Read The Awakening of Poppy Edwards for Free Online Page A

don’t know about you, but I’m finding that pretty difficult.’
    ‘Try harder, Lewis,’ I said, and I was pleased at how it sounded, because I was also pleased that he was struggling, and no way should I be pleased about that.
    He ran his fingers through his hair, smiling at me. It was a good smile. It went to his eyes. It went to my blood. ‘You look so fragile, like a puff of wind and you’d just float away like a feather, but you’re a tough little cookie underneath, aren’t you?’
    ‘I know what I want.’ I didn’t mean it to sound the way it did. I shouldn’t have looked at him when I said it, I suppose. Then saying it, while I was looking at him, I thought it. That he was what I wanted. And I’d been wanting him all day. And that was what the food was about, and the dress. And if he hadn’t brought me flowers. If he hadn’t looked so good. If that heat between us, if we’d just managed to keep it at bay. But right at that moment, as if someone had switched on one of those huge big arc lights and shone it directly on us, it was obvious what we both wanted.
    Though we still tried to pretend we didn’t. He took a swallow of wine and a deep breath. ‘Tell me,’ he said.
    ‘Success,’ I said.
    My feet had edged out from under my dress. One of them was resting against his thigh. His hand covered it. I let it rest there. ‘Which you have,’ he said. ‘From what I heard, you can name your price at the studio.’
    ‘My agent will be delighted to hear that. It will give him an excellent lever when he’s bartering with you.’
    He laughed. A soft, throaty sound. His fingers were stroking my foot from ankle to toe, toe to ankle. Rhythmic but not at all soothing. I straightened my leg just a bit, to give him more. ‘I don’t think you’ll sign with me for the money, though I’m happy to match whatever they offer.’
    ‘What do you think you have that’s so tempting, then?’ I asked, and I admit, I meant it exactly the way it sounded.
    He was stroking my calf now, a feathery touch, and it was sending signals, shivers, all the way up. ‘The chance to act,’ he said. ‘The chance to have a say in what pictures you make. Have you got anything on at all under this dress?’
    He broke the spell then, swearing and jumping up, finishing the wine in his glass in one gulp. ‘I’m sorry. If you didn’t look so—I’ve never had this problem before. Look, let me just—’
    ‘It’s not just you. I’m sorry, too.’ Which I was. And mortified. ‘I don’t, either, Lewis, normally. Not this. I’m—I’ve never had this problem before, either.’
    Maybe it was because I didn’t pretend. ‘Maybe it’s because it was so great,’ he said. ‘No, strike that. Let’s not. Look, I’m not talking about movies the way you know them, okay? I’m asking you to sign a deal that will let you make talking pictures.’
    ‘Talking pictures! Is there such a thing?’
    ‘Not yet. Maybe not for a couple of years. But when it comes—Poppy, it will be a sensation. Listen,’ he said.
    And I did. And listening, fascinated, I forgot about the other thing between us for a while, and so did he. We talked through the rest of the wine and through dinner. He knew it all, the technical stuff, but he wanted to know what differences I thought it would make, having sound. To acting. To stories. To casting. Everything. I was enthralled. I was fascinated. I was pleased, to have my brain picked, to be consulted by an expert as an expert. It wasn’t until the end of dinner, when we were sitting back out at the pool with our coffee, that he asked me about the stage. ‘How long since you’ve been in front of an audience?’ he said.
    ‘Five years.’
    ‘I know you can act, and you can sing, too, but you need practise. Like I said, it might be a couple of years before we can make sound commercial.’
    ‘So I’ll keep acting in other movies.’
    He was twisting his coffee cup around in its saucer. ‘I was thinking, it