Merely Players (7 page)

Now the fourth series of the Alec Dawson adventures was almost complete and the casting was already proceeding for a fifth. There was a plan to give Alec Dawson a regular opponent, who would be repeatedly frustrated by the latest Dawson swash and buckle. A modern version of Moriarty, the Napoleon of crime, who had set his mighty talents and intellectual acumen against the even mightier ones of Sherlock Holmes. Dean Morley saw himself as a natural for this part. He had a wide experience of playing villains by now; he knew how to be smooth and sinister at the same time, which he saw as the vital combination for this super-villain. And he knew how to play off the personality and acting idiosyncrasies of his friend Adam Cassidy, didn't he? He could make Alec Dawson into an even bigger star by forming an intriguing duo with him.

Acting is the worst profession of all for fostering illusions.

Dean Morley had settled down now. After his years of cheerful promiscuity, he had acquired a regular partner and bought a flat. They had even talked of a civil ceremony next year, when he had secured the regular villain's role in the
Call Alec Dawson
saga and with it financial security for life. The repeats around the world already brought in a steady income, and he would be able to pick and choose his theatrical roles once he became the regular foil for Alec Dawson. Even Iago might not be out of the question, once the public had him classed as a villain; after all, he was the right age for it now.

The illusion was getting a firmer hold.

Three days after Adam Cassidy had visited Mark Gilbey, he was relaxing with a mug of coffee with Dean Morley and other members of the Alec Dawson cast. The short scene they had been shooting had gone well, but they were awaiting the director's verdict after his viewing of the shoot. Adam liked these interludes, where he could be just one of the cast like the others, yet find his opinions treated with a little more respect than anyone else's. It was the sort of respect accorded to the head of the gang's pronouncements in his school days, subtle and unspoken, but quite definite. It was power, of course. The leading actor in a series always acquired power, whether he wanted it or not. Most people did want it, and Mark was no exception to the rule.

Even though technically it was the casting director who did the hiring and firing, the opinions of the star were always heeded. The bigger the star, the greater the heed. At the back of every decision was the unspoken thought that if the star withdrew his presence, the whole project would collapse; it was very unusual for a leading role in an established series to be recast. The public were comfortable with the lead who had established himself; many of them did not clearly distinguish the actor from his role, so that they did not take kindly to a new face usurping that persona.

When the latest theatre gossip was exhausted, the bit players went off to check whether their services would be needed again that day, leaving Dean Morley together with his old friend and one-time protégé. Adam watched the blue smoke curling slowly upwards from Dean's cigarette and said with the righteousness of the ex-smoker, ‘Be the death of you, those tubes, if you keep on using them.'

Dean nodded, stubbing out a fag which still had a few draws left in it. ‘I'm not sure it's allowed here any more. No one's objected, so far.' Green room practice tended to avoid the rules, in a situation where stress and anxiety were constant facts of life. ‘I still use them to relax at work. I've given them up altogether at home.'

‘How is Keith?' Adam was pleased with himself for remembering the name of Morley's partner.

‘He's doing fine. He sold a painting last week. That always cheers him up. But this week he's painting the lounge, so I expect him to be in a foul mood when I get back. I think I'd better pick up a bottle of gin on the way home.'

Adam was grateful for the clues. He remembered now; Keith had a part-time job as an art gallery curator, but aspirations to be a full-time professional artist. He said conventionally, ‘It can't be easy, trying to sell serious art when you're not a big name.'

‘It isn't. But we get by. And we're happy with each other.' Dean wanted to tell people about that, but no one ever asked you, the way they asked heterosexuals about their liaisons. He wanted to tell everyone that at forty-seven he had discovered the most important love of his life, but no one gave you the chance to do that. There was a pause before he said, ‘You're doing well. New series lined up, and more to come after that if you want it. You've come a long way from that lad playing a motorcycle courier with two lines.'

