perspective. I suppose you’ve got someone special waiting for you to return to the States.”
“I’m always on the road. In the air. Moving around the country.”
“Right. No dog, either. Men require more attention and training than the average animal, don’t they? So why are women considered high-maintenance?” Poppy grinned. “We’re so practical and adaptable.”
Hannah suspected Martin Latimer could be a closet chauvinist. An archaic title and aristocratic lifestyle were no excuse for an outdated view of womanhood. But that was Poppy’s problem, not hers.
Chapter 9
Dan Wheeler’s silver Jaguar slid into the stable yard at the same time Martin returned with Poppy from a lengthy ride on their favorite bridle path. On receiving the good news he been hoping for, he’d fired off an urgent summons to his legal advisor.
Martin dismounted, saying, “You didn’t waste any time getting here. Please accept apologies for summoning you at fish spawning season, when freshwater angling is prohibited.”
“I never mind coming to Stanwell.” Dan held a leather briefcase over his crotch to guard against Airel’s probing muzzle.
As soon as Poppy’s boots hit the ground, she said, “I’m ever so glad you’re here, Dan Wheeler-Dealer. I rely on you to pound sense into this dense skull.” She pointed her riding crop at Martin’s head, still encased in his protective riding hat.
Dan laughed. “That’s your job. I lack qualifications.” Turning to Martin, he asked, “How did this film company discover the Milver Vale? Your message contained very few details.”
When he’d unfastened the girth, he gave Étoile’s side and barrel a gentle rub. “It started about several weeks ago. On my birthday, I told you about the American who popped into Wincott & Sons to place a catering order. She’s the location manager, and mentioned the sort of property she required. I invited her to Stanwell to look over the house and the villages. She liked what she saw. So did the army of production people that she brought here later. They’re ready to commit.”
Shona the groom stepped out of the barn to take charge of the horses. Nico, the assistant house manager, removed Dan’s travel bag from the car boot so it could be taken upstairs to the bedroom he always occupied when visiting.
“Let’s go to Poppy’s office,” Martin said, “and I’ll explain exactly where the filming is likely to take place.”
Millie limped over from her basket to offer the visitor a less invasive welcome than Ariel’s. Standing at the large estate map that extended across one wall, Martin pointed out the village properties and farm buildings already identified as potential locations, and areas designated for cars and vans and lorries.
“I contacted the Historic Properties Association,” Dan told him, “and requested their guidelines about day rates and insurance for damages, and so on. They forwarded the pertinent pages.” He tapped his briefcase. “We want to negotiate with Hartcliffe Studios and Acorn Films from a strong and fully informed position.”
“Of course. But I won’t put obstacles in the way unless there’s reasonable cause. Forsaken Fortune will put Stanwell and Milver region on the tourism map and anchor them in the public consciousness.” He took a cooling swig from his water bottle and set it down. The top of Poppy’s desk was irritatingly free of the cluttered papers, writing utensils, mechanical devices, and detritus that covered every workspace he used.
