Page 30 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
Sean laughed.
“What’s so funny about that?” I demanded.
“First,” Sean said, trying to straighten his face, “what finer career foryou, a lover of the cinema, than providing the staple diet of any moviegoer. And second, you live in Stratford-upon-Avon—the home of the Bard, recognized as one of the greatest playwrights ever. And you choose to worshipmovies?”
“That’s right,” I said defiantly, folding my arms. “And what’s wrong with that?”
Sean shook his head. “Nothing—nothing at all. Look, I don’t want to argue with you, Scarlett, I’ll behave.” He satback in his seat, a childlike, innocent expression imposed on his face—which any moment looked like it might break out into a mischievous grin.
“What about you then?” I asked, fighting hard my inclination to grin back at him. “Let’s hear all aboutyourwonderful life.”
“Well, I’m no James Stewart.” He grinned, trying to make a joke. “Get it—WonderfulLife?’
I chose not to laugh at his poor attempt at a joke. “So you do knowsomefilms then?”
“Maybe just a few.” Sean arranged himself in his seat so that his ankle rested up on his knee. “OK, let’s see, I’m twenty-six years old, I have a sister called Ursula, as you know. A father called Alfie—who to my absolute joy is the owner of a James Bond-themed pub in Glasgow, which he runs with my stepmother, Diana. Oh, and I quite boringly work for an investment company.”
“And what do you invest in, property?”
“No, companies.”
“How?” I asked to be polite, even though I wasn’t really interested in what Sean did for a living.
“Well, we help out companies that are having a few problems. We either invest heavily in them until they’re rebuilt and back on their feet again, or we just buy them out there and then.”
“How do you make money out of that? Oh wait, I know. You buy them at a ridiculously low price because they’re struggling, then build them up and sell them on when they’re successful again.”
“Something like that, yes. That’s very astute of you, Scarlett. I’m impressed.”
“Richard Gere,” I said knowingly.
“What?”
“If youownedthis investment company, you would be like Richard Gere inPrettyWoman.”
Sean looked blank.
“InPrettyWoman,” I explained, “Richard Gere plays this bastard businessman, who swoops in and buys businesses when they’re at rock bottom and just about to go bust. Then he sells them on at a later date when they’re successfully making money again, for a huge profit.”
“Sensible man.” Sean nodded approvingly.
“So, if you were theownerof this company, then you’d be just like him.”
“A bastard, you mean?”
“That’s right.”
“I am.”
I looked at Sean to see if he was winding me up again, but his face was completely serious. “What do you mean—you own this company, or you’re actually just a bastard?”
“What doyouthink, Scarlett?” Sean placed his elbows on the table, rested his head on his interlinked hands, and looked at me with a challenging expression.
As I sat back in my seat and tried to consider this, I was much too aware of Sean’s pale blue eyes scrutinizing my every move. “Well,” I said eventually, meeting his gaze, “you do live in a very affluent part of Notting Hill, so I guess you might be telling me the truth.”
Sean grinned and leaned back. “I’ll take that as a compliment—I think.”
“So why didn’t you tell me that to begin with?” I demanded. “Why the pretense?”
