We finally emerged into another clearing and there all the peaceful sounds of the wood vanished behind us, because there was a great crowd of people there, and chairs set up, and equipment all over the place. Down one end there was also a tent and a big bunch of people gathered around it, all dressed up like Roman soldiers in tunics and leather armour, with shields and helmets and swords and everything. And there to one side, a little apart from the others, unmistakeable despite the get-up, a plumed helmet in his hand, was Gabriel’s big brother Daniel.
My heart sank. Damn it. If I’d had any idea he was with Marc and his crew, I definitelywouldn’t have come. Well, at least he hadn’t seen me – yet. I hung back a bit, hoping he wouldn’t catch sight of me. Just then, to my great relief, somebody came up to him. They stood there talking for a moment, then Daniel walked off into the tent, still without seeing me. Thank God.
I looked around for Gabriel, but couldn’t see him. But he must be somewhere around, I thought. Daniel had been so protective of him, there was no way he’d just leave him on his own somewhere. Maybe he was in the tent. I sidled off to a spot behind some chairs, right on the far edge of the clearing, where even if Daniel came out of the tent, he wouldn’t see me. Mireille was sitting there already, eating a chocolate bar and tapping on a BlackBerry. She smiled at me. Though she must be at least forty, she was still nice-looking, slim and chic and lively, her brown eyes sparkling behind their snazzy glasses. ‘Excited?’ she said.
‘Oh, yes. Yes,’ I said awkwardly, trying to keep an eye on the tent flap. How stupid was that, I told myself. What did I really care if that stupid guy came out and saw me? I have a perfect right to come here. I was invited. I said, ‘There’s a lot of extras,’ pointing at the Roman soldiers.
‘Oh. Yes. They’re members of a historical re-enactment society. From England, actually.’
‘Oh, right.’ I knew about that sort of thing because my best friend Jessie’s older brother Sam, who I had a bit of a crush on at one time, belonged to one at home. A medieval re-enactment society. They dressed up in medieval clothes and ran around having sword battles and jousting and stuff like that. Like role-playing games, only historical. So that’s why Daniel was here. Funny. I’d not have picked him for a re-enactment sort.
‘This group re-enacts Roman battles,’ said Mireille. ‘They’re very good. And they’re cheap. They do it for the love of it. They are very enthusiastic.’ She smiled. ‘But they can be a bit difficult sometimes – sticklers for the authentic rules and details, you know. They don’t like it if we change anything, not even if it’s just a tiny detail, like the pattern on a sword.’
‘I saw this guy in dreads, before–’ I said casually. ‘Isn’t that a bit – er – weird – I mean – if those people are so keen on being authentic–’ I trailed off.
She laughed. ‘Oh, the Romans had all sorts in their armies. Their Empire stretched all over the world, and they most certainly had African soldiers. One of their Emperors was even part-African, you know. Anyway, he’s not a part of the re-enactors. He’s not English, either. His name’s Daniel Aubrac, he’s French, and he’s the nephew of the money.’
I stared. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Daniel’s the nephew of Mr Udo, the man who’s financing the production. He’s a big London businessman and an acquaintance of our producer, Jerome. The deal is that Daniel had to have some sort of minor role in this film. And that his little brother Gabriel had to come with him.’
‘Wow,’ I said, ‘that’s bossy, isn’t it? People must hate that.’
She smiled. ‘No. It’s okay. Gabriel’s a perfect sweetie and Daniel’s been fine. Very professional. He only has a small part – says only a few words – but he does it well and doesn’t throw his weight around.’
Unlike with me, I thought, but didn’t say.
‘And we feel sorry for the poor kids,’ she said frankly. ‘See, they’ve had a lot of bad things happen to them. Jerome told me. Their uncle’s looking after them because their mother died of cancer last year.’
‘Oh.’ I hadn’t imagined the sadness then, I thought. But I didn’t want to feel sorry for rude Daniel, only Gabriel. ‘What about their dad? Couldn’t he look after them?’
