Willa arrived at Bo’s summer house at 9 p.m. looking absolutely exhausted, a line of heavy make-up still evident across her jaw and hairline. Her delicate features looked even morepronounced than usual, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, the dark mane glossy and thick. There weren’t many people who could call their best friend a genuine Hollywood star, but Bo was one of them. She’d met Willa Abbott at an audition years ago. An audition where Willa got the part, and Bo didn’t. Bo couldn’t hate her for it though. Willa was sweet, generous and so good an actress she put all others in the shade that her sunshine cast. It was no wonder her acting career had flourished, while Bo’s . . .
Well, Bo was out of work, out of options and about to be thrown out of her home too. The only things she wasn’t out of at that point was fucks to give.
“What are you working on at the moment?” Bo asked as Willa accepted a cup of tea gratefully.
“Oh, it’s this edgy and gritty new film by an edgy and gritty new director,” Willa replied easily, reaching up to smudge at the line of make-up on her chin and frowning at her thumb critically. “Scarrow Arlington?”
“Never heard of him,” Bo replied honestly.
Willa shrugged. “Well, he’s brilliant. Pushing me hard to give my best performance ever. He’s so helpful away from the camera too. Really happy to get dinner with me and help me with the role.”
There was something in Willa’s voice that made Bo look at her sceptically. “You aren’t sleeping with him, are you?” she asked. “Honestly, that’s such a cliché. Hollywood’s hottest young starlet in bed with her hot new director.”
“You sound just like Berg. That’s exactly what he said.” Willa’s tone was cross, though Bo saw a hint of a blush across her cheeks. Clearly, she’d hit a nerve.
“Berg’s not my favourite person in the world, but he’s right. Itisa cliché, and if it’s true, your edgy and gritty new director is taking advantage of you.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” Bo asked, leaning forward, but Willa frowned again.
“No. Scarrow’s different. Besides, I’ve had this argument with Berg already. You don’t need to tell me twice.”
Bo sighed, reaching into her tiny refrigerator for a bottle of wine. She gestured the bottle in Willa’s direction, but Willa shook her head, clutching at her tea.
“No, none for me.”
Bo didn’t try to argue with her. Willa was always this way when Berg’s name was mentioned, steering clear of all alcohol as though her sobriety could help him stay on the straight and narrow.
“How is Berg these days?” Bo asked carefully, but Willa’s face remained blank, and she was too good an actress for Bo to read her real mood or feelings.
“I don’t know. Better, I hope. I haven’t spoken to him much recently, not since we argued about Scarrow.” Abruptly, Willa shook her head. “But I’m not here to talk abouthim. I’m here becauseyouwanted to talk. What’s going on?”
Without saying a word, Bo handed the letter to Willa. Willa scanned it quickly, her brow furrowing only slightly.
“Executor? Is this like an inheritance kind of thing?”
“Reads that way, doesn’t it?”
“Are you inheriting something?”
Bo shook her head. “No. Geoffrey made it very clear to me that when he died, his nephew was to have the house.”
Willa thought for a moment. “So, maybe he’s not leaving you the house, but something else? He wasSirGeoffrey, right? He must have had more than his home to his fancy name.”
Bo shrugged. “He was a Conservative politician, not a businessman. I don’t think there’s any money. Well, none left, at any rate. He spent most of his money searching for . . .” Bohesitated, suddenly uncertain. In her mind, she knew Geoffrey was dead. She knew whatever stories he’d told her in the last few years of his life were no longer secrets she needed to keep. Still, she hesitated to reveal them. Geoffrey might be dead, but his confidence in her while living had been unshaken, and she had no desire to break it now. So instead, she shook her head. “There’s no money.”
“Hmm.” Willa looked puzzled. “Why do you think you’re being called into this meeting then?”
“Geoffrey was always kind to me. I’ve been living here on an annual lease, and when Geoffrey died, there was still time left on it. They said I could stay in exchange for continuing to work on the garden and keeping the house clean,” Bo explained. “If I’m honest, I think I’m being called in to be given my notice. They’ll want me out of here before the new owner inherits.” She paused as an uncomfortable thought struck her. “Or maybe the new owner has already inherited and wants me out of the way.”
“Geoffrey’s nephew?”
“Yes. Geoffrey’s nephew.”
“The one you shagged last summer,” Willa added mischievously, and Bo groaned.
“Yes. The one I shagged last summer.” She gave Willa a look. “Remind me not to talk to you about that kind of stuff anymore.”
