COACH
Part
Three
by
Arianne
This work of adult fiction
includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned. No
offense to any person, living or dead, is intended.
Copyright Arianne 2006
Day Five – Wednesday, 5:47 in the
morning
Connie tapped on Olivia’s door after
receiving her wake-up call, and Olivia pulled herself from the bed
after
another virtually sleepless night.
She
stood in the shower for at least 15 minutes and had just finished
drying her
hair and pulling on her clothes when there was a loud knock on the
outer door
of the suite. She
rolled her eyes as she
heard Crowe’s booming voice when Connie admitted him. He certainly sounded in
good spirits as did
Connie to judge from her laughter.
Olivia wondered how any civilised person could be in such
fine fettle so
early in the day. Whilst
working on her
book and not having to report early each morning at some endlessly
tedious job,
she’d grown accustomed to sleeping in; arising before eight
was a trial. Olivia
always slept better once the sun began
to rise though she’d no idea why.
Perhaps that was compensation for her failure to do so in
the darker
hours.
There was a hearty pounding on her door as
she emerged from the bathroom, and the door swung open before she could
answer
it. A grinning
Crowe stood there with
Connie just behind him.
“Up and out, slug-a-bed. G’day, Love.
The car’s waiting for us downstairs.”
She attempted to impale him with an icy glare, and he
ignored it; more
direct measures were required.
“My God, Crowe!
Do you always barge into other’s bedrooms
without asking permission? I
could have
been standing here in my knickers!”
That
earned her a shrug and a giggle.
“Well, it’s my loss, as you aren’t in your knickers, so what’s all the
bother? Come on.
It’s more than an hour’s drive to the
set, and I’m hungry. Breakfast
will be waiting for us, and I need
to keep my sex drive under control.
Come
on, Love, quick smart!”
The man was not
only impossible but likely irredeemable into the bargain.
She wondered briefly if there was a
dictionary that translated ‘Australian’ into
English; if so, she’d best buy one,
else she’d not understand even half of what Crowe had to say. She walked back into the
bathroom, brushed
through her hair one last time and tied it back with a ribbon,
collected her
handbag as she left the bedroom, and followed Crowe into the lounge. Connie was already bundled
against the cold
winter’s morning; Crowe held Olivia’s coat for her
as she shrugged into it,
wrapping her muffler about her neck as she followed them out the door. She belatedly remembered
to thank Crowe for
holding her coat and helping her into it.
He hustled the two women down the hall to
the lift and waited impatiently for it to arrive, pushing the call
button
several times. It
was a chink in his
armour, and Olivia couldn’t resist.
“Crowe, if you’re in a
rush, stop punching
the call button. Each
time you do so, it
resets the computer, and the lift pauses.
Once is sufficient.”
He glanced
at her, another smile on his face.
She
grudgingly acknowledged to herself that when he was smiling rather than
sporting the preoccupied scowl he so often wore, he really was quite an
attractive man. Well,
perhaps he was
attractive in a rugged, Colonial sort of way.
“Habit.
Never could abide waiting for lifts.”
There was no winning with this man, and Olivia decided
against engaging
him further. It was
too early in the day
for the resulting frustration. She
silently
prayed he would keep his mouth closed once in the car; perhaps she
could grab a
bit more sleep on the way to the set.
God, he’d not even allowed her time for a
morning cup of tea. Downstairs
and out to the portico where the
door attendant assisted the women into the waiting car, and Crowe
climbed in
after them. Olivia
ventured a comment to
Connie.
“I thought you would be going out in
your
own car today, Connie.”
The actor shook
her head.
“It’s easier to hitch a
ride with the
General since I’m going to be on set all day anyway. Ridley asked that both
Russell and I plan to
stay all day even if we aren’t needed in front of the cameras
and work on
dialogue with you. He
likes to drop in
from time to time and see how our diction is coming along. Besides, all
I’ve heard since getting to England
is how much gasoline, pardon me, petrol, costs, and riding with Russell
cuts the consumption a little. I
don’t
have any delusions that the damned accountants would ever notice, but I
can at
least say that I tried to conserve expenditures in anticipation of
future
overruns.” Olivia
digested that in
silence and lay back against the seat, closing her eyes. She drifted off, listening
half-heartedly to
the discussion between the two actors.
*
“Wake up, Love.
We’re here.”
Crowe’s hand was on her knee, and he was shaking
her lightly. She
raised an eyebrow at the familiarity, and
he giggled.
“I’ve already learnt not to
get my head too
close to yours when I wake you; I don’t need my jaw broken
this early in the
day.” Though
she knew the comment was
innocent and Connie knew so as well, Olivia still did not care for the
way his
comment sounded. To
a casual listener,
it might appear as though the man was accustomed to waking her and in
circumstances far more intimate than was the reality.
