Take Two (A psychological thriller) (6 page)

The car moved out of the car park and headed south.

 ‘Why are we schlepping all the way down to Surrey?’ asked Carolyn.

‘Soap Digest have done a deal with Hello magazine,’ said Harrington. ‘And they don’t want all the celebs in the papers tomorrow. This place has got a ten-foot high wall around it and there’ll be security at the gate to keep the paparazzi out. That way, Hello gets the exclusive pictures. Plus they want to get the various stars together in a luxury setting. Makes a lot of sense.’

‘For them, sure. But I’d be happier at the Savoy.’

‘Maybe. But at least this way there’ll be no pictures of drunken stars tripping over and ending up in the gutter.’

‘Hey, listen, that was only once and it was eight years ago, and my heel broke,’ said Carolyn archly.

‘It was one hell of a picture,’ said Harrington.

‘Yes, well, my agent was supposed to have had all copies of it destroyed.’

‘These days it’s all computer files,’ said Harrington. ‘Once it’s out there, it’s out there for ever.’

‘So what is it? A country house?’

‘A country house hotel, I think is what they call it. And the chef’s got two Michelin stars, so the food will be good. And the wine cellar is world famous.’ Harrington rubbed his hands together. ‘And the magazine is picking up the tab, so it’s going to be one hell of a night.’

‘Do you think the show will get anything?’

‘It’s possible. You and Seb might even get best kiss.’

‘Oh God, don’t remind me,’ said Carolyn, settling back in her seat and folding her arms. ‘Jake, have you heard anything about the storylines?’

‘Like what?’

Carolyn shrugged as if she didn’t care overmuch. ‘Just where the story’s going.’

‘You know the directors are at the bottom of the food chain,’ he said. ‘First we get to hear of the plot is when the script arrives. We’re the hired hands.’

‘You talk to the writers, though.’

‘Only about the script I have. To be honest, even the writers don’t have much say in the plotlines anymore. It’s Paul who runs the show but even he has to take notes from the network.’

‘Since when?’

‘It’s been happening bit by bit over the past few years. In the good old days, long before my time, the network just put up the money and Paul produced the show. A couple of network execs might drop by during the edit but that was just a courtesy. It all changed when they asked for script approval. Then they wanted to make casting decisions and now the network decides pretty much everything.’

‘Paul never said anything.’

‘Well he’s not likely to, is he? The problem is that he doesn’t own the show. The network does. So if push came to shove, they could replace him.’

‘But it’s his show. He created it. Without Paul there wouldn’t be a Rags To Riches.’

‘Sure, but you’ve got to remember that when he was trying to get the show off the ground, he couldn’t get arrested. He was on London’s Burning and that closed, and he was on The Bill when that went under, and then he was unemployed for getting on five years. Rags To Riches was his way back in and the network knew that so they screwed him on ownership.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Carolyn.

‘Well it doesn’t affect you, does it? You’re a star. We all revolve around you.’

‘You think so?’

‘You’re the one they tune in to see,’ said Harrington.  ‘You’re the one the public loves. You think they even know who Paul is?  Or the network suits?’ He shook his head. ‘All those credits that run at the end of the show, do you think people even read them? That’s when they go for a pee or to put the kettle on.’

‘That’s funny because I heard that you directors refer to actors as talking props.’

Harrington chuckled. ‘You’d never hear me saying that,’ he said. ‘But there are some directors who feel that the actors do get in the way of their vision.’ He put his head on one side. ‘Something worrying you?’

Carolyn smiled, trying to make the smile appear as genuine as she could. She barely knew Harrington and while he seemed a pleasant enough guy and a competent director, she didn’t know him well enough to trust him. For all she knew, he might pass on anything she said to the network suits. ‘No, just wondering what was coming up, that’s all.’

‘I do know that there’s a big writers’ meeting the week after next and the network’s people will be there. That usually means there’s something big on the way.’

‘Yeah, it’s next Wednesday.’

‘How do you know that?’

She tapped the side of her nose. ‘I have my contacts,’ she said.

‘I knew it was Wednesday but I’m not in on it.’

‘Who is?’

‘The writers. Head of Drama.  That’s Sally. There’s Lisa, Deputy Head of Drama.  Sinead’s going. A few of the network producers. Nick, Francesca and Karen. And that new kid on the block, the one who always wears a sharp suit and smells of eucalyptus. What’s his name?  Martin?’