He hadn't intended to mention that, but the temptation to harp back to the help he had offered in Cassidy's early days had been irresistible. Adam gave a little frown before he smiled his recognition of those far-off times. Dean glanced towards the door, wondering how long this privacy would last. It wasn't easy to get Adam on his own, these days. He didn't want to ring him up. He needed to drop his question into a more casual situation: a situation like this, in fact. ‘I'm looking forward to being your regular foil in the next series. Be like old times, eh?'

‘Regular foil?' Adam knew what Dean meant, but he wanted time to think. It was part of that power which leading actors had, making people spell out the things they didn't want to.

Dean took a deep breath and strove to keep it light. ‘The criminal mastermind who's worthy of Alec Dawson's mettle. The villain whose machinations seem to have every chance of success, until they meet the energy and intellect of Alec.' He was trying to treat the role upon which his whole future rested as if it were a curious trifle.

Adam frowned again, for a little longer this time. ‘It seems to have been accepted that that's the way we'll go. But as I understand it, the role hasn't been cast yet.'

‘But it's as a result of my performance in this series that a permanent opponent for you is envisaged. There is surely an understanding that the part should be mine. I think both the producer and the director envisage that.'

‘Really? Well, in that case, you've nothing to worry about, have you?' He gave his old comrade a bland smile, then glanced at his Rolex.

It was that gesture which filled Dean Morley with a sudden horror. He knew that he should leave it now. Pleading with stars was like pleading with departing lovers; it emerged only as a sign of weakness. But he couldn't help himself. ‘It's important to us, this, Adam. Keith doesn't earn a lot. This part could mean security for us.'

A moderately successful actor, begging him to secure the future of a couple of puffs. Adam Cassidy enjoyed the feeling of power in that dismissive phrase, though he knew that in an hour or two he would despise himself for it. ‘Then I hope it all works out for you, of course.'

‘You can put in a word for me, Adam. You know the way it works. If the star's happy with a support player, his opinion counts. And you're a big star now. Perhaps even bigger than you realize.' Dean despised himself for the shameless flattery of the phrases, even as he delivered them. But he must make the man see how crucial this part was for him, for Keith, for the rest of their lives.

‘Oh, I'm just a jobbing actor who's been lucky, Dean. You should know that better than most.' Adam smiled his modest television smile; this was almost a rehearsal for his next interview. ‘I'll do my best, of course, but I don't think you should count any chickens until they're very fully hatched.'

‘Who'd you say it was?'

‘Granada Television, sir.'

‘Put them through.'

‘Superintendent Tucker?'

‘It's Chief Superintendent Tucker, actually.'

‘Sorry. Granada TV here. I'm Pat Dolan. Your name was passed to me by Janet Jackson from our newsroom staff. I think she's met you when you've held media conferences about serious crimes.'

Tucker was immediately wary: his last TV encounter hadn't gone well. ‘I remember Janet, yes. But I'm happy to say we have no high-profile murders for you at the moment.'

A sudden cackle of laughter made him move the receiver two inches away from his ear. ‘Oh, it's nothing like that, Chief Superintendent. This is a very different request. I'm wondering if you'd like to appear on Gerry Clancy's afternoon programme. We usually have either two or three interviews, with people from very different backgrounds. The emphasis is on entertainment. You'd counterbalance show-business personalities for us.'

‘I wouldn't wish to endure a hostile cross-examination about police work.'

Another, less strident, laugh; more of a chuckle, this time. ‘Have you seen Gerry Clancy's programme, Chief Superintendent Tucker?'

‘Not often, no. Scarcely at all, in fact. Pressure of work doesn't allow me to—'

‘Gerry doesn't go in for hostile cross-examinations. We leave those to
Panorama
and
Newsnight
. Mr Clancy is no Paxman. This is a light-hearted afternoon programme.'

‘I see. May I ask who else would be taking part?'

‘Well, that isn't finalized yet. I'd like you to treat this as confidential at the moment, but we're hoping to secure Adam Cassidy for the big interview on that afternoon.'

‘I see.' Thomas Bulstrode Tucker strove to control an excitement he felt was quite unsuitable in one of his rank.

‘He's the star of the Alec Dawson series.'