The car rolled to a stop, and Crowe flung
open the door assisting first Connie and then Olivia out. Olivia shivered as the
cold, damp wind hit
her full force. It
seemed darker here in
Bourne Woods than back in London,
partly due to the trees and leaden clouds obscuring the sky to a large
degree
and partly to the fact that it had begun to snow again.
God, what a wretched day to be stuck out in
the woods working on a film set. Olivia
thanked whatever gods there might be that she would be indoors with
Connie most
of the day.
They trooped off to the craft
services’
building where they joined Richard, Ridley, and others of the cast and
crew on
line for breakfast, all grumbling amiably about the weather and their
empty
bellies. Crowe
regaled them with
Olivia’s displeasure at his having walked into her bedroom
unannounced and
earned another scowl from her for his efforts although the others,
including
Harris and Scott, laughed uproariously at his comment about not having
been fortunate
enough to catch her whilst still in her knickers.
On seating themselves at one of the tables,
Richard Harris positioned himself beside Olivia and leant over,
whispering
quietly in her ear.
“Don’t take him too
seriously, my
Dear. Russell
really is quite a good lad
and, I daresay, rather smitten with you.”
He smiled at her raised eyebrow to his last comment and
continued. “You
could do worse, my Dear, far worse.”
She sighed and shook her head at the elderly
man, her voice pitched low so as to carry only to his ear.
“Possibly, but I’m not sure
how.” Harris’
laugh caused the others to cast
questioning looks their direction.
The
man simply shook his head and commented that they were sharing a
private joke,
apologising for having been so rude as to exclude the others. The inquiry on
Crowe’s face did not induce
the older man to share the alleged joke.
Olivia’s relief at his comment was obvious to
all, and they wondered what
had passed between them.
The group concluded their meal without
Crowe and Olivia getting into another verbal sparring match, and the
two went
their separate ways. Olivia
accompanied
Connie to make-up and the hairdresser’s, going over her lines
for her scene
with Harris one last time before she was due on set.
Once there, she stood in the background
monitoring the actor’s diction, indicating quietly to Scott
which phrases would
need retakes to get her accent consistent.
Crowe arrived on set and stood silently beside Olivia,
saying nothing,
but listening and watching everything with an interest and focus that
was
amazing. The man
seemed to want to know
and understand everything that happened with regard to the production
process.
The repeated takes with Olivia’s
drilling
the accent into Connie’s head took most of the morning, and
when they broke for
lunch Olivia had a crashing headache.
It
seemed she was having a lot of them these past few days. Connie, Crowe, Harris,
Scott, and the others
headed for craft services; as they departed, Olivia asked if Connie
would bring
her a sandwich later. For
now she’d like
to go back to Connie’s caravan to take a couple of Panadols
and lie down on the
couch for a time. Connie
nodded in
sympathy and handed Olivia the door key pulled from the slipper purse
she
carried. “Remind
me to have a key made
for you.” Olivia
nodded and thanked her
before walking away. Crowe
voiced his
concern as she departed.
“She having a turn?”
“A headache.
She’s not used to all the noise and activity
around here; she probably just needs some peace and quiet and a couple
of
aspirin. I’ll
take her a sandwich later,
and she’ll be fine.”
She searched her
co-star’s face, noting the concern that had flashed across
his face and in his
eyes. He was good,
she’d give him that;
there was no truly overt display of concern, but since early yesterday
Connie
had noted whenever Olivia was within his sight range, Crowe was
watching
her. Oh, he was
subtle about it, no
noticeable following of her with his eyes, no puppy dog looks such as
those he
received, and when he watched Olivia, more often than not, it was
beneath his
lashes or with a mere quick flick of his eyes as if reassuring himself
that she
was nearby. There
was also the fact that
he’d not been truthful with Connie and Olivia at lunch the
preceding day. He’d
said he’d not had anything to do with
any of the women on the set, and Connie knew differently.
Unbeknownst to Crowe, Connie had been on
set the previous Monday morning when he and Olivia had their
confrontation over
his having knocked her on her bum in the muck.
The actress had slept poorly and finally got up and
dressed, having her
driver take her to the set unusually early; she’d been on
location since four
in the morning, though she’d left around half-six and been
driven into Farnham
for breakfast rolls before craft services opened.
She’d returned shortly after Olivia arrived
on location.
Connie had always enjoyed walking before
sunrise assuming she was in a location sufficiently safe for that
activity, and
the set was safer than many places in which she’d indulged
herself in the
past. She had been
just leaving her
caravan when she saw Crowe unlocking the door to his own. He stepped inside to flick
on the lights
before coming back to stand just inside the doorway as if awaiting
someone. Connie had
stopped and ducked
into the shadows of her own caravan; her feminine curiosity had the
best of
her. She
didn’t wait long for
satisfaction.
