Death of a Scriptwriter (12 page)

‘You won’t be shot too explicitly,’ said Giles. ‘Bit like
Four Weddings and a Funeral
. Bits of flesh and a shoulder strap sort of thing.’

Gervase was a heavyset man whose once good-looking face had become a trifle spongy with drink, the features blurred as if someone had passed a sponge over them. Despite his bouts of drinking, he
was a competent actor and never late on the set.

‘What happened to Penelope?’ he asked. ‘I mean, when we started up here, she was a delight to work with. Now she bitches and complains about everything.’

‘I think her husband’s murder shook her more than we can know,’ said Giles, ever placating.

‘Maybe she did it.’

‘No, he choked to death on his own vomit. No doubt about that.’

‘Look, Giles, take her out to dinner and have a long talk with her. Soothe her down. We’re all getting on so well. She’s been all right, but her bad behaviour seems to have
accelerated in the last few days.’

‘I’ll try,’ sighed Giles. ‘You didn’t let slip to any of the villagers about this sex scene?’

‘Close as a clam, that’s me,’ said Gervase shiftily, because he could not quite remember anything he had said the evening before.

On her way to Drim, Patricia stopped her car in Lochdubh and went into Patel’s general store to buy some groceries. Patel had a better selection than the shop in Cnothan.
There were various other customers, and Patricia was, as usual, a bit disappointed that no one came up and asked for her autograph or said, ‘I saw you on television.’ The fact was that
most of Lochdubh
had
seen her being interviewed on television and had not liked what they had seen at all and were damned if they were going to give her any recognition.

Patricia was, however, particularly gracious to Mr Patel because he was an Indian. Patricia, who still mourned the loss of the British Empire, thought that all those poor Indians had been thrown
into a sort of outer darkness by getting their independence and it was no wonder that Mr Patel had fled to Scotland.

She meant to be gracious but came across as patronizing, and Mr Patel was quite curt.

She went out into the hazy sunlight. She looked up at the sky. Long streamers of clouds were trailing across the blue, heralding a change of weather. The midges, those irritating Scottish
mosquitoes, had reappeared, and she fished a stick of repellent out of her capacious handbag and rubbed her face.

‘Mrs Martyn-Broyd?’ A large tweedy woman was hailing her, hand outstretched.

‘I am Mrs Wellington, wife of the minister here,’ she said.

Patricia murmured something and held out her own hand and found it being pumped energetically.

‘We have not been introduced,’ said Mrs Wellington, ‘but I had to speak to you. I am surprised that you should condone such behaviour.’

‘What are you talking about?’ asked Patricia, stepping back because Mrs Wellington had a way of thrusting her bosom forward to the person she was addressing and standing very close
up.

‘This television thing
is
based on your books, is it not?’

‘Yes.’

‘I cannot understand why a lady like yourself can condone sexual intercourse appearing on television.’

‘What?’

‘Sexual intercourse.’ Several fishermen stopped their promenade along the waterfront to listen in amusement to the minister’s wife.

Two spots of colour burned on Patricia’s white cheeks. ‘Explain yourself,’ she snapped.

‘Some actor was drinking in the hotel bar last night and he was heard to say, “I’ll be screwing Penelope Gates tomorrow.” He was asked about it, and he said he and
Penelope were to be filmed in bed together in a set in Drim Castle
and without a stitch on
.’

‘This shall be stopped,’ panted Patricia. ‘I won’t allow it.’

‘Good,’ said Mrs Wellington approvingly. ‘I myself will phone the minister in Drim.’

Patricia strode off to her car, her brain in a turmoil of rage and anxiety.

‘Where are you going?’ barked Mr Jessop as Eileen was heading out the door, her camcorder in one hand.

Eileen stopped and blinked at him myopically. ‘I am going to see one of those TV cameramen. He said he could give me a few pointers.’

‘You are to go nowhere near any of them.’

‘Why?’

‘Do as you’re told, woman. I’m off to the castle to deal with something.’

‘Now, Gervase,’ Giles Brown was saying, ‘you come into the bedroom, you see her naked on the bed, smiling at you, and you start to tear off your uniform. Your
eyes gleam with lust.’

‘Sure,’ said Gervase in a bored voice.

‘Let’s just run through it first,’ said Giles.

Penelope appeared from behind a screen. She was stark naked.

