by JS Taylor
Camilla struggles not to show the sadness she obviously feels.
“Ok,” she agrees. “But you have to keep my updated. I’ll worry about you all.” I can see from her face she really means it. And she’s mostly addressing the remark to me.
Poor Camilla. She’s worked so hard to get this break.
“Nothing to worry about,” I reassure her. “I’ll call you and keep you updated.”
Camilla looks visibly cheered by this.
“What about Will?” asks Callum.
“Will can stay,” nods James. “I’d rather have him here as extra protection.”
His face is stony as he looks at his three remaining actors.
“We’ll try it out for a week,” continues James. “During which time I’ll commission the best security on the planet to go over this studio with a fine tooth comb.”
He sighs before continuing. “If we find this stalker in that time, there’s a chance the movie can go ahead.” James’s expression is like thunder. “If we don’t find him,” he adds, “if there’s any sign that he’s a threat to Isabella, we end the movie. No questions.”
The others are standing dumbly. I’m starting to feel a little anxiety.
James turns to me.
“And Isabella,” he says, “you don’t go out of my sight. Not even for a moment.” He thinks about this. “I’ll hire a bodyguard who can make sure you’re never unaccompanied.”
This seems a little extreme.
“No arguments,” says James, catching the look on my face.
“No sir,” I say, showing with my expression that it’s a private joke between us.
His eyes flash for a moment, and then he looks away.
“Everyone, stay here,” says James. “I’ll make some calls, and security will be here within an hour.”
Should I have told James about the laughter?
I’ll tell him soon, I decide, as soon as his new security has arrived. Then he can’t back out of his promise. I owe that to Callum and Camilla. They’ve been so nice to me. I try to calm myself.
I’ll be staying in James’s apartment.
The thought brings a simultaneous wave of safety and excitement.
But I can’t help but replay Natalie and Callum’s description in my head.
He got to an actress before. She never acted again.
Chapter 19
In the hours that follow, the mood on set changes completely.
Security descends like an army.
“James has certainly spared no expense,” says Callum as men in dark blue flak jackets and fatigues arrive in waves. “This is probably costing him more than the price of the movie.”
Callum and I have moved from the studio back to the restaurant. He has spent most of the time on his phone, apparently talking through the final details of security with James.
Camilla is finalising her packing. Will is nowhere to be seen. So, I have ample time to witness the succession of large vans that showed up almost instantly and unloaded what must have been hundreds of personnel.
I feel a mix of guilt and gratitude.
“It’s for everyone’s safety,” I mutter, feeling embarrassed.
“Don’t kid yourself,” says Callum with a wink. “James wouldn’t have plugged for half this security if Natalie was the leading lady.”
I give him a weak smile.
Then I see James re-entering the studio with Will.
“Isabella,” says James. “I want to introduce you to your personal security guard.”
Will grins at me. He’s now dressed in the security navy, I notice. I turn to Callum.
“Will?” I ask incredulously. “Will is to be my bodyguard?”
“We thought it best,” says Callum, giving a little half bow, “if you utilised the services of my best staff member.”
“But…” I turn to them one by one in confusion. “Doesn’t Callum need Will?”
I’m looking at Callum now. “I don’t want to take your best staff from you,” I say, “though I’d love for my security to be you, Will.”
I look apologetically at Will as I say this last part, in case he thinks I have an issue with his ability. He nods, acknowledging this.
“Mr. Reed and Mr. Berkeley both think it for the best,” explains Will. “And me, personally, I want to make sure you are properly guarded.” He gives a little sniff. “You don’t know what kind of protection you might get from an English security firm. They don’t even carry guns in this country.”
“There won’t be any call for guns,” says James quickly, seeing my eyes widen. “But Will is the best man for the job. And our agreement was to protect you properly. No arguments.”
I make one last pleading look at Callum. But, he’s against me too.
“Everyone wants you best protected,” he says, “including Will. And he really is the best man for the job. He worked as a bodyguard for years before signing up with me.”
“It will be good for me to get back in the line of action,” adds Will. “I’ve been getting soft. The worst danger Mr. Callum Chubby Cheeks is in is being hugged to death by a fat housewife.”
Even James gives a little half laugh at this last part.
“That’s all decided then,” says James, his eyes on mine to show there is to be no disagreement.
“Don’t you worry,” adds Will, “James and I have been over every inch of this studio. This lipstick joker is for sure no longer on the premises. And you can bet your ass, if he tries to get back in, we’ll nail him.”
My smile grows stronger. Aside from James, Will would be my choice for a person to feel safe around. Much as I hate to steal him from Callum, I am pleased he’s been assigned to my protection.
“Ok then,” I breathe. I give another weak little smile, thinking of Camilla. “Let’s hope we catch him,” I say.
“Isabella, I think there’s a good chance he’s been scared off already,” says Will. “Mr. Berkeley has brought in a security army. I doubt this stalker had that to contend with before.”
