Stolen Beginnings

by Susan Lewis

  As Shamir walked into the sitting-room, the final credits were rolling.

  ‘You’ve missed it,’ Roy said, looking up. ‘Just as well I remembered to set the video tape before I took Madeleine to the audition or she’d wonder what the hell you’d two had been up to, forgetting the Johnny Carson Show.’

  ‘I know what you think, Roy,’ Shamir said, walking over to the bar and pouring herself a drink, ‘but you’re wrong. Skinny-dipping is quite normal in these parts, everyone does it – even you.’

  ‘Yes, but not with someone else’s man.’

  ‘I should hope not,’ Paul grinned, as he walked into the room, a towel wrapped round his waist. ‘I’ll have one of whatever you’re having,’ he told Shamir, and picking up a newspaper, he flopped down on the billowing cushions of the sofa. ‘Did we miss the interview?’ he said, glancing at Roy.

  ‘Yes.’

  As Paul turned back to the paper, Roy was still watching him. Deidre had asked him to keep an eye on Paul and Madeleine, wanting to make sure, she told him, that their relationship was well and truly clear of the rocks. Her request hadn’t surprised him, for everyone in the agency knew how fond she had become of Madeleine, but he wondered how she would take it if he told her about Paul and Shamir swimming together in the nude. She’d probably just laugh and accuse him of being a prude – which was exactly what Madeleine did later when the limousine service delivered her back to the house and Paul told her how he and Shamir had shocked Roy by taking a swim in the all-together.

  ‘Oh Roy,’ Madeleine laughed, throwing her arms round him, ‘you’re such an old fuddy-duddy sometimes. You were swimming with me yesterday while Paul was upstairs asleep and Shamir was down town shopping, and unless my eyes were deceiving me you’re quite a man. So what’s the difference?’

  ‘None, I suppose,’ Roy admitted with a reluctant grin. ‘And don’t call me an old fuddy-duddy.’

  ‘Just a fuddy-duddy, eh?’ Shamir said.

  ‘Less of your cheek, madam. Now, how about telling us what happened at the audition, Maddy?’

  ‘Not a lot really,’ she answered, sinking into the sofa next to Paul and relaxing against the arm he held out for her. ‘Thanks,’ she said, as Shamir passed her a cocktail. ‘They just said they’d be in touch with my agent.’

  ‘But did you have to act? Or read anything?’ Paul asked.

  ‘Yeah, they gave me a scene from the script and I read that.’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘I don’t know, really. My part’s not very big – if I get it. Something to do with this bloke who goes around picking up women in bars – or at least, the part I read was.’

  ‘You’re one of the women?’

  She nodded. ‘Though I get to go to bed with the guy, which is more than some of them do. And you’ll never guess who the guy is? Robert de Niro. So naturally, I said I didn’t mind taking off my clothes for the camera. I mean, who would if it’s with Robert de Niro?’

  ‘You wouldn’t mind, whoever it was,’ Shamir commented.

  ‘Oooh, you can be so cutting sometimes,’ Madeleine laughed. ‘Anyway, did you watch the interview?’

  ‘No, we recorded it so that we could watch it with you,’ Paul answered, before anyone else had a chance to.

  Madeleine pressed her head back against his shoulder, and looking up into his face, she waggled her tongue between her lips.

  Laughing, he covered her mouth with his own and gave her a long, lingering kiss.

  ‘If you don’t mind us,’ Shamir remarked, throwing a cushion at them. ‘Are we going to watch this interview or aren’t we?’

  ‘No, we can watch it any time,’ Madeleine answered. ‘Right now I’m for a shower and something to eat. Shall we all go out tonight?’

  ‘Why not?’ Roy said. ‘As the rest of us are flying to New York tomorrow, let’s take Shamir out on the town. Come on, Shamir, where do you want to go? The world’s your oyster in a twenty-mile radius.’

  ‘So kind,’ Shamir smiled sweetly. ‘When I’ve come up with the most expensive place I can think of, I’ll let you know.’ She linked arms with Madeleine and the two of them went giggling off towards the stairs.

