‘What is what?’ asked the production manager, a young woman with a clipboard and earpiece. She turned to see what Lulabelle was looking at. ‘It’s a mirror,’ she said, and stood beside the model to admire the framed vintage glass that hung above the fireplace. ‘Gorgeous, isn’t it? A work of art.’
Lulabelle leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.
‘But it’s mottled and blotchy.’
‘It’s antique. That’s what happens. The silver backing peels away from the glass over time.’
Puzzled by this, Lulabelle turned to address the production manager directly.
‘What’s the point of a mirror when you can’t see your own reflection?’
Ivan Savage peered through a crack in the door. He watched the model in conversation with the production manager, and wondered who would be first to see the dead vole he had planted in the grate of the fireplace. He had found the creature in the yard that morning, disembowelled and abandoned by next door’s cat, and slipped it in just as his mother finished cleaning. Ivan held his breath, waiting for the first one to shriek, only to exhale in disappointment as several crew members placed a large flood lamp right in front of the fireplace. It was a shame because the cat had done a great job in teasing out the vital organs from the mouse, as well as removing its head.
‘Ivan! Come away from there.’ From the top of the stairs, Angelica Savage was forced to hiss at her son one more time before he closed the door. ‘We’re not here to disturb them!’
‘I’m bored already,’ he complained, and made his way back to the landing. ‘There’s nothing to do.’
‘You say that every time.’ Angelica ruffled his hair as he passed. ‘It’s only for the day.’
As Ivan sauntered by, Sasha emerged from her bedroom. She was wearing jeans and a capped T-shirt, with her hair scraped back in a band. It was clear that she’d made no big effort to dress. That, she hoped, would come later.
‘Where’s Dad?’ she asked, and looked nervously at her mother.
‘In his study. Working.’
‘But it’s a Saturday,’ said Sasha.
‘He has a lot on right now.’
‘I really need to speak to him about this evening.’
Angelica tipped her head, appraising her daughter.
‘This boy, Jack… is he important to you?’
Sasha looked a little unsure.
‘It’s just he’s my first,’ she said, and looked to the floorboards for a moment. ‘I mean my first, you know… boyfriend. I just want to see how it goes for now.’
Angelica met her gaze once more with a smile. Sasha was certainly flowering, but even she could see that her daughter wasn’t set to lose her head with this young man. If anything, she sounded as if she was discovering for herself that romance wasn’t always a fairy tale.
‘Then talk to your father calmly, like a grown-up,’ she told her. ‘I’m sure he can spare you a moment.’
Downstairs, Lulabelle Hart sat on a stool at the breakfast bar. She wasn’t there to eat, despite the offer of a bacon sandwich from the catering manager brought in to feed the cast and crew. Lulabelle didn’t really do food at this hour. Ever since she found herself in competition for modelling jobs, meals had become something she felt the need to control. Just then, the smell of eggs in the pan made her mouth moisten. Starting the day with a glass of warm water and a sprig of mint just didn’t compare. Still, it meant come lunchtime she would earn the right to make the most of what was on offer. Until then, Lulabelle closed her eyes and tipped her head back so the make-up artist could work.
‘Are you sure I can’t tempt you?’ the catering manager asked one more time, as he loaded the plates on the breakfast bar.
‘I’m fine,’ said Lulabelle, as a foundation brush whisked over her face. ‘Don’t torment me.’
Her response was so abrupt it left an awkward silence in the kitchen. It meant when footsteps creaked overhead, everybody heard.
‘Someone’s on the prowl,’ said the make-up artist.
‘Who lives here?’ asked Lulabelle. ‘That mirror is just wrong.’
‘Well, they like to cook,’ observed the catering manager. ‘Kitchens don’t come much classier than this.’
Lulabelle eyed the display of knives. They clung to a magnetic strip above a butcher’s block, and ranged in shape and size.
‘It’s just showing off,’ she said, as if to correct him. ‘I mean, how many blades do you need?’
‘Judging by the grooves in the block,’ said the catering manager, who had crossed the floor for a closer inspection. ‘I’d say they make full use of them all.’
This was a first for Titus Savage. Normally, the ground floor of the house would be hired out during the working week. It meant he could steer clear all day, forget about the intrusion, and then return from the office to find his wife happy and everything as it should be.
Now he found himself under the same roof as a film crew. Just thinking about them poking about down there made his temples throb. What’s more, he had work to do. A lot of it. If the takeover was going to happen, he needed to go through reams of documents to be sure everything was covered. Normally at weekends, Titus liked to close the door and spend time with his family. Instead, he faced a day of hell.
‘Dad, can I talk to you?’
Sasha had been sure to knock at the study door first. Even though it was wide open, she wanted to do everything right this time.
‘Honey, can it wait?’ asked Titus, without looking around from his desk.
‘Please? It won’t take a moment.’
Titus glanced over his shoulder, sighed to himself and then swivelled around in his chair.
‘So long as it doesn’t end in slamming doors,’ he said. ‘I’m too old for strops.’
Sasha smiled, embarrassed, and headed across to the window. It looked out over the back garden. From this viewpoint it was striking just how much better the plants and flowers thrived compared to neighbouring plots. Mindful of her grandfather’s advice, Sasha took a deep breath and hoped for the best.
‘I’m thinking it might be good if you met Jack after all,’ she said. ‘Just so you can see what he’s like.’
‘There’s no need,’ replied Titus, sounding disappointed. ‘I already have a good idea.’
Sasha reminded herself to stay calm.
‘When Ivan first blabbed that I was going out with him,’ she said, ‘you suggested that I invite him round.’
‘That was before,’ said Titus gruffly.
‘Before you found out he was a vegetarian?’ She glanced at her father, found him staring at his desk but nodding at the same time. Sasha had been ready for this response, however.
‘What if he was black?’ she asked cautiously, facing the window once more. ‘Asian or Chinese? Would you still refuse to let him in the house?’
‘Of course not. Honey…’
‘It’s still prejudice, Dad,’ she continued, finding her voice now. ‘You’re judging someone before you’ve got to know them.’
An awkward silence opened out between them. Titus had always considered himself to be a fair man. This accusation, from his own daughter, hurt him deeply.
‘Is that all you came to say?’ he asked.
‘I was also hoping we could talk about this evening,’ she began, facing him briefly one more time. ‘It would mean such a lot to me if you let me go.’
The way she phrased this brought a catch to his throat. Letting go at some point was all part of raising children. Not just for a couple of hours, but when they came to leave forever.