From Notting Hill with Love...Actually (7 page)

“Perhaps ‘You’ve left me feeling shaken and stirred’ would have gone down better with the girls?” I suggested, lifting my own glass and trying not to grin as I held it out for him to refill.

Sean glanced at me and narrowed his eyes. But then the corners of his supposedly angry mouth twitched in amusement as he finished pouring the wine, and I was relieved.

“So you are actually a Bond then?” I asked him.

Sean nodded. “Yeah, it’s Dad’s real surname. Lucky for him, eh? Not so lucky for us, though. I was named after Sean Connery, Dad’s favorite 007, and Ursula—”

“After Ursula Andress?” I guessed.

“Yep, you got it—Dad’s favorite Bond girl. Mum once told me Dad had really wanted to call me James. Thank the Lord she talked him out of that one!”

I smiled, and his eyes held mine for a moment.

“I think that’s quite enough of the Bond family history for now,” Ursula said, glancing between the two of us. “I bet we all wish we’d stood up for something we believe in at some point in our lives. Let’s have a think for you, Scarlett; we must be able to come up with something to help. You’ve already done a couple of bits from
Notting
Hill
thanks to Oscar…so how about
Four
Weddings
and
a
Funeral
, you must be able to find a few weddings to go to?”

“My best friend is getting married this month, but that’s the only one. I can’t just gatecrash three other weddings.”

“You could become a priest,” Lucian suggested helpfully. “But I guess you don’t have time for that,” he added, when everyone looked at him incredulously.

“Join the Women’s Institute,” Brooke suggested, waving her cigarette casually in the air.

“What?” Oscar asked impatiently. “And just how is that supposed to help?”

“My mum is in the WI, and they are always doing the flowers in our local church. At least it would get you inside.”

“Thanks, Brooke.” I smiled gratefully at her. “But I don’t think I’m the WI type really.”

Sean sniggered.

I glared at him across the table.

“Oh my God, I’ve got it!” Ursula exclaimed. “Sean, cousin Rachel’s wedding this weekend!”

“What?” Sean asked, looking confused.

“Rachel, Aunt Hilary and Uncle Jonathan’s daughter, she’s getting married this weekend, up near Dad.”

“Is she?”

“You had an invite, Sean. We both did. I can’t go because I’m exhibiting at an interior design fair and you said you just didn’t want to go so I sent a
With
Regret
card from both of us.”

“Ah right—that was good of you.”

“Yes—wasn’t it?” Ursula shot Sean a look, which he again ignored. “Anyway, why don’t you take Scarlett this weekend instead—it could be one of her weddings!”

Sean and I nearly spat our wine at each other in our haste to reject Ursula’s idea. We both gabbled various polite excuses, all with the true meaning of, “Not bloody likely.”

But Ursula carried on unperturbed. “Oh, go on, it’ll be fine. You’ve not been up to see Dad in ages, Sean. And you, Scarlett, you’ve got to have a bit more pioneering spirit or you’ll never prove your family wrong, will you?”

“But we’ve said we can’t go now,” Sean protested. “We’ll mess their numbers up.”

Phew, nice one, Sean
, I thought, relieved.

“That won’t matter,” Ursula said cheerily. “It’s going to be a buffet reception, I remember from the invite. They’re quite free spirits, Rachel and Julian,” Ursula explained, turning to me. “I think they even said we didn’t need to reply to the invite, just see how we felt on the day. If we wanted to come, we should; if not, no bother. But I always like to do things properly, so I sent them a card.”

I nodded. “Well, it is good manners.”

“Exactly. So what do the pair of you say? Come on, Sean, you can introduce Scarlett to Dad. I’m sure with their love of films they’d have loads in common; he might even be able to suggest some things for Scarlett to do.”

Sean looked over at me. His look suggested he’d given it his best shot with the numbers objection and now it was my turn.

“But…I don’t have anything to wear to a wedding,” I said, thinking hurriedly. “I only brought casual things with me.”

Sean nodded approvingly.

“That’s not a problem,” Oscar said, joining in. “I’m certain I can find you something from my boutique.”

