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Chapter 10: Interlude One-Three years later

Posted on Wednesday, 11 July 2001

We only love truly once. It is the first time and succeeding passions are less uncontrolled.
~ Du Coeur ~

The towering, black cumulonimbus clouds that had been threatening a riot all afternoon finally opened up just as Anne turned onto her street. She pulled up in front of a tall, polished gray-stone building, and slipped the shifter into park. For a moment, she leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes as heavy raindrops drummed on the roof of her car.

The pounding rain and the hissing of speeding cars on wet pavement were soon interrupted by a polite, but firm knock on her driver's side window. Anne opened her eyes to find the doorman gazing at her with a concerned look on his face. He opened the door and held an umbrella over Anne's head as they hurried towards the entrance, leaving the valet to park Anne's car in the garage.

'Are you all right, Miss Elliot?'

'Yes, fine, thank you.'

'Mr. Musgrove is home already.'

'Thank you.'

As the elevator doors closed behind her, Anne leaned back against the mirrored walls and rubbed a hand across her face. Charles. She had hoped he would still be at the office. It appeared, however, that he had been able to leave work early as promised, and would be ready for a celebration the moment she arrived. Unfortunately, Anne was not in the mood for a night on the town. She just wanted to change into her pajamas and curl up with a good book.

The lights were low, as she had expected, and candles were everywhere. Anne threw her keys onto a table that held an enormous crystal vase of red roses. She bent down to smell them, then slipped the small card from its holder and held it near a candle so that she could read it.

To my dearest Annie. Congratulations to America's most promising young attorney. I'm sure that you've raised the bar. I am so proud of you. All my love, Charles.

Anne smiled wistfully as she tucked the card back into the small envelope. In all the years she had known him, Charles had never let an important event pass in Anne's life without some sort of acknowledgment. Since moving in together six months ago, Anne had gone out to dinner more than she ever had before. Anne tried to show him the same consideration and care that he gave to her, but it often felt contrived. Her heart just wasn't in it. She did love him...but not as much as he deserved. Fortunately, he was too happy to notice.

Charles met Anne in the hallway. He gave her a light kiss, then helped her to remove her damp coat. Taking her arm, he led her into the living room, where a bottle of champagne was chilling on ice. Charles popped the cork with a big smile, and filled two champagne flutes. He passed one to Anne, then raised his in salute.

'So the exam is over. How do you feel?'

Anne drowned half of her glass in one sip. 'I won't know how I did for a while...'

Charles set his glass aside and slipped his arms around Anne's waist, kissing her softly. 'All that remains to be determined is whether or not your score was at the top of the list.'

Anne smiled. 'I wish I had as much confidence in myself as you have in me.'

Charles laughed and kissed her again. 'That's what I'm here for. So, how are you?'

'To tell you the truth...very tired.'

Charles turned Anne around and began massaging her neck and shoulders. 'I made reservations at two different restaurants, and there is a beautiful little dress lying on your bed...' He caught her wary expression in the mirror and laughed. 'I also rented six DVDs. It is your decision.'

Anne gave him a grateful smile. 'How do you know me so well?'

'I've known you forever, Anne.' He grinned. 'I also just got a message from Mary. She said that I was insane if I expected you to dance the night away right after taking the Bar Exam.'

'You speak to my sister more than I do, Charles!' Anne accused as she leaned down to remove her shoes.

'She became much more interesting after she overcame her crush on me.' He said with a laugh. 'You could speak to her too, if only you would answer your e-mail once in a while...'

Anne laughed. 'I would, if she sent me anything other than forwards.'

Charles shrugged. 'It's a start. So, is it to be a movie night?' He gave her shoulders a little squeeze, then nudged her towards the bedroom. 'Go change into something comfortable, and I will cancel our reservations and start the popcorn. I actually found a real popper. No microwave popcorn for you tonight!'

Anne felt better after she had changed and washed her face. She returned to the living room to find Charles hooking the DVD player up to a large-screen television.

'You bought a new TV?'

He grinned like a little boy. 'If you're going to have a movie night, do it right. I'm sorry, but a 15" TV just doesn't do it for me. I thought that this was a perfect excuse to upgrade.'

Anne began to laugh as she sank into the soft leather sofa. Charles dropped an afghan over her lap and handed her a glass of chilled wine and a bowl of popcorn.

'I've ordered Thai. It will be here in about an hour. I know that Chicken Massaman is your favorite...'

'Perfect, if you don't mind my spicy breath afterwards!'

'Hopefully, you'll only be kissing me, and my food will be just as spicy as yours, so...' He leaned over to give her a quick kiss. 'What are we going to watch first?'

'You choose. I've already had to make too many decisions today.'

Charles selected a movie and slipped it into the player. 'Do you remember The Words of Men? It came out early last year, I think.'

Anne's heart gave a sickening lurch. 'Um...no-no I never did see it.' Even the title brought back so many memories...

'How could you not? It won...what, five Oscars?'

'Something like that, yes.' Anne had avoided all publicity surrounding that film, Thomas Hassan's name, and his remarkable transition from theater to film. This past year, she had not watched the Academy Awards for the first time since she was ten. She had made excuses every time someone invited her to see the movie. She did not need any reminders of that summer.

'Well, it's about time you saw it.' Charles leaned back on the sofa and slipped an arm around Anne's shoulders as the opening credits came on. 'It is one of my favorites.'

Anne steeled herself against the bitter tide of nostalgia as she leaned back into Charles' arms. 'Then I am sure I will love it.'

The film began. Highlighted by a lush orchestral soundtrack, a battle-scarred castle appeared on top of a lonely hill, surrounded by mist. The entire scene was in dull shades of gray until a tiny red object appeared at the bottom of the hill. The camera zoomed in to reveal a young, dark-haired man dressed in russet, following a brightly colored caravan along a winding path that led up the hill towards the castle.

'That's the hero, the poet Robin.' Charles whispered. 'I read in an A.P. article that Bryan Moore was quoted as the sole reason 79 percent of all women surveyed went to see the movie.'

Anne smiled faintly. 'I suppose it's rather obvious why. His green eyes are stunning.'

'And yet, you were never tempted to see them on the big screen.' Charles grinned, teasing her. 'Could it be because you were so enraptured with me that even the most beautiful man in Hollywood held no interest for you?'

The next scene opened to the interior of the castle walls as Robin passed through hoards of impoverished peasants on his way to the keep. The brilliant throne room was a garish contrast to the squalid conditions the King's subjects lived in. The disgust on Robin's face was ill concealed as the King commissioned him to write a series of ballads commemorating his upcoming wedding to a spoiled Danish princess. As Robin knelt in front of the ruler, the camera swept the faces of the other people gathered in the throne room.

Anne cried out suddenly, then clapped her hand over her mouth, staring at the screen in disbelief.

Charles looked over in concern. 'Are you all right, Anne?'

Anne clutched a pillow to her chest and leaned forward, her eyes never leaving the television screen. 'Fine. I just thought I saw...I'm fine.'

The camera scanned the room once more, and there he was again: a young man, kneeling among the other knights with his helmet under his arm. His head was bowed this time, his face shadowed by a fall of beautiful, honey-gold hair. As Anne watched, the man lifted his head, and smiled.

Upon hearing Anne's second gasp, Charles tightened his arm around her shoulders.

'Annie, sweetie, what is going on?'

'I'll be fine. I just...knocked my elbow on the table.'

'Oh.' Charles smiled and kissed her elbow. Then he leaned back on the sofa and settled Anne's head on his shoulder. 'Better?'

Anne nodded slowly as she stared at the television screen. It was ridiculous, she told herself, after three years to feel such a shock and such bitter longing for an image on the television. He had, after all, only been hers for a few months, and she was with Charles now. Still, Anne could not tear her eyes away from Frederick Wentworth's face.

The doorbell rang, and Charles paused the movie to go get their food. Grateful for the interruption, Anne went into the kitchen to get plates and silverware.

Charles. Anne thought. Charles Musgrove, who had been her childhood playmate...who was so much more her 'type' than the free-spirited Frederick Wentworth. It was a terrible shame that Anne didn't feel quite the same way about Charles as he did about her. But try as she might, Anne could never completely forget about the wonderful things Frederick Wentworth had done to her heart. Anne was certain that she would never again be able to give so much of herself to any man.

Anne returned to find Charles waiting for her with the steaming cartons still sealed in front of him. She had a sudden vision of ordering Thai once with Frederick. He had begun eating with his hands before she could return with forks. Frederick had argued that oriental food tasted much better without silverware. He finally convinced her to try using her fingers, and they ended up feeding each other, and making a huge mess of themselves. Anne could still picture the stunning things laughter did to Frederick's beautiful blue eyes.

