The shakespeare sisters.., p.12
The Shakespeare Sisters--The Complete Box Set, page 12
Looking up, he reached for the mouse, highlighting a badly written stage direction and correcting the words. Tracked changes were on, revealing his interference, but at that point he didn’t care. He’d save it in another file. She’d never have to know he read it. Not unless she wanted to.
He was a fucked up mess, but he knew what read well, and Cesca’s play could be almost perfect, with a little polish.
Maybe it was a kind of atonement to help her achieve that.
13
The lady doth protest too much – Hamlet
‘It’s a baby girl.’ Gabi’s voice was joyful as it echoed down the telephone line. ‘She’s so beautiful, Cesca, like a tiny doll. She has ten perfect toes and ten lovely fingers, and everything about her is wonderful.’
Cesca smiled, standing in the telephone box and staring out through the dirty, scratched glass. After yesterday’s hangover, she’d decided to get out of the villa this morning and take a refreshing walk up to the village square. It would give her the opportunity to call Gabi as she’d promised to once a week, and then to catch up on her emails to her family and Hugh.
Putting distance between herself and Sam was also a factor, though not one she admitted to herself. But ever since last night, and their discussion about therapy, she’d felt a wave of discomfort come over her. As though it was the middle of winter and somebody had stolen her blanket, leaving her to freeze on a hard mattress. It made her want to curl into a ball.
‘That’s fantastic, congratulations to you all. I’m so happy for you.’ The news of Alessandro’s sister’s new baby was an antidote to all the angst of the previous few days. Selfishly, it also meant that Gabi and Alessandro would be able to return home in a couple of weeks, which could put an end to the stifled closeness of living with Sam Carlton. ‘What’s her name?’
‘She is called Vittoria, after Alessandro’s mother. Such a pretty name for a pretty girl.’
‘And is she sleeping much?’
‘Not at all.’ Gabi sounded insanely happy about that. ‘So we are all doing our bit at nights. I get the two a.m. to ten a.m. shift.’
‘And you like that?’
‘What’s not to like about cuddling a baby? Especially a beautiful one like Vittoria.’ Gabi’s sigh was full of contentment. ‘Anyway, enough about our wonderful news, tell me how things are going at the villa?’
Where to start? ‘Well, Sam Carlton arrived unexpectedly.’
‘Sam is there?’ Gabi’s voice rose two octaves. ‘Oh my goodness, we didn’t know he was coming. Oh Cesca, we should come home right away, he will need looking after.’
Was there anybody who didn’t run around him, fulfilling his every need? Apart from Cesca, that was. What was it about him, anyway?
She thought about the way he looked in the moonlight last night and rolled her eyes. Even she wasn’t immune to his charms.
‘He’s fine, he doesn’t need looking after. I’ve bought him some food and he wants to be quiet and left alone. He even supervised the cleaning staff for me yesterday.’
She could almost hear Gabi’s smile in her voice. ‘He’s always been such a lovely man. So kind and helpful.’
‘Um, yeah.’
‘But are you sure we shouldn’t come back? When Mrs Carlton said we could have some time off, she didn’t tell me about Sam coming to Varenna.’
‘I don’t think she knows,’ Cesca said. ‘He wants to keep his presence here a secret. Said he wants to get away from everything for a few days.’
‘Well that’s understandable after everything he’s been through.’
‘Like what?’
‘I’m not one to gossip,’ Gabi said, ‘but it must be so hard for him being followed by photographers all the time. And the lies they make up about him, well it’s terrible.’
‘What lies?’ She held the phone closer to her ear.
Gabi’s reply was drowned out by the loud wail of a baby. ‘I’m so sorry, Cesca, the baby has just woken up. I need to change her. Can you call me back another time?’
The piercing wails were making Cesca wince. ‘OK, I’ll call you again on Friday.’ She had to shout to be heard over the cries. ‘Take care of yourself, and try to get some sleep.’
‘Oh I will.’ Still sounding absurdly happy, Gabi bade her farewell.
Cesca hung the phone back on its cradle, and leaned her head on the glass, thinking about Gabi’s words. What lies was she talking about? For a moment, she thought about going back into the café and Googling him, but somehow it felt dirty. She’d been on the receiving end of gossip a few times herself – she knew how much it hurt.
And anyway, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her Googling him. She really wasn’t that bothered. It would only add to his smugness levels if he ever found out.
Shaking her head, she pulled the door open and stepped out of the telephone box. There were only a few more weeks until Gabi and Sandro got back. She could make it until then, couldn’t she?
It was the afternoon before Cesca got the chance to sit down in the library, turning on the computer and flexing her fingers, ready to type. She had her notebook beside her, the white paper covered in scrawls only she could decipher, with pieces of dialogue and stage directions for the next scene.
There’d been no sign of Sam when she’d returned. The dishwasher held the evidence of his breakfast, so he’d at least been up that morning. Cesca assumed he was somewhere in the gardens, continuing his reading sprint. It was easy to get lost among the lush greenery and trees, and if you wanted to you could probably hide out for a while.