I look into James’s face to see how much he believes this. To my relief, it seems he does.
“Certainly, he’s no longer on set,” murmurs James. He turns to me. “Well then, Ms. Green. Are you ready to see your new accommodation?”
My new accommodation. Of course. I’ll be staying in his apartment.
I feel a little thrill of butterflies in my stomach.
“I’ve personally supervised that your personal items have been transferred there from your chalet,” he adds.
There’s a mischievous look in his eyes, and it takes me a moment to realise what he’s implying.
Personal items. He means the contents of the bedside cabinet.
“Um. Sure,” I say, flushing red and wondering if Will or Callum are reading anything into this.
“Then, after you,” says James with a devilish smile, gesturing I should go on ahead.
Chapter 20
If I was impressed by my chalet, then James’s on-set apartment blows my mind.
“Wow!” I say, walking in to the huge glass-walled atrium. “I mean, wow! This is incredible!”
James gives a slight smile.
“I’m glad you like it. Nothing is getting through the security here,” he adds. “There are cameras around the entire periphery, which feed back to where Will is watching from the main control room.”
Right now, I’m more impressed by the architecture than the security. Although, I appreciate he has made my safety so paramount.
“I just can’t believe anyone could live in a place like this,” I add, turning full circle to appreciate the beauty of it all.
The entire building is a soft semi-circle, turning in on a perfectly maintained area of grass, trees and flowers.
The glass walls reflect the greenery inside, making it feel as though I’m inside a perfect woodland.
The adjacent walls stretch up high and are made from perfectly polished wood panels in a patchwork of dark cherry and white
ash.
They’re hung with enormous artwork, which I can only guess at the price of.
“Is that a Damien Hearst?” I ask, pointing out a picture I recognise.
“Yes.” James looks pleased. “The art is a mixture of known names and artists who are judged to be up and coming. It’s an investment of sorts, as well as a pleasure.”
“An investment?” I study the picture I recognise. It’s of butterflies with wings tipped in silver foil. I love it.
“Yes,” says James. “The right artwork will acquire worth much faster than money in a bank. Although the talent is spotting the right ones, of course.”
“And you’re good at knowing which ones to buy?”
“I collaborate with experts,” says James modestly. “I’m learning.”
“How about the new names?” I ask. My eyes have rested on a graffiti type image in bold colours. The rich tones make up cute looking girls with plenty of attitude. It’s both edgy and likable. A nice contrast.
“That’s a street artist named Nina,” says James, following my gaze. “The new names might never amount to anything. But even if they don’t, I’ve given my money to a young artist. Many of the graffiti artists might otherwise end up in a street gang. So, it’s all an investment to me. Though my bank manager would tell you different,” he adds, with a trace of a smile.
“Have you lost money on art?” I can’t imagine that any of these incredible works would ever be valueless.
James thinks for a moment.
“No,” he says. “I’ve been lucky with the choices I’ve made. But banks like certainties.”
His phone rings suddenly. James pulls it out of his jeans pocket and answers.
He listens for a moment, and I see his face drop a little in relief.
“Great. That’s good to know,” he replies before hanging up.
For a moment, I think that perhaps the stalker has been caught.
James catches my expectant face and gives a little shake of his head.
“That was Will,” he explains. “He’s secured the perimeter of the apartment. Every camera is on this space now, and Will is heading security operations. Nothing is getting through.”
“Do you think we’ll catch the stalker?” I ask.
James face twists.
“I hope so,” he says, after a moment. “It’s a difficult situation for me, Isabella.” He pauses and sighs. “My head is telling me it’s best if this stalker makes another attempt to get at you. That way we can apprehend him.”
He stops for a moment to run his hands through his hair. His face looks anguished.
“But my heart would far rather that he never tried to gain access,” he admits, fixing me with an intense gaze.
His heart. I feel myself melt a little.
“Irrational, I know,” he continues. “But I can’t bear the idea that he gets within a quarter mile of you.”
“Is he really so dangerous?” I’m finding it hard to take in.
The Lipstick Stalker has never been on the news. I’ve never even heard of him. Is James overestimating him, because of me?
James sighs.
“That depends on what you mean by dangerous,” he says. “We don’t know a great deal about him. He’s only ever targeted one actress. But Natalie told you what happened to her. So, we are inclined to take him very seriously.”
“But no one really knows what happened,” I push. “They just know she’s too freaked to act now.”
James considers this. “The police gave me a profile, of sorts,” he says. “All the studios have one. In case this stalker targets one of their actresses.”
He looks a little sick as he says this last part.
“The Lipstick Stalker is different to others,” he says. “This is why the studios are so anxious. According to the police profile, he doesn’t fit the personality of a stalker.”
“What personality does he fit?”
James pauses. “A psychopath,” he says, after a moment.
I feel my stomach twist.
