Cherringham--Final Cut (3 page)

“Interesting,” Jack said.

“And there is absolutely nothing in the historical record to show that Ann Seymour ever met either of them!”

“Never let the truth get in the way of a good story, hmm?” said Jack, grinning.

Sarah shook her head at that, wondering just how
do
these movies get made?

“But Will, if that’s the case, why do they need a historical advisor?”

Will laughed at that. “Good question. My job is to make sure that all the other events and details of the script and story are as accurate as possible.”

He paused, and Sarah saw the actress who had been sitting so quietly, look up to him. “But it’s Zoë here, that I am concerned about.”

“You mean after today?”

“And the other things that have happened. I mean, she got a nasty cut a few days back.”

Zoë raised her palm and showed a bandage. “In my role I was supposed to put up a hand and beg Cromwell to put down his weapon.”

“It should have been a prop sword …” Will said. “Totally harmless. But …”

“Another accident?” Jack said. “I’m guessing Will, you don’t believe it’s an accident? And you Zoë?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m sure it was,” Zoë said. “And today … well something spooked the horse. Things happen.”

“And, er, I have heard some of the crew use the word ‘jinx’,” said Will.

“I didn’t know that,” said Zoë.

Jack put down his teacup. “Movie crews can be pretty superstitious …”

“Anyway, the long and short of it is,” Will said. “I’ve discussed this with Michael and Helen. And I had a favour to ask of you Sarah, you too Jack …”

Sarah didn’t have a clue what that favour might be.

But looking at the actress — beautiful and polished as she was — and Sarah could feel something else there.

She’s afraid.

“What’s that, Will?” she said.

“I’ve discussed this with Zoë … and I don’t think she should stay with the rest of the main cast at Repton Hall. I think it might be … safer for her to be somewhere else.” He took a breath. “Rule out any other … accidents.”

Zoë laughed at that. “Even if I am showing myself to be highly accident prone.”

Will — Sarah noted — didn’t laugh.

Maybe because he’d been on the set?

And maybe … there were other things he’d seen that — for now — he hadn’t told the actress?

“So, as I say, we’ve been chatting to Michael and Helen here …” Will said slowly … “and they’ve very kindly invited Zoë to stay here for a few weeks.”

“Guest room’s not quite up to Repton Hall,” said Michael, “but it’s — you know — any port in a storm, eh?”

“It’s a lovely room,” said Zoë. “I feel looked-after already.”

And Sarah had this thought …

Zoë Harding doesn’t really think these things were accidents.

“And Sarah,” continued Will, “we were hoping you might find time to drop by some evenings — if Zoë needs a bit of company?”

“Love to,” said Sarah. “I’ll bring my son, Daniel. He’s become obsessed with movies!”

“Fantastic,” Will said. “And Jack—”

Will turned to him. “Jack — a big favour to ask you as well. Think you might serve, well, as Zoë’s driver? Get her to the set, bring her back … and—”

Jack filled in the gap. “Maybe also keep an eye on things?”

“Yes,” Will said, exhaling. “I’d feel so much better, and you too, right Zoë?”

She nodded. “Yes. I mean, this all sounds so silly now.”

Sarah looked over at Jack. She guessed he was thinking the same thing she was.

The actress is scared.

Of what, of whom … who knew?

And Will Goodchild was as well.

“Funny thing, Will. Once did precisely that. They were shooting an Al Pacino movie in NYC, and it looked like some fishy stuff going on. Accidents, sabotage, some angry mob guys not getting paid off. So for a few days, I went undercover and became Al’s ‘driver’. Wore the chauffeur’s hat and everything.”

Will nodded. “Perfect! I’ve cleared it all with production. And of course — there won’t be any need of a chauffer’s hat …”

“Don’t feel obligated, Mr. Brennan.”

“Jack, please. And Zoë — it would be a privilege. As you say, probably nothing but a string of unfortunate events. Still, won’t hurt — for Sarah, me — to look around a bit. Talk to people, without it seeming too suspicious. As you say, Will —
perfect
.”

“Do you need to get all your things from Repton Hall …?” Sarah said.

