“Ah-ha! I emailed you five days ago, but not a dickie bird. Evan emails you yesterday and here you are.”
Raff grabs my hand and pulls me over to sit on his knee. “You know what it’s like on film sets. And we have no internet. Then every fucker wants to book the satellite session.”
“Your language has fallen in the gutter?”
“Yeah, when in Rome, swear like the Romans do.” he scowls. “Life was much more polite here working with the nice elderly gentle folk. Five minutes on set and it’s fuck this and arsehole that. Anyway, everyone wants to get online to say merry Christmas to their families. I was the last on the waiting list and only got online yesterday. That’s when I saw your email and Evan’s.”
“What does he want? Something to do with the repairs here? Maybe he needs a handyman. Would he really expect you to take time off from filming to work for him? Maybe between shoots?”
“Stop asking questions and kiss me before someone else come here looking for food.”
His kiss is nice and slow and so much sweeter than I remember. And it doesn’t fool me. Not for a second. There’s something in his eyes. Behind the green-grey. Something he hasn’t told me.
“Raff please don’t make me worry. What is it?”
He wrinkles his nose. “I was going to wait until tonight to tell you.”
Before I can ask, the door bangs open and Ricky barges in. “The geries want their tea and biscuits.”
“Ricky if you ever call anyone that, you won’t get anything to eat.”
“Okay, “ he makes an exaggerated huff. “The geriatric guests.”
“Ricky!” I snap.
“The nice guests. The young and beautiful Harry Styles and Taylor Swift guests.”
I turn my head so he can’t see my grin. It’ll only encourage him.
“I’ll get the tea.” Raff gets up, dislodging me from his lap and I have to move away
“Ricky can you find Meredith, please. She’s setting the table in the orangery.”
Ricky doesn’t go but saunters around the kitchen looking for things to eat. It’s the end of any private time with Raff. For now.
“What the hell is the orangery?” Raff lifts his eyebrows at me.
“Don’t you start.”
“Okay, okay. What can I do to help?”
“Nothing for now. We have a lull until the meat is done, then it’s all systems go with the gravy, vegetables and potatoes.”
So, we make a tray of tea cups and plates of gingerbread and give it to Ricky to take. “Where are they all sitting?” I ask him.
“In the hub.”
Ah of course. Llewellyn’s business hub is a large room with desks and computers and to further conference rooms with tables and chairs. It makes perfect sense.
As soon as Ricky is out of the kitchen I turn to Raff.
“I’m giving it up,” he says quietly.
I stare at him uncomprehending.
“Acting,” he says taking a seat again and popping his ankle over his knee.
“You’re giving up your career?” I can’t believe him.