Anne dropped to her knees by the table and began to open the cartons. Charles spread a napkin across his lap and began to spoon food onto a plate. Anne looked at him for a moment, then dipped her fingers into the Chicken Massaman. Charles laughed and handed her a fork. Anne set the fork aside.

'Really, it's much better when eaten with your fingers.' She said, quoting Frederick, who had truly lived every moment of his life.

Charles grinned. 'As you wish, Anne. But really, it tastes the same. I think I'll keep my fork...so that I don't make a mess of the leather.'

Anne bit back old memories as she wiped her fingers with a napkin and picked up the fork. She shook her head and dug into the food. Unfair to compare them. How could she ever expect poor Charles to compete with a memory?

The golden-haired young knight didn't appear again for a long time, and Anne found that she was enjoying the movie very much. The story was about a poet who defied a tyrant king, and through his poems, compelled many of the king's subjects, including part of the royal guard, to join him in revolt.

Unfortunately, Thomas Hassan was not one for happy, fairy-tale endings. He held up the nobility of mankind, but did not allow improbable triumph over impossible odds. Robin's followers were eventually forced to realize that they would either be martyred or forced into exile.

During a scene on the eve of the final battle, while Robin and his friends gathered in a small tavern, Anne's handsome young knight made his third appearance. He was leaning casually against a table, wearing a white shirt that was open at the throat. His golden hair fell in tangles around his shoulders. There was a grim intensity on his face as he observed the leaders of the rebel movement. And then, just for a split second, his impossibly deep, clear blue eyes turned towards the camera, gazing straight at Anne and sending a sharp, lightening bolt of pain through her heart. Anne bit her lip to hold back her cry as the scene dissolved into a misty battle field.

Frederick Wentworth's fourth and final appearance as an extra in the movie was at the end of the battle, lying on his back with a growing red stain on his shirt, his beautiful hair trailed into the mud. In his blue eyes, there was an expression that Anne had seen once before: a mixture of anger, disbelief, and profound sadness. As the camera left him to scan the rest of the battlefield, Anne covered her face with her hands and missed the poet Robin's last stand.

Charles turned off the movie and pulled Anne into his arms. 'I told you it was a good movie. Even I had a tear in my eye at that final scene.' He smiled fondly and kissed her damp cheeks. 'Are you all right?'

'Fine...it's nothing. It was a wonderful movie. I just need some fresh air.' Anne scrubbed a hand across her face and leaped from the sofa. Terribly shaken, she walked out onto the balcony, taking in great gulps of the rain-scented evening air.

Charles followed her. 'I've never seen you like this, Anne. Is something else wrong?'

'No...of course not!' She mumbled, turning away from him to lean on the railing.

'Was there something in the movie that disturbed you?'

Anne stared at him. Of course, he didn't remember Frederick. They had only met a few times. Charles had been convinced that because her time with the actor was so short, Anne had quickly moved on and forgotten about him. He didn't realize how long it had taken her recover after Frederick left. He had no idea that she still doubted the wisdom of her decision, and that even after three years, Anne still dreamed that Frederick would suddenly appear, profess his undying love, and carry her away from Boston. Charles would be hurt to know, as Anne did, that most of Anne's heart would always belong to someone else.

'No...I just...It's been a rough week.'

Charles smiled and slipped his arms around her. 'Yes, but the Bar Exam is over now. I'm sure you passed with flying colors.' He turned her to face him. 'Can I do anything to cheer you up?'

Anne was quiet. If she remained in that apartment, she would go crazy...sorely tempted to replay Frederick's scenes over and over, just to see his face.

'Maybe...maybe we should go out after all.'

Charles gave her a big smile and a hug. He slipped inside for a moment, and returned with a beautiful little black dress.

'If you're sure you are up to it, we can really celebrate. There are some great bands playing around town tonight. Are you up for a couple of drinks and some dancing?'

The first club was packed when they arrived. Charles ordered a bottle of the finest champagne, then spirited Anne out to the dance floor.

'Do you know the first time I realized I was in love with you?' Charles asked, slipping his arm around her waist. 'It was when you came to see me off at the airport four years ago. You had just been painting Kristine's apartment, and you had a little smudge of white paint on your nose, and more just behind your ear. While you were busy checking my carry-on to make sure I had packed sunscreen and aspirin, it took all of my strength not to grab you right there and kiss you senseless. I don't know how I survived a year away from you. And then you told me that you were seeing someone...When I returned, and you were with...what was his name again? I was just sick with jealousy. Mary even offered to help me win you, but I couldn't do it. I am so glad that things worked out for us. Whatever happened to that guy, anyway?'

'I've heard that he is doing pretty well on the stage in London.'

'That's right...he was an actor, wasn't he?'

The champagne had arrived by the time Charles and Anne returned to the table. Charles popped the cork and poured two glasses.

'To Anne Elliot, the most amazing woman I know, and soon to be the most brilliant corporate attorney the world has ever seen.'

Anne took a sip of her champagne, watching the band as they set their instruments aside for a break. 'Thanks, Charles. This is just what I needed.'

'Anytime, Anne.' He said softly. 'Anne?'

'Yes?'.

'Will you look at me please?'

Anne smiled and turned to face him.

Charles reached out for her hands. 'Anne, you know very well how much I love you. We've been friends for so long, that I can't remember my life before you entered it.'

'Neither can I. You have always been there for me.' Anne agreed. 'I wouldn't want to imagine life without you always around.'

'Nor would I. Which is why...' Charles rose to his feet, walked around to Anne, took her hand, and dropped to one knee. 'Anne Elliot, will you marry me?'

Chapter 11: Interlude Two--Five years later

Posted on Thursday, 19 July 2001

Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.
~ Andre Gide ~

The scenery was breathtaking. Unfortunately, while one of the most beautiful, it was also one of the most harrowing calm-weather landings imaginable. One minute, the airplane was gliding serenely above the stunning Himalaya Mountains, and the next, it seemed that the belly of the airplane was going to catch on one of the jagged peaks surrounding the city. As the plane cleared the peaks to touch down gently on the runway, the first-time visitors laughed, clapped, cheered, or breathed huge sighs of relief. Veterans of other terrifying Kathmandu landings sat back quietly with funny expressions on their faces that were mixtures of smug superiority over the newcomers and private relief at another safe landing.

Nepal was one of the last places in the world Frederick had ever expected to visit. He had set off on the journey with visions of snow-capped mountains, mysterious mythology, holy men, glorious Hindu and Buddhist shrines, and small camps of fearless adventurers. So far, it was not at all what he had expected it to be.

If the landing had put a small dent into the Nepal of Frederick's imaginings, the scene in the airport did a lot more damage. Almost immediately after exiting the plane, Frederick's bags were seized and searched by a guard. Then, he had to wait in line for almost an hour to exchange his money because no bank in England carried Nepalese rupees. Then came the paperwork for his embarkation cards and visa, and another baggage inspection at customs. He was almost ready to give up upon seeing the chaos of those trying to find taxis, when his eyes fell upon a long row of Nepalese men with signs. His relief was overwhelming when he spied his own name on a card held by a short, dark man.

'I am Frederick Wentworth.'

The man nodded and tucked the sign under his arm as he reached out for one of Frederick's bags. 'Follow.'

The man led him to a tiny, rusted taxi and began fussing about tying Frederick's belongings on top of the vehicle. Frederick pointed towards the trunk, but the man shook his head. It was then that Frederick saw the huge dent in the rear end, which probably prevented the trunk from opening. The driver slipped into the seat and wedged the car into the ceaseless line of traffic.

The automobile's progress was painfully slow, because streets were choked with taxis, pedi-cabs, bicycles, cows, and pedestrians. Every once in a while, they were further held up by an accident. Traffic had no rhyme or reason, and every vehicle bore battle scars.

As they wove through the crowded streets of one of the poorest cities in the world, Frederick covered his nose with his sleeve to protect his lungs from the pungent dust kicked up by thousands of humans, animals, and vehicles. The sound was deafening: traffic and human noises mixed with the strange sounds of bells, cymbals, harmoniums and other exotic instruments. Frederick thought that the temples and markets looked fascinating, but the driver showed no sign of stopping. Above the throng of faces that surrounded the small taxi, Frederick could see the stacked skirts of ancient pagodas, and in the distance, obscured by a dusty haze, the mammoth, ghostly shapes of the Himalaya Mountains.

Then, suddenly, they were out of the stifling city and climbing through green hills towards the Himalayas. Frederick took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air, and leaned out of his window to better appreciate the stunning scenery.