The tall redhead from make-up appeared
round the curve in the path and, after scanning the environs, had moved
quickly
to Crowe’s caravan. He
tugged her inside
and closed the door. Connie
smiled to
herself. She’d
caught him in the act. She
continued her walk in the morning’s
frosty air, and as she rounded the curve in the path on her return a
bit over
half an hour later, she saw the flash of light as Crowe opened the door
to his
caravan. His
behaviour before allowing
the redhead to leave mirrored hers on arrival.
Finding nothing of concern, he gave her a quick kiss on
the cheek
followed by a slap on her nicely rounded bum.
Connie slipped amongst the trees lest the couple see her. The woman hurried past
without knowing they
had been observed. Her
hair was still a
bit damp as if she’d recently had a shower, and she had a
satisfied and
slightly dazed smile on her face.
Connie had laughed silently to herself; it
appeared the rumours about the man were true.
If the look on the make-up artist’s face was any
indication, Crowe must
be an adequate lover, as well as quick when necessary.
When Olivia had commented later that day
about the hair clip in the actor’s bathroom, Connie had known
immediately who
had left it there. She
had filed that
titbit away along with the other secrets she was rapidly learning about
various
members of the film’s cast and crew.
Connie wasn’t a busybody, but she was observant
and missed very little
of what went on in her surroundings.
She’d learnt long since that in her industry a
bit of inside knowledge
judiciously shared with the right persons could be quite helpful in
difficult
negotiations.
Day Five, continued – Wednesday, 1:15
in the Afternoon
After finishing lunch, Connie picked up a
chicken sandwich and a bag of crisps for Olivia intending to take them
to her
before returning to the set. She
was
waylaid by Scott who wanted to speak with her.
Crowe was with the man at the time and seeing the small
bag in the
actor’s hand, he offered to take it to Olivia in her place;
she thanked him and
walked off with the director. Crowe
walked thoughtfully down the path to Connie’s caravan and
paused at the door
before knocking. He
doubted the door was
locked, and on trying the door handle, his suspicion was confirmed. He entered silently and
closed the door,
walked through to the kitchen, and placed the lunch bag in the small
refrigerator before returning to the lounge where Olivia lay sleeping
on the
couch. He settled
himself in the chair
across from her, picked up Connie’s copy of the script, and
began working on
his lines for his next scene. He
glanced
over at the sleeping woman from time to time.
This was the first opportunity he’d
had to
observe her closely, and though he felt a bit guilty for having a perve
whilst
she was asleep, that did nothing to stop him from doing so. She was lying on her side
with her back to
the upright portion of the couch, knees drawn up slightly, her left arm
under
her head and her right hand under her cheek.
She was a beautiful woman.
Her
skin was like porcelain, so fair as to seem almost translucent, and she
had
removed the ribbon that held her hair back earlier in the day. Her inky hair glowed
almost blue-black in the
soft light and fell over her shoulder partially covering her bosom. She moved a bit in her
sleep, whimpered softly,
and then settled again. He
knew she
would be furious if she were to awaken and find him studying her so
thoroughly,
but he would survive her anger; he’d survived far worse where
women were
concerned. With
luck, when she awoke it
would be to find him immersed in memorising his lines.
He didn’t have long to wait.
Olivia stirred within 15 minutes of his
arrival. He had
been watching her
closely and, on realising that she was rousing, immediately turned his
attention to the script. He
heard her catch
her breath and looked up, affecting an innocent mien.
“Am I going to spend this entire film
waking to find you in the room with me?”
“Unfortunately for me
that’s highly
unlikely, so the answer would be no.
Of
course, if you’ve a mind, we can always strike an arrangement
that would ensure
I am available at those times.” Her
brows drew together in a frown as she sat up, and he smiled.
“Relax, Olivia.
I won’t say that I haven’t designs on
you,
but I’m a bit more subtle than that.
If,
and when, I proposition you seriously, you’ll have no doubts
as to my intentions.” To
his surprise, she actually laughed;
clearly, she’d not taken him seriously which was probably
best for the present.
“Crowe, if I didn’t know
you were having me
on, I’d be insulted. Now,
what are you
doing here, and where is Connie?”
“She got you a sammie and a bag of
crisps
and was on her way to deliver them when Ridley caught her. Said he had something to
discuss with her, so
I offered to bring your lunch over; it’s in the
‘fridge. As
you appear to have an aversion to locking
doors, I let myself in and decided to go over my lines whilst you slept. Could have left, but then
you’d have wakened
and thought Connie had forgot about you.
Didn’t want that, so I’ve been sitting
here keeping myself busy whilst
you had your kip.” That
seemed plausible
enough, and he certainly had no reason to lie.
