Read Online The English Boys by Julia Thomas - Free Book Online Page B

seriously. It would be rather like doing a movie with someone you’re married to.”
    â€œWe could handle it. Besides, we’d each bring different strengths to the film.”
    â€œYou must do it,” Hodge’s wife, Antonia, said as she entered the room. She was a tall, perfectly coiffed dyed blonde of a certain age who wore what Daniel considered dangerously high heels. She went over to the cabinet and poured herself a small sherry. “You’re bookends, you see. Light and dark. Good and evil. I, for one, would kill to see you both in it. Do consider it.”
    â€œI believe that makes you the evil one,” Hugh said to Daniel, laughing.
    â€œIt’s a nice afternoon for a swim,” Sir John interrupted. “Why talk business when there’s fun to be had?”
    â€œExcellent,” Hugh said, rising from his chair. “Just the thing for a pleasant afternoon.”
    The subject didn’t come up again until they were about to leave the following day. Sir John followed them to the car and shook their hands.
    â€œI’ll have scripts sent round,” he said, as if they had come to an agreement.
    Daniel was ready to protest when Hugh intervened. “That would be wonderful. Thank you for considering us.”
    â€œYes,” Daniel echoed as he opened the car door. “And thank you for the weekend, as well.”
    Three hours later, they had deposited the car at the rental agency and were on the ferry to England, and Daniel, after some persuasion, had agreed to make the film. The mast flag flapped in the breeze, which, while not quite a gale, was nevertheless strong enough to encourage most people to go inside. Daniel stood alone at the rail, staring at the retreating coast of France and not really thinking of the Hodges or the film they were producing or of Hugh’s enthusiasm for the project, but of the satisfaction of days like this. He liked the disconnected feeling he had just now, as if he were cut off from everything in the world. Even his mobile couldn’t get reception in the middle of the Channel. No one, neither agent nor family nor friends, could bother him in any way. It felt majestic having the deck to himself, and he was very glad he hadn’t let Hugh talk him into taking the Eurostar back to London.
    â€œYou’re missing one of the best experiences a person can have,” he’d chided when his friend announced his intention to get a drink and brace himself from the elements, such as they were on a sunny day in July.
    â€œGod, no,” Hugh had replied. “I still say we should have taken the train. Give me champagne and hake with gruyere in first class any day over a stiff wind and a plastic molded seat.”
    â€œYou don’t sit on a ferry, gobhead. You beat your chest and feel the wind in your face and, for this one hour, you own the Channel and everything you see.”
    â€œYou’re a romantic of the worst kind. Never deny yourself the odd bit of luxury. Life can be so cruel.”
    Daniel laughed. “Yes, I imagine it’s been very hard for you. Best go find sustenance in the form of alcohol.”
    â€œThanks, I believe I shall.”
    From the deck, Daniel took a last look at the pier and lighthouse growing smaller in the afternoon sun and then turned to face north. With only a thin band of clouds hovering high in the sky, the white cliffs of Dover were visible, even at this distance. Studying them, he felt an unexpected rush of pleasure. He didn’t think of himself as a nationalist, but certain images, these cliffs among them, gave him a strong sense of pride. The day was beautiful, and he was fortunate after a weekend’s freeloading to be here experiencing it instead of trapped in some office or even on location for a film. It would be an agreeable hour contemplating the gulls and watching the water ripple where the cod and plaice nipped up to the surface, the sort of thing that he would think