Page 44 of Christmas at the Movies
‘I will,’ Sarah called back.
She had already wrapped her daughter’s present but would have to bake the cake when she got home. Hopefully Holly wouldn’t refuse to eat it just to spite her.
Sarah checked the auditorium, collecting any rubbish that had been left behind. When she returned to the lobby, one customer remained there. A man in an expensive-looking sheepskin coat, biker boots and a beanie hat pulled down low was jabbing at his phone.
‘Excuse me,’ he said in an Australian accent. ‘I’m trying to order an Uber back to my hotel, but I’m not having any luck.’
‘Uber doesn’t operate around here,’ explained Sarah. She went over to the noticeboard in the café area and unpinned a business card for Cotswold Cars. She handed it to the man. ‘You can try this.’
‘Thanks.’ The man dialled the number. ‘Bugger!’ he said, scratching his salt-and-pepper stubble. ‘No one’s picking up.’
Kevin Williams, who was the owner and sole employee of Cotswold Cars (the ‘s’ in cars being somewhat misleading), also played bass in a hard rock cover band called Zed Leppelin that performed in local pubs. He was probably currently strumming the ‘Stairway to Heaven’ guitar solo right around now.
‘How did you get here this evening?’ Sarah asked her stranded customer.
‘My assistant drove me,’ he replied. ‘I told her I’d make my own way back to Merricourt Manor.’ He opened the cinema door, letting a flurry of snowflakes blow into the lobby. ‘Maybe I could walk?’
‘Not a good idea. Merricourt Manor is a few miles away,’ said Sarah. ‘It wouldn’t be safe on a night like this.’ It was snowing very heavily and there was no pavement once you left the village.
Defeated, the man shut the door.
Sarah thought for a moment. ‘There might be rooms at the Rose and Crown. Shall I give them a call?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind.’
Sarah made a quick phone call. ‘No luck, I’m afraid. They’ve got a wedding party staying there, so all the rooms are occupied.’
‘No room at the inn, eh?’ The man gave her a wry smile.
Sarah knew she couldn’t turf him out into the cold. He’d freeze to death.
‘Look, I can’t get home either,’ said Sarah. ‘You’re welcome to stay here too. The roads should be clear by morning.’ She just had to hope that the Bergman fan wasn’t a psycho killer.
‘Well, thank you for your hospitality,’ said the man. ‘I was about to start building an igloo out in the village square.’
Laughing, Sarah went behind the concession stand. ‘It’s not as comfortable here as at Merricourt Manor, but it’s warm, we have plenty of snacks, and we can always watch another movie. Can I get you a drink?’
‘I’d love a flat white,’ said the man, setting down his leather satchel and shrugging off his coat. Underneath it he was wearing black jeans, a chunky watch with a thick leather strap and a grey cashmere sweater that clung to his muscled physique. Even without the foreign accent, his outfit would have given away the fact that he wasn’t a local. You couldn’t buy clothes like that in Plumdale’s only gentleman’s apparel shop, Country Pursuits. Sarah suspected that his ensemble cost more than she spent on her whole family’s wardrobe.
Over the hiss of the coffee machine, Sarah introduced herself. ‘As we’re spending the night together, we should probably get acquainted. I’m Sarah.’
‘Noa,’ he replied. He pulled off his beanie, releasing an impressive mane of wavy dark hair streaked with grey.
Sarah stifled a gasp of recognition as she realised who she was speaking to. It was Noa Drakos, the Academy-Award winning director.
‘Is this your cinema?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Mine and my husband’s.’
‘It’s beautiful. I grew up in a little town outside Cairns. It was devastated by a cyclone in 1918 and rebuilt in the art deco style. Your cinema reminds me of the Roxy,where I used to watch films growing up.’ Noa stretched his legs out, resting the heel of his right boot on the toe of his left.
Sarah carried the flat white, and a herbal tea for herself, over to the table he was sitting at.
‘Thanks,’ he said, gesturing for her to sit down opposite. He picked up the coffee and inhaled deeply. ‘This smells amazing.’
‘By the way, I lovedANZAC.’ Sarah decided not to be coy and pretend that she didn’t know who he was.
‘Thanks, Sarah. I’m flattered.’ He looked into her eyes intently. His eyes were such a dark brown, Sarah could hardly make out their pupils. ‘I can tell you have good taste, or you wouldn’t be screeningFanny and Alexander– it’s one of my favourite movies.’