She shook her head, sadly. ‘He died a long time ago, apparently. Accident or something. So they’re orphans, you see.’
‘Mmm.’ I said, uncomfortably. Time to change the subject. ‘I don’t even know what the film’s called,’ I said, hurriedly, ‘or what it’s about.’
‘It’s of Marc’s third book, Orphelins de l’Empire – Orphans of the Empire,’ said Mireille. ‘The first two, there were TV films made of them, but this one’s different. It’s a feature film. It’s a self-contained sort of story, so it will work. It’s about how a pair of teenage twins from Rome, a boy and a girl, go looking for their father, who’s disappeared near Lugdunum Converanum.That’s–’
‘I know. The old name for St-Bertrand. Who plays the twins?’
‘A couple of young actors from Paris. They’re arriving in a few days’ time.’
‘Oh. Right. Is it all going to be shot here?’
‘No. We’ll only shoot a few scenes here, in the woods and mountains. Mostly, it’ll be done in a studio lot in Paris. We have to recreate the city of Lugdunum Converanum as it was, you see. Can’t use the ruins!’
At that moment, somebody called out, ‘Ready!’ and the extras began to form in a battle line, retreating towards the edge of the woods. Because we’d been busy talking, I hadn’t even noticed Daniel come out of the tent and mingle with the others. But now I saw him clearly, plumed helmet nodding above the heads of the others, shield before him, muscular frame settled into the uniform as though he’d been born into it, strong face and dark gaze as impassive as any soldier’s. And then he turned his head slightly and saw me. His expression didn’t change – but my stomach lurched with anxiety at the thought of his reaction. But he did nothing, just turned away towards the others, his face as impassive as ever.
Wearing different faces
Silence fell. The cameras tracked in. A man strode out of the tent. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Short, stocky, bareheaded and almost bald, he wore the same uniform as the others, with a cloak over it. He approached Daniel at the head of the group of soldiers. The cameras zoomed in on them. There were no words, but it was obvious that he was sending them on a mission into the woods. His relaxed body language said he was an important man, much more important than Daniel, who was standing stiffly to attention.
The bald man finished whatever he was saying. He raised a hand in greeting. Ave,wasn’t that what they said in Roman times? But again there were no words. No dialogue. They were implying it all. It would be a bit right at the beginning, an opening scene perhaps even before the title of the film came up.
Daniel saluted. He turned smartly. The others turned with him. They began to march off towards the woods. One of the cameras followed them. The other stayed on the bald guy, standing at the entrance to his tent, watching them go. I found myself watching with a sudden catch in my throat, a feeling that something terrible was about to happen.
‘Cut!’ yelled the director, a thin woman with short dark hair. Or I suppose that’s what she said, because she actually said it in French. Anyway, everyone stopped. The director walked up to them, and began talking. I couldn’t hear what she said, but presumably she was telling them something was wrong, that it wasn’t good enough. Whatever. I’d thought they were pretty good, but then I wasn’t the director.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked Mireille. ‘I mean, in the scene?’
Mireille pointed to the bald actor. ‘He’s a corrupt governor. He’s hired some tribesmen to ambush and kill Daniel’s legion, who have come to investigate him. But in this scene he pretends to be friendly to them.’
‘What happens to them?’
‘The legion get ambushed and slaughtered. The corrupt governor gets away with it – for a while, anyway.’
&nbs
p; ‘Oh. Right. So that’s all, er – Daniel’s part in the film?’
‘There’s a bit more, but basically, yes, he disappears after the first couple of scenes.’
‘I see. The – the actor who plays the governor. I thought I recognised him. Is he famous?’
She smiled. ‘Well, yes. At least in France. That’s Alexis de Pinson. He plays in many films here, also on television.’
‘I’ve seen him in something,’ I said. ‘Recently, in Australia.’ I racked my brains. Where had I seen him before? Then it suddenly came to me.