Definitely a 38D cup, thought Fiona. What a figure!

Penelope lay down on the bed. She raised herself on one elbow and smiled seductively at Gervase, who began to tear off his clothes. When he was naked, he approached the bed.

Penelope rolled on her back and laughed uproariously.

‘What’s up?’ asked Fiona crossly.

‘Him!’ said Penelope when she could. ‘Have you ever seen such an ugly body? Jesus wept, he’s got breasts like a woman.’

Before anyone could say anything, the door of the room opened and Mr Jessop, followed by Patricia, burst in.

‘What is going on here?’ shouted the minister.

‘How dare you turn my work into pornography!’ screamed Patricia.

Fiona saw disaster and moved quickly. ‘Come outside and I’ll explain things. We were just rehearsing until their costumes arrived.’

She shooed them out of the room and led them along to her office.

‘It’s like this,’ she lied. ‘Actors are used to seeing each other naked. No one thinks anything of it. They’ll be dressed in the actual scene. Penelope will be
wearing a nightdress and Gervase pyjamas.’

‘I do not believe you,’ said Patricia.

‘Wait a minute and I’ll arrange for them to show you the actual scene.’

Fiona sped back to the set and said to Giles, ‘Get them both into nightclothes, and you two, perform a decorous petting scene. Sheila, get a nightgown and pyjamas fast.’

She then went back to the office. ‘You can see the scene in a few moments.’

‘This is a trick,’ said Mr Jessop. ‘There was some actor telling the locals last night how he was going to have intercourse with that actress.’

‘Now, Mr Jessop,’ cooed Fiona, ‘do you think we would show such a scene? Gervase must have been a bit drunk, and he brags a lot. This is for family viewing. Nudity may be
shocking to you, but we’re used to it. I mean, have you seen some of the beaches in Spain, or even Brighton? Nobody thinks anything these days about going naked.’

‘You must think us very silly to be taken in by such a story,’ said Patricia.

Fiona forced herself to smile calmly. All would be well just so long as this precious pair did not ask for any confirmation in writing.

‘Television is a mad world.’ She spread her hands ruefully. ‘But just think. Would we jeopardize our chances of getting the prime family slot on Sunday viewing by showing
explicit sex scenes?’

Sheila put her head round the door. ‘Ready for you.’

‘Come along,’ said Fiona, ‘and you’ll see for yourselves.’

Penelope and Gervase, alarmed into good behaviour by the threat that the series might be sabotaged, were now dressed: Penelope in a long Laura Ashley cotton nightgown and Gervase in striped
pyjamas rather like the minister’s own. Fiona thought the wretched pair were deliberately hamming it up to make it look and sound like a Victorian courting scene. Certainly they ended up in
bed together, but they finished the scene with a chaste kiss.

‘And we fade there,’ said Fiona brightly.

But old-fashioned Patricia and Mr Jessop had found it all very tasteful. They did not know that Penelope and Gervase had made up the lines as they went along.

‘But they are not married and they are in bed together,’ said Mr Jessop cautiously.

Fiona seized a script and pretended to consult it. ‘A gamekeeper bursts in at that moment and says, “There’s a body on the beach.” They both hurry off to investigate.
Nothing further happens between them.’

Relieved, Patricia and the minister accepted this explanation. They could not believe that these television people would go to such lengths to deceive them. Fiona took them back to the office,
served them coffee and talked soothingly and flatteringly about the genius of Patricia’s writing.

Patricia left, feeling quite elated.

Having seen them off the premises and having instructed two men to guard the door of the set in future, Fiona went back into the ‘bedroom’. Giles was sitting in a corner, clutching
his head.

‘What the fuck’s up now?’ asked Fiona, her temper breaking.

‘That bitch,’ said Gervase, pointing a shaking finger at Penelope.

‘She won’t stop laughing,’ mourned Giles.

‘You cannot expect me to seriously make love to a man with a body like that,’ sneered Penelope.

‘Look here,’ said Fiona wrathfully, advancing on Penelope. ‘If you do not do what you are paid to do and keep making trouble, we’ll find someone else.’

‘You can’t afford to,’ said Penelope, looking at her with dislike. ‘I hate being pushed around by people. I’ve been pushed around all my life, and I’m not
going to take any more of it. Get rid of me? It’d be cheaper to get rid of
you
. Harry Frame’ll be here later. Let’s see what he has to say about it.’

