for us today, Simon." She stood and offered her hand. "The Ad Hoc Upper Bassett Players thank you."
The executive smiled as he shook her hand. "Is that what you call yourselves? You have quite a lot of talent in your village. It’s worth sharing with a wider audience."
After they were safely out of the bustling television center, Greg asked, "Was he really interested, or was he just giving us the local version of the Hollywood shuffle?"
"If Hollywood shuffle means what I think, no, Simon isn’t like that. He really did like what he saw, which means he’ll probably make an offer after he runs it by his programmers." She sighed. "Unfortunately, he’s also being straight about the money. When one comes down to it, this is just glorified community theater. We’ll be lucky to sell it at all. We won’t get enough to buy the barn."
"There’s a good chance of an American sale, and maybe a Canadian one as well."
"From what you told me, that won’t be huge money either. At best, we’ll have perhaps half the amount we need."
Much as Greg would have liked to disagree, she was right. Cable stations and public television weren’t rich. "If you have contracts for half the money, you’re in a better position to borrow the rest."
"Perhaps." Jenny shook off her mood. "We’ve done as much as we can on this front. Now it’s time to start worrying about our performance tonight."
"You’ll need your strength. Let me buy you lunch," he suggested.
"What a good idea. I know a lovely pub near the motorway. Beams, a fireplace, and lots of traditional English pub food like chicken curry."
"Chicken curry is a traditional English dish?"
"A legacy of empire." Her smile was rueful. "I’ve been working you hard ever since you arrived, and soon you’ll be going home. I want you to see a bit of the real England—the way we actually live here, not England as a giant theme park for tourists."
He climbed into her car, depressed at the reminder of how soon he would be leaving. "You said when you first called that I could stay and experience a traditional English Christmas. Did you mean that? I don’t want to intrude on your family."
"You’ll stay? How absolutely fabulous!" Her expression brighter, she turned her car into the street. "It won’t be an intrusion since everyone in my family knows you. Ken will talk your ear off about filmmaking, my father will go on about his garden, the children and pets will crawl all over you, Patricia will give orders like the bossy big sister she is, and my mother will feed you very, very well."
He grinned. "Sounds like fun. If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’ll change my tickets to the day after Christmas."
"I’m so glad. I hope your family won’t mind too much."
His mother would mind. It would be one thing if Greg was visiting a nice girl with daughter-in-law potential, but Jenny was not what his mother kept hoping for. "Not a problem. There will be such a crowd around the house no one will notice I’m missing."
"Liar. But we’ll take good care of you."
And his holiday fling would end in a Christmas celebration he would never forget.
Chapter 8
Jenny groaned as she set the phone back into its cradle.
"Since the first three performances went smoothly, I actually dared hope that the show would finish its run tonight without real problems. I should have known better."
Greg glanced up from the coffeepot he was washing. Domesticity looked good on him. "What’s happened?"
"Our dragon, Will Davies, has become violently ill and can’t perform. His wife says it’s food poisoning or some ghastly stomach virus—the phrase ‘projectile vomiting’ was mentioned."
She bit her lip. "The part is a simple one, with no real dialogue, and the costume is designed so almost anyone can wear it. Patricia can do it, though she’ll make a rather short dragon." Inspiration struck. "Greg, will you take over? You’re impressively tall, and you’ve seen the performance often enough
The executive smiled as he shook her hand. "Is that what you call yourselves? You have quite a lot of talent in your village. It’s worth sharing with a wider audience."
After they were safely out of the bustling television center, Greg asked, "Was he really interested, or was he just giving us the local version of the Hollywood shuffle?"
"If Hollywood shuffle means what I think, no, Simon isn’t like that. He really did like what he saw, which means he’ll probably make an offer after he runs it by his programmers." She sighed. "Unfortunately, he’s also being straight about the money. When one comes down to it, this is just glorified community theater. We’ll be lucky to sell it at all. We won’t get enough to buy the barn."
"There’s a good chance of an American sale, and maybe a Canadian one as well."
"From what you told me, that won’t be huge money either. At best, we’ll have perhaps half the amount we need."
Much as Greg would have liked to disagree, she was right. Cable stations and public television weren’t rich. "If you have contracts for half the money, you’re in a better position to borrow the rest."
"Perhaps." Jenny shook off her mood. "We’ve done as much as we can on this front. Now it’s time to start worrying about our performance tonight."
"You’ll need your strength. Let me buy you lunch," he suggested.
"What a good idea. I know a lovely pub near the motorway. Beams, a fireplace, and lots of traditional English pub food like chicken curry."
"Chicken curry is a traditional English dish?"
"A legacy of empire." Her smile was rueful. "I’ve been working you hard ever since you arrived, and soon you’ll be going home. I want you to see a bit of the real England—the way we actually live here, not England as a giant theme park for tourists."
He climbed into her car, depressed at the reminder of how soon he would be leaving. "You said when you first called that I could stay and experience a traditional English Christmas. Did you mean that? I don’t want to intrude on your family."
"You’ll stay? How absolutely fabulous!" Her expression brighter, she turned her car into the street. "It won’t be an intrusion since everyone in my family knows you. Ken will talk your ear off about filmmaking, my father will go on about his garden, the children and pets will crawl all over you, Patricia will give orders like the bossy big sister she is, and my mother will feed you very, very well."
He grinned. "Sounds like fun. If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’ll change my tickets to the day after Christmas."
"I’m so glad. I hope your family won’t mind too much."
His mother would mind. It would be one thing if Greg was visiting a nice girl with daughter-in-law potential, but Jenny was not what his mother kept hoping for. "Not a problem. There will be such a crowd around the house no one will notice I’m missing."
"Liar. But we’ll take good care of you."
And his holiday fling would end in a Christmas celebration he would never forget.
Chapter 8
Jenny groaned as she set the phone back into its cradle.
"Since the first three performances went smoothly, I actually dared hope that the show would finish its run tonight without real problems. I should have known better."
Greg glanced up from the coffeepot he was washing. Domesticity looked good on him. "What’s happened?"
"Our dragon, Will Davies, has become violently ill and can’t perform. His wife says it’s food poisoning or some ghastly stomach virus—the phrase ‘projectile vomiting’ was mentioned."
She bit her lip. "The part is a simple one, with no real dialogue, and the costume is designed so almost anyone can wear it. Patricia can do it, though she’ll make a rather short dragon." Inspiration struck. "Greg, will you take over? You’re impressively tall, and you’ve seen the performance often enough
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