I stared at it, confused. “No offence to Bramley, but I’d prefer egg and cress.”
William laughed. “Write me a link.”
I loved that William had remembered. I took a bite of what turned out to be cheese and tomato.
“Got it.” I cleared my throat. “Posh Spice there, looking fabulous as always. How does she do it? Now, if I’d been married to a man as hot as David Beckham since the nineties, I’d certainly have a clapped-out red box. And mine wouldn’t be the only one. A new report has revealed the parlous state of London’s iconic red telephone boxes. William Winters filed this report.”
William rolled back on the rug, clapping, trying not to choke on his sandwich.
“That is an incredible talent. They should give you your own show.”
My tummy fluttered, a tingling pulse of heat radiating up through my body.
“That’s the plan,” I said.
“Really?” William looked genuinely excited for me, so I explained my deal with Indira.
“All I have to do now is come up with my big idea. One good enough to impress the toughest woman in television.”
“What’s your best idea so far?”
“Himbos on Horseback.”
William raised an eyebrow. “It could do with some workshopping. How long do you have to come up with an actual workable, non-offensive, Indira Murray–shattering original idea for this show?”
I sucked air in through my teeth. “Two weeks.”
“Two weeks?”
“I have to present it once filming completes.”
“Well,” William said, slapping his hands on his thighs. “We’ve got some work to do.”
“We?”
“I’m your liege man. I swore an oath. We’re in this together.”
William’s eyes were absolutely sincere, and something inside me crumbled. I’d called him a himbo to his face. Yet he was showing the kind of unconditional belief in my dreams I normally only got from my gran and from the Brent Boys. Who was this incredible, ridiculous, rugby-playing, fantasy-reading, honour-obsessed man who apparently didn’t want me for my body but seemed to want to be around me for… well… me?
“So, tell me,” William said, a while later. “Do you think there will be a second season ofThe Love Manor?” He was clumsily picking the shell off an egg.
“Wondering if you pledged fealty to me for no good reason, are you?” I nudged him playfully with my shoulder. “It’s too late now, you’ve said the words.”
He smiled, but the smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes.
“I wondered, in your professional opinion. You’re halfway through filming. Is it any good?”
I tried to weigh up what he really wanted to know.
“If you’re worriedThe Love Manoris going to trash Buckford Hall’s reputation, the time to think about that was before you signed on the dotted line.”
“But if there was a second season, would Indira really film it somewhere else?”
I waved a hand. “That’s what she’s saying. But if we do our jobs well and don’t stoke any more revolutions, uprisings, or a peasant’s revolt, I’m sure she’d prefer to come back here.”
William flicked some eggshell from his finger onto the dirt and held the naked egg up to his face, inspecting it. “If it did come back, would, you know, the same crew return?”
“Worried Derek might seek revenge for his broken arm?” I nudged him again, and the great bulk of William’s body swayed away from me, then towards me, then settled back in place.
