For Both Are Infinite (Hearts in London Book 1)
Read For Both Are Infinite (Hearts in London Book 1) Online
Authors: Stephanie Alba
To my mother, Alba-
who loved to read,
And to my husband, David-
my best friend and biggest supporter
For Both Are Infinite
Copyright: Stephanie Alba
Published: 14th July 2015
Publisher: Airamabla Publishing
Edited by: Nichola Rhead http://nicolarheadediting.com/
Cover Design by: Hang Le Designs http://www.byhangle.com/
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
CHAPTER ONE
“Love is begun by time, and time qualifies the spark and fire of it.” -
Hamlet
, Act 4, Scene 7.
A
s an American living in London, I always sympathized with the tourists on the Tube. They were easy to spot, most of them holding maps that lead them through this historic, yet modern city. One girl stood out in particular, seeming disoriented as she stood before the London Underground station map. Her eyes kept gazing from each multicolored line to the bubbles that signified stops and it was clear she wasn’t processing it. I approached the lost girl in hopes to help her on her way, understanding that the Tube can be overwhelming for a newcomer.
“Where are you heading?” I asked sympathetically. She looked back at me with wide, blue eyes and a shocked expression. The people of London were amicable if you asked, but the majority of the population was in a constant hurry, rushing off to their homes, jobs, etc. The Tube in particular demonstrated the people’s characteristics.
“The Sherlock Holmes Museum,” she replied with a downward gaze.
“Ah, well you just need to get on the Bakerloo train, but honestly, walking will be your best bet.” I tried pointing out the brown and gray lines I was referring to as she took it in.
Her eyes flooded with relief. “Thank you so much.”
She didn’t notice me smiling as she ran off to catch the approaching train. The Tube was initially confusing, but once I understood it, I didn’t miss having my car. It was such an efficient mode of transportation, making the need for a personal vehicle obsolete.
Moving to London was an adjustment, but it was something I always wanted to do and finally had the reason to. I never expected to do it that young, or alone, but plans changed. The prospect of escaping my troubles and traveling all around Europe made the transition an easy decision. It helped keep me distracted and made the weight I carried daily a little lighter.
Once certain that she boarded the train, I headed toward the escalator to return to ground level and stood to the right. Again, people here were always in a hurry and the right side of the escalator was reserved for those with a little more time and patience. In no rush, I decided to look at the posters along the wall that included advertisements for current plays in production on West End. There were the same crowd pleasers, hit shows and family-friendly options, but the one that stood out from the rest was the poster for
Hamlet
.
Rhys Edwards had been cast in the starring role and stared from the poster designed with red, black and white skulls. Everyone knew his face, as he was the most popular, young British star in the United Kingdom and Hollywood. Starring in every genre, he was a talented actor that also happened to be incredibly intelligent, eloquent, and handsome, thus stealing hearts across the world. He looked especially gorgeous in that photo, despite having serious expression and demeanor.
The picture affected me with contempt since I’d tried avoiding attractions at all costs. However, while this picture affected women based on their desire, it afflicted me in an entirely different manner. I had anxiety and worry when I stared back at his photo because I had to meet him. He seemed kind in his interviews, but it could all be an act for the public. I was also concerned with his professionalism, but brushed it off as I left the tunnel since I’d meet him later that morning and know for myself.
Rhys Edwards was scheduled to stop by the Birkbeck campus to meet my supervisor and myself. It was rare for an American to work in such a renowned British department, but I knew my material and the department was more than impressed with my credentials. I applied on a whim and was ecstatic when they called, causing me to smile for the first time in months.
My degrees all specialized in Shakespeare’s work, however, this was the first time I had sole responsibility on a project. It was decided by my supervisor, John White, that I would be working with Rhys Edwards for the next four weeks in order to prepare him for his role. Apparently, the director felt that he needed expert assistance in order to give a premium performance.
I knew John respected me, but was still surprised when he chose me for the assignment. I was the American in charge of England’s cultural and literary treasure. When John assigned me I questioned it. I questioned myself, but also if Edwards seemed inclined to learn, especially since I’d heard horror stories in the past about other actors.
“Yeah, he seems pretty serious. I haven’t met him, but you know,” he said, pointing at me, “I heard he specifically requested the research; if anything that’s a good sign.”
I guessed it could be, but I had often heard that research was requested by production companies or actors, only to be ignored later. I didn’t want to waste my time like that, and hoped that John’s assumption of Rhys Edwards was accurate. On the positive side, he did have a reputation for being professional and extremely nice.
I had chosen a dressier outfit for work and worn my long, brunette waves down my back. Normally, if I were teaching during the day I’d wear something professional, yet comfortable, but for that meeting I wore a pale blue dress with tiny white polka dots and a pale pink blazer on top. I even accented it with my heels, despite that I was in a constant state of flat shoes. Heels weren’t practical when teaching courses and standing for the duration of the class. They also weren’t Tube-friendly if you had to walk to various stations in the rush.
I arrived earlier than necessary to ensure that the meeting room was prepared with notepads, scripts, our research materials, and refreshments. Then I returned to my office until John called at 10:45 a.m.
“We’re heading in your direction. We are just parking and we'll be there in a few,” John said.
“Okay, see you in a few minutes.”
Immense pressure welled in my chest so tightly it felt as if my ribs were cracking. Self-consciously, I stood in front of the mirror to tuck stray hairs into place and straighten my skirt. I was the first in the meeting room and the waiting made me all the more anxious. I was quite nervous, not about meeting a gorgeous celebrity, but because this was my first opportunity to really prove myself.
I knew John trusted me, but it would be nice to confirm that he had made the right choice, despite my foreigner status. I also wanted to do right by Shakespeare’s work. Having studied this for over six years, I felt uniquely protective of him and his life’s effort, as if it was my responsibility to care for his legacy since he couldn’t do it himself.
I had been sitting in a chair before I realized that it was impractical to sit when they walked in, so I clumsily stood up and walked to appropriately greet them by the door. Mentally, I reminded myself to relax just as John, Michael Murphy, the director, and Rhys Edwards walked by the glass wall of the room and approached the door. I raised my hand casually, smiling at them as I waved and I noticed
he
smiled back. I regretted waving, finding it awkward, not quite understanding why I did it, and his smile didn’t help the situation.
It made me feel noticed and stripped when he gazed at me. I was hoping the butterflies in my stomach were work related because I hadn’t felt that in a long while and it made me uncomfortable to feel such ancient emotions. No one had affected me like that in over two years and I wanted to keep it that way. Barely managing to catch my breath, I greeted John and waited for the director to introduce himself.
Michael Murphy wasn’t tall or short, but of average height and heavy set. The weight was primarily at his center, bulging out of his high-waist pants, with his suspenders barely held them up. He seemed artsy, wearing a golfer hat and a full red beard that covered the majority of his face. But it was his voice that stood out the most, loud and projecting through my ears as he intrusively stood too close.
“Hello, I’m Michael. I’ll be directing the production,” he said, shaking my hand. He then gestured to the younger of the three men, and said, “And this is the star of our show, who needs no introduction, Mr. Rhys Edwards.”
Mr. Edwards shared a warm smile with a hint of modesty over his introduction. Making eye contact, I extended my hand towards him and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Ellie Reed, and I’m looking forward to working with you.”
He took me by surprise when he didn’t shake my hand, but instead enveloped it in between the two of his. This was no ordinary handshake, it was affection reserved for people who shared a connection or had known each other for years. He stared at me with an intense, but comfortable familiarity and said, “As am I. I’m glad to meet you and grateful to you already.”