Olivia walked to the refrigerator, tossing her hair back
over her
shoulders as she went, and Crowe stifled a groan.
He could envision that long hair falling
round him as he, but no. No
good going
there at this point. Perhaps
later. She opened
the refrigerator, retrieved the
bag, and turned to look at him.
“Connie’s got VB in here. You want one?
I’m having one.”
“Ripper.
Ta, Olivia.”
“You’re welcome,
Crowe.” She
came back with her lunch, a napkin, and
two cans of VB, handing one to him.
“Olivia, why do you call me Crowe?”
She looked at him, recalling
her conversation with Connie on this very issue.
“Because that’s your name,
obviously.” He
shook his head.
“No, Love.
Crowe is my family name. My
given name is Russell.
Try using it, would you?”
She looked at him for a tic and took a sip of
her beer before answering.
“I’m not entirely sure
I’m comfortable with
calling you by your given name.”
“Why not?
I call you Olivia.”
“Crowe,” he winced
melodramatically, “I’m a
good deal more formal than you are.
I
don’t usually start off using a person’s given name
when I’ve only just met
them.”
“You call Connie by her Christian
name.”
“Yes, I do, but then we’ve
had the
opportunity to spend quite a bit of time together and shared a few
relevant
details of our lives. Women
do tend to
warm up to each other rather more quickly than they warm up to men. At least this woman
does.” Olivia
could only imagine what he’d make of
that. He licked his
lips, the pink
tongue peeking out briefly
“Shall I take that to mean we need to
spend
a bit of time together and share relevant details before you’ll call me
Russell? All right,
let’s see. I
lost my virginity when I was fourteen.
She was ….”
Olivia cut him off in mid-sentence.
“Crowe!
I am NOT interested in your age at the loss of your
virginity, nor the
female with whom you lost it. I
don’t
care. That has
nothing to do with me,
and I’m not interested in sharing intimate details of your
life. I
don’t know you well enough for anything of
that sort.” He
took a deep swallow of
his beer and tossed the script on the table between them.
“Then give me a proper opportunity
for you
to know me better. If
you’re to be my
diction coach, I’d prefer we both relax a bit.
That includes your calling me Russell, as I find that
affords a more
pleasant working relationship. Have
dinner with me tonight.”
The casual
request knocked her for six.
“Have dinner with you?”
“Yes, have a meal.
Food, you know? You
eat.
I know you do because I’ve seen you do so on
several occasions now. Connie
has no scenes tomorrow, so there’s no
requirement for you to spend the entire evening with her. I’ll have you
home in good nick if you feel
you must spend a bit of time with her tonight.”
“Have me home in good nick? I’m staying here
in Farnham, Crowe, or had
you forgotten that?” He
drained his
beer.
“Not any longer.
Had a chat with Ridley last night after
leaving you and Connie. He
has the maid
at your current lodgings packing up your kit today; you’re
being moved into the
Dorchester with the
rest of us. There’s
a vacant mini-suite on the Concierge
Floor between Connie and me, and you’ll be installed there by
the time we get
back to town. It
only makes sense that
you be lodging close to those of us requiring your assistance rather
than 45
miles away once we’ve all left the set.
Besides, you’ll like staying at the Dorchester.
Service there is far better than the Inn out here.”
Olivia didn’t know whether to laugh
or
scream. The man
just moved in and took
over whenever and wherever he deemed appropriate without so much as a
by-your-leave to others involved.
Her
first impulse was to berate him, but she stopped short.
After all, she was attempting to remain civil
with him, and his logic in this instance was flawless; it did make far
more
sense for her to be close to her clients, particularly as Connie seemed
to need
more coaching than Olivia had originally realised.
Nonetheless, she’d have appreciated Crowe and
Scott having consulted her first.
She
considered telling Crowe that if she was to be in London
at night, she’d return to her flat but
knew he would offer the same argument as for her staying in Farnham. It was too far away for
his and Connie’s
convenience.
“So, what time shall I call for you? We should be back in London
by half-six. Can
you do your girly thing and be ready by
eight? Dress nicely. See you when
we’re ready to head back to
town.” He
was on his feet and out the
door before she could protest.
Day Five, continued – Wednesday, 7:45
in the Evening
Crowe had been largely silent and
non-committal the remainder of the day, saying nothing further to
Olivia
regarding dinner that evening and nothing to anyone else as far as she
was
aware. He
apparently realised that
Olivia would have strangled him had he mentioned what she categorised
as their appointment to Connie, particularly after
Connie’s having had a go at her regarding
the man’s supposed attraction to her.
He
wasn’t aware of the chat between the two women but kept his
silence for his own
reasons. As far as
Olivia’s considering
dinner with him an appointment, it made complete sense to her. One couldn’t
properly call a meal such as
this a date, could one?