“Most stalkers are obsessed with a particular celebrity,” he continues. “They fantasise that this person shares their love. They hope if they can only meet with them, their romantic dreams will be realised. The Lipstick Stalker isn’t like that.”
“Why not?”
“He’s obsessed with fame, rather than one particular person,” explains James. “He’s also clever. Tactical. The police think he might be an actor who never made it. He seems to believe that, by targeting actresses before they get famous, he can somehow feed off their celebrity.”
“How?”
“Well, that’s what the police don’t know. Because the only actress he targeted won’t talk to them.”
“How long ago did he… target her?” I ask, choosing my words carefully.
“Last year,” says James.
A year. That’s a long time to stay spooked. I feel a wave of unease.
“How does the lipstick thing factor in?” I say finally.
“It’s another thing which leads the police to believe him a psychopath,” says James. “It’s like his calling card. He draws pictures in lipstick. The last actress, he took all her lipsticks. It was the only thing he removed from her house. It’s very common for serial killers to take trophies from their victims. Personal items.”
I think about this. A lipstick is a very personal item.
“All the studios have taken precautions,” continues James. “The feeling is that the last victim could have been a warm up. Psychopaths do that too,” he adds. “They build up to more… daring attacks.”
He closes his eyes, as though in pain.
“We had good security to begin with,” he says. “But, I was arrogant. I underestimated him.”
James looks devastated by this admission, and I reach up to stroke his cheek. He catches my hand and holds it there.
“Do you really think I’m in danger?” I ask.
James blinks, considering this, with my hand still held against his face.
“No,” he says. “There’s no way I would continue filming if that were the case. No matter what your sympathies for Callum and Camilla are,” he adds with a steely note to his voice. “The stalker is no longer in the studio. And I must admit, I may have overreacted a little. Now Will is in charge, and security is tight, I am far more assured.”
The laughter in the bathroom. I decide not to tell James. Now the set is sealed, there is no need. It would only upset him.
His eyes are on me again. This time, they look almost apologetic. He takes my hand away from his cheek and holds it.
“I don’t like that Will is looking after me,” I admit. “It makes me feel uncomfortable.”
“Why is that?” James looks surprised.
“Because there is already one person on set making unreasonable demands,” I say.
There is no need to say who I’m referring to.
“And I hate that people might think I’m a diva,” I conclude.
James smiles.
“Isabella Green,” he says. “I have directed hundreds of actors. And you are the very last person who could ever be accused of diva behaviour. I chose Will because he is a superb bodyguard, and he is also motivated to protect you. I couldn’t ask for better.”
“He’s motivated to protect me?”
“Of course.” James gives my hand a squeeze. “I don’t think you realise how much people like you, Issy. It was Callum’s first suggestion when he heard about the stalker - that Will move over to be your security. And Will wouldn’t have anyone else do the job when he heard. He didn’t trust them to do as good a job as he would.”
Oh. I feel a wave of warmth towards Will and Callum.
James pulls me tight to him, suddenly. I feel myself pinned in his arms, but it’s an embrace of fear rather than affection. I look up into his face.
“What’s wrong?”
James says nothing in reply. But his expression is distraught.
“James? What is i
t?”
He releases me a little, but his strong arms are still locked, keeping me close.
His eyes close for a long moment, and for a second, I think he’s going to cry. Then he opens them again.
“I didn’t realise,” he says, “that my feelings for you had grown so strong. When Callum called and told me you were in danger…”
He doesn’t need to say anymore. His face tells it all.
“Well, that’s not such a bad thing,” I venture, giving him a little smile.
But James is shaking his head.
“I swore I would never let anyone in like this.”
I fall back a little from him, letting my face hold a question.
“Something happened,” he says, “a long time ago.”
James waits for a long moment, as if deciding how to make the next words.
“I seem to bring a curse,” he says, his voice breaking slightly, “on everyone I care for. And I’m frightened. I am so, so frightened. That you will be hurt. Because of me.”
Now that he’s made the statement, his face seems to flood with a little relief. But his eyes are still anguished.
“James, you could never hurt me.” I am trying to tunnel reassurance towards him.
He gives a long sigh and then glances towards a clock – a modernist creation, sitting starkly on the wall of his living area.
“It’s after 5pm,” he says, “which, by my reckoning, makes it a reasonable hour for a gin and tonic.” He gives me a slight smile. “Let me make us both a drink,” he says, “and I’ll tell you a story.”
“What story?” James is releasing me from his arms completely now, and I feel suddenly adrift, and uncertain.
“I want to tell you the story,” says James, “of how my mother died.”
Chapter 21
James is fixing me a drink. And I am sat on probably the most expensive sofa I have ever sat on. It’s part traditional Chesterfield but made with soft grey fabric, rather than leather. Orange piping finishes the audacious curve of the arms.
It’s both old-fashioned English and contemporary in execution. A bit like Mr. Berkeley himself, I think, with a little smile as I watch him work.