‘But no directors?’

Harrington laughed again. ‘I told you.  We’re just hired hands. I kid you not, Carolyn, they could replace every one of the directors on this show within an hour. There are people out there who would kill to direct this show and a lot of them would do it for free. You think actors have it tough? Directors really are treated like shit.’

‘Is it normal to keep you in the dark, then?’

‘Not normal, no.’

‘And what about Paul? Will he be there?’

‘That, I’m not sure about.’

‘Doesn’t that worry you?’

‘What?’

Carolyn sighed. ‘That they’re cutting Paul out of the loop. It’s like a bloody coup, Jake. It used to be that Paul ran everything. Now the network is pulling the strings.’

‘The network loves you, Carolyn. They’re huge fans. If anything, it will probably be good news for you.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Carolyn. She frowned. ‘Why is Sinead going to be there? She’s casting director.’

Harrington shrugged.  ‘Like I said, they tell me nothing. What are you worried about?’

‘Maybe they’re planning a plane crash to kill us all off and bring in new blood.’

‘I doubt they’d have the budget for that.’

‘Maybe a car crash, then. Or a killer bug. And they need Sinead to put together a new cast.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I just get the feeling that there’s something going on and nobody will tell me.’

‘I hear that,’ said Harrington.  ‘But like I said, you’re a star, Carolyn. They don’t get rid of stars.’

CHAPTER 10

There were a dozen photographers huddled around the gate at the entrance to the grounds of the country house hotel and flashes went off as the Mercedes drove by. ‘Why do they bother?’ asked Harrington.

‘Because they might get lucky and catch an actor smoking a joint or picking their nose,’ said Carolyn.

‘That bad?’

‘Worse than that, Jake. A thousand times worse. What they want is a reaction. Sometimes they’ll shout out the most obscene stuff, just to get a reaction. That’s why every now and then someone will snap and take a swing at them.’

‘You haven’t though?’

‘You can’t because the picture of you screaming at them is the one that’ll be on all the front pages. You just have to grin and bear it.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Besides, if there’s one thing worse than being pursued by the paparazzi, it’s being ignored by them.’

The Mercedes pulled up in front of the hotel.  The driver got out and hurried around to open the door for Carolyn.  As she got out, two pretty girls in short skirts and impossibly high heels tottered over. They both had tight tops with sashes across their chests with SOAP OPERA DIGEST across them.  One of them presented her with a small bouquet and they escorted her into the hallway. To the left, a large banner had been set up and to the right was a bald photographer in a black suit who winked at her. ‘Miss Castle,’ he said. ‘Big fan.’

Carolyn took off her coat and gave it to one of the girls, then posed for half a dozen photographs, then waved for Harrington to join her. Standing next to the photographer was a young woman with a clipboard. She smiled at Carolyn and nodded at the dress. ‘Stella McCartney,’ said Carolyn, and the woman scribbled on her clipboard. She looked up again and smiled at Harrington. ‘And who are you?’ she asked.

‘Me? Nobody.’

Carolyn slipped her arm through his. ‘Jake Harrington,’ she said. ‘He’s a fabulous director and we all love working with him.’

‘And your new boyfriend?’

Carolyn laughed. ‘My director,’ she said. She smiled as the photographer took a few more pictures, then led Harrington away from the banner towards the main ballroom.

‘I don’t know how you put up with it,’ said Harrington.

‘With what?’

‘Being photographed all the time. I’d hate it.’

‘That’s funny, you being a director and all,’ said Carolyn. ‘That’s your job, taking pictures of people.’

‘My job is to let actors tell a story,’ said Harrington. ‘The paparazzi are more like peeping toms, sticking their noses where they’re not wanted.’

Carolyn gestured at the banner, where another actress was being photographed. ‘That’s not paparazzi,’ she said. ‘That’s part of the game. You come to somewhere like this and you get photographed and the photographs go out to the papers and the magazines. The magazine sells, my profile is raised and Stella McCartney gets free publicity. Everyone wins.’

‘Well, it would do my head in. I prefer the fact the girl back there didn’t know me from Adam.’

