Page 62 of For My Finale
Mrs. Wilkins, who up until now had been silent, raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you propose we pull this off without Blossom knowing about it?”
“We’re going to steal her keys,” Lilah said, having already planned all this in her head.
“Lilah!” gasped Daisy.
“Oh, relax, I’ll put them back,” Lilah said. “I’ll sneak them from her bag when she’s not looking. Daisy, you can copy them at the hardware shop. Once that’s done, Arty and Gloria will take food and drinks into the cafe, and the rest of you can invite everyone.”
Mrs. Wilkins gave Lilah a long, scrutinizing look. “Are you sure you’re not one of those criminal masterminds?”
“Not professionally,” Lilah said, airily.
Daisy clapped her hands together. “This is going to be brilliant. So when do we do it?”
“Tomorrow night,” Ives said, looking at Lilah, who nodded. “That gives us enough time to get things sorted. Any longer and Blossom is sure to guess that something’s up.”
Gloria raised her glass. “To saving Blossom’s cafe.”
The others lifted their drinks in agreement, and Lilah sat back with a grin. This was going to work. It had to. Blossom needed the help.
BY THE TIME Lilah stepped out of the pub, the afternoon sun was casting warm, golden streaks across the quiet village street. She stretched and rolled her shoulders. It had all gone well, much better than she’d expected. The village was happy to come together to help. And for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was doing something good, something that actually mattered.
She reached for her phone, half expecting to see a message from Blossom. A reminder of their night together, sweet teasing about what she’d been doing with her day. But when she pulledthe device from her pocket, the screen was dark.
“Oh, crap,” she muttered. She remembered now, she’d turned it off that morning.
She held down the power button and watched the screen flicker to life. Then she saw the immense amounts of missed calls and the full voicemail. What the hell? Before she could do anything, the phone started vibrating in her hand. Margot.
Lilah groaned. She was tempted to turn the damn thing back off again. That was the problem with Margot, she just never let things go. With a sigh, she swiped to answer.
“Martin Leyland.” Just those two words. There was a pause, and then Margot said them again. “Martin Leyland.”
Lilah had frozen.
For a second, she thought that she’d misheard. But no. Margot’s voice was too sharp, too deliberate. Besides, she’d said the same thing twice. There was no chance of misunderstanding.
Her heart was hammering so loudly, she barely heard herself say, “What?”
“Martin Leyland,” Margot repeated for the third time. “Ring any bells?”
Bells? Lilah swallowed hard. Of course it rang bells. Leyland was more than just a name. He was a legend, a visionary, a director who had shaped everything she loved about film. The man whose movies she’d studied obsessively as a teenager, the man who had made her believe in the magic of storytelling, in the pure love and truth of the cinema. Martin Leyland.
“You’re joking,” she finally managed to choke out.
Margot’s smirk was practically audible. “Darling, I’d never joke about something like this.”
“It’s impossible,” Lilah said, shaking her head even though Margot couldn’t see, starting to un-freeze now. “He’s retired. He quit a decade ago. He’s done.”
“Well,” said Margot, voice light, “he’s un-retired. Un-quit. Un-done.”
Lilah sucked in a sharp breath. “What?”
“You heard,” said Margot. “One last film. The project he’s been dreaming of for years. His magnum opus. And guess what?”
Lilah didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
Margot filled in the silence. “He wants you, Lilah.”
Lilah’s stomach turned into a knot. The world felt suddenly unsteady beneath her feet.
