Mitchell looked from Julia to Ellen and back. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Julia waved it off. “Call Nigel Crawford’s agent and tell him he has the part, or I go to HR and you’ll probably lose this excellent job which you workedsohard to earn and at which yousoexcel.”
Mitchell reddened and fumed, but after a long moment of opening and closing his mouth as if he had much to say but had forgotten how to say it, he pushed back his chair and stormed from the room. The next day, an email went out from the studio that Nigel Crawford would be joining the cast ofA Patchwork Lifein the role of Benjamin Atherton beginning in the middle of season two.
Several seasons, widespread critical acclaim, immeasurable viewer admiration, and two Emmys later, Nigel had proven himself absolutely perfect for the role. As for Mitchell, although at first Julia had some misgivings about letting him off the hook rather than reporting him, a few months after that meeting, he used the same slur to describe a cinematographer at a studio function. A studio exec overheard him, and as an admirer of the cinematographer’s work and someone who recognized a corporate liability when he met one, he promptly took the appropriate measures. Eventually, after due process ran its course, Mitchell was fired. If he remained in the industry after that, Julia never had the misfortune to cross paths with him.
As for Nigel, he proved to be such an essential part of the cast that it was impossible to imagineA Patchwork Lifewithouthim.
Julia arrived at Moonshadows just before seven o’clock, the sky a deep dusky blue above, a soft rose to the west where the ocean met the sky. She was locking her car door behind her when Nigel pulled into a parking place nearby, so they met in the middle and entered the restaurant together, arm in arm. “This will keep the rumor mill churning,” she murmured close to his ear as the hostess led them to their reserved table, with some guests noticing them as they passed but quickly pretending not to, and others openly staring.
They had been friends so long each new conversation felt like acontinuation of the last one, as if they had merely paused for breath rather than spending hours or days apart. Over a shared starter they chatted about Nigel’s swimming, Julia’s quilting, Alistair’s enthralling reports from the fine-art black market bust in Switzerland, and industry gossip—who was romantically entangled with whom, who was splitting up, what projects had been green-lit, who had been cast in what. It wasn’t until their main courses were served that Julia introduced the topic that had prompted her to invite him to dinner. “It sounds like Alistair is terribly busy,” she said sympathetically. “No chance he’ll be able to slip away for a visit soon?”
“No chance whatsoever,” Nigel replied glumly.
“You said the other day that you needed a distraction,” Julia reminded him. “I wish I could arrange a visit with Alistair, but since that’s not possible, I’ve arranged the next best thing.”
“Brunch with you, me, Dame Judi Dench, and the Queen at Balmoral Castle?”
“No, although that sounds marvelous. I was thinking a week of quilt camp at Elm Creek Manor.”
His eyebrows rose. “The glorious Elm Creek Manor of legend, that renowned, restorative haven of the quilting arts in rustic Pennsylvania? I didn’t think it actually existed.”
“But I go there every summer!”
“So you say. You definitely disappear for a week, usually in August, and you return rested, rejuvenated, and full of creative inspiration.” Nigel savored a bite of his seared snapper in shallot caper sauce. “But this Elm Creek Manor you rhapsodize about—it’s too perfect to exist.”
Julia retrieved the envelope of snapshots from her purse. “It’s real, and I have the photos to prove it.” She laid them out on the table between them, and as he admired shots of the front of the manor, the grand front foyer, the bustling classrooms, the verdant orchards, and the view of the wildflower meadow from the verandah, she described their retreat as she envisioned it: time spent with friends far from theworrisome intrusions of everyday life, excellent cuisine, the restful quiet of the countryside, and quilting lessons, in both technique and history.
“Elm Creek Manor does look lovely,” Nigel admitted, admiring the photos, “and all teasing aside, your stories through the years have been enchanting.”
Julia reached across the table and took his hand. “Then say you’ll come. Ellen, Lindsay, Olivia, Paige, and I have already committed, and I’m sure others from the cast and crew will be signing on soon.”
“I’d hate to miss all the fun, but what would I do there? Wouldn’t expert quilting lessons be wasted on me? My character never quilts in the show.”
“Learn for your own creative benefit, then,” Julia countered. “You might find that quilting offers you a new way to express yourself artistically. It can be very relaxing and fulfilling.”
“Yes, you’ve said before that you find it rather meditative.”
“And if quilting doesn’t appeal to you, I know something else that will.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice confidentially. “Ellen will be working on scripts for the sixth season, and she promised us glimpses of her work in progress. I expect her to invite us to read pages and workshop scenes in the evenings after our lessons. If you want to influence the direction of Ben’s narrative arc, this would be the perfect occasion.”
“An intriguing proposition.” Nigel sat back and rubbed his jaw, lost in thought, while Julia waited, hardly daring to move rather than interrupt his reverie. “I confess I’ve been somewhat concerned about how we might wrap up Ben Atherton’s story in a manner befitting a thespian of my stature. I hope that doesn’t sound dreadfully pompous.”
“Not dreadfully,” Julia teased.
“It would be wonderful to have a go at another Emmy—”
“Or a second BAFTA.”
He offered her a small, knowing smile. “How well you remember my wistful confession about my unfulfilled dream.”
“It doesn’t have to remain a dream. With the right script and the best supporting cast in the business, you could achieve it.”
“Hmm.” He studied her, eyes narrowing, a playful smile quirking the corners of his mouth. “You’re arranging all of this just for me?”
Julia hesitated. “No,” she admitted. “For you, but also for me. Refreshing our quilting skills will definitely benefit the show’s production values, but—the truth is, I want us all to spend some quality time together for purely selfish reasons. But this will also benefit Elm Creek Quilts. They could use the revenue right about now, and I want to support them.”
“?‘Purely selfish reasons’?”
