“All good. Let’s reset,” called Laney.
The scene started again. And again.
“I’m not sure I can do this,” Jess said so quietly only he could hear it in the busy room. As much as he found it distracting working beside her, he also didn’t want her to fail. He remembered her in the real delivery room, confident and calm, and an idea formed in his mind.
Laney walked over, checking her clipboard, her voice full of fake perkiness. “It’s all good, Jess. You’re doing fine. Just fine.”
“What if we try something different?” Nate suggested. “Go off script a little?”
“Interesting…” Laney tipped her head as if to ask if he was sure. Then she nodded, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. He could tell she was going to go for it. “Okay, I’m willing to see where this goes,” she said.
He leaned into Jess and whispered sternly, “Just help me deliver the baby, Nurse Hall. Do your blimmin’ job.”
Her eyes flashed with a familiar fury, but then her face shifted. She’d understood the situation. He was letting her slip into character: the competent nurse ensuring the arrogant doctor doesn’t harm this mother and child.
“Of course, Doctor Raynard,” she said, a subtle bite in her voice.
Perfect. He smiled at her, and they took their starting places.
Cameras rolled and they ran the scene again, this time improvising their lines. Nate slipped easily into work mode, although channelling a more conceited and overbearing version of himself, and beside him, Jess cared for the mother and baby as if it were a real birth, her knowledge of midwifery shining through. Nate couldn’t help feeling impressed.
JESS BUZZED WITH ADRENALINE BY THE TIMEthe scene ended. She didn’t think she’d want to do this acting thing every day—remembering lines once cameras were in your face was so much harder than she’d expected—but with Nate beside her, prompting her through the scene, it had actually felt like a real birth. Like she’d been transported to the 50s and really was a young postwar nurse.
Everything from the way the ward was set up, Nate’s domineering, firm demeanour, the woman’s short pinned up hairstyle; it all added up to the feeling of having slipped back in time. She hoped Laney was feeling as pleased as she was with how it all went.
Nate passed her a bottle of sparkling water and she took it, grateful both for his help and for the water. Acting was hot work. Her uniform stuck under her arms, and a line of perspirationshone above Nate’s brow. She understood firsthand now why Frankie was always fussing over the actors with powder-filled brushes.
“Break for lunch!” Laney called over the hum of the room, and cast and crew lazily merged towards the lunchroom.
Nate touched her arm as she turned to follow, sending a light tingle across her skin.
“Want to go sort out accommodation first?”
With the excitement of the morning, Jess had completely forgotten about the cottage. Her annoyance had been forgotten, too, much to her surprise. She still wanted Nate out—that hadn’t changed—but she was riding an acting high, which was surprisingly similar to the one she got after a delivery.
“Yeah, sure. Let’s do it.”
She let him lead her to Tom’s desk, near the foyer.
Tom’s mood hadn’t improved since her previous encounter with him. He scowled at them.
“You know it’s summer,” he said, as if it was more than enough of an explanation to understand the entirety of the problem.
“Yes, we’re aware it’s summer,” Nate said carefully. “But there are two of us and one bedroom.”
Tom placed his hands firmly on the desk and spoke in a slow, condescending tone. “Finding accommodation for an entire film crew this time of year in a rural village is virtually impossible, and it says in my book the cottage is fit for two. Are you telling me my information is wrong?”
Stared down by Tom, the excitement of her day drained away. Jess placed her hands on her hips and took a breath, ready to defend their situation, but Nate got there first.
“There is a double bed,” he explained. “Which would be fine if we were a couple. But we’re not.”
“Surely you can’t expect strangers to share a bed?” she said, remembering with a hot flush to her cheeks that they had, in fact, already shared the bed.
Tom eyed her up and, apparently deciding she wasn’t worth arguing with, opened his folder, flicking through the pages.
“Ah, I see,” he said finally. “There’s a double bed and a pull-out couch.” He mumbled something incoherent about short-notice and impossible tasks. “I’ll see what else I can find, but I’m sure you’ll cope for a few more nights.”
They exchanged glances. A pull-out couch?
