Once Persuaded, Twice Shy: A Modern Reimagining of Persuasion - Softcover

Edwards, Melodie

Softcover

ISBN 10: 059344079X ISBN 13: 9780593440797

Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2024

Inhaltsangabe

This modern reimagining of Persuasion is full of witty banter, romantic angst, and compelling characters as it captures the heart of the classic Jane Austen novel.

When Anne Elliott broke up with Ben Wentworth, it seemed like the right thing to do . . . but now, eight years later, she’s not so sure.

In her scenic hometown of Niagara-on-the-Lake, Anne is comfortable focusing on her successful career: filling her late mother’s shoes as town councilor and executive director of her theater company. She certainly keeps busy as the all-around wrangler of eccentric locals, self-centered family members, elaborate festivals, and the occasional attacking goose. But the more she tries to convince herself that her life is fine as is, the more it all feels like a show—and not nearly as good as the ones put on by her theater company. She’s the always responsible Anne, always taken for granted and cleaning up after other people, and the memories of happier times with Ben Wentworth still haunt her.

So when the nearby Kellynch Winery is bought by Ben’s aunt and uncle, Anne’s world is set ablaze as her old flame crashes back into her life—and it’s clear he hasn’t forgiven her for breaking his heart. A joint project between the winery and Anne’s theater forces both Ben and Anne to confront their complicated history, and as they spend more time together, Anne can’t help but wonder if there might be hope for their future after all.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Melodie Edwards is the author of Jane & Edward. She has a BA from the University of Toronto, a master’s degree from McMaster University and Syracuse University (2023), studied comedy writing at the Second City Training Centre, and works in communications.

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One

She should have kept her flats on.

Anne had made a hard rule for herself several years ago, when she thought striding around in her high heels would give her authority and also maybe calf definition. It did neither. It gave her aching feet and ruined her designer pumps.

Louboutins should never be treated liked that.

So, she made a rule. Flat shoes during the day, when she needed to get from her office to the box office, to backstage, to the lobby, in a hurry. Flat shoes in the evening right before the performance when the whirlwind of last-minute panics, missing props, drunk VIP guests, and ancient ushers losing their hearing aids down a seat back kept her running.

And only after that, maybe sometime around the third act, would she nip back to her office, touch up her makeup, slip into her cocktail dress, and swap her flats for heels. Then she'd be poised and ready in the lobby by last curtain call, ready to greet patrons and ready to make her speech as executive director of the Elysium Theatre Festival, while champagne flutes circulated.

This evening she had been lulled into a false sense of security. Everything had been running so smoothly.

And now-and she really could not believe she was dealing with this shit-she was walk/running from her office to backstage, her narrow-skirted dress and high heels cutting short each stride, while her assistant, Emmie, rushed along beside her-talking a mile a minute, trying to explain why their lead actress was suddenly convinced her dressing room was haunted-barely breaking a sweat in her ballet flats. Smart girl.

". . . and then after last night's ghost tour they took her to the Angel Inn for lunch, and you know how they like to take tourists down into the cellar and show them the original old beams with the musket-ball scars and talk about the ghost of Captain Butler who died there, and after that they took her to Fort George, where they were doing historical battle reenactments for the afternoon . . ."

Anne grimaced. "Two reports of upset school trips at the fort and now this. No one freaks out when they go to Colonial Williamsburg; why can't we make that our model?"

The town of Niagara-on-the-Lake, of which the Elysium Theatre Festival was the centerpiece, sat wedged between the shores of Lake Ontario and the mouth of the Niagara River, and downstream from the famous Niagara Falls. Its character was a confusing mix of year-round small-town life and seasonal leisure playground; it boasted several spas, a golf course, boutique shopping, romantic hotels, and endless hectares of surrounding wineries. It was also home to multigenerational farmers and small-business owners, a tractor festival, a beloved main street preserved from the last century, and miles and miles of hiking trails frequented by the locals. It had been an early site for European pioneers settling in the new world and had many confusing remnants from its journey through the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries, not cleared away as they are in modern cities, but still standing as the local pub or courthouse or military graveyard. The town was nestled up as close as possible to the American border and had been the site of the infamous and bloody War of 1812: both Fort Niagara on the American side and Fort George on the Canadian side, once manned by the British, still stood-stone and wood and grass edifices forever peering tiredly across the river at their old adversaries.