‘Yes, I'm well aware who Adam Cassidy is.' Barbara refused to miss an episode. She considered Cassidy a tremendous ‘hunk'. She would be mightily impressed to see him sharing a sofa with the star.

‘Sorry! In that case, you will appreciate that it would be quite a coup for us if we get him. With the advance publicity involved, you'd have quite a big audience for whatever you chose to say about police work. If we get someone as big as Adam Cassidy to appear, we'll probably only have two guests on that programme – you and he.'

‘I see. Well, I shall certainly consider your offer. The police service gets a lot of bad publicity, most of which is quite unjustified. If I can do anything to put that right, I would feel obliged to consider it.'

‘There'd be a fee.'

Tucker fought back the impulse to ask how much. ‘That is not a consideration. I shall have to clear this with my chief constable. If he has no objections, I would see it as my duty to appear.'

Pat Dolan wanted to tell him to loosen up, that this was a bit of fun in the afternoon, that his function was merely to be the PC Plod foil for a series of stories and bon mots from Cassidy. But she had sensed despite his formal tone that he was hooked; the big showbiz name had its magic, even for a staid chief superintendent who should know better. ‘I shall take that as a qualified yes, Mr Tucker. I'll be in touch again as soon as I have further details for you.'

A sharp, cold, November Saturday. The market in Brunton has been a covered one for many years now, but the market hall is chilly today. The men and women serving fish and vegetables wear mitts and flap their arms across their chests between serving their early customers. The nation moved its clocks an hour back and returned to Greenwich Mean Time a fortnight ago; the town has its first ropes of coloured lights and the shops their first posters announcing that Father Christmas will be in attendance from the beginning of December.

Lucy Peach is shopping, secretly enjoying the novelty of being a housewife. She is meeting her mother for lunch at twelve; she has resigned herself to being quizzed about married life and her views on producing grandchildren at an early date. Percy Peach is playing in the monthly medal at the North Lancs Golf Club, seeking to reduce his already respectable handicap of eight. He sniffs the cool, clear air and looks to the north, to the heights of Ingleborough and Pen-y-Ghent: the mountains which look surprisingly close as the sun climbs a little higher. Not many better places to be on a day like this, he remarks to his companion; it is always easier to feel like this after landing a 5-iron on to the green at a par three. Percy has always preferred the cool sun of winter to the more torrid temperatures of June and July.

Ten miles north of Peach, on the moors which rise beyond Clitheroe and Waddington, Adam Cassidy is also relishing the day and its sport. There is a carpet of frost up here this morning, but the whiteness is disappearing now, except in the shadow of the dry stone walls. There is the first dusting of snow on the top of the great mound of Pendle Hill to the east. A great morning to be alive and on the moors, he and his companions assure themselves repeatedly.

Adam had never thought when he was a boy that he would join those shooting grouse on the moors: only toffs whose lifestyle was totally outside his experience did that. Yet that seemed to him a very good reason why he should be here now. He held his shotgun in the crook of his arm and chatted happily to the landowner who had invited him to shoot with his party. Adam wasn't an expert shot, but he didn't need to be. There were others here who were as bad as him – and in one case plainly worse. Shooting was expensive, and the invitation to participate was used to cultivate acquaintance or to return favours. In his case, it was one of the more acceptable rewards of celebrity. People, even people who had standing and influence, wanted to be seen with you, wanted to feel that they were in touch with the glamorous world of show business and television. So why not take advantage of that, when it could bring pleasure to others as well as yourself?

It was his third shoot in all, but his first of this autumn. One of his first television appearances as a young actor had been as a servant in a play about Edward VII and Lillie Langtry. His function had been to hand the portly monarch a loaded gun and then say ‘Good shot, Your Royal Highness!' whilst the corpse of a bird plummeted in the background. He remembered it vividly and with affection, not least because the well-known actress playing the Jersey Lily had taken him into her bed for a brief fling. That had been a memorable experience in itself. More importantly, it had raised the standing of the unknown young bit-part player on the gossip grapevine which flourished amongst actors and directors. Being noticed was very important at the outset of a career, and young Cassidy had taken full advantage of the opportunities which resulted.