‘SBS! I saw it on SBS last year. It’s an Australian TV channel,’ I explained, when Mireille looked puzzled. ‘They show stuff from all over the world. This one was about a guy called Jean-Eugène Robert-Houdin.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Mireille. ‘The Frenchman who inspired the great Harry Houdini.’
I nodded. In the nineteenth century Robert-Houdin was the first magician to make a really proper stage show out of his craft and attract high society to it as well as ordinary people. Houdini, who was like the greatest stage magician and escapologist who ever lived, took on a version of his name as a tribute. I know all this, see, cos I got really fascinated by Houdini last year after seeing a film called Death-Defying Acts,which is all about how Houdini falls in love with this beautiful fraud who claims to speak with ghosts. I looked up all sorts of stuff about him and made a clip about him which I put on my You Tube channel. I even considered for a moment or two taking up a career as a magician myself before realising that it was too much like hard work and I had absolutely no talent for it, or patience to learn tricks either. Anyway, I’d seen the SBS program sometime during my Houdini phase. It was so funny to see the star of it here in front of me, in this remote clearing in France!
‘It must be weird for actors,’ I said. ‘Pretend to be a magician one day and another a Roman traitor. I don’t know how they do it.’
‘They just get good at wearing different faces,’ said Mireille with a shrug. ‘Ah, look there they go. They are about to start again.’
And so they did. They went through that same scene again. It was still pretty exciting the second time around. The third, well, not so much. By the fourth take, I’d got so bored that I thought I would go mad if I stayed there in the same spot one second longer. Mireille had gone off to speak to Marc and Claire who were sitting together cosily some distance away. I wasn’t going to join them. Bad enough to be a spare wheel but worse to make it obvious. Anyway, I felt restless. Not only because it was so boring watching the same thing over and over again but because I’d had an idea. It was just a very small sort of idea at the moment – hell, it was hardly even an idea, just a sort of title, based on something Mireille had said. Wearing different faces.I didn’t know what it might turn into – a poem or a story or a clip – but it spoke to me, somehow. It was sort of spooky. Sort of mysterious. I needed to think about it.
So I got up and walked off into the section of the woods behind me. The actors, including Daniel, were on the other side of the clearing, huddled together getting a pep talk or whatever from the director. The crew were busy getting ready. Marc, Claire and Mireille were chatting so nobody noticed me going. At least, I didn’t think so. Not then.
Even just a few steps away, the silence of the woods fell on me again. I walked in the dappled sunlight, walking my way into a better feeling for those words and what they might turn into. I was beginning to see pictures in my head – masked people at a ball – Heath Ledger as the Joker – cosmetic surgery – all sorts of stuff. I wasn’t sure yet where it was all leading but I knew it wasgoing somewhere. Because it was so quiet there – even the birds seemed to be having a rest – and nobody about, I was even talking to myself, softly, because sometimes that works well. It was like that way I’d really thought through the Interview with an Angel clip I did, the one that got such high marks.
I was going further and further from the film shoot. But I knew basically in what direction I’d gone – I’m pretty good at orientation. Mum says I have a magnet in my nose, just like Dad – and I was sure I could easily retrace my steps when I was ready. I’d found a proper path by now and the going was fairly easy, anyway. It’s not like I was in complete wilderness. I mean, it wasn’t like the Australian bush. So I was going along pretty happily, yacking away to myself, my head full of crazy images, when suddenly the path forked and I took one side of it and after a short while realised I’d come back to the clearing where we’d parked the cars. It had been a roundabout way of getting there but that wasn’t what was uppermost in my mind because there was something else attracting my attention. Somebody was peering into one of the cars – the one Marc had come in – as if looking for something or someone. He had his back to me. I could have just turned and run away. Hell, he could have been anyone, couldn’t he? At the very least a car thief, but for some reason I kept walking and when I was halfway across the clearing he must have heard a twig crack under my foot or something, cos he spun around and stood there staring at me.