“There you go. Now no more excuses, the pair of you. I’ll call Dad to tell him you’re both coming.” Ursula rubbed her hands together in glee. “Oh, I love it when a plan comes together!”

***

Sean and I left Oscar’s house together that night, feeling like children whose parents were forcing them to do something they didn’t want to, with the excuse, “It will do you good!”

“I’m sorry about Ursula,” Sean said when the door was safely closed behind us and our lives could be organized no more. “She gets a bit carried away sometimes.”

“That’s OK,” I said, smiling up at him while we walked. “Her heart is in the right place.”

“Shame her head isn’t!”

I laughed. But inside I felt deeply grateful to Ursula, Oscar, and the others. I’d opened up more today to Oscar, and tonight to a bunch of strangers I’d only just met, than I ever did at home to my so-called family.

I’d even ended up telling them about Dad bringing me up alone, and what I’d only learned recently myself, about Mum sharing my love of the cinema when my father didn’t.

“You don’t mind too much, then, about the wedding?” Sean asked, breaking into my thoughts. “I mean you don’t really have to come with me if you don’t want to. I’ll still have to go now Ursula’s phoned Dad, but I quite understand if you want to back out.”

I stopped walking as we passed one of the communal gardens that sat in the middle of this part of Notting Hill.

I peeped between the black railings that surrounded the garden. Then I turned back to Sean.

“So it’s your call, really,” he continued.

“Give me a leg up,” I said.

“What?”

“A leg up—put your hand out and help me up, so I can get inside.”

“No.”

“Why not? You’re not scared, are you?”

“No, of course I’m not,” Sean said defensively. “Why would I be?”

“No reason.” I turned back toward the railings. “Fine, I’ll do it myself then.”

It wasn’t easy, but I managed to get a part hold on the railings and a part hold on a tree that overhung the top of them, and unceremoniously I hauled myself up. I wobbled a bit at the top, but I then managed to jump—well, I guess it was more of a fall—down the other side and into the little garden.

“See, I didn’t need you after all.” I peered back at Sean through the railings. “Bet you feel a bit silly standing there on your own now!”

“Not as silly as you’re going to feel when I do this.” Sean pulled some keys from his pocket and held them under the streetlight to select one. Then he walked along the railings to the gate, calmly placed the key in the lock, and turned it so the gate swung open. Closing it securely behind him, he walked over to where I stood.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a key to get in here?” I demanded.

“You never asked.”

In frustration, I turned and marched away from him, but I stopped abruptly when I saw a bench. It was only visible in the darkened park because the moon that sat high in the clear night sky cast a luminescent glow over it.

Sean caught up with me. “What is it?” he asked. “What have you seen?”

I walked silently over to the bench. I ran my hand gently along its back before slowly and purposefully sitting down on it.

Sean followed me.

“What on earth are you doing? First you break into private property and now, on a cold February evening, you’re going to sit outside on a park bench?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” I replied, dreamily thinking of Hugh and Julia sitting on this bench together. It could have been the same one for all I knew.

“Try me,” Sean challenged, sitting down beside me.

I wondered whether I should try to explain it all to him. He would probably just mock me again.

The answer you give now, Sean, will decide whether I go with you to the wedding on Saturday.

“It’s from the movie
Notting
Hill
.”

“I should have known.” But Sean must have seen irritation flicker across my face because he added, “OK…which part?”

“One of the most romantic parts,” I said warily. “This is one of the most memorable scenes from the film, when Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts sit on a bench together in a park just like this one. The song that is sung at that point is beautiful too—it’s one of my favorites.”

“It all sounds…lovely.”

I looked skeptically at Sean, but he wasn’t being sarcastic for once. He was genuinely trying to say something that wouldn’t offend me.

“It is actually—it’s very romantic. But I don’t suppose Ronan Keating is your cup of tea really, is he?”

Sean wrinkled his nose. “Not really, no. But I’ve heard him singing that song before, if that helps?”

“Well, that’s a start.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

Our eyes met in the same way they had over the dining table earlier.

“About the wedding, Sean…”

“Don’t worry,” he said, holding his hand up. “I told you, you don’t have to come.”

“No, I do,” I insisted. “Your sister would be so disappointed if I didn’t go. She’s going to so much trouble to help me—I can’t let her down now.”

