“Well, we both went to the same primary school, but I’m a couple of years older.”
Bingo! She’d just mined one of Hollywood’s best kept secrets, but she would keep it to herself. It didn’t really matter anyway, as long as he was age appropriate. It wasn’t like he was twenty or, god forbid, fifty!
“So, where in Australia are you from?”
“Melbourne. Have you been?”
“Sydney only, I’m afraid, and even that was a fly-in-fly-out visit for some ghastly press junket.”
“Did you really just complain about life as an international film star?” She raised her eyebrows and he chuckled at himself.
“I did. You see, this is the real me—a pompous arse who complains incessantly about being, as you put it, an international film star.”
“That seems unlikely—the pompous arse part.”
“You might be surprised. In any case, would you allow the arse to buy you a drink?” They had stopped outside a small pub called The Ha’penny and Sixpence. Its Kelly-green window boxes were empty, but its whitewashed walls glistened in the drizzle and it had the ubiquitous thatched roof that so many of the village buildings had. This one looked like a giant fur hat.
A car zoomed by so close and so fast that Chloe felt it before she saw it. “Shit.” She leapt onto the front step of the pub and Archer followed, his reflexes kicking in just after hers.
“That’s my fault, sorry,” he said, looking down at her, a crease between his brows. “I wasn’t paying attention and it can get a little dangerous on this curve of the road. No footpath, see, and people tend to drive like mad idiots through the village—even in weather like this.”
Chloe’s breath started to slow, and she blew out a noisy sigh. “It’s definitely time for a drink.”
He pushed on the white wooden door and stepped aside so she could enter ahead of him. A gentleman, she thought. He closed the umbrella and brushed errant rain drops from his shoulder, just like he had when he’d arrived at his mum’s house hours before. Chloe watched the simple gesture with wonder. The way he moved, even something as simple as that, was a lesson in elegance. He smiled down at her and Chloe knew exactly why she’d had a crush on him for all these years.
He was an absolute hottie.
The pub, which must have been at least a few hundred years old, had extremely low ceilings and as she followed Archer into a small room off the main one, she watched him duck beneath the beam that spanned the doorway. They found a table for two in the corner next to the window where the milky light from the grey day seeped in, then peeled off their coats before getting settled.
A woman, who looked to be in her mid-sixties, appeared out of nowhere and stood next to the table, peering down at them. “Alan! So good to see you, love,” she said. Alan?
Archer stood and warmly kissed the woman on her offered cheek. “Mrs D, good to see you too. You haven’t aged a day.”
She tutted and waved off his compliment the way women do when they are not-so-secretly pleased. “Oh, rubbish, you cheeky boy. I look a right fright.” She patted her bright red fluffy curls. “I forgot my umbrella and had to walk all the way from the bus stop in this wet muck.” She tilted her head to the side and regarded him, smiling with obvious pride.
As though she suddenly remembered her manners, she turned towards Chloe. “Hello. You must be Alan’s girlfriend. Madison, isn’t it?” Oh, god! Chloe wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or flattered that Mrs D had assumed she was Archer’s girlfriend—and a famous film star.
To his credit, Archer handled the faux pas just as graciously as he seemed to do everything else. How he avoided embarrassing all three of them was a minor miracle, but he did. He took Mrs D’s hand in his and feigning conspiracy, whispered loudly, “Actually, Mrs D, this is my new friend, if you get my meaning. Chloe.”
“Ooohhh,” she said, as though Archer and Chloe were engaged in some sort of illicit affair. “I shall keep it under wraps,” she added, glancing about to see who else was listening; it was no one. “Chloe,” she said in hushed tones, “your boyfriend was one of my favourite students.”
Oh, so that’s where Mrs D fits in. Archer shook his head and sat down.
Chloe rested her chin on her hand, “Oh, do tell, Mrs D. Maybe you would like to join us?”
“Oh, no, I can’t, love. I’m working, see?” She laughed loudly. “I’m supposed to be taking your order. Our John will give me a stern talking-to if I stay any longer chit-chatting. What can I get you?”
Archer ordered a pint and Chloe ordered red wine. On Mrs D’s recommendation, she’d gone for the tempranillo over the pinot. When Mrs D retreated, Chloe fixed Archer with a look. “So, Alan …” She let the name hang in the air, a slight smile tugging at her lips.
He raised both hands in surrender. “Now you know two of my secrets.”
“Two?” She was playing dumb and she knew that he knew that.
“Uh-huh. My age isn’t common knowledge, as you know.” This time she raised her hands in surrender. “And I was born plain old Alan David Tate.”
“What’s wrong with Alan?”
“Nothing. It is a perfectly serviceable name. But, you see, when I went off to drama school, I had it in my head that I needed something more … well, impactful. Actually, my mum came up with Archer.”
“Your mum?” An image of the slight frown that seemed permanently etched on Cecily’s face popped into Chloe’s head. Archer nodded, chuckling softly.
“Yes.”
“Hang on. Seriously, your mother, Cecily—the woman who could terrify a grown man at fifty paces just by looking at him—your mother came up with your stage name?”
The chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard my mum described quite like that, but