After two hours, the driver made a sharp turn onto an even narrower road, closely hedged in by sheer rock. At the end of the pass, they came to a plateau, surrounded by high cliffs on one side and a steep drop on the other. Several small clusters of dwellings led to a tiny village. Set back against the mountain face, separated from the village by a high wall, was a cluster of delicate-looking, shining white buildings. The other end of the plateau offered a stunning view of snow-capped mountains, just slightly obscured by a faint haze. Here was the Nepal of Frederick's dreams.

The taxi rolled slowly through the village to the elaborate gates of the walled compound. A pair of uniformed guards let the car through the gate and into the estate. The buildings were surrounded by lush gardens that spiced the fresh mountain air with a thousand fragrances. Many small pagodas and reflecting pools were partially hidden from the main drive by beautifully trimmed clusters of trees.

A short, Nepalese woman met Frederick at the door of one building. She greeted him in beautiful, unaccented English, and instructed him to leave his bags and follow her. She led him to a room with wide, open windows and beautiful wood floors covered with soft Turkish carpets. A low futon, piled with brightly colored silk pillows and a down comforter, and draped with mosquito netting, sat against one wall. In the corner, a square, black enamel bath bubbled soothingly. Large painted vases of fragrant flowers covered every surface. There were no chairs in the room, but huge, soft cushions were piled at the foot of the futon and along the walls.

After the woman left and Frederick's luggage had been delivered and stashed in two beautifully carved armoires, Frederick walked to the windows. The sun was dropping in the sky, and the mountains were covered with a fine golden mist. In the gardens below, servants with tapers jogged about, lighting bright paper lanterns and candles in stone sconces along the walkways.

The phone rang.

'Someone will arrive in an hour for you.' The call ended before Frederick could ask any further questions. With a shrug, he returned the phone to its cradle and decided to take a walk in the garden while he waited.

The evening air was thin, but fragrant as he made his way along the stone paths of the garden. He came to a low bench next to a still pond and took a seat.

The whole trip was very mysterious. His agent had been very excited when he presented Frederick with the first-class ticket to Nepal, but claimed that he was sworn to secrecy. Apparently, whatever sort of opportunity was about to be offered to Frederick was to be a surprise. Between projects at the moment, Frederick was in the mood for an adventure, especially one that brought him to such an amazing place.

Frederick returned to his room when the sun was fully down. There were still a few minutes left, so he began to search through the newspapers and magazines arranged in a drawer. He pulled the New York Times from the pile because he had heard that an American journalist had written a flattering review of one of his most recent projects.

He reclined on the futon and propped several pillows under him as he searched for the article. For some reason, he paused at the society column. His lips curved in amusement as he read of the exploits of America's elite.

Frederick continued to scan the page until he came to the last blurb, which caused his heart to lurch violently. He sat up quickly, sending pillows tumbling to the floor.

Musgrove to wed. Charles Musgrove, heir to the Safari Tech and Musgrove Investments fortunes announced his engagement to the daughter of Walter Elliot, of Elliot Incorporated. The wedding will take place next May at the Musgrove estate in Martha's Vineyard.

Frederick rose to his feet and began to pace the room. So Anne was to be married. Frederick remembered Anne mentioning at one time that Musgrove was in love with her. It seemed that he had finally succeeded in winning her. It made sense: they were from the same world.

Frederick walked out onto the balcony and stared at the moonlit valley. Why, after five years, did it still hurt so much to think about her? Anne had been correct. Their lives had traveled in far different directions. Still, he had never loved another as he had loved her. No one had ever hurt him as much as she had. Even as years passed, Frederick had felt that there was connection between them. Anne became his muse. Every character he played, he played for Anne. Heartbreak? That was the easiest emotion of all to play. Because he could never love another, he was sure that she wouldn't either. But now, it was all over. She was lost to him.

There was a rapid knock on the door, and Frederick opened it. He stood there, dumb, staring at the person in front of him.

'Dickon!'

Frederick, who hadn't been called Dickon in a long time, shook his suddenly spinning head, transported back five years.

'Don't you remember me, Wentworth?'

The haze began to clear, and Frederick finally recognized his visitor. A smile began to grow across his face, and he held out his hand.

'Cutler, I haven't seen you for years. What on earth are you doing here?'

Michael grinned and slapped Frederick on the back. 'You'll find out in a little while. Nice hair, by the way.'

'I thought it was finally time to grow up.' Frederick laughed, running a hand through his closely cropped hair. 'This is my natural color.'

'Not bad. It goes well with the blue eyes. So, shall we?' Michael asked, gesturing towards the hall. 'Wait until you see who else is here.'

Michael led Frederick down a series of twisting hallways into the most beautiful conference room Frederick had ever seen. There were five people sitting around the elaborately carved table. Michael introduced them one by one.

'Adam Masters, who was the financial advisor for some of the most prestigious investment firms on Wall Street. Marilyn Peters, a brilliant attorney from London, who most recently worked for Robins and Paines Publishers. Robert Joules, formerly of Benson, Graves and Gray Advertising. George Faye, formerly with Dreamworks. And, finally...' Michael paused, grinning, as he walked over to place his hand on the shoulder of a pretty brunette. 'Lindsey Cutler-my wife.'

Frederick's astonishment made everyone laugh. He gaped at Lindsey as she rolled her wheelchair towards him and held out her hand, grinning.

'Nice to see you again, Dickon. I take it you didn't know.'

'No...no! Lindsey, Michael...congratulations! When did it happen?'

Michael grinned. 'We exchanged letters for years. I finally landed a role on Broadway, and spent every weekend for two years in Boston, while Lindsey was working on her residency. We were married two years ago.'

'I'm surprised that I never knew.'

'You never asked in your annual e-mail.' Michael smiled. 'And I learned long ago not to start any discussion about relationships with you.'

Frederick gave a short, embarrassed laugh and turned to the rest of the group. 'I am pleased to meet all of you-'

'Of course, you know Thomas Hassan.' Michael interrupted with a grin as the director appeared through a set of sheer curtains.

Hassan shook Frederick's hand. 'Thank you for coming, Frederick. My apologies for the tedious journey. Both the helicopter and the jet are being repaired, as it so happens.' He pointed to an open chair. 'Please have a seat.' Hassan sank into the great leather chair at the head of the table.

'Thank you all for coming,' He began, folding his hands on the table in front of him as he met the eyes of each person in the room.

'I have worked with all of you in the past, and have come to respect you tremendously. I need your help again. You are all here because I am about to embark on another adventure: forming a production company. You may wonder why I have brought you all to Nepal for this meeting. I have brought you here because, for one, I thought that this estate, far away from modern civilization, would provide us with a secluded retreat where we can share ideas and dreams. I have also brought you because I have named the company Annapurna Pictures. When I was twenty-three, and going nowhere, a friend invited me to climb Annapurna I, the sixth highest mountain in the world, with a team. It was, of course, the most difficult thing I have ever done. We survived, and I returned with renewed ambition, confidence, and determination to follow my dreams. I am here now because of that climb. I wanted all of you to get the sense of freedom and adventure that I have when I am here. We will visit the mountain tomorrow. I hope that it will influence your decision. I know that it will change your lives.' He grinned. 'It may also interest you to know that Annapurna was the Hindu goddess of prosperity.'

Hassan glanced around the table. 'George is my partner in this-I have stolen him from Dreamworks. Marilyn, of course, is our legal adviser. Adam is our financial adviser. Robert will head up the publicity department. I have sung all of your praises many times, so I won't polish your egos anymore tonight.'

He grinned. 'Frederick-you are probably confused as to why you and Michael, two relatively unknown actors, have been included. Although you have not had many major roles yet, you are famous for your taste. Every project you have taken on has proven to be a success, no matter how small the part you have played. It also helps that you are on the edge, but haven't yet burst into stardom. It is obvious that your time will come fairly soon.' His dark eyes twinkled. 'I also have nostalgic reasons. You were with me when I dared to enter the world of motion pictures. You may have seen yourselves only as my lackeys, severely overworked and underappreciated ones, at that. But I did notice your dedication and fortitude. That is the main reason I have asked the two of you to join me. I need young, fearless, forward-thinking, hard-working minds like yours to make this work.' He smiled at Lindsey. 'And Lindsey here is our resident medical expert.' Everyone laughed.

'I'm here because of Michael. He won't go anywhere without me.' She blushed as Michael slipped his hand into hers.

Hassan laughed. 'Close your mouth, Wentworth. The night is chill, but flies are still about.'

Frederick shook his head. 'I'm astounded. I never expected such a compliment from-'

'From a cantankerous old coot like me?'