He was very pale. Very tall. Very thin. He looked to be in his early twenties, and had white-blond hair, untidily cut. His brown eyes swam behind thick glasses, and his shirt and trousers looked as rumpled as though he’d slept in them. He had dusty skate shoes on his feet, and a small pack on his back. Around his neck dangled a small digital camera. In one hand he had one of those little palmtop computers that remind me of the electronic pads waiters use, the sort with a kind of pen.
We stared at each other. I thought, well, he doesn’t look like a car thief. More like a kind of journalist. The gossip magazine sort, looking for dirt to dish on famous people. I said, sharply, ‘Que voulez-vous?’
I’d been proud of myself for bringing the stern question (what do you want?) out word-perfect. But his eyes widened. He said, in perfect English, ‘You are Australian?’
‘Yeah. So? What’s that got to do with anything?’ I said crossly. Was my accent so bad I was picked as an Aussie so easily?
‘Sorry – I didn’t mean...’ He rubbed at his hair. He looked embarrassed. ‘I suppose you must think me weird, poking around like this.’
I said, ‘Mmm.’
‘It’s not what it looks like,’ he said. ‘I was just making some, some notes.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Then it struck me, that faint accent. ‘Hey, you’re Australian too, aren’t you?’
He grinned. ‘Yup. Well anyway, I was born there. But I moved to France with my mother when I was fifteen.’
‘Oh.’
‘And I’m not doing anything wrong, I assure you. I was just, well, following up a report.’
‘I guessed,’ I said. ‘You’re a journalist. What magazine are you from? Are you writing about the film? About Marc?’
‘Eh?’ he said, sounding baffled. ‘Who’s Marc? What film? I was just wondering why all these cars were here. I thought the place would be deserted and I could easily find the traces.’ He saw my expression and smiled. ‘See, I’m an IPN.’ The eyes behind the glasses suddenly twinkled. ‘And I’m doing freelance work for GEIPAN.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about!’ Strangely, I was beginning to like this guy. He looked like a nerd and he spoke a bit like one too, but he seemed nice. I felt comfortable with him, though I’d only just met him. Quite unlike with Daniel. Anyway, by now I was really curious as to what he was doing there skulking around, if he had nothing to do with the film. Mum’s always telling me I’m a total fearless stickybeak and I should be careful, but I can’t help it. I was born that way. I like to know things, to find out stuff about people.
‘An IPN is an Intervenant du Premier Niveau,or a frontline investigator, if you like,’ he said, ‘and GEIPAN stands for Groupe d’Etudes et D’Informations sur les Phenomenes Aerospaciaux Nonidentifies.’He spelt it out, grinning broadly at my utter bemusement. ‘That’s G-E-I-P-A-N. Literally, it means Group of Studies and Information on Unidentified Aerospatial Phenomena. Or as they used to be called, Unidentified Flying Objec
ts. UFOs.’
I goggled at him, completely dumbstruck. Had I suddenly fallen into an episode of Dr Who,or something?
‘Don’t look so worried,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m not a loony. GEIPAN is a respectable scientific organisation, part of the official French space research centre. It investigates all reported cases of UFOs in France. It’s been going since the 1970s. Look it up. You’ll see it’s for real. I’ll give you the website address if you like.’
‘But UFOs – you mean – they – you – really take them seriously? Aliens and little green men and stuff like that? How can scientists–’
‘Never mind the little green men and stuff,’ he said. ‘UFOS – or PANs, as we call them in our business – they’re real enough. They’re just things people see in the sky. In the old days, people used to think they were gods in fiery chariots, or bright angels, that sort of thing. Now people tend to think of alien spaceships. Mostly, we can explain them – they can be natural phenomena – you know, lightning, northern lights, effects of mist or cloud or storms or meteorites or whatever – other times they can be manmade things: planes and balloons and laser lights and fireworks and satellites. But there’s a fair few – like about a quarter – that are what we call ‘D’ cases – those that can’t be explained at all.’
Bright Angel Page 5