“Yes, of course, you’re absolutely right,” Sean said keenly, resting his hand on the back of the bench. “We really should go through with this weekend for Ursula, shouldn’t we?”

“Yes,” I agreed, smiling at him now. “Let’s put our own feelings aside. We’ll go to this wedding together, simply to keep your sister happy. What other reason would there be for us to go all the way to Glasgow together?”

For a moment Sean was silent. “No other reason, Scarlett,” he said eventually, shaking his head. “No other reason whatsoever.”

We decided to travel up to Glasgow by train. We could have flown; Sean seemed quite happy to pay for tickets with whatever airline had the best last-minute flights available. Unlike David, who never booked anything last minute, because in his opinion there was always money to be saved “with a little forward thinking.”

But when Ursula was sorting everything out for us and gave me the choice, I opted to travel by rail. I did think about it for a while—flying would have been so much quicker, and really the less time I had to spend with Sean the better. But I could see another movie opportunity in traveling this way, and I didn’t want to miss out on any chances to add to my dossier of proof.

We arrived early at King’s Cross station on Friday lunchtime, and so had plenty of time to kill before our train arrived.

“Shall we get a coffee?” Sean asked.

“Yes, let’s,” I said eagerly, pleased he was making this so easy for me.

We walked through the station toward the concourse area of shops and cafes, me dragging my case and Sean carrying a small holdall in his hand and a folded garment bag over his shoulder.

“Aren’t you going to try and go through there?” Sean asked, grinning, as he nodded toward a wall. Two children were having their photo taken underneath a sign that said
Platform
9¾
. “Then you’d be able to catch the train to Hogwarts, and you’d have another movie to cross off your list.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” I said, pulling a face. “Anyway, how’d you know that’s in
Harry
Potter
if you never watch films?”

“I think you’ll find it was in the book,” Sean said, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh right, yes, of course it was.” I was embarrassed. I didn’t want Sean to think I was one of those people who only know the movie version of a story. But then again, why should I care what Sean thought?

We came to a stand selling hot drinks. It was hardly the refreshment room at Ketchworth station, but it would have to do.

“A coffee, please—black no sugar,” Sean said to the vendor.

The young man who grunted a reply—which I think was inquiring whether Sean wanted a lid—was hardly Myrtle Bagot, or even Beryl. I sighed wistfully as I remembered
Brief
Encounter
.

“What would you like, Scarlett?” Sean asked. “Hey, Scarlett?” he asked again when I didn’t respond. “Are you with us? Would you like a drink or not?”

“What? Oh sorry. Er, I’ll have a tea, please, milk no sugar.” I began to blink hard.

Sean looked at me and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What’s wrong?” he asked as he paid for the drinks. “Have you got a nervous twitch or something?”

“No, I think I’ve got something in my eye.” I blinked even harder and it occurred to me I could get two movie scenes for the price of one here if Sean responded accordingly.
The
Holiday
contained a similar scene between Kate Winslet and Jack Black.

“Cheers,” Sean said to the vendor as he lifted the hot cups from the counter. “What do you want to do, Scarlett—go to the ladies’ and take a look at it? I think it’s just over there, but you’ll need 30 pence to get in. Have you got change?”

“No.” I blinked. “I don’t think so.”

“Let me see if I have, then. Just hold these,” he said, passing me the drinks.

“Can’t
you
take a look?” I asked in frustration. I was standing in the middle of King’s Cross station, holding two steaming polystyrene cups and winking madly at everyone that passed by. One man even winked back. “I think it might be a piece of grit.”

“I could, but I don’t have my glasses on just now,” Sean said, still rooting about in his pockets for change.

“What glasses? I’ve never seen you wearing glasses before.”

“I only need them for close stuff. I can look into your eye if you want me to, but I can’t guarantee I’ll see anything as small as a piece of grit.” He began to rummage in his jacket pocket.

“Oh, just forget it,” I said huffily. I handed him back his coffee. “The moment’s passed now anyway. I…I mean the grit seems to have gone.”

