The Director's Cut by Js Taylor (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud txt) 📕

away,” says James. “Believe me, Issy, I hate keeping you under wraps like this. The time will pass quickly, I promise.”

That’s if we get a chance to finish the movie.

By my understanding, a press leak could still ruin everything.

The hall is firmly in sight now, and I can see the main doorway is open.

The manor is an enormous construction of red brick, with huge sweeping wings on either side.

“Time to meet the parents” James murmurs, resting a hand on the small of my back. “I hope you’re ready for this.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I mutter.

Chapter 32

As we near, two figures are waiting for us in the entrance. A small woman in her late fifties, with perfectly groomed blonde hair, I guess to be James’s stepmother.

She stands next to a tall man in brown cords and a tweed jacket, with silver grey hair.

“James!” the blonde woman steps forward and throws her small arms around him. Then she steps back and fixes me with a beaming smile.

“And you must be Isabella!” She looks utterly thrilled, and before I know what’s happening, she hugs me too, grasping my face and planting a determined kiss on each of my cheeks.

“I’m Eliza,” she says, throwing out her hand. I shake it, and her fingers enclose mine warmly.

Even though she’s small, she has an energy and strength about her which is palpable. Her accent is mild, but noticeably Eastern European. She wears a tweed skirt, with a cream blouse, which she’s accented with a few tasteful pieces of gold jewellery.

It’s a very traditional Lady of the Manor look, and I’m guessing she chose this style to fit in more readily with English culture.

James’s father is shaking his son’s hand. He rests another hand on top, in a gesture of affection. But it’s still a far cooler greeting than I would expect a father to give.

Then again, I know nothing about the aristocracy. Perhaps that’s standard.

“Isabella is it?” says Lord Berkeley, turning to me. “Delighted to meet you.”

I’ve never heard such an upper class accent, and I’m reeling from it, as James’s father steps forward and takes my hand.

He’s a tall man, which adds to his sense of presence, and he has green eyes, like James’s, which twinkle.

“What a lovely girl you are,” he says, enclosing my hand in his large fingers.

I feel myself blushing. Lord Berkeley’s features bear more than a passing resemblance to James’s. But where his son has a rugged crookedness to his face which I love, Lord Berkeley’s features are large and straight.

I can imagine he was handsome, as a younger man.

“Let the poor girl go,” laughs Eliza. “I’m sorry, Isabella, about a hundred years ago, you would have been just my husband’s type. And he’s forgetful, now that he’s so old.”

She’s beaming as she says this, and Lord Berkeley releases my hand and shakes with laughter. He glances at his wife, approvingly.

“Luckily, I have my wife to keep me in line,” he says.

“Won’t you come sit for dinner?” says Lady Berkeley. “You must be hungry. And we have a surprise guest for you.”

“You do?” asks James.

“Oh yes,” says Eliza. “I invited Camilla. Isn’t that nice? She hasn’t stopped talking about you Isabella. You must be some actress.”

We follow James’s father and stepmother into an enormous dining hall, which takes my breath away. The last time I saw a room like this, it was on a tour of Buckingham Palace.

It’s not so much luxurious, as grand. There are stuffed animal heads, placed high on the walls, and a huge table, which looks like it came from medieval times.

I’m trying to take it all in, wondering whether real people actually eat here with any kind of regularity.

“I’m so sorry for the décor,” says Eliza, welcoming us in. “David won’t let me decorate in here just yet. But I’m working on him. No one wants to eat with dead animals staring at them. And that table is like a great monolith, lurking there.”

Lord Berkeley smiles at this. “This table has been in our family ten generations,” he says to me. “It was given to Lord Berkeley by King Charles for his loyalty in the Civil War.”

“Don’t bore her with your family history,” says Lady Berkeley. “Isabella, he’s trying to impress you my dear. Just ignore him.”

Once again, Lord Berkeley looks delighted, and I realise he enjoys his wife’s playful banter.

“Please sit,” says Lady Berkeley. “Ah,” she adds, “here comes Camilla.”

“Issy!” I turn to see Camilla beaming at me with delight. “It’s so great to see you!” She rushes towards me and flings her arms around me.

“It’s good to see you too!” I hug her back. It’s great to have her back.

Despite the formal surroundings, Camilla is dressed in a pink maxi dress with spaghetti straps and converse trainers.

I feel instantly more at ease with my own outfit. Maybe this isn’t going to be as hard as I thought.

We sit for lunch, and between Camilla’s lively chatter and Lady Berkeley’s keen sense of humour, it’s a far less formal affair than I feared. In fact, I’m really enjoying myself.

The food arrives, and we have asparagus soup, followed by trout, which James’s father proudly explains was caught on the estate that morning.

Lady Berkeley disappears to dig out some family photos, and Camilla takes the opportunity to tuck in a little closer to me and drops her voice.

“Is everything ok on set, Issy?” she asks. “Some of the crew told me there’d been some issues with leaks to the press.”

She glances to where James and his father are sitting to check they can’t hear. But they’re deep in their own conversation.

“Yeah.” I sigh. “James says he’s taking care of it. I think that’s part of the reason we’re filming here now. But he won’t tell me why.”

“Oh, he’ll never tell anything!” says Camilla, continuing to keep her voice low. She glances at James and his father again, to satisfy herself they’re not listening. “It’s maddening,” she adds.

I notice that James looks relaxed and