The Great Cornish Getaway

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 1 (#ulink_c375d08b-0a43-5f7f-870d-e23c29583e00)

Richard was cold.

Cold and wet.

His silver hair, wet with raindrops, flopped over his forehead as he hunched into his tweed overcoat, and turned against the wind and penetrating rain. God, but England could be miserable in the winter.

He should be in Massachusetts, but here he was, spending ten days in the UK. A very old friend had persuaded him to make a cameo appearance in a film directed by a young whizz-kid who needed a leg up the Hollywood ladder.

He hadn’t wanted to do it. He’d had a busy year and was in need of a break.

Physically and mentally.

It was a mess.

The director didn’t know her arse from her elbow and the crew were just as clueless. He was losing patience, and his cold, which had set in on the flight over from LA, filled his nose, ears and brains.

He was not a happy man.

Tizzy, the director, had finished bossing everyone around and was ready at last.

‘Here we go and … action.’

Richard opened his mouth but, to his embarrassment, no words came out.

‘Cut!’ shouted Tizzy impatiently. She stomped up to him. ‘What is the matter?’

He smiled as nicely as he could. ‘Sorry, I forgot the line.’

‘Got it now? Or do you want Sadie to give you the script, again?’

‘No, no. It’s fine.’ His patience was almost lost, but he hung onto it.

She turned and walked quickly back to her position. He heard her tutting to Jango, ‘He forgot his fricking lines. I knew we should have got Jim Broadbent.’ She looked at Richard as if he was stupid. ‘Sure you’re OK, Rich?’

He smiled tightly.

‘Good. And, action.’

He delivered the line, and he knew he’d got the thought behind it and the delivery spot on.

‘Keep rolling and let’s do it again, before we lose the light. Try and give us a smile at the end of the line, Rich,’ Tizzy shouted.

They did it seven more times. Each time she asked for a different tone or expression. At last the crew told her the light had gone for the day.

Richard gladly put on his coat and headed back towards his trailer.

Instead of following the path to his trailer, though, he turned his collar up and looked for the footpath he knew would get him to the main road.

It ran between two high hedges and smelt of rotting greenery.

Walking now down the dark road, Richard tried to get his brain to think sensibly and make a plan. But it was impossible. He just knew he had to get as far away from the set as possible.

When he heard a car coming from behind, he pulled his collar up and walked into the shadows.

The car slowed, moving at his pace. He heard the purr of an electric window.

‘Mr Gere? Richard? You OK?’

Richard stopped walking and the car stopped too. He looked at his driver, Kevin, sitting warm in his comfortable car.

‘I don’t want to go back,’ he said.

‘To the hotel?’ Kevin asked.

Richard looked at his shoes and didn’t answer.

‘Where do you want to go?’ Kevin said.

‘Away from here.’

‘Fair enough. Any ideas?’

‘How far are we from Cornwall?’ Richard asked after a pause.

Kevin laughed. ‘A bloody long way.’

Just before midnight, June, Kevin’s wife, saw her husband’s car turn onto the driveway of their neat 1930s semi. She watched as Kevin got out and opened the back door for his passenger.

‘Oh, blimey, Butler,’ June said to her little dog as the passenger got out. ‘It bloody well is Richard Gere.’

She ran to the kitchen to put the kettle on, and then to the front door to let Kevin and their visitor in.

‘Hello. Do come in. Make yourself at home. I’ve got the kettle on.’

Richard shook her hand. ‘I’m so sorry to land on you like this, but Kevin insisted it would be OK.’

The boiled kettle beeped from the kitchen. ‘Of course it’s OK. We’re not the Dorchester but I do a nice pot of tea. Give me your coat.’

Richard walked into the homely comfort of the living room. Family photos on the mantelpiece. A large chintz sofa and two matching armchairs. An enormous television in the corner and a pair of glamorous velvet curtains at the bay window.

June came in, carrying a tray crammed with small side plates, dainty sandwiches and a Battenberg cake. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry, but you’ll sleep better with a full tummy. Kevin, come and get the tea tray, would you, please?’

Sitting on the sofa and taking in the wonderful normality, Richard began to relax. Tomorrow he’d call his agent and tell her he was fine. He just needed to take some time out. No big deal. Actors walked off films all the time.

June sat back with her best cup and saucer. ‘Kev says you want to go to Cornwall.’