I opened my tea and took a large gulp. It was hot and burned the back of my throat, but I wasn’t going to let on. “Looks like our train is here at last,” I said, glancing up at the ever-changing information board. “We’d better go.”

Sean followed me with a puzzled expression on his face, as I stomped off in the direction of the platform. We loaded our luggage and ourselves onto the right train, and then looked for our seats. They were facing each other over a table—and after a quick discussion about who would travel forward and who would travel back, we sat down.

I looked out of the window at the people hurrying along the platform toward their carriages and wondered what their reason was for catching the same train as us.

I bet none of them are in the same situation as I am right now, I thought as I silently watched them.

I glanced at Sean, but he wasn’t looking out of the window; he was looking at me.

“What is it?” I asked when he didn’t immediately avert his gaze.

“I was just wondering what all that was about back there on the platform—with your eye?”

“It was nothing, I told you it’s gone now.”

“Was it ever there in the first place?”

I sighed. Oh, what was the point in lying to him?

“No,” I said quietly.

“Then why would you say…wait a minute, was that charade something from a movie by any chance?”

“Maybe.”

“I should have known—which one?”

“Brief Encounter
, if you must know.”

“Isn’t that the one about aliens?”

I laughed. “No! That’s
Close
Encounters
.
Brief
Encounter
is a wonderful love story, set mainly in a railway station. It stars Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard.”

“Oh, I see.” Sean thought for a moment. “And let me guess—this Celia gets something stuck in her eye, and good old Trevor gets it out, right? And then they fall madly in love?”

I tried hard to suppress a smile. “There’s a bit more to it than that, but yeah, that’s the general gist.”

“Sounds riveting.”

“It is, actually. It’s a wonderful piece of black and white film-making—it’s based on a play by Noel Coward.”

“Quite the little film buff, aren’t we?” Sean said, grinning at me. “It doesn’t surprise me though—about Noel Coward, I mean. Most
good
films were originally books or plays. Either that or they’re based on true stories or real events.”

I thought about this for a moment. “Some are, I suppose—but not all.”

“Go on then, name some well-known,
quality
films—you know, the type that have won Oscars—that haven’t been based on one of those things.”

I thought again. But annoyingly he was right—every film that immediately sprang to mind fell into one of those categories.

“There are
some
exceptions, obviously,” Sean continued. “But the ones you always think of first are all just copies. Although I’m sure they would rather be known as a homage to someone else’s work.”

I smiled wryly.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he asked, grinning.

“Well, I can’t think of any right now—so for the minute, yes, I guess you are.”

We sat in silence for a moment as the train began to pull out of the station. As it started to pick up speed and the tower blocks of London turned into the hedges and fields of the country, Sean spoke again.

“If we’re going to be spending over six hours on a train together, Scarlett, we may as well get to know each other a bit better. So you first, why don’t you start by telling me the story of your life?”

I turned my gaze back from the window, thrown off course by his innocent question. Without realizing it, Sean had given me another movie moment for my list. In
When
Harry
Met
Sally
, Harry asks Sally virtually the same thing when they’re traveling to New York together at the beginning of the film.

“Er…there’s not that much to tell really. I’m almost twenty-four years old. I live in Stratford-upon-Avon, and I work in the family business.”

“Which is?”

Here we go, I thought—more fodder for ridicule.

“We manufacture and sell popcorn machines.”

Sean laughed.

“What’s so funny about that?” I demanded.

“First,” Sean said, trying to straighten his face, “what finer career for
you
, a lover of the cinema, than providing the staple diet of any moviegoer. And second, you live in Stratford-upon-Avon—the home of the Bard, recognized as one of the greatest playwrights ever. And you choose to worship
movies
?”

“That’s right,” I said defiantly, folding my arms. “And what’s wrong with that?”

Sean shook his head. “Nothing—nothing at all. Look, I don’t want to argue with you, Scarlett, I’ll behave.” He sat back in his seat, a childlike, innocent expression imposed on his face—which any moment looked like it might break out into a mischievous grin.

“What about you then?” I asked, fighting hard my inclination to grin back at him. “Let’s hear all about
your
wonderful life.”

“Well, I’m no James Stewart.” He grinned, trying to make a joke. “Get it—
Wonderful
Life
?’