The first thing that hit her when she opened up her play was the amount of red covering the screen. The usually black and white document was covered in lines. Red down the left side of the document where changes had been made, comments on the right in speech bubbles, and bold words where things had been deleted, the sentences underlined to emphasise the fact.
There were tracked changes on her document. Changes she hadn’t made.
Her stomach churned as she stared at the screen. She felt invaded, as though something precious had been stolen from her, and it took her breath away.
A moment later, the anger arrived. Her whole body tensed as the explosion started deep inside her, rising up until even her face was bright red with ire.
How bloody dare he? Because there was only one suspect in Cesca’s mind. Only one person who would think it was OK to go into somebody’s private document and not only read it, but actually make comments on it. She should have password protected it from the beginning, or stored it somewhere other than in the documents, but God, what a bloody ego that man had if he thought she would want him in her private thoughts.
Cesca punched the off button. It was as though a red veil had descended, clouding her thoughts, making her see everything through a wrathful light. She stomped out of the library, determined to find him and give him a piece of her mind, even if it meant she was fired from her job.
He wasn’t in his bedroom or the living room, or any part of the villa, so she swung open the glass doors that led to the garden, stalking out onto the patio in her sandalled feet. Standing there, she looked left and right, trying to work out which way to go first.
‘Sam?’ she shouted out, a frown pulling the corner of her lips down. ‘Where are you?’ She didn’t care that nobody was supposed to know he was here. Didn’t care if the entire neighbourhood heard. As far as she was concerned, his need for privacy came very low on her list of priorities.
No response. Either he wasn’t close enough to hear, or he was ignoring her. She wouldn’t put that past him.
Huffing loudly, she stormed off in the direction of the trees. It was so typical of him to put her to even more inconvenience. ‘Sam? I need to talk to you.’
She climbed uphill, heading to the top boundary of the estate. Built on a cliff, the gradient was surprisingly steep, and the exertion, coupled with the warmth of the afternoon, was making her overheat. Rivulets of perspiration ran down her chest.
When she found him, she was going to kill him. It was best for all concerned to put them all out of their misery. Just a little squeeze of her hands and pouf! he would disappear. Nobody could blame her for that.
‘Sam?’ She was almost screaming now, the frustration of not being able to locate him making her words loud and shrill. ‘For God’s sake show yourself!’
A rustle of the trees in front of her alerted her to his presence. Sam stepped out of the lush vegetation, rubbing his face, his brow wrinkled with what looked like confusion. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked. ‘Are you hurt?’
Hurt? She was mortally injured, and it was all thanks to him.
‘No, I’m not all right. I’m the very bloody opposite of all right.’
He stood there open-mouthed, staring at her, tipping his head to the side as if to try and make her out. ‘What’s happened?’ He reached out for her with one hand, the other rubbing his brow. ‘Can I help you?’
She cringed away from his touch. ‘Let go of me.’
‘So we’re back to that again.’
‘Back to what?’ she asked. ‘To me realising what a complete and utter prick you are? To you behaving like you always do – as though you’re more important than anyone else?’
Sam blinked. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been up here all morning, reading. I haven’t done anything.’ He smiled at her, as though he expected her to take his word for it.
‘Oh yes you have! You interfered with my play, you bastard. How could you? Didn’t you break me enough the first time? Or are you just so bored you’d rather mess everybody else’s lives up just for the hell of it?’
Emotions passed over his face. First understanding, then shock, followed by what looked almost like shame. He frowned.
‘How did you see that?’
‘Because you left comments all over it.’
He rubbed his hand across his face. ‘But I saved it somewhere else. You weren’t supposed to see that.’
Her eyes widened. ‘That’s your excuse?’ she bit out. ‘It’s my fault for seeing it, not your fault for interfering?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s just you weren’t supposed to see.’
Cesca rolled her eyes. ‘Is this some kind of retaliation? Are you still trying to push me out? You must think I’m a terrible writer to want to screw me over twice.’
‘You’re being irrational.’
She let out an exasperated shriek. ‘There’s nothing irrational about me. You’re the one behaving like a shit.’
His eyes narrowed. There was a tic in his jaw. ‘I’m not a shit.’
‘You interfered with my play. You wrote all over it.’
‘It was good.’ His voice was low. ‘I just wanted to make it better.’
‘I don’t care what you think,’ she shouted back. ‘I don’t care about your opinion at all. I just want you to leave me alone.’
His lips twisted as he stared at her. ‘Are you finished?’ he asked, the words whistling through his teeth.
She wasn’t, not by a long chalk, but she was starting to feel light-headed. It wasn’t from relief or a sense of righteousness or any of the things she’d thought she’d have once she’d got everything off her chest. More likely a combination of the heat and the long walk.
‘Yes.’
He was like an animal waiting to pounce. She held her breath, anticipating his response. But instead of the fury she’d expected, what he gave her was an icy control.
‘Then so am I.’