A date was something
one went on with a man one found appealing, and Olivia wasn’t
yet past
considering him a nuisance to be endured.
There was certainly no enticement toward him working in
her; he was
likely the last man on the earth to whom she’d have been
attracted.
Knowing Crowe’s penchant for early
arrival
and barging in with minimal notice (at least he couldn’t do
that any longer, as
she was now behind her own locked door), Olivia was
dressed and ready by
half-seven. He had
said dress nicely,
and she had; she always dressed appropriately, but one dressed up a bit
more
for dinner out in the evening than for a luncheon appointment. It was fortunate
she’d packed a suit to take
with her to Farnham; there had been no time to go by her flat to pick
up
clothing on their way into town. She was wearing a trim black suit with
grosgrain ribbon piping the collar and lapels of her jacket and the hem
of the
trim-fitting, just-above-the-knee length dress.
Black nylons and black pumps completed the ensemble. Pearl
studs in her ears, and she was good to go.
She had pulled her long hair into a chignon, and it
actually appeared it
would stay there rather than having the weight of it pulling itself
down as was
usually the case. There
had been no
small number of hairpins and a good deal of hair lacquer involved in
that
operation, and she knew she would have to wash it in the morning. She’d not be
able to tolerate the sticky
feeling left from the lacquer once she’d taken it down at
bedtime.
There was a knock on the door promptly at
eight. Olivia took
a deep breath as she
crossed the room to open the door.
Crowe
was dressed in a light charcoal gray pinstripe suit and a black, raw
silk shirt
accented by golden cuff links in the shape of Australia
with matching tiepin
affixed to a burgundy tie; a black overcoat was over one arm. She swallowed at the
portrait of sartorial
splendour standing in her doorway.
He
looked absolutely magnificent; there was no other word that suited. She stood back and allowed
him entry, turning
to him as she moved aside.
“Would you care for a drink, or shall
we
go?” He
checked his watch.
“We should go.
I’ve made reservations at Sketch
for
8:45.” Sketch? She’d heard of
it, of course. What
Londoner hadn’t? It
was currently the most popular restaurant
in the city and, from what Olivia had heard, was bit on the pricey side. Magnificent food, wine,
and service; Sketch
had it all. God,
was she dressed
appropriately? She
inspected her suit
quickly; he caught it and smiled.
“No wurries.
You look a treat.”
He picked up her overcoat from the side table
in the foyer and held it for her, turning her round once
she’d gotten into it
and tugged it closed, buttoning it to her neck in much the same manner
as one
would with a child. “It’s
snowing again,
and the wind off the Thames
is bitter. Do you
have gloves?” She
nodded, reaching into her pocket for the
pair that was always there, and tugging them on.
He shrugged into his own coat and gloves then
held out his arm to her as they exited the suite and walked down the
corridor
to the lift. He
pressed the call button
one time and turned to grin at her.
“I
do actually listen on occasion.”
As they walked across the lobby, Olivia saw
several heads turn as both men and women watched their progress. She realised they likely
did make a very attractive
couple. It struck
her with rather a
shock that now she’d seen him brushed up, he was quite
probably the most
physically attractive man she’d ever been out with on any
occasion. Aside
from the regal bearing that seemed as
natural to him as breathing, he was a different man than the one
she’d begun to
know on the film set. To
date she’d seen
him either in wolf pelts or a sweat suit with an additional jumper
tugged over
the top of the sweatshirt. She’d
no idea
he would clean up so well and had vaguely imagined he would appear at
her door
in an off-the-rack suit from Marks and Sparks.
Instead, the cut and
fit of his suit
appeared tailor made for him, and she realised that with his enormously
broad
shoulders and upper torso, that very likely was forced on him with his
first
industry functions. He
could have
stepped straight from an Armani Men’s Wear advert. She noted as well his
impeccable manners. Outside
and the doorman opened the door of
Crowe’s SUV, assisted her inside, and Crowe followed, palming
the man a tip as
he closed the door. The
driver pulled
out of the half-moon shaped drive and slipped easily into the traffic,
heading
toward Conduit
Street
and Sketch.
They were two blocks from the hotel when
Crowe turned toward her. “Have
you been
to Sketch?”
She shook her head in
the negative. “Then
it will be a first
for both of us. Richard
recommended it
when I asked where I might take you tonight.”
God! After
Harris’ comment at
table earlier, she could only imagine the delight the older man must
have taken
in recommending a dinner location.
The
thought that Crowe might actually be attempting to seduce her struck
her like a
bolt from the blue. Of
course, he saw
it. Was there
nothing the man didn’t
catch?
“What is it?
Do you object to my having asked him for a
recommendation? I
scarcely know the city
and had no idea as to where we might go.”