They stopped at the entrance to the ballroom. A large seating plan had been set up on an easel and it was flanked by two pretty blondes.  There were twenty-five circular tables each seating sixteen. The tables were identified with the name of the various shows and production companies. The tables closest to the main stage were taken by the BBC, ITV, Channel 4 and Sky.  Behind them were the tables of Coronation Street, EastEnders, Doctors, Holby City and the rest of the popular soaps.  The Rags To Riches table was off to the right, closest to the kitchen.  Carolyn frowned as she studied the seating plan.  Hands seized her by the shoulder. ‘How’s my favourite actress?’ asked Paul Day, looming over her.

‘Wondering why all these reality shows are here,’ she said, pointing at a table marked The Only Way Is Essex and another labeled Made In Chelsea.  ‘Since when are reality shows classed as drama?’

‘They’ve a new category this year,’ said the producer. ‘Reality and Constructed Factual.’

‘What the hell is Reality and Constructed Factual?’ asked Carolyn.

‘The future of entertainment, darling,’ said Day. ‘You take suntanned bimbos in tight dresses and you give them lines to shout and wine to drink. Costs next to nothing to make and the punters love it.’ He released his grip on her shoulders. ‘Come on, let’s grab our seats.’

Day, Carolyn and Harrington walked into the ballroom. There were huge posters on the walls, blown-up photographs of the shows that had been nominated, and at the back of the room a stage with two podiums and, behind them, a large viewing screen.

Carolyn had to walk by the Coronation Street and EastEnders tables and she had to air-kiss at least a dozen people.  She knew most of the actors though there were a few younger cast members she hadn’t met before.  Most knew she was being given a lifetime achievement award and wanted to congratulate her. It was the only award that had been announced in advance.

Seb and Andrea were already at the Rags To Riches table, along with Phillippa Lansdale, the director who was due to take over after Harrington’s episodes had wrapped. Carolyn had worked with Phillippa before and liked the woman. She was in her early thirties, anorexically thin and, like Carolyn, a confirmed smoker. She stood up and hugged Carolyn. ‘So we’re working together week after next,’ she said, brushing her dyed blonde hair over one ear.

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ said Carolyn.  Day gave Phillippa a bear hug and then sat down, facing the stage. Carolyn sat next to him. Seb was sitting next to a pneumatic blonde model with vacant eyes, one of half a dozen that he used whenever he needed to prove to the world that he was a red-blooded heterosexual male. Carolyn had met her before but couldn’t quite remember her name – Mandy, or Sandy, or Candy or something similar. She had red-painted fingernails that were at least an inch long and lips that had clearly been pumped full of collagen. Andrea was sitting next to her long-time boyfriend, Charlie Russell, a good-looking Scot who managed his family’s multi-million pound trust.  He was devoted to Andrea and always had a lop-sided grin on his face when he was around her.

They were joined by three more actors from the show – Fatima Dowling, Mo Julyan and Barry Hinton – as the ballroom began to fill up.  Across the room, Carolyn saw the network executives take their places. Day waved over at Sally Westlake, the head of drama, and she blew him a kiss.

‘So where’s Eddie?’ asked Phillippa.

‘It’s not his thing,’ said Carolyn. She didn’t want it generally known that the relationship was in trouble. In fact, in her heart of hearts she hoped he would call her and apologise because the one thing she wanted most in the world just then was to have him back in her life.  She missed him. She missed him a lot. And while the pain of his infidelity still burned, she was starting to feel she was partly to blame. She had been working stupidly-long hours for several months and hadn’t spent enough time with him.  A waiter appeared and began pouring champagne. ‘Besides, with Eddie here I’d have to watch how much I drink.’ She waved at the waiter and mouthed ‘red wine.’  He nodded.

The head writer on the show, Zach Atkins, arrived in a white jacket and a black Mickey Mouse bow-tie. With him were two more writers – both earnest young men in their late twenties. They sat together next to Phillippa. Carolyn smiled over at Zach and he smiled back, but he looked away quickly and was soon deep in conversation with the director.

The room filled up over the next twenty minutes and then the meal was served. The food was excellent, way above what was normally served at an award ceremony, brought to the table by fit young men who looked as if they had just walked out of a fashion magazine.  The starter was baked scallops, the main course was an apple and cranberry stuffed pork roast and the dessert was vanilla cheesecake with Scottish raspberries. There was a vegetarian option but as Carolyn was an enthusiastic meat-eater she didn’t even look at it. It turned out that alcohol had to be paid for but Day made sure plenty of wine ended up on their table.