Zoë stood up. “I brought over a bag. The basics — for at least a few days. Once I’m on set, the costume and makeup people will have their way with me, so I don’t need much.”

Jack stood up as well.

“And I’ll pick you up in the morning. What is your — what is it called?”

“My call time? ’Fraid it’s early, seven a.m.”

Jack laughed. “I remember that as well. Movie shoots are all day affairs. No worries though — always been an early riser.”

Sarah would have liked to talk about this with Jack.

His first thoughts, his concerns.

But for now, it was important to leave the young star to settle in.

Hardly the luxurious rooms of Repton Hall.

But safe.

At least — that’s what she thought …
 

Jack pulled into Michael and Helen Woods’ drive at six-thirty a.m. sharp, the black Mercedes gliding gently to a halt outside the front door.

Will had arranged delivery of the luxury rental the night before — in place of Jack’s Austin Healey Sprite.

“No need for you to use your car,” Will had said on the phone. “The production company will pick up the bill. And a Mercedes is probably a little more … appropriate … don’t you think?”

In other words — don’t even dream of using that tatty, tiny, old sportscar.

The drive from Jack’s boat, moored just upriver on the Thames, had only taken five minutes on the empty roads. But that had been enough to convince Jack that the next couple of weeks’ driving was going to be sheer joy.

Power, comfort, soft leather, amazing sound system, this was the life …

And here he was — with plenty of time to get to Repton Hall for the seven a.m. call.

He looked across at the house — and on cue Zoë Harding emerged, carrying a bag. Even at this time of the morning, with no makeup, T-shirt, leather jacket and jeans — she looked amazing.

She opened the front passenger door and climbed in the seat next to Jack.

“Morning Jack.”

“Zoë. Looks like a gorgeous day.”

“We set?”

He saw her turn to him, her blue eyes dazzling, her smile easy.

A deep breath. “Let’s go.”

He eased the car back down the drive and onto the main road that led up to Cherringham and beyond.

And with the sun rising behind them, the village glowing ahead, a Bach concerto playing gently — and a beautiful movie star at his side — Jack settled back into the cream leather seat knowing he was going to enjoy this drive.

*

On the main road, Jack eased the Merc up to sixty and let her glide.

“You a morning person, Zoë?”

“When I have to be!” she said smiling.

She reached into her rucksack, took out a small steel thermos, flipped the top and sipped.

“Herbal tea,” she said. “Keeps me going …”

“Gotta stay healthy, huh?”

“In this business, control and discipline is everything. You have to stay fit, focused. Especially when you’re on a tough shooting schedule like this.”

“You like being in a movie?”

“Adore it,” she said. “Well — let’s say I
was
adoring it, until things started to happen …”

Jack watched the road ahead.

Sometimes a car ride like this was better than an interview room for really
listening
to what a person had to say.

“You’re scared?” he said.

“No. Well — not scared of what might happen to me. But yes — I am scared of what it might do to my career.”

“Important step, this film, huh?”

“Massive. From theatre to Hollywood movies? It’s like a gate that only opens just the one time for you. Get through it and hooray … you’re
in
the movies. Fail — and you don’t get another offer.”

“Lotta stress — especially if things go wrong.”

“I can deal with that. Doesn’t bother me.”

“But it bothers the people around you, I guess,” said Jack. “They on your back?”

“Not as far as I know. Anyway — that’s what my agent’s there for. Let them shout at her!”

Jack smiled.

Nice kid,
he thought.
Got her head screwed on right.

He checked his mirror and edged over slightly to let an eager motorcyclist go flying past. Already there was early commuter traffic on the road.

“So what are the people like — you know, the guys you’re working with?”

He waited while Zoë took another sip from her flask and then put it back in her bag.

“Well — Zac and Karl — they’re such angels, been looking after me since day one …”

“They’re the other leads, huh? I’ve seen them in a few things.”

“God, I know — they’re both so experienced.”

“But they’re on your side, yes? Helping the newcomer?”

“Oh totally. Zac’s my King Charles — and he is really a fluffy spaniel, all long hair and soft eyes. Karl — he plays Oliver Cromwell — he does the dark brooding thing, but you know, in real life he’s so … normal. Always trying to make me laugh before my take. Love him to bits.”