That the historical society wanted to use this living history to enliven the town was commendable. That they were terrifying tourists and visiting actors was less than lovely. It was just like their idea two years ago-equally ill-conceived, in Anne's opinion-to reintroduce Canadian geese to the pond in the theater gardens. And now they had that one lunatic goose who kept dive-bombing the glass theater doors like it was his primordial purpose. He'd managed to get in once, squawked straight for the bar, and ended up flapping around madly with a martini shaker stuck on his head so that Emmie named him Double-Oh-Goose. The historical society was mysteriously absent when Anne had called them to come deal with that situation.

She smothered her frustration with them now. "Make a note for tomorrow: call Professor Davis at the historical society and . . ."

"Tell him his ass is fired and he'll never work in this town again!" Emmie cut in with relish.

"Absolutely do not do that; we are not firing anybody." She enjoyed mentoring Emmie, truly, but the girl's bloodlust was beyond comprehension. What were they doing in business school these days-just watching House of Cards on a loop?

"Please politely ask Professor Davis to tone it way, way down. And he if starts talking about his PhD and verisimilitude, you may politely remind him that I'm also a town councilor, and terrifying the tourists will be considered a detractor when we negotiate his annual funding. Never threaten someone you need to work with, Emmie; only gently remind them where their best interests lie."

They pushed through the heavy double doors that separated the office suites from the labyrinth of backstage areas, Anne treading carefully as they crossed over a steel-grate walkway just looking for a dainty stiletto to snap, and wound through several twisting hallways, the walls carpeted to baffle sound. A panel was starting to peel in one corner; Anne made a mental note for the production crew.

Quiet and dark enveloped them before they emerged into an antechamber that connected the senior dressing rooms, and there they found half the cast of Macbeth assembled watching a stellar diva performance.

"I want to talk to my manager!" Michelle Cranston, lead actress, her hands newly dipped in streaky red paint in preparation for the "Out, damned spot!" monologue, was wailing. "I can't work like this!"

"But we can fire her, right?" Emmie asked under her breath.

If only, Anne thought.

Choi, the artistic director, was standing beside a case of prop swords wringing her hands like she was the one meant to be Lady Macbeth, looking sick and pale. Several of the trees of Birnam Wood were shivering nearby as the stage hands holding them sniggered.

Macduff, Duncan, and Malcolm looked irritated, while Macbeth himself was trying ineffectively to shush Michelle and usher her to her starting spot at stage left. Various other Scottish warriors were watching with avid interest; one had pulled a cell phone out of his kilt and was texting. Ensemble cast should know better than to have their cell phone with them onstage; Anne made a mental note for the stage manager.

Right. This was clearly a disaster about to spiral out of control. She straightened her shoulders and waded in.

"Michelle, I'd like you to take a moment and calm down." Anne's tone was firm but soothing.

"Ms. Elliot!" She made a sweeping gesture of relief, like Anne had come to be her savior instead of coming to kick her back onstage. "I was just in my dressing room, and there was this terrible creaking and groaning sound, and a loud bang . . ."

Anne took a subtle step back as Michelle waved her painty hands, her cocktail dress narrowly escaping a gruesome red-streaked fate.

"Michelle, those noises were the pipes. Our matinee production this season is Singin' in the Rain. We installed a sprinkler system and the pipes were threaded down behind the dressing room walls. The pressure occasionally omits a bang. You already know this."

"It was a ghost."

"It was not a ghost."

"You weren't there. It was a ghost."

"Michelle . . ."

"It was a ghost, because there were details. He's an infantryman, and he's haunting my dressing room probably because some delinquent ancestor of mine killed him on the battlefield. It's xenophobic-he's...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2024
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 059344079X
• ISBN 13: 9780593440797
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 352
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: preigu; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; 49078; Deutschland