Frederick began to protest, but Hassan silenced him with the wave of a hand as Lisa, Hassan's personal secretary entered with a crate of three-ring binders. On the front of each burgundy binder was a beautiful photograph of Annapurna I.

'This will have to do until we have an official logo.' Hassan said with a fond smile, running his finger over the photograph. 'This binder contains a copy of my proposal, a draft organization structure, a rough salary estimate for each of you, and much more material which will put you to sleep, but should inspire you to join this venture. Now, I will leave you all. I assure you that you will find that you sleep better here than anywhere else in the world. I will meet you over a late breakfast tomorrow. I'm sure you will have plenty of questions. There are pens and notebooks in your rooms so that you may record all of your thoughts and concerns. Thank you for coming. Goodnight.'

Everyone rose to their feet as Hassan left the room. The other guests wandered off, talking quietly amongst themselves, leaving Michael, Lindsey, and Frederick alone in the room. Frederick sank heavily back into his chair.

'Wow.'

Michael laughed, pulling a chair around to face him. 'Overwhelmed?'

'Yes.'

'What do you think?'

Frederick laughed. 'How could I possibly refuse? I am just astonished...This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Good Lord!" He rubbed his face with his hands. 'This is all so surreal. Are you sure it isn't a dream? I am in a strange and exotic place, being offered my dreams on a silver platter, and people I haven't seen for years have appeared so suddenly...'

'It is amazing, isn't it? Hassan must have been pretty impressed with us. He has followed our careers closely for all of these years. It is quite a compliment.'

'It is a compliment that both of you deserve.' Lindsey said, rolling around the table to them.

Frederick smiled at her. 'Thank you.'

As Michael went to the sideboard to pour brandy for all of them, Frederick pulled his chair closer to Lindsey. 'Forgive me for asking, but did you never heal from the accident?'

She smiled sadly. 'Not completely. I can walk, but only for short distances.'

'I am so sorry.'

Lindsey smiled, patting his hand. 'Honestly, I am not. It brought Michael and I together. If he hadn't spent those long hours at my bedside, and then sent a steady stream of letters followed by phone calls to check on my progress, we would have never discovered that we were meant to be together.'

Michael handed brandy snifters to both of them, then squeezed Lindsey's hand.

Frederick leaned back in his chair. 'I was just thinking about that summer earlier. Do you know...' He faltered, and took a sip of his brandy to cover. 'I've just read that Anne is to be married.'

Lindsey gasped. 'Really? Oh, I hadn't heard. We haven't spoken for a long time, and never about such personal matters. We grew apart a bit during graduate school. We were both so busy...Who is she marrying?'

'Charles Musgrove.'

Lindsey nodded. 'I should have guessed.' She smiled at Frederick. 'How did you react?'

'Truthfully? I was shocked. I've never forgotten...I guess deep down inside, I always believed that she would wait, and somehow we would be together again. It was foolish, of course. She was the one to end it all.'

'Are you still in love with her?'

Frederick walked to the window and looked out at the mountains, glowing dully in the moonlight. Gazing at the moon, he thought about the time when he and Anne had walked out to their spot on the cliffs at midnight. It had been before the accident, during the happiest time in Frederick's life. They had been lying on their backs, stargazing, when Anne promised to think of him every time she saw the moon.

Did you keep that promise, Anne? When you and Charles are moon gazing on your honeymoon, will you think of me?

The thought caught in his stomach, and he clutched the windowsill. 'I think, deep down, I will always be in love with her.'

The next morning, they loaded three Jeeps for the two-plus hour drive to Annapurna. When they arrived, A Sherpa guide led them on a short hike in the foothills. As they stood gazing up at the magnificent mountain, Hassan spoke in a low voice.

'Once we get started, our main office will be in London because it is closest to my current resources. Eventually, we will have a second office in Boston. It's atypical, I know, but I love Boston.' He turned to Frederick with a grin. 'You should be happy. How would you feel about returning to Massachusetts in a few years?'

'That would be fine, sir.' He said quietly, his soft blue eyes gazing at the mountain.

'Thomas, please, now that we are in business together. You are going to join us, aren't you?'

Frederick nodded. 'How could I possibly refuse?'

Hassan grinned and slapped Frederick's back. 'You've always seemed to be the lone traveler, always searching for something. Perhaps it's time we helped you find it.'

'Perhaps.' Forcing his thoughts to the back of his mind, Frederick turned to Hassan and firmly shook his hand. 'It will be an honor to work with you again, Thomas'

'I'm sure it will be, dear boy. I promise you, now that you have agreed...you are made!'

Chapter 12: Eight years later...

Posted on Friday, 27 July 2001

Live as if you were living a second time, and as though you had acted wrongly the first time.
~ Viktor E. Frankl ~

Frederick Wentworth lightened his pressure on the accelerator as he turned off the interstate and onto the scenic highway heading towards the Massachusetts coastline.

The forests were just beginning to turn the golden colors of autumn. In the distance, the Atlantic Ocean painted a dark blue-gray stripe across the horizon. Frederick rolled down his window and took a deep breath of the fresh, pine-scented air. Thirty minutes more, and he would enter Somerset, Massachusetts. As he passed scenery that once had been so familiar, the years rushed back to him. It had been so long...almost eight years, in fact. Nevertheless, if he closed his eyes, he could picture the town and those who lived there just as clearly as if he had left only yesterday.

The sinking sun cast a rosy glow on the countryside as Frederick turned the silver BMW onto the main street of the small New England town. The lampposts were decorated with autumn banners, and storefronts held advertisements for a fall festival.

A few businesses had come and gone over the years, and the faces on the street were unfamiliar, but the main landmarks still stood, including the town's two favorite night spots, and the small market with its bad fruit and fabulous seafood. The Ashleigh hotel still kept uniformed doormen.

Frederick parked his car in front of the Ashleigh and tossed his keys to a valet, while another uniformed young man began to unload suitcases from the trunk. As Frederick entered the grand lobby, he reflected with a wry smile that he had once thought that he would never have the chance to enjoy the gracious hospitality of the elegant hotel.

His room was comfortably warm, due to a crackling fire. Fresh flowers, surrounded by fragrant pine boughs, decorated the hearth and tables. A silver tray on the coffee table held a fine selection of cheeses, smoked salmon, smoked oysters, and delicate crackers. A bottle of champagne chilled on ice.

The bellboy deposited Frederick's suitcase on a stand and began to remove clothes from a garment bag to hang them in the closet. Frederick waved him away from the luggage and slipped a crisp bill into his hand. The young man grinned and thanked him.

'Enjoy your stay, Mr. Wentworth. We are very happy that you have chosen to stay at the Ashleigh.' He gushed, 'If you need anything, call Andrew. He's the concierge. He'll get you anything you need. Is there anything else I can do for you?'

'No, thank you...?' Frederick paused, smiling.

'My name is Simon, sir.'

'That will be all, Simon. Thank you.'

After Simon left, Frederick hung his soft wool coat in the closet and loosened his tie, glancing at the champagne bottle. With a shrug, he popped the cork. He might as well celebrate this small victory, he decided. There were once those in this town who would have been very surprised to find him a guest at the Ashleigh. And now, the hotel management was falling all over itself to please Frederick Wentworth.

Frederick walked over to the window with his champagne flute, and brushed the drapes aside with one hand. The streetlights had come on, now that the sun had set. A gentle rain was beginning to darken the shoulders of the pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalk below. Down the street, neon signs brightened the doorways of several buildings. Two of the brightest signs were those of the Somerset Tavern and the Swingin' Shrimp.

Frederick stood in the window for a long time, gazing at those familiar locations, and remembering.

Mica Pictures, one of Anne's first clients, was folding. After spending several months reviewing offers from larger companies, Mica's board of directors had finally accepted a proposal, and Anne's next task was to meet with the purchaser's legal team. Instead of meeting at the Mica headquarters in Boston, Annapurna Pictures had offered to fly Anne and several of the company's executives to London. It was highly irregular, but Anne was not about to refuse an all-expenses-paid trip to one of her favorite cities.

Hotel rooms had been reserved, but Annapurna had also offered the use of a London townhouse for the duration of their visit. The two male executives who traveled with Anne opted for elegant suites at the Savoy. Anne and two female secretaries decided to stay at the beautiful townhouse.

Anne loved the room she had been given. It was decorated in soft moss green and cream, and every piece of furniture was a beautifully restored antique. The tall windows looked out onto a quiet street lined with similar, subtly elegant brick homes. Her only complaint was about the bed. As one who loved to sprawl out on her own bed to read, Anne couldn't understand the European fixation with single beds. She did, however, fall in love with the soft, fluffy down comforter.