  ‘So, Royston,’ Paul said when they’d gone, ‘I still can’t tempt you into becoming a murder victim?’

  ‘Not today, no,’ Roy answered blithely.

  ‘I’ve got to kill someone, or how am I going to experience what it’s like being on trial for murder?’

  This was a conversation that had started between them on the plane from London, and one which they had gone back to several times during the past forty-eight hours because they both found it highly entertaining.

  ‘Why do you have to experience it? Can’t you go to a prison and ask someone who’s done it?’

  ‘Nah,’ Paul said, shaking his head, ‘it’s not the same, is it? I need to write it from the gut.’

  ‘What about the actual act of killing? Who’s going to do that?’

  ‘It’s not important, not the way I’m writing it. The guy’s in a kind of trance, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and he only regains his senses when he’s in the courtroom.’

  ‘I see. Well, sorry, mate, but I’m all out of the need to die right now.’

  ‘If I can’t persuade you, I’ll have to think of someone else. At the moment my editor’s top of the list. The publishing house couldn’t turn it down, could they, if one of their own was despatched by a writer?’

  ‘Do you think he’d be agreeable?’

  ‘I could get Harry to agree to almost anything these days, but being murdered might prove difficult. However, he can always come back to life once the trial’s over. I don’t want to end up spending the next twenty years in prison.’

  ‘Oh, so you only want someone to play dead?’

  ‘Yes, but for real. The authorities have to think they’re dead, otherwise it won’t work.’

  ‘But you’ll need a body.’

  ‘Yes,’ Paul said, drawing the word out thoughtfully, ‘I haven’t quite managed to overcome that slight hitch yet, but I’m working on it.’

  – 21 –

  ‘OK, Woody, let’s have a look at this schedule.’ Stephanie stood over his desk, a hand planted on either side of her slim hips and a wry smile raising the corners of her mouth. ‘No, the second week,’ she said, when he tried to push the first week’s to the top of the pile. She glanced over at Marian and winked. Hazel was turned to the window, pretending to be on the phone, and Josey was snickering behind her hand. ‘It’s all right, Woody, I know what you’ve done,’ Stephanie said. ‘I just want you to convince me that it’s going to work.’

  Accepting that he’d been caught out, and indeed knowing he would be sooner or later, Woody pulled out the second week’s schedule for America. Stephanie studied it for several minutes, then handed it back.

  ‘How long have you worked with Matthew?’ she asked.

  Woody shrugged. ‘Ten years?’

  ‘And you’re telling me he’ll get that opening crane shot in a morning.’

  ‘We’ll have to because of trying to match it. The helicopter stuff we can do any time. I’ve got it down for the next day because it’ll probably take all day.’

  Stephanie was shaking her head. ‘Sorry, that crane shot can’t be done in a morning, I’m not buying it.’

  At that point Matthew walked in. ‘Buying being the operative word,’ he said. ‘I take it she’s found out.’

  ‘She has,’ Stephanie confirmed. ‘And you don’t impress me by sneaking it into the schedule like this, though I should have expected as much. So I’ll sanction it, but you’d better make damned sure it works.’ She paused. ‘And one other thing. Don’t, under any circumstances, put an actor in it. The shot’s complicated enough without having to contend with motivation or whatever other rubbish they want to discuss. The clock will be ticking in dollars that morning, Matthew, remember that, won’t you?’ She smiled sweetly, then disappeared up the stairs.

  ‘D
oes anyone have a good word to say about actors?’ Marian asked Josey.

  ‘If they do I haven’t met them,’ Josey answered, then throwing her arms wide, she embraced Matthew. ‘You wily old fox, you. Of course, you know the shot’s jinxed now, don’t you?’

  ‘One more comment like that and you’re fired,’ Matthew said, unwinding himself. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Well, Hazel, get onto Chapman’s in Hollywood and confirm our provisional booking.’

  ‘What provisional booking?’

  ‘The one Bob Fairley made for the cranes. Well, get on with it, woman, we need them in New York in ten days time. And while you’re at it, let Bob know, will you, and confirm the helicopter too. Now Woody, I think you deserve a drink, my friend. Come on, Marian, get that umbrella of yours, we’re off to celebrate.’