No dirt there, then,
thought Jack.

“And what about the director?”

A pause.

A bit less enthusiasm …

“Alphonso — oh he’s crazy! Never knows what he wants. And I can never understand him, his English is all over the place!”

Jack had done a little late-night research online about the movie, so he had a good sense of who was who — careers past and present — but he wanted to hear Zoë’s version.

“I remember reading somewhere that this was make or break for Alphonso?” he said.

“No, surely not,” said Zoë. “I mean — didn’t he win an Oscar?”

“He did,” said Jack. “But that was thirty years ago. The one and only studio film he made. Been doing TV since then. I guess that gate you were talking about must have closed on him. For some reason …”

He waited for Zoë to respond but she said nothing.

“What about the film’s producers — they around?”

“Not really. Lou Bernstein — he’s the exec — he’s still in the States. He has long Skype talks with people, yells a lot and scares them.”

“Ha! Sounds like Hollywood.”

“And Ludo — he’s the real producer. He interviewed me — God they called me back so many times! Supposedly he watches the shoot and the bottom line. But here on location — I never see him. He just stays in his room. Has his food delivered from the restaurant in the village.”

“Really? I thought producers were hands on?”

“I thought so too! The crew all joke about him. They call him Count Dracula! Oh, but look — Jack — I shouldn’t really be telling you things like this — it’s very unprofessional of me.”

Jack was aware that Zoë’s mood had changed.

Was she being polite — her professional instincts stopping her saying too much?

Or was there something more she wasn’t telling him?

Whichever it was — Zoë had clearly been coached in the art of
loving
everybody on set and telling no tales.

And even though they seemed to be getting on just fine, Jack knew that didn’t automatically mean he was going to get the truth about this movie out of her.

Yet.

Ahead, he saw the turning for Repton Hall. He knew that place well — he and Sarah had helped out Lady Repton a while back when she’d had a little
trouble
.

And since then Jack had heard the estate, re-imagined as the Repton Hall Conference Centre and Spa Hotel, had gone from strength to strength.

He slowed, and turned off the main road, then drove through the impressive gates and down the long, familiar drive that led through woods to the Hall itself.

“Oh, Jack,” said Zoë. “I meant to ask — did you have breakfast?”

“Just a coffee.”

“Oh well then — you’re in for a treat,” she said. “Lot of the crew are American — so they do a big American breakfast out of the catering wagon.”

“No kidding? And I’m invited too, huh?”

“One of the perks of the job.”

Already Jack was looking forward to it. Pancakes, brownies maybe …

As they emerged from the woods, Jack could see the Hall below in the valley beside the great ornamental lake.

“Hang on. Something’s not right,” said Zoë, leaning forward to peer through the screen. “There are no trucks …”

And as Jack pulled up in the empty car park, he saw a young guy in a black puffy jacket and jeans run towards the car, radio out.

Zoë climbed out, and Jack got out too.

“Robbie — where is everyone? We’re not late. I know we’re not late,” she called as the young guy approached.

“No. You’re not late,” he said. “You’re just not in the right place.”

“What?” said Zoë. “I don’t believe it — no –”

“Location change last night. Weather. We emailed — and phoned.”

“Oh, God.”

“You mean you didn’t check email — messages?’

“Of course I did! I didn’t get anything!”

“Jeez. That’s page one, Zoë! Anyway, you’re on set in thirty. Fraser’s livid. He’s going to kill you. You too …”

Jack watched the young man point at him and smiled back.

“Hey, thanks — Robbie. Always nice to get a warning about that kind of thing.”

“So where are we shooting? How do we get there?” said Zoë.

Jack could hear the panic rising in her voice. This was obviously a big deal — and it couldn’t have happened at a worse time after yesterday’s accident.

“Combe Castle — interiors. I’m taking you myself.” He looked at Jack and rolled his eyes. “This guy can follow.”

“Fine,” said Jack. “Not a problem — ’cept
this guy
knows where Combe Castle is. I’ll see you there, Zoë. And stay calm, okay …”

But Zoë was already off at a run with her bag, right behind Robbie.