14
There is no following her in this fierce vein – A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Sam made it back to the villa in record time. He couldn’t even remember the walk, or the way he’d muttered to himself, or even how his hands had curled into fists at regular intervals. The need to hit something was becoming a compulsion, as if slamming his hands against a surface would rid him of his rage.
Was she right? he wondered. Did everybody really think of him that way? He was used to being disliked by some – it came with the territory when you were made out to be some kind of Hollywood heart-throb – but for the majority of his life love and admiration had come easily to him. His father excluded, of course.
Cesca’s anger conjured up memories of Foster. He and Cesca both seemed to hate Sam’s guts. If he could bring out such a strong reaction in people, then maybe there was some truth in what she had to say. Was he really that much of a shit?
Sam walked into his bathroom, splashing cold water onto his heated face. He’d been an idiot for coming here. An even bigger fool for staying after Cesca had made it clear how much she hated him.
He stared into the mirror above the basin, his eyes narrowing as he took in the image reflected back at him. Dark wavy hair, inherited from his mother, as well as her clear blue eyes and roman nose. His tan he got from mother nature, but the rest of his face must have come from his father. The high cheekbones and sensual lips that people raved about online, the sharp jaw that always seemed to grow a five o’clock shadow no matter how hard he shaved. A face loved by millions, but hated by those who were important to him. He could barely stand to look at it himself.
When Cesca had stood in front of him, her face glowing with anger, he’d felt an urge to touch her. To hold her. To take away the pain in her eyes. His therapist had once told him that anger was only pain trying to fight against itself. If it were true, that would mean he’d caused her to feel that way, and that thought made his chest ache.
More and more he was remembering that girl from six years ago. The one who almost bounced into the theatre with excitement each morning. The one who had explained Daniel’s motivations to him, talked him through each scene, and unabashedly encouraged him to show all the emotion he could.
He didn’t like the way that memory made him feel. Like that kid he had been, all vulnerable and hurt. His relationships were like a walking time bomb, and it was only a matter of time before this one exploded, too. He didn’t need a friend, and he definitely didn’t need to be attracted to her. He just needed to lie low until the fallout from his last fuck-up disappeared.
For as long as it took.
Cesca spent an hour aimlessly wandering the grounds, feeling the sun beating down on her bare skin. She hadn’t put any sunscreen on in her haste to give Sam a piece of her mind, and she could already feel herself pinking up. Not that she cared. What was a little sunburn compared to everything else? If anything it was helping to ease the guilt she was feeling at blowing up at Sam so much.
She’d gone a little over the top. OK, more than a little. She’d reacted purely from anger, not bothering to temper her words, saying things so unkind they made her blush. Cesca wasn’t a horrible person, not really. Wherever possible she tried to treat people with friendliness and respect. But there was something in Sam’s actions that had triggered her anger once again, taking her back to those awful days when her world came crashing around her feet.
Eventually she made it back into the villa, still unable to shake off the uncomfortable feeling from her shoulders. Grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen, she found her way to the library, trying to ignore the way her skin was stinging from exposure to the afternoon sun.
The computer was where she’d left it, the screen was black but the light still flashing. She switched it on, the first page of her play blinking back to life in front of her.
For the next hour she sat and read every comment, her eyes taking in each change he’d made.
Seeing his words took her back to when she was in English class at school. Every term the teacher would hand out the required texts, old dog-eared books that had been in the department for years. Some of them for longer than Cesca had been alive. Yet each time she’d felt a shiver of anticipation slide down her spine, knowing that when she opened up the book it was more than the author’s text she would see.
Each schoolgirl who held that book in their hands would leave a little piece of themselves behind in there. It wasn’t just the bookplate they had to sign at the front – with their names, their form and the year they held it – but also in the illicit scribblings they’d leave in pen or pencil in each page, saying what they thought of the passage, what they thought of the book. No two people ever read the same story, because they each brought with them their own view of the world.
And as she sat in front of her own text, seeing it through Sam’s eyes, the same feeling was rushing through her veins.
With each word she read, Cesca could feel herself becoming more and more ashamed. Of her actions, of her words, of the way Sam had looked at her with such shock before he stalked away from her and back to the villa. Because his suggestions were good. No, that wasn’t enough. They were excellent. He was seeing things so differently to her. Adding comments to make the characters rounder, more real. And all those things that had been holding her back from making the play work were slowly melting away.
She’d expected him to be critical, disparaging even. Instead he was kind, succinct and hit the nail on the head every time. He hadn’t bothered disguising how much he liked the story, and he was making her see it from a different angle. A clearer one. One that she could actually see working. She felt herself sink lower and lower, until her lip started to wobble as she read his final comment.
This is brilliant. She needs to write more. It’s one of the best scripts I’ve read in a long time, and I’ve read a lot.
Her hand shook as she covered her mouth. Cesca couldn’t remember when she’d felt more ashamed of herself. She’d accused him of breaking her, of messing up her life, and all the while he’d left such lovely comments. No wonder he’d looked at her as if she was some kind of screaming harridan. She was like a lion who, when offered an olive branch, simply ate the dove for breakfast.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered into her hands. ‘I’m so sorry, Sam.’