She shook her head again, and he giggled.
It was the giggle that set her right.
He wasn’t planning seduction; men intent on
seduction didn’t giggle.
What a
ridiculous notion; he was simply lonely and likely wanted to discuss
the
film. As Olivia was
apparently
unattached and his diction coach into the bargain, she was the logical
choice
for an evening out. The
occasion would
provide him more opportunity to acquire the proper accent.
“Olivia?
Have you been stricken dumb since opening the door to your
suite? You
haven’t said a single word since we left
the hotel.”
“No, I was just taken a bit aback by
your
appearance. I’d
not considered how
you might look out of costume or
sweats. You brush
up well.”
“My mum did manage to teach me a few
things, Love, one of which was to always dress properly when taking a
lady to
dinner.” The
car pulled to a stop
outside the restaurant, and the doorman, who handed Olivia out of the
car after
Crowe disembarked, opened the restaurant’s door for them. They walked inside and
were greeted by the maître d'
asking for the name in which the
reservation was held.
“Crowe.”
“Certainly, Mr. Crowe. If you would follow me,
please, we shall stop
at the cloak room before I show you to your table.” They were lead through the
rather smallish
restaurant (it appeared to be a renovated townhouse) and surrendered
their
outer garments, after which they were seated at a table in a quiet
corner. As the man
held Olivia’s chair, he addressed
Crowe.
“The champagne you requested is
chilled,
Sir. Shall I bring
it now, or would you
prefer something more fortifying first?”
Champagne? Olivia looked askance at
her date, for it now appeared that indeed this might
actually be some sort of a date.
“Would you prefer a drink
first?”
“Yes, I would.
I believe I need one.”
“Scotch?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Glenfiddich straight up for the
lady,
water chaser, and Black Jack for me, also with a water
chaser.” The
man nodded and disappeared leaving a
rather confused Olivia behind him.
The sommelier
arrived with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in a silver wine
bucket and placed it beside Crowe at the same time the barman arrived
with
their drinks. Crowe
raised his glass to
her and smiled before sipping, and Olivia did the same.
Suddenly she could stand the suspense no
longer, and her customary forthrightness asserted itself.
“Crowe, what’s this about? We scarcely know each
other, yet you ask me
to dinner, bring me to one of the city’s more expensive
restaurants, order fine
liquor and champagne, and I’m totally confused.
Not that I think it's the case, but if you are
attempting to
seduce me, it won’t work.
My price, for
lack of a more appropriate term, is considerably higher than a good
meal and an
evening out. I must
actually know the
man in question and like him. I
don’t
know you at all, and I’m only just beginning to think that I
might, possibly,
at some point in the future, get round to liking you.
Please don’t muck it up.” His laugh erupted, and
several diners at the
tables closest to them turned to assess the situation; what little
restraint
Olivia still possessed snapped.
“Bloody Hell, Crowe, could you
control
yourself for once in your life?”
Olivia
detested attracting attention, but it seemed not to bother Crowe in the
least. His laughter
subsided to that
giggle, and he took a long swallow of his drink before answering her.
“Olivia, I said this earlier, but let
me
reiterate the finer points, in case you missed them the first time
round. In the event
I determine to seduce you, you will be the first to know of my intentions.
I assure you, Love, I’m not one to leave doubts
in a woman’s mind
regarding my intentions on something that important.” Her humiliation was
complete, and she stood
abruptly, almost knocking her chair over as she backed away. Her intention was to leave
as quickly as
possible in order to spare herself further embarrassment. He stood and caught her
hand before she could
walk away.
“Olivia.
Sit down. Now!” Though his tone was quiet
and low, it was
also quite authoritarian, brooking no refusal on her part. She bent to his will but
looked down at her
plate much in the manner of a reprimanded child.
He sat and reached across the table, holding
out his hand for hers.
“Olivia, please, give me your hand,
and
look at me.” She
did with no small
amount of dismay. Crowe
may not have been General Maximus, but he definitely had that
air of command bit down quite
well. She sighed as she
blinked back tears of
embarrassment and placed her hand in his, her gaze moving from their
now joined
hands to his eyes.
“Olivia, I didn’t intend
embarrassing
you. That was the
farthest thing from my
mind, but since the moment I collected you at the hotel,
you’ve behaved as
though you expected me to jump on you and root you blind. That isn’t my
style, so please give me credit
for at least a bit of finesse. I
may be
Antipodean, but I’m not without some degree of reserve and
tact, not to mention
manners and a great deal of respect for a lady when I happen to meet
one.” She
took a deep breath and let it out slowly
as he continued.
“Having said that, I’ll be
honest and admit
I am attracted to you on several levels.
