He gave them a gentle reminder that his private life would remain exactly that, and he’d have to mention it to the principal if there was an issue. They giggled as they left, but their attention felt like a shot across the bow.
How much worse would it be when the series aired, and he was on TV for three or so hours a week, instead of the tiny teasers they’d started airing?
That’s November’s problem.
Spencer was hopeful of finding a quiet table at Clem’s cafe, away from the curious looks of the other diners, but it looked like he was out of luck. The tables were brimming with patrons and the only free one appeared to be reserved.
Clem gave him a cheerful wave.
‘You made it,’ she said. ‘I saved you the corner table.’
‘You didn’t have to do that,’ he said. ‘But I won’t knock it back. I figured I could get some words down on the script.’
‘Work away,’ she said. ‘I’ll come over and grab your order in a moment.’
He was the only solo table in the whole cafe, the rest were full of conversations, catch-ups and friends. He was glad he’d brought his laptop with him, and thankful that the table Clem had saved him was close to a power point. She arrived at his table, a denim apron over another one of her sunflower-themed dresses.
He’d spent a lot of time during the week thinking about Clem Crossley. He wasn’t going to ask what had upset her, but he was curious.
‘Here you are,’ she said, setting a pot of English breakfast tea in front of him, along with a jug of water, and a glass with lemon and ice. ‘We’ve got scones fresh out of the oven’, she said, her eyes dancing as she looked at the unopened menu in front of him. ‘Or I could get you a bagel if you prefer?’
She turned away for a moment, and he saw she had a ribbon tied around her ponytail, the aqua colour matching her eyes. ‘But you’d better move fast because the singing group is already talking about seconds.’
‘Scones it is, thanks,’ he said, passing the menu back to her.
‘So what’s this play about?’
Spencer looked at the laptop in front of him, contemplating the Word document he’d been working on when she walked over.
‘Well, the draft script isn’t finalised,’ he said, his eyes flicking to the slim word count at the bottom of the page. ‘But in broad terms, it’s set on a pirate ship, there’s a mystery, a murder and a hint of a love story.’
‘Do you really want kids involved, or is it more targeted at adults? Full disclosure, Harriet often goes into things headfirst, only to pull out later. If they’re not really looking for kids her age, tell me now and we can spare ourselves the whole merry-go-round.’
He grinned at her, liking the way she gestured as she talked, nearly taking out the little vase of flowers on the table as she mimed ‘merry-go-round’.
Spencer shifted his laptop out of the way to pour his tea. ‘We definitely want actors of all ages. Louisa drafts the script, then it’s over to me to work on revisions. Once the auditions are held and the cast is locked in, we add and subtract minor roles as needed. There’s already a great role that’d suit your Harriet, if she decides to go ahead.’
He kept his attention on the milk he was pouring, not wanting to look Clem in the eye and lie straight to her face. It was true that Louisa wrote a variety of characters every year, but right now the main parts were for a middle-aged man and a twenty-ish woman. To say a rewrite was needed was the understatement of the year.
‘That’s great,’ Clem said, giving him a warm smile, then tapping on the iPad. ‘I’ll be back with your scones soon.’ He watched her coffee-brown ponytail swish from side to side as she headed back to the kitchen.
He got to work quickly, and by the time his scones had arrived, steaming, with a curl of semi-melted butter, he had roughed out a completely new character to suit a child Harriet’s age. And while he knew on a practical level he should be putting in extra hours on lesson prep and marking, or reviewing pollination contracts and Ian’s hive relocation plans, the fictional world of plucky young pirates and shipwrecks was a welcome respite from reality.
He looked up between paragraphs to see Clem twirling around the cafe floor as if it were a ballroom, topping up glasses, replenishing water jugs and collecting tea cosies with a smile on her face.
The more time he spent with her, the more he saw how different she was from Belle, and the more ridiculous his earlier efforts to steer clear of her seemed.
His mind went to the contestants, silently acknowledging that he’d carefully selected women with physical featuresdifferent to Belle. That tactic hadn’t worked out particularly well for him.
Lowering his head, he gave up psychoanalysing himself and let his fingers do the thinking, creating a world with a giant octopus, a rat-infested ship and nefarious characters intent on scheming and skullduggery.
‘Working hard?’
Spencer startled to see Clem in front of him, holding a fresh bottle of water. She took his empty plate, teapot and cup, laughing at the surprise on his face as he realised that not only was his scone finished, along with his water and tea, but most of the customers had left.
‘You looked like you were in another world there,’ she said. ‘Didn’t even flinch when the pony club committee started arguing over gymkhana dates.’
‘There was a pony club meeting in here?’