I chose not to laugh at his poor attempt at a joke. “So you do know
some
films then?”

“Maybe just a few.” Sean arranged himself in his seat so that his ankle rested up on his knee. “OK, let’s see, I’m twenty-six years old, I have a sister called Ursula, as you know. A father called Alfie—who to my absolute joy is the owner of a James Bond-themed pub in Glasgow, which he runs with my stepmother, Diana. Oh, and I quite boringly work for an investment company.”

“And what do you invest in, property?”

“No, companies.”

“How?” I asked to be polite, even though I wasn’t really interested in what Sean did for a living.

“Well, we help out companies that are having a few problems. We either invest heavily in them until they’re rebuilt and back on their feet again, or we just buy them out there and then.”

“How do you make money out of that? Oh wait, I know. You buy them at a ridiculously low price because they’re struggling, then build them up and sell them on when they’re successful again.”

“Something like that, yes. That’s very astute of you, Scarlett. I’m impressed.”

“Richard Gere,” I said knowingly.

“What?”

“If you
owned
this investment company, you would be like Richard Gere in
Pretty
Woman
.”

Sean looked blank.

“In
Pretty
Woman
,” I explained, “Richard Gere plays this bastard businessman, who swoops in and buys businesses when they’re at rock bottom and just about to go bust. Then he sells them on at a later date when they’re successfully making money again, for a huge profit.”

“Sensible man.” Sean nodded approvingly.

“So, if you were the
owner
of this company, then you’d be just like him.”

“A bastard, you mean?”

“That’s right.”

“I am.”

I looked at Sean to see if he was winding me up again, but his face was completely serious. “What do you mean—you own this company, or you’re actually just a bastard?”

“What do
you
think, Scarlett?” Sean placed his elbows on the table, rested his head on his interlinked hands, and looked at me with a challenging expression.

As I sat back in my seat and tried to consider this, I was much too aware of Sean’s pale blue eyes scrutinizing my every move. “Well,” I said eventually, meeting his gaze, “you do live in a very affluent part of Notting Hill, so I guess you might be telling me the truth.”

Sean grinned and leaned back. “I’ll take that as a compliment—I think.”

“So why didn’t you tell me that to begin with?” I demanded. “Why the pretense?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t the boss, just that I worked for the company. And I do work for them. I work damned hard in fact.”

“So how come you’re sitting here with me then and not out somewhere arranging mega-bucks deals?”

Sean shrugged. “Perks of being the boss, I guess.”

“Lucky you.”

A porter came through the carriage trundling a food trolley, so we bought some lunch for the journey and settled back to eat it.

“So, your family isn’t too keen on this movie obsession?” Sean asked, tucking into his sandwich.

“OK, stop right there,” I said, putting down my baguette before I’d even had the chance to open it. “Unless you want me to get off at the next station, you can stop calling it
that
right now.”

“Easy,” Sean said, raising his eyebrows. “Bit touchy, aren’t we?”

He did that a lot, I noticed—raised his eyebrows. In fact his whole face was very expressive. The eyebrows in question were the exact same shade of sandy blond as his permanently tousled hair. He didn’t look much like the owner of a large successful business as he sat there tucking into an egg sandwich in his blue jeans and gray T-shirt—he’d also lost his look of Jude Law now too. No, the person sitting opposite me definitely bore more than a passing resemblance to Ewan McGregor.

“All right, how about we use some business terminology?” Sean thought for a moment. “You’re having a difference of opinion and are unable to reach a satisfactory conclusion where all parties are in agreement that the subject is in fact in breach of her contract to remain a rational and normal human being? There, is that better?”

I couldn’t help grinning.

“Yes, that sounds much more like it, thank you.”

“So, Scarlett,” Sean asked, brushing some stray crumbs from his shirt, “how on earth did you manage to get your family to let you come away for a month? I mean I know about Maddie and the house, but your father and your fiancé too?”

“You’re not the only one that can swing a deal when you want,” I said, trying to shake Ewan McGregor from my brain at the same time as I shook open my baguette. I carefully picked out the pieces of cucumber they always insisted on putting in with tuna. “I have my ways when I want to.”