Fiona tried to laugh it all off. It certainly would be easier to get rid of her than Penelope. ‘Come on, Penelope,’ she coaxed. ‘Let’s just get the scene done.’

‘I’ve a headache now,’ said Penelope mulishly. ‘Tell Harry to come and see me when he arrives.’

She swept out.

‘She’s costing us money,’ said Hal Forsyth, the production manager. ‘Who does she think she is? Liz Taylor?’

‘Tell Harry to see me before he sees her,’ said Fiona.

Sheila followed her out. ‘I want a word with you, Fiona.’

‘Not you, too.’

‘I’ve got something to tell you which might help. I was down in Lochdubh visiting that policeman. He said something about Penelope being on uppers, and I said then I didn’t
think so, but now I’m beginning to wonder.’

Fiona swung round. ‘You mean, find proof and get her arrested?’

‘I think Hamish would just give her a warning. No, I was thinking, she’ll leave her caravan for lunch. I could go in there, search around, and if I find them, confiscate the lot. I
think that’s maybe what’s been turning her into an aggressive bitch. It’s worth a try.’

‘Do it.’

Sheila hung around Penelope’s trailer until she saw her stepping down and making her way to the temporary restaurant.

She had a spare key. She let herself in. Penelope’s handbag was lying on the dressing table. She went through the contents until she came upon two bottles of pills. One was marked Librium
and had a chemist’s name on it. The other bottle did not carry any label. Sheila decided to take what she thought might be the uppers and leave the tranquillizers. She hoped that the
unlabelled bottle did not carry heart pills or anything important and legal. But then if it did, Penelope would raise a fuss.

The first person Penelope saw when she entered the trailer which housed the restaurant was Gervase. She collected her food and went to join him.

‘I am not happy with you,’ she said, fixing the actor with a cold blue stare.

‘
You’re
not happy with
me
?’ spluttered Gervase. ‘You’ve ruined a morning’s shoot with your silly behaviour. What’s come over you,
Penelope? You’re like a spoilt brat.’

‘I didn’t ruin the morning’s shoot. It was you, I gather, who got drunk and spilled the beans so that writer and that minister got to hear of it. I’m going to have a word
with Harry. I can’t act with you.’

‘You’re mad,’ said Gervase, but suddenly frightened. He had been finding it harder and harder to get parts of late. ‘I’ll kill you. You’ll be as dead as Jamie
if you spoil my career.’

‘I’m not frightened of you.’ Penelope tossed her long blonde hair.

Gervase picked up his plate of food and, ignoring the startled looks from the others in the restaurant, sat down at a table as far away from her as possible.

It was unfortunate for Fiona that she was called to the phone to speak to the drama director of BBC Scotland just as Harry Frame arrived. Penelope hailed him as she left the
restaurant. ‘Come to my caravan, Harry,’ she called.

He followed her in and sat down.

Penelope outlined what had happened that morning, ending up by saying she could not work with Gervase or Fiona or Sheila.

Harry fought down a rising feeling of panic. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘I can’t go around firing everyone.’

‘You were prepared to fire Fiona when Jamie asked you.’

Harry rose, his large bulk looming over her. ‘And look what happened to him,’ he said. ‘I’ve taken enough. Get on with it, luv. Because it would be easier to replace you
than either Fiona, Gervase or Sheila. There’s plenty of little totties with good bodies and thin talent prepared to take your place.’

‘Are you saying I can’t act?’

He shrugged. ‘You’re no great shakes. Think about it.’

After he had gone, Penelope scrabbled in her handbag. Her pills had gone!

One of them must have taken them, but she couldn’t very well complain. She swallowed a couple of tranquillizers. They couldn’t really fire her. They wouldn’t dare.

To everyone’s relief, Penelope performed her part during the rest of the day without any awkward scenes. Her acting was a little wooden, but Giles decided to let it go
for the sake of harmony.

By evening Penelope’s tranquillizers had worn off, and she was feeling cross and irritable and hard done by.

Fiona was the one she hated the most. She wanted revenge. She had demanded that Fiona be fired, and that demand had been refused.

When she arrived in the dining room of the Tommel Castle Hotel that evening, she pointedly did not join the others but took a table on her own in a corner. She ordered trout and a bottle of
champagne. After the others had left, she stayed in the dining room, finishing the bottle.