  ‘Some of us have work to do,’ Josey commented.

  ‘Which is why I didn’t invite you,’ Matthew retorted.

  Marian adored him when he was in this mood, and abandoning not only Stephanie’s and Bronwen’s last-minute correspondence but her own resolution to avoid him as much as possible, she rushed out to the kitchen for her umbrella.

  It was the first time she’d seen him since the afternoon at his flat. Afterwards she had gone over all he’d said a thousand times – but never for a minute allowing herself to dwell on what he’d said about Stephanie. As for the rest, it was so ambiguous that it was difficult to draw any definite conclusions, but a sixth sense told her that, though it might take time, things really might have a chance of working out for them. She wouldn’t allow herself to think further than that, mainly because of what it would mean for Stephanie, but there were occasions when she could do nothing to control the hope that sprung mischievously into her mind, painting glorious pictures of the future and telling her that all she had to do was trust Matthew to come up with a solution that would make everyone happy.

  ‘Now, Woody,’ Matthew said, as he set down a tray of drinks on the table in front of them, ‘make up your mind before we go who you’re going to screw, and stick with her; I don’t want any make-up girls snivelling into their tea because you’re giving them a hard time – in or out of the sack.’

  Marian’s mouth dropped open, but as she turned to look at Woody, she started to laugh.

  ‘He thinks he’s such a wag,’ Woody remarked. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m celibate these days.’

  ‘That sounds a bit harsh on your already long-suffering wife,’ Matthew said, sitting down next to Marian. ‘Or maybe she likes it.’

  ‘It doesn’t include her. What I meant to say was, I’m faithful.’

  ‘What he meant to say,’ Matthew told Marian, ‘is that she’s caught him out again. Am I right?’ he added, looking at Woody.

  ‘Nail on the head.’

  ‘On the subject of wives,’ Matthew said, laughing as he turned back to Marian, ‘Kathleen asked me to send you her love, and said something about seeing things coming and was she right?’

  Marian swallowed her laughter and looked at him shyly, wondering whether he knew what Kathleen meant. ‘Tell her she was right,’ she said, ‘but I’ll cope.’

  ‘Women,’ Woody grunted. ‘Not only do they talk in riddles, they expect you to pass them on. What was all that about?’

  ‘Search me,’ Matthew shrugged, ‘but over the years I’ve learned not to ask. Now, how many assistants have you got yourself when we’re in New York?’

  ‘Four. One’s flying out with us, the others are hired locally. That should keep the natives happy, anyway.’

  ‘What about Bennington?’

  ‘Same.’

  ‘Bit excessive, four for Bennington, it’s mainly interiors.’

  ‘That’s because you’re a bit excessive, guvnor,’ Woody told him. ‘Besides, we’ve got thousands of extras when we’re at Bennington.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate.’

  ‘OK, hundreds. Have you ever been on a shoot before, Marian?’

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘Then this will be an experience, I can tell you. While Matthew here sits back and gives orders, you’ll see the rest of us running around like headless chickens, and then at lunchtime he’ll ask us what we’ve been doing all morning. This question, I might add, will very likely be delivered from the window of his own personal winnebago.’

  ‘Winnebago?’ Marian said curiously.

  ‘Caravan.’

  ‘When have I ever had a winnebago?’ Matthew demanded.

  ‘You’ve got one this time, Hazel’s booked it.’

  ‘Well, you can just tell her to unbook it, I don’t like all that pretentious stuff and you know it. Besides, with you and Rory what’s-his-name, the camera operator, running loose on the set, it’ll only end up being used as a knocking shop.’

  ‘Would we defile your holy territory?’

  ‘You do it on your own doorstep so I can’t see my winnebago going unmolested.’

  Marian burst out laughing at the pained expression on Woody’s face.

  ‘Don’t encourage him,’ Woody sulked.