Anne sat on the bed and reached over the edge into her carry-on to retrieve a thick folder. Then she piled pillows behind her back and pulled the comforter over her knees and began to read.

London-based Annapurna Pictures had been much less forthcoming than the other companies that had approached Mica. Annapurna had only been in existence for two years, and had yet to release a major film. It had several projects in the works, which were utterly confidential. It appeared that Annapurna was waiting to make its debut until it had a blockbuster on its hands. There were apparently two producers, but only one listed his name on the proposal: George Faye. The company seemed to have tremendous financial backing from an unknown source.

Anne thought that Mica's review committee should have done more background research before accepting Annapurna's proposal, but apparently the money had been sufficient that they did not care what sort of company was purchasing their 'baby.' Anne's job was not to research the viability of a corporation. She was merely present to make sure that the contracts covered all possible issues, were legally binding, and were satisfactory to all parties involved.

It was beginning to rain, and a fresh breeze flowed through the open windows, lifting the light curtains from the floor. Anne pulled the comforter closer around her and rolled onto her side as she began to write out her thoughts for a meeting later in the afternoon.

Anne awoke several hours later, stiff-necked, and with notebook and pen in hand, to a knock on her door. One of Mica's young secretaries entered and announced that a car would take them over to Annapurna as soon as Anne was ready. Anne quickly straightened her skirt and threw on a fresh blouse. Then, after running a brush through her hair and applying lip gloss, she grabbed an umbrella and dashed out to the waiting BMW.

Anne had been expecting the offices to be in a high-rise building. She was surprised when they drove several minutes out of the city to a sprawling, centuries-old estate.

'I am Marilyn Peters.' A handsome, forty-something woman held out her hand, smiling, as she led Anne into the cavernous front hall. 'I hope you are enjoying your stay, Miss Elliot.'

Anne commented that the townhouse was beautiful. 'I'm surprised that the owner was willing to part with it during our stay.'

'The owner is in Boston right now. He is one of our young executives, sent over to work on plans for restructuring Mica.'

'May I ask his name, so that I can leave him a thank you note?'

'He asked to remain anonymous. I am sure you can understand...He would rather the location of his townhouse not become common knowledge.' She gestured towards the dining room. 'Shall we?'

Anne was impressed with Marilyn Peters. The attorney was very intelligent and confident, but was not condescending to the younger attorneys in the room. Anne had expected to be pushed aside by a superior legal team, but Marilyn actually deferred to Anne's opinion on several occasions.

Anne returned to the townhouse late that evening, both exhausted and stimulated by a lively and productive set of meetings. As she removed her coat, she saw a note on the end of her bed.

For: Miss Elliot
Caller: Amanda Russell
Time: 6:52PM
Please call!

Knowing that Amanda was likely to talk for a long time, Anne set the note aside and changed into more comfortable clothes. She washed her face and removed her contact lenses before sprawling on the bed and reaching for the telephone.

Anne, I am so glad you called! Your father has finally agreed to let someone take a look at the Hall.

Anne leaned back against the pillows with a sigh.

'Good. I was so worried that he would hold off until we were forced to sell. I feel so guilty...'

Don't. It's not your fault that Elizabeth insisted on European tours every summer, that your father was addicted to race horses, and that servants and cars are so expensive. I wish that we could have talked some sense into them...but it's over now.

'I wish there was some way I could help him.' Tears formed in Anne's eyes as she tried to imagine someone else living in her beautiful home while her father moved to an apartment.

You may be a well-paid attorney, but you could not even try to maintain your father's lifestyle. It is better that he learns his lesson now, so that he doesn't get anyone else in debt. You are helping by supporting the leasing of your home. She paused, and Anne could hear her speaking with someone in the background. I am bringing a couple by to see the estate tomorrow.

'Who are they?'

I haven't actually met them yet. Perhaps Mr. Shepherd could tell you more... Anne could hear the phone being passed on to someone else.

Hello, Anne.

Anne exchanged greetings with her father's lawyer, and asked again about the potential renters.

He is a married, but childless admiral. A perfect situation, if you ask me. An admiral's wife, after spending years at sea and in tiny military housing, will be wonderfully appreciative of your house. She will take good care of it...and there will be no small children running around to scratch the paint, kick up the gardens, and break things-

'Who are they?' Anne repeated, smiling, as she interrupted Mr. Shepherd's enthusiastic ramblings.

Admiral Croft. She said that her brother lived in Monkford some years back. She told me his name...but I can't remember it...

Anne's heart gave a sudden, violent lurch, and lodged somewhere in her throat. 'You don't, I suppose, mean Mr. Wentworth?'

Oh, yes, that's it! Wentworth. I worked with him several times to process papers for that director-fellow who used to have a house over in Monkford. He was not a very well-dressed fellow, but he was polite enough. I suppose he won't be around much. I recall he had an accent...Australian?

'British.' Anne murmured. 'I should probably go. I have an early meeting tomorrow, and I still have some reading to do.'

She hung the phone up and collapsed back against the pillows with a flushed face and a racing heart. One thought kept racing through her mind, and prevented her from getting any sleep that night.

A few more weeks, and he might be there.

The next morning, when Frederick opened his door for room service, he found that a note had been thrust under his door. After tipping the starry-eyed young girl who had delivered his breakfast, he unfolded the note.

Dickon,
Sorry we weren't in when you arrived last night. We are in room 312. Call or stop by when you get a chance this morning. I'm so excited to see you!
Samantha

He carried the tray over to his bed and stretched out beside it as he dialed his sister's room.

Dickon! Samantha's strong voice carried through the phone.

'Hello, Sam.' Frederick chuckled, holding the phone away from his ear. He took a quick bite of toast as his sister informed her husband that her little brother was on the phone.

Are you up and dressed? Harry and I are going over to see a house this morning. It's not officially open to lease yet, but a lady in town assured me that they were working on the owner to give it up.

'I would love to come, as soon as I finish-'

-Can you believe us? Looking at estates! After so many years at sea and in horrible military housing!

Frederick smiled and cradled the phone on his shoulder as he settled in to finish his breakfast. His sister always ended up talking his ear off.

He was focusing on spreading jam on his toast, having partially tuned his sister's voice out, when one word caught his ear, causing him to drop the knife onto the bed, smearing jam on the comforter. He frowned, dipped his napkin in a goblet of water, and began to dab at the stain.

'Excuse me, Sam, but...you didn't say Kellynch, did you?'

I did! We drove by yesterday. It's a lovely place...say, you were up here for a couple months some years back. Did you ever get to see it?

Frederick's breakfast was now forgotten as he held the phone away from his ear and stared at it as if it was some foreign and incomprehensible thing. Then he cleared his throat and pressed the phone back to his ear, hoping that his sister would attribute the quaver in his voice to a blip in the lines.

'Yes, I did see it. Lovely as you said...what about the family? Why are they...'

The old man has been spending foolishly, I heard. The eldest daughter had her European tours just about every summer, and the most expensive schools, and the clothing, and lavish parties. As for the father, it was servants and thoroughbred horses. Had 'em shipped from England and Ireland to fill his kitchens and stables. It's unfortunate that the Elliots weren't more responsible.

Frederick desperately wanted to ask about Anne, but couldn't bring himself to do it. 'Will the family be around when you visit today?'

No. The youngest, the only girl who married, has a house of her own. The father and the eldest are attending a reception here, at the Ashleigh. The middle girl is out of the country.

'I see...' Frederick murmured, having no idea at all what his sister had just said. He was still trying to digest the fact that Anne was not married.

Anne had hoped to spend some of her time in London sightseeing. Unfortunately, the rain had come as soon as she arrived, and threatened not to let up until the end of her visit, allowing her only to visit various museums and galleries.

Restless after spending an entire evening indoors, Anne tossed her book on the bed and went to the window. It was still pouring out. Anne opened her door. Other than the gentle hiss of rain hitting the large windows that lined the hallway, the house was silent. The three servants had already gone home for the night, and Mica's two young secretaries had set off to find a dance club.

Anne wandered aimlessly down the dark hallway, occasionally peeking around closed doors. She felt a little wicked as she set out, but she was curious. Who was the owner of this house who didn't want his name to be known? What would it hurt if Anne found out, and then kept the secret to herself?

The master bedroom was tastefully done in mahogany and cranberry, with thick, Turkish rugs on the floor, and several impossibly soft chairs. But other than these furnishings, there was little decoration. Anne dared to peek into a large, antique armoire, and saw a collection of beautifully tailored suits and cashmere sweaters intermingled with jeans and button-down shirts. The light scent of after-shave, leather, and cedar lingered in the air. Anne smiled as she closed the doors and glanced around the room. There were no photographs anywhere.