You’re a damned fine looking woman, and a man
would have to be made of
stone not to respond to that. Okay,
poor
choice of words there. Sorry. However, I’m
also attracted to your obvious
intelligence and your commitment to your craft.
I’ve always had a good deal of admiration for
people who do their jobs
exceptionally well, and you do. You’re
incredibly patient with both Connie and me in working on the diction
Ridley
wants for this film, and I know I can speak for her as well in saying
we
appreciate your efforts.
“I will also acknowledge that the
notion of
knowing you on more intimate terms is appealing, but it isn’t
my way to rush a
woman if I’m truly interested in her.
At this
point, I do find myself superficially interested in
you. I’d
like to get you know you well
if you’ll allow that and hope that someday soon you can
manage to call me
Russell rather than Crowe.”
She smiled
weakly. “Olivia,
it’s important to me
that you realise something and not question it.
If at some point I should determine to pursue you in a
romantic sense, I
will let you know my intentions quite clearly in
order that you have right of
refusal, if that is your wish. You
should also know that when I’m involved with a woman, I am
faithful to
her, regardless of what you might hear from other quarters. When I’m
committed to a relationship, the
woman has my total and complete attention; anything less
isn’t possible for
me. I would also
have you realise that
I’m discreet and would shield you from untoward speculation
in any way
possible. I would
never risk
embarrassing you should we become intimate, and it’s
important to me that you
be aware of that fact.”
He gave her hand
a squeeze and released it, picked up his serviette from the table, and
returned
it to his lap.
“Now, shall we have our meal and make
an
effort at getting to know each other?”
Olivia felt a smile tug at her lips in spite of her
embarrassment. Yes,
the man was unrepentant, but he was also
one of the more charming rogues she’d ever met.
At least now she knew where she stood with him, and that
was rather a
relief. She also
had the definite
impression that, regardless of his level of interest in her, assuming
it was
genuine, he would never push her into a situation she found
uncomfortable or
unwanted. He seemed
truly a gentleman
for all that he was Australian. Perhaps
it was time she revised her opinion of Colonials or at least this
particular
Colonial.
“Thank you, Crowe.
I appreciate your honesty and for not
embarrassing me further after having voiced my perception of your
intentions. I do
hope I didn’t offend you with my comments.”
She took a
deep breath and continued. “And
for
whatever it may be worth to you, you not only scrub up well, I find you
rather
an attractive man into the bargain.
Not
that I’ve any other designs, mind you, but as long as
we’re being honest, I owe
you that much. Now,
may we forget my
impropriety and have our meal and, to use your words, get to know each
other? I’m
beginning to think I might
actually like that.”
They had starters and dinner, followed by
pudding (or afters, as Crowe referred to it), cognac, and coffee until
they
realised the maître
d' was hovering rather closely and watching
them. Crowe glanced
at his watch and
shook his head. It
was after midnight,
and the restaurant closed at one.
He
signalled for the bill and took Olivia’s hand across the
table.
“Well, are we sorted now? You aren’t Red
Riding Hood, and I’m not the
big bad wolf who eats little girls for breakfast.” She laughed along with him.
“No, you’ve dispelled my
notion of you as
that very well, thank you, and I’ve never fancied myself in a
red cloak.” He
paid their bill and stood, pulling back
her chair and placing his hand at the small of her back as they walked
to the
cloakroom. Bundled
against the cold night,
they waited as his driver brought the car round, and they entered it
for the
ride back to the hotel. At
the door to
her room, Olivia had a brief moment of discomfort; she hoped
he’d not try to
kiss her goodnight. He
held her hands in
his for a moment after he had the key into the lock and opened the door
for
her.
“Thanks for the evening, Olivia. I’ve enjoyed it
a great deal; perhaps we can
do it again.”
“Perhaps we might.”
“Good.”
He leant forward and kissed her softly on the cheek, then
stepped back
and released her hands. “Good
night,
Olivia. Sleep well. I’ll see you in
the morning.” He
turned and walked down the corridor toward
his suite as she stepped inside her own.
She leant against the closed door as she thought. She wasn’t
entirely sure what she’d expected
of him just now but was quite pleased with both the evening and how it
had
ended in spite of her earlier embarrassment.
Perhaps Connie’s observations weren’t
so far afield after all; Crowe was
coming across as quite likeable in spite of her misgivings. Olivia was in bed within
ten minutes and
slept better than she had done in months.
Day Six – Thursday, Two-fifteen in
the Morning
Crowe lay in his bed thinking over the
evening. It
hadn’t gone precisely as
he’d anticipated, but things rarely did in his experience. For a tic back there in
the restaurant, he’d
thought Olivia was going to walk out and leave him standing there like
a bloody
fool. Might have
served him right, given
that he was a bit less than tactful with that if-I-intend-seducing-you
speech. Truth be
known, he had every
intention of attempting to seduce her, but the time wasn’t
right for either of
them. She
wasn’t the only one who needed
to get to know someone a bit better before jumping off the cliff. He’d done that
often enough in the past and
had paid dearly for it on several occasions.