The library was small and cozy, decorated with soft, leather chairs and thick rugs. The shelves held books on every possible subject. Anne was surprised to find that most of them were well-read. It appeared that the owner of the house loved to read as much as she did, and had a very diverse range of interests.

She passed by several other beautifully decorated, but seemingly little-used rooms until she reached the study. Her heart pounded quickly as she stepped through the door. Of all the rooms, this would be the most likely to provide her with a clue to her host's identity. She silently laughed at herself as she pulled the door closed behind her. The mysterious gentleman was probably just an eccentric. She couldn't believe that anyone really famous would let perfect strangers stay in his house...even if his identity was kept from them.

The desk was cleared of papers. Apparently, the owner had packed everything away before he left. Anne was curious, but not enough to start digging in desk drawers.

A well-thumbed book of poetry lay on a small table at the elbow of a butter-soft leather chair. Anne sat in the chair and picked up the book. The inscription read: To D. Since you are determined to wallow in heartache, you might as well commiserate with the best. Love, your big sis.

Anne flipped through the book, stopping to read several poems that were marked with bits of paper. Most of the marked poems were heartbreaking. Anne knew very well the sort of sorrow the owner of this book must have felt upon reading them. With a heavy sigh, she set the book aside and rose to her feet. Suddenly, she didn't care in the least who the owner was. He was entitled to his privacy.

As she returned the little volume of poems to the table, a card slipped out from the back and fell, open, on the carpet at Anne's feet. She picked it up to put it away, and froze as she saw the picture on the front of the card. With trembling hands, she opened it.

Dickon,
I just wanted to thank you for being there when I needed you so much. I couldn't have gotten through all of this without you. You are the most amazing man I have ever met, and if I haven't said it enough before, I am hopelessly in love with you. I don't know what I ever did to deserve you. I just wish you didn't have to leave...

Love, your Anne

The card slipped from Anne's hands as she fell to her knees.

Memories came flooding back as the car drove up the long lane to Kellynch hall. The paint wasn't quite as immaculate as before, the cedar hedges needed trimming, and the walk needed new cement, but otherwise the house was much the same. He felt as if he was stepping back in time as he walked up the front stairs. Looking up, he saw Anne's bedroom window. He remembered standing on the front lawn for hours one night, staring at that darkened window, feeling as if his world had just ended.

Frederick was surprised at the authority with which Mrs. Russell shepherded them through rooms that were still obviously occupied. He found it tasteless. A family still lived here, and they were traipsing through, discussing changes that would be made, drapes that would be ordered, rooms that would be closed off. It was even worse knowing that this was happening to her family.

They headed upstairs to the bedrooms, poking through them. The last one they visited was Anne's. It was obvious that it was not regularly used. Samantha took one look at the room and stated that it would serve perfectly as a craft room, before she left to look at the next room, followed by her husband and Mrs. Russell. Frederick lingered behind.

Although the room was perfectly straightened and cleaned, there were still a few personal items of Anne's lying around. A hairbrush, a book of poetry, a ribbon from a riding competition when she was a child. Funny how little things like that could bring a lump to his throat after such a long time. Frederick moved around the room, touching a few things, and found himself standing before her bed. Somehow, that thought that she slept there for years caused his heart to ache. It had been so long, and over the years, he was able to convince himself that he was over her. But standing here, he felt as if it had only been yesterday that Anne had given up on him. Frederick gently brushed his fingers across the pillow that had held her head. Then, very carefully, he bent over and pressed his lips to it.

Frederick straightened up with a guilty flush on his face as he heard his sister's voice outside the door.

'I love it. I can't wait to move in...' Samantha cried happily as she came around the corner. 'Good heavens, Frederick, are you still in there?'

'Yes...' he faltered, then gave his sister a smile. 'I was just thinking that this is such a charming room as it is, looking over the garden. If I were you, I would leave it as it is. It would be a wonderful guest room.'

Samantha nodded, looking around. 'I agree. There are other rooms I can use. I will leave this one. Perhaps you can use it when you come to stay with us!'

It was too much for Frederick to picture himself sleeping in Anne's bed without her, so he quickly stepped through the door, past his sister. 'I want to see the grounds. Come find me there when you are through.' He called over his shoulder in a gruff voice.

He almost ran downstairs in his haste to escape the memories that this house brought back.

After wandering without direction through the overgrown gardens, Frederick found himself in the little arbor by the pond. Another wave of memories washed over him, nearly bringing him to his knees in its intensity. He groaned as he lowered himself on a bench and rested his face in his hands.

Why, after all of these years?

Chapter 13

Posted on Saturday, 4 August 2001

The Past -- the dark unfathomed retrospect! The teeming gulf --the sleepers and the shadows! The past! the infinite greatness of the past! For what is the present after all but a growth out of the past?
~ Walt Whitman ~

Frederick accompanied Samantha to Kellynch Hall twice more during that weekend. Each time, he became more immune to the bouts of nostalgia that had attacked him on his first visit. By the time he left for Boston, he was able to laugh about his reaction. For a grown man to dwell on the past as he had was both ridiculous and pathetic. Finally, the ghost of Anne Elliot was exorcised.

Still, he was relieved to have so much work thrust at him when he reached the Mica offices on Monday. Until he was far away from Massachusetts, he preferred not to have any time free for thinking, because no matter what he told himself, his disobedient brain wandered back to Somerset the moment it was set free.

At first, Mica's executives were piqued that Annapurna had sent a young actor, and not someone more distinguished, to present the final arrangements before the keys to Mica were transferred. After several days of intense meetings, however, their opinions changed. Frederick Wentworth was not just an actor; he was an excellent communicator with a smart mind for business. Frederick also appeared to be very concerned that the final desires of Mica's employees were considered as much as possible. He promised that very few positions would be terminated. He even presented several opportunities for former Mica employees to transfer to London.

The icing on the cake was that Louisa Muse, a fledgling actress recently, and very publicly, signed by Mica, was to star opposite Frederick in an upcoming film with very promising prospects. Mica's president proudly preened his feathers when he heard that the girl everyone called Mica's Muse would carry the torch for his little production company. Even if the credits listed Annapurna Pictures, everyone who had watched the news in the past few months would associate Louisa with Mica Pictures.

After his last meeting of the week, Frederick was left alone in the office Mica had given him for the duration of his stay. He sank into the leather chair with a sigh, and one-handily removed his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his collar. With his other hand, he flipped his laptop open and hit the Internet hot key. He had several new messages.

To: frwent@annapurna.com
From: Hassatom@annapurna.com
Subject: re: Mica

Frederick,

Glad to hear that things went well on your side of the ocean. I hear that Mica was impressed. Good job, dear boy.

Everything is completed on this end, as well. With luck, we will be back to work as usual by winter. Are you ready to start filming?

Just a reminder: don't forget to look up our little Muse while you are there. I rarely cast my leading roles without first introducing them to each other...but this was a special circumstance. I thought it might help things go smoothly with Mica. It doesn't hurt that she is cute as a button.

T.H.

Frederick laughed and sent off a quick reply. He was browsing the rest of his messages when he heard a quick knock at the door.

'May I come in?'

Frederick glanced up to find a darling blonde standing in his doorway. He smiled charmingly as he rose to his feet and strolled over to meet her.

'Miss Muse, I assume?' He asked, offering his hand.

'And you are Frederick Wentworth, of course. It is an honor to meet you.' She shook his hand warmly, then walked into his office.

'I was afraid that I would have to return to London without meeting you.' Frederick said from the doorway, amused, as she removed her coat and sat in a chair by the window.

'I'm sorry...If they had told me before Monday that you were coming, I would have canceled the photo shoot in LA.' She gave him a bright, confident smile that did not at all seem apologetic.

Frederick grinned, and dropped into the chair next to her. 'Don't apologize. You have caught me at just the right time. Anytime else this week, and I would have been up to my elbows. Now the work is done ... at least until I return to London.'

'Then you are free for the evening. When does your flight leave?'

'Not until nine tomorrow morning.'

'Well, then, would you like to get a sandwich? Mr. Hassan wanted us to get to know each other...especially since we are to be in love. I find it much easier to do that over food than in a cold office. Don't you?'

'Fall in love, or get to know each other?' Frederick asked, smiling, as he rose to his feet again.

'Both, if possible. But do you think two people can fall in love in a day?' Louisa's eyes sparkled as she stood and gathered her purse and coat.

'Hassan expects no less.' Frederick laughed, holding the door for her. 'I would hate to disappoint him.'

It should have bothered Anne that the rain did not stop until her last day in London, when she had no time left to enjoy the city. But she had been to London before, and planned to return again. Besides, she reasoned, much less would have been accomplished if she had to choose between work and Hyde Park on clear, autumn days. As it was, the final legal details of the transaction between Mica and Annapurna were finally complete. All that remained was for Anne to bring the documents back to Boston for signatures. Then, she could wash her hands of production companies, and seek a position with a normal corporation, like Intel or Coca-Cola.

Anne piled her suitcases at the foot of the bed and changed into a long, sleeveless, chocolate-brown dress. She opened the windows to test the temperature, then donned a soft, cream sweater. With still half an hour until the car arrived to take her to dinner, she sat down at a small desk and stared at the note-card that had rested there all week.

Common sense had not stopped Anne from jumping every time she encountered someone else in the house, fearing that the owner had returned unexpectedly. But otherwise, she had behaved very well. She did not do any more exploring. She forced herself to forget about the book of poetry, its inscription, and the card that had been saved all these years. She convinced herself that her feelings were just remnants of habit, and that it was impossible to be in love with someone you have not seen for nearly a decade.

The only real difficulty after the initial shock of finding out she was staying in Frederick Wentworth's house was when she sat down to write a thank-you note. Of course, a thank-you was necessary. And, as the highest-ranked guest, she was responsible for writing it. But how could she write a note to him, and sign her own name?

Anne finally solved the problem by reminding herself that she was not supposed to know his name. Because of that, there was no need for a personal message. It would have been so much more difficult if he had allowed his identity to be known. But then, of course, she would not have faced this problem at all-she would have never agreed to stay here. So, taking the professionally brief route, she penned a rather cold note. But it was the best she could with the knowledge that he would, eventually, find out that she spent a week at his home, and that the note had to have come from her.

Dear Sir:
Thank you for opening your home to representatives of Mica Pictures during your absence. Your generosity was very much appreciated.
Sincerely,
A.E., et al., Mica Pictures

After the note was written, Anne sighed, and sank back in her chair. It really was not all that difficult, after all, to push disturbing thoughts to the back of her mind. In fact, never having been in this house before, it was fairly easy to convince herself that the owner was a stranger she had never met. In fact, the owner probably was a stranger. Anne, herself, had changed greatly in the past eight years, and was no longer the soft, sweet, carefree girl she had been. For all she knew, having avoided all publicity about him like the plague, Frederick Wentworth had become fat, ugly, and cantankerous. A quirk of a smile touched Anne's lips and she shook her head to dispel the image.

As she sealed the envelope, Anne was struck by a thought that made her pause. Perhaps he already knew that she was here. Was that why he had asked to remain anonymous? But why, then, would he offer the use of his house?

Anne shook her head. Of course he didn't know. There was no reason for anyone but the people on Annapurna's legal team to know her name. And even if he did know, after eight years she was probably just another name from his past...no one that he would even bother to give a second thought to.

There was a rapid knock on Anne's door, and someone shouted that the car was waiting. Anne hurriedly scribbled Frederick's name on the front of the envelope and grabbed her purse. She left the note on the mail table in the front hall, and hurried out to the car.

'Do you know,' Louisa murmured, running her finger around the edge of her wineglass as she gazed into Frederick's impossibly blue eyes. 'When I first saw you, I thought I had seen you before.'

He laughed, leaning back in his chair as he took a sip of his wine. 'I'll bet you say that to all of the guys.'

'All right ... so you have been in movies and on stage for seven years. It doesn't give you the right to be cocky about it.' She pouted.

'I apologize. But cocky? My dear, I have no reason to be 'cocky' just yet. Since college, I have never held a lead in any play, musical, or movie.'

'You're kidding!' She gasped, leaning forward. 'But I've seen so much of you-'

'In supporting roles.' He added, smiling.

'But why?'

'Ask the directors. All lead roles I was offered I found distasteful. I have no wish to enter into the world of science fiction or television romance. No matter the size of the role, I only do projects that I find...' He paused, searching for the word.

'And that is why you haven't broken into super-stardom yet.' Louisa shook her head.

'Exactly. It seems, however, that I am to be a project of Hassan's. When I agreed to join Annapurna, he said, and I quote: you are made. I do not, however, hope to be labeled a 'super-star'. I just want to reach a level where I can do whatever role I want.'

Louisa, intoxicated both by the wine and by Frederick's laughter, leaned forward and slipped her hand over his. 'I think you will be a star. I'm glad I'll be along for the ride.'

'This film promises to be a good ride, especially with Hassan at the helm.'

'You are perfect for Orsino. You have the charisma and confidence...and looks. The ladies will sigh over your beautiful blue eyes.'

Frederick laughed. 'And I am sure you will be a good Viola. How do you feel about cutting your hair?'

She shrugged. 'It will grow back. I would go bald for a chance like this.'

'That could be arranged ...' Frederick's smile turned into a yawn. 'Forgive me. It has been a long day ... and a long week. Tell me when you have fallen in love with me, so I can go to bed.'

Louisa took one last sip of wine. 'I can see that you are bored of me. Well, it couldn't be helped.' She took a pen from her purse and scribbled something on a napkin. 'Here is my e-mail. If we can't fall in love in person, at least we can try online. By the time we begin filming, we should be engaged.'

Frederick, truly and honestly exhausted, stifled another yawn as he handed Louisa into the taxi. As soon as the car pulled away, his mind was elsewhere.

Louisa, who had never flirted so much in her entire life, sank back in the taxi seat with a satisfied smile. In the past, she had rules about dating leading men. This time, she was planning to throw the rules out the window. The film was going to be fun.

Chapter 14

Posted on Friday, 24 August 2001

Though no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending.
~Anonymous ~

Home at last, Frederick entered the front hall, laughing, with several friends. Immediately, a servant took the bag from his hands, while another raced outside to retrieve the rest of the luggage from the car.

Once again, it was raining in London. The street outside hissed with passing cars. Frederick and his guests were damp, but a fire had been lit in the parlor for them. Frederick saw his guests relieved of their wet clothes and ushered into the warm room. Then, leaving them with hot drinks and food, he asked to be excused while he checked his messages.

There was a stack of mail on the table in the hall. He scooped it up and thumbed through it on his way to the study. Most of the envelopes held bills. He slipped them into a small wooden box on his desk. The rest contained various invitations or personal notes from his friends. He set these aside for later perusal. One envelope, he found, had no postmark. Opening it, he lifted his eyebrows in amusement at the brief message, then threw it away.

He had begun to review the list of telephone messages that had been compiled in his absence, when a funny expression crossed his face. Setting the list aside, he bent down and retrieved the small, yellow envelope from the wastebasket.

Dickon

'Dickon, are you coming?'

Frederick gave Michael a distracted smile, turning the envelope between his fingers.

'In a minute...do you know who my guests were last week?'

'I was out of town. Why?'

'Well...I thought this was a little odd,' He handed the envelope and the note to Michael. 'When I offered the use of this house, the girl Marilyn put in charge of making arrangements for the Mica people insisted that she would not tell them my name. It did not matter in the least to me, but she insisted...and yet, whoever wrote this note addressed it directly to me, using my nickname.'

Michael laughed. 'It wasn't very professional of the writer to address you so, especially after writing such a terse note. Maybe you will think twice before opening your house to strangers again.'

Frederick shrugged and gave the envelope one last glance, then set it back on his desk and followed Michael from the room.

'Who taught you how to be a host?' Lindsey Cutler teased, holding her hand out to Frederick with a smile.

Frederick laughed and squeezed her hand, raising it to his lips. 'You're right. It was an unforgivable error in etiquette to leave you, and I apologize.'

'I'll forgive you,' Lindsey said, laughing, 'if you will give me another smile like that!'

'Now, stop flirting with my wife.' Michael groaned, taking Lindsey's hand from Frederick's grip. 'You'll have her swooning over your blue eyes for weeks if you don't stop.' He winked at Lindsey.

'Well, I am sorry.' Frederick laughed, taking the chair next to Lindsey.

'One of his house guests left a strange note.' Michael explained.

'The writer addressed me as Dickon. Only three people in the world still call me that: the two of you and my sister.'

Michael shrugged. 'Perhaps one of your guests was a fan of yours. Somewhere along the line, an interviewer probably asked you a few inane questions, including your favorite color, and your childhood nickname.'

'I can think of someone else who calls you Dickon.' Lindsey added with a mischievous smile.

'And who would that be?' Frederick asked in the same tone.

'Anne Elliot.'

Michael groaned. 'You know better than to mention her name around him.'

Frederick glanced at Michael. 'That was years ago, Cutler. Besides, I highly doubt that she still thinks of me at all, not to mention my nickname.'

'Oh, I don't know about that...' Lindsey trailed off mysteriously, 'Could I please have a cup of coffee?'