That wasn’t to say he’d never do it
again, but he hoped he was a bit
more in control of himself than to allow that behaviour to become a
habit he
couldn’t break. After
all, it wasn’t as
if there weren’t women round most of the time who were up for
a casual root if
he let them know he was interested; he just didn’t consider
Olivia to be that
sort. She was
different. His mum
would say that she was a lady, and
she’d be right.
Crowe’s mind flashed to the set of
Olivia’s
shoulders as she’d stood so abruptly and turned to walk away
from him
earlier. He
recalled his very real fear
that he’d not be able to stop her.
If
she’d actually followed through, he’d likely have
followed her out of the
restaurant, crawling on his knees whilst begging her to please come
back inside
and forgive him for being an arse-wipe.
He cradled the pillow imagining briefly
that it was Olivia’s breast he was attempting to snuggle into
as he sought sleep. So
much for trying to fall asleep. That
last thought was likely the least
sleep-inducing one he might have had.
He
tossed off the duvet, got out of bed, pulled on a robe against the
chill, and
walked to the sitting room, stopping at the bar, pouring himself a
bourbon, and
lighting a fag, then lay on the couch thinking.
What was it about her he found so
intriguing? She
wasn’t at all like the
women he usually found attractive.
For
one thing, Olivia was taller than any woman he’d ever been
interested in, save
one. She was very
brunette, and he
usually preferred blondes. She
was curvy
in the right places, in contrast to the slim, almost boyish figure of
some of
his more recent flames. She
was better
educated than any woman he’d known since leaving school
whilst in A-levels, and
she was a POM, for Christ’s sake.
He
knew she considered him a rough Colonial; by her standards he was, not
that
he’d ever apologise for that.
So, how
best to go about convincing her he was worth her time in getting to
know, let
alone anything beyond that?
Slowly, Mate, slowly.
That was the ticket.
Rush a woman like Olivia Aitkinson and he’d
see the back of her so quickly he’d never realise
she’d been more than a
phantom in his ever-active imagination.
Friday he'd merely bumped into her by way of introduction. Later that day Crowe had
learnt that the
woman, as he thought of her at that point, had been hired as
Connie’s diction
coach. To make
matters worse, Ridley had
politely suggested that she might help Crowe with his diction as well. Connie was
European-cum-American, and Crowe,
of course, considered himself Australian.
Connie was having a great deal of difficulty with the
posh, upper class
British accent Ridley wanted for the film, and whilst Crowe could
imitate Richard
Harris’ speech patterns well enough, he was
having difficulty finding the appropriate voice for his own character. Ridley had been nice
enough about it, hadn’t
merely told Crowe that, effective immediately, he had a diction coach,
but as
he was the film’s director, what he wanted was generally
given full
consideration. In
reality this was the
first non-Australian film Crowe had done that didn’t have a
diction and
dialogue coach for him as part of his contract.
Somehow, that seemed to have slipped past everyone, even
Crowe himself.
Crowe wasn’t much on so-called
political
correctness, but he knew where his bread was buttered.
He’d got Olivia’s CV from Ridley,
saying he’d
review her qualifications and think on it.
That night from Connie’s suite, he’d
talked to every reference she’d
listed. With each
successive glowing
report, Crowe’s mood had gotten darker, and Connie had
laughed harder. By
midnight he’d come to the conclusion that
as he couldn’t find any reason not to agree to having her as his coach rather than asking Ridley to hire
someone else for him, he
might as well go along with the director and just live with it.
He remembered the morning he’d
knocked her
off the path and onto her arse in the muck.
God, her eyes had shot such sparks at him that he wondered
if he’d
combust spontaneously from the heat of her look.
She had a temper. That
much was sure, and she’d let him have
the rough side of it without being crude.
When he’d literally tossed her into his bedroom
in the caravan telling
her to shower whilst he got her kit from her hired car, he’d
had more than a
passing thought about offering to scrub her back.
He had the feeling if he’d voiced that
thought he likely be singing soprano now, as he felt sure
she’d have castrated
him on the spot. There
had been words
after she’d emerged dressed in clean clothing, and
he’d left the caravan fuming
telling her to lock the door when she left.
She hadn’t.
That was on Monday.
On Tuesday and thanks to Ridley's
graciousness, he’d managed to make it appear to Olivia that
it was his idea to
have her as his coach. What
caught him
totally unawares was the reality that he was actually thinking he liked
the
woman, and they were making an effort at behaving in a more civilised
fashion
toward each other. One
could only wonder
what the coming days would bring.