Frederick distractedly pointed Michael towards the coffeepot. 'What are you talking about?'

'Don't you know? I found out yesterday: Anne Elliot was one of your houseguests!'

Anne had never particularly enjoyed working for Mica. At first, as a starry-eyed law school graduate, she had entertained glamorous dreams about her new position with the well-known production company. Unfortunately, by the time Anne was hired, the CEO and chief executives had nearly run the company into the ground. Over the years, the predicaments Anne had to clear up became more and more frustrating and ridiculous. Consequently, when Mica was finally sold, she took it as a perfect opportunity for a new beginning.

She was, therefore, surprised at the brief twinge of regret and doubt that tugged at the back of her mind as she entered the lobby on her last day. The atmosphere at the Mica headquarters had undergone an amazing change since Annapurna's takeover. Anne had returned from London to find that the old conference room had already been completely remodeled, and was now the command center where busy young executives carried out Annapurna's lofty plans for its limping predecessor. The 'old guard,' the small group of stubborn men who had been responsible for Mica's downfall, were busy packing their belongings, replaced by a group of dynamic, intelligent businessmen and women who were already making vast improvements in the morale and efficiency of Mica's workforce.

As Anne entered the front office, the secretary was standing next to her desk, glaring at a workman who was talking to her slowly in an exasperated tone.

'Apparently, a 1998 computer isn't good enough for Annapurna.' She muttered to Anne, gesturing towards the brand new machine that sat next to the old one. 'Now it's going to take me another month to figure this out and transfer everything over.'

'Most people would be glad for a new PC ... especially this one.' The workman muttered as he bent over the new unit.

'It looks like they aren't wasting any time ... ' Anne observed, glancing down the corridor, where large wastebaskets were rapidly filling. 'Are so many people leaving?'

'It's not the people they are getting rid of ... except for a few. Annapurna's first assignment for us is to clear out all trash, unnecessary files, etc. They were not impressed with the state of our offices. We should have a corporate rummage sale.'

Anne snorted. 'I can't say I disagree with them. This place was a mess ...'

'Just wait until you see your office.' The secretary warned. 'They decided not to wait until you were out of here.'

Anne grinned. 'Annapurna is famous for efficiency. Is Matt in?' She asked, removing her coat. 'I have a few papers for him to sign. I have been trying to chase him down for a week. It is supposed to be my last day, you know, but I can't leave until I find him ... '

'If he is not in his office, he is hiding in the men's. Good luck.'

Anne peeked into her office on her way to the elevators. Dust cloths covered everything, and several painters were busy on ladders. It looked like a completely different, much larger room. The metal bookshelves had been removed, and the walls that had been harvest gold since the seventies were now covered in a warm, buttery cream color. Anne was shocked to see that the scuffed carpet had been removed to reveal a beautiful hardwood floor.

The workers climbed from their ladders and helped Anne to find her desk underneath the mountain of cloths.

'What do you think?' One asked, leaning casually against the desk as Anne rummaged in a file drawer.

'I'm sure it will be lovely. Too bad I won't be around long enough to enjoy it.'

'Oh, were you canned?'

'No,' Anne laughed, rearranging the cloth over her desk. 'I'm just ready to move on. I'm sure that Annapurna already has my replacement picked out.'

'I doubt you'd be so easy to replace.' He leered.

Anne smirked, thinking that the man must be pretty desperate to be flirting with her. 'Thank you, I'm done in here.'

Almost immediately after leaving her office, Louisa Muse closed in on Anne, giving her a hug.

'I just got back from New York. How was London? I've never been there, you know.'

'It was fabulous. Rainy. Exhausting.' Anne sank into a chair in the hallway and gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from the young actress.

Louisa sighed dramatically as she took the chair next to Anne. 'I envied you. Isn't this all so exciting?'

Anne looked at her strangely. 'I thought that you, Mica's Muse, would be sad that they were bought out.'

'I was at first, but now...I'll be working for Annapurna!' A slow smile spread across her face as she leaned back in the chair. 'I already have a role. I get to play the love-interest of a gorgeous man. He was here last week.'

'They sent one of their actors to visit you?'

'He isn't just an actor...He is an assistant to Hassan, himself.'

'Thomas Hassan? Is he Annapurna's other producer?'

'You didn't know?'

'They wouldn't tell anyone who the second producer was. It was all a big secret. Hassan is a very strange, very secretive man. How did you find out?'

Louisa smiled. 'I have my ways ... but don't you want to hear about this guy?'

'Of course ...'

Louisa leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, as if conjuring an image of him. 'He has beautiful dark hair, expertly cut, but with a tendency to curl. He has a deliciously wicked sense of humor, a wonderful laugh, and an incredible, brilliant, disarming, bewitching smile. He has a body that would make Aphrodite cry, and the most amazing eyes I have ever seen...the color of glacial ice.'

'He must really be something.' Anne murmured, remembering a pair of eyes she had once compared to the Mediterranean on a stormy day. 'Are you going to tell me his name?'

'Frederick Wentworth.'

'Dickon?!' Anne cried, nearly upsetting her coffee.

Louisa laughed. 'I never heard him go by Dickon. I made the mistake of calling him Fred in the elevator, and he gave me a cute smile, and said, "Please, anything but Fred. My father was Fred." Do you know him?'

'I used to. I stayed in his house when we were in London. He wasn't there, of course...'

'Want to know the best part? He called me the day he got back to England. He just wanted to thank me for helping him out when he was over here. He is such a sweetheart. I gave him my e-mail address too.'

'Isn't it a bad idea to get involved with your costars?' Anne suddenly had a sick feeling in her stomach.

Louisa shrugged and pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket. 'I found a list of every movie and play he has been in, and the directors he has worked under. Take a look at this...' She slid the list across to Anne.

Anne glanced at it. 'He's been busy in the past eight years.' She said slowly.

'Yes, he has. And with a résumé like this, it's amazing he isn't better known. Have you ever seen him act?'

Anne shook her head, then changed her mind and nodded. Louisa smiled.

'I saw him on stage once. He was brilliant. I almost died when I first saw him here in the office. You will have to come visit me on the set. I'll introduce you! I know you'll love him.'

'I'm not sure that would be a good idea. After all, I won't be an employee anymore ... '

'No you won't, but you will still be my friend. He is supposedly coming back to the States next week. I think he is going to stay in Boston until filming begins. You have to meet him! I'll see what I can arrange, and then I'll let you know.'

'I...will look forward to it.' Anne faltered, then rose to her feet. 'It was nice to see you Louisa, but if you will excuse me, I have to find Matt Marshall.'

Later that night, after Lindsey and Michael left, Frederick remembered that he had left his mail in the front hall. He carried it into his study, and began to sort it into piles, when he was again confronted by the strange note. He picked it up and studied the inscription.

Suddenly, a thought struck him, and he rose from his chair. Chuckling to himself, he picked up a small volume of poetry from a table and carried it back to the desk. He slipped a card from the back of the book and opened it, comparing the writing. It was identical.

'Unbelievable.'

A frown creased his forehead as he stared at it for a moment. Then he snatched the thank you card from his desk, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the fireplace. He couldn't quite bring himself to toss Anne's original note, so he slipped it back into the book.

'Long overdue.' He muttered, carrying the book of poetry over to the bookshelf, where he buried it in a row of similar volumes.

As he slid a hand into the pocket of his trousers, he found a small slip of paper. He looked at it for a while, then sat down at his desk and signed on to his Internet service. As soon as the e-mail was entered in his address book, an icon appeared in his instant message box. He shrugged, grinning, and clicked on the icon.

Louisa? It's Frederick Wentworth, from Annapurna Pictures. We met at Mica last week.

Her response was immediate. Well, hello! How are you?

Fine. Thanks again for your help last week.

You're welcome! I enjoyed working with you!

He knew that. She had been rather obvious in her admiration. He frowned as he typed his reply. Did everything go well after I left?

It sure did! By the way, I have a favor to ask...

I'll do what I can... Frederick answered, leaning back in his chair.

I promised a friend that I would introduce you to her. When you come back to Boston, can we get together for lunch, or something?

Sure.

Whatever works for you. Her name is Anne.

Frederick laughed. After all of these years, Anne's name suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His smile twisted ironically as he typed his question. She wouldn't, by any chance, be Anne Elliot?

How did you know??

He shrugged, glancing at the fireplace. Just a guess. I have to go. Hassan promised me that the scripts would be mailed soon. If you don't get yours in a week, let me know. Have a good night!

You too! It was nice talking to you, Dickon

Frederick stared at the screen. Where did you get Dickon from?

It's what Anne calls you.

Continued In Next Section