  ‘Just listen to who’s talking.’ They all looked up as Stephanie shook out her umbrella beside them and nodded when Bronwen asked her if she’d like a shandy. ‘You were the one who encouraged him to schedule that sequence,’ Stephanie said, looking accusingly at Woody as she sat down between him and Matthew. ‘I should have remembered what you two are like when you get together.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t really stand a chance, did I?’

  ‘Not really,’ Woody told her cheerfully, removing his glasses and giving them a wipe with a lens cloth. ‘But some of us have to learn the hard way.’

  ‘About what?’ Bronwen asked, handing Stephanie a drink.

  ‘Matthew, and his inimitable talent for getting his own way . . .’

  The light-hearted banter continued, and Marian listened, thrilling to the way so much of it was directed at Matthew. When the rest of the production team arrived they instantly picked up the frivolous mood and began ribbing and ridiculing one another, though always with an eye on Matthew to see if he was listening. Only those very close to Matthew had the nerve to tease him, Marian noticed, but it seemed as if everyone’s purpose was to make him laugh.

  Franz, the make-up supervisor, was undoubtedly the victor. He and Hazel had been at each other from the minute they walked in, though Marian hadn’t caught much of what they’d said until now. But following Matthew’s eyes, she started to eavesdrop on the conversation that was going on behind her.

  ‘. . . and I don’t vant vun of those bloody make-up caravans with the low chairs again,’ Franz was saying. ‘It gives me the fucking back-ache, having to bend over all day.’

  ‘I don’t know why,’ Hazel retorted, ‘you bend over all night without any problems.’

  Matthew roared with laughter, but Franz was not to be outdone, and after shooting Matthew a quick look, he said studying his fingernails: ‘At least there’s alvays somevun behind me vhen I’m bending over in the night, vhich is more than I can say for you, dollink.’

  Matthew choked on his beer and Marian laughed so hard that tears started to stream down her face.

  ‘Oh God, Hazel and Franz aren’t at it again, are they?’ Stephanie groaned. ‘What are they saying now?’

  It was some time before Matthew could repeat it, and when he did everyone collapsed into laughter.

  ‘OK, my round,’ Woody declared, getting to his feet.

  ‘No, I’ll get them,’ Stephanie said, ‘but you can come to the bar and give me a hand.’

  Once they’d sorted out what everyone wanted and gone off to the bar, Matthew turned to Marian. ‘Are you all right?’ he said quietly.

  ‘Of course,’ she answered. ‘Shouldn’t I be?’

  He grinned. ‘Bit of a motley lot, aren’t they, but I think you’re going to enjoy New York.’

  ‘I’m sure I am,’ she said enthusiastically.

  Matthew watched her as she picked up her drink, but when her eyes met his he looked
away.

  Three days later, on a rainy Saturday morning, thirty-two members of production and crew boarded the British Airways flight to New York – the rest of the unit would be flying out the following day. Shooting would begin on Tuesday at Bennington, where Olivia Hastings had been a student. Marian was so excited that she didn’t sleep for one minute of the seven-hour flight. She sat between Matthew and Woody, who started telling her horror stories about what usually happens to novices on a film set. Stephanie, Bronwen and Hazel were at the back of the plane, smoking, and the others were dotted about the aircraft, either sleeping or drinking.

  Halfway across the Atlantic, Woody’s head dropped onto Marian’s shoulder and he drifted into a noisy slumber.

  ‘God, he’s disgusting,’ Matthew grinned as Woody gave a particularly loud snort. ‘Push him off.’

  ‘He’s all right,’ Marian laughed.

  Matthew turned back to look out of the window, then a few minutes later his hand moved across and covered hers. ‘You’re not nervous, are you?’ he said, turning to her. ‘I mean, about going to New York now that Art Douglas has told you about Olivia?’

  ‘No, I’m not nervous,’ Marian answered, amazed that her voice could sound so calm when her insides were churning so disturbingly.

  He wondered if he should tell her that someone was following her, but he decided not to – it would only alarm her, and there was a chance he could be wrong. But he didn’t think so; the man who was sitting four rows behind them now had been standing at the bar of the pub they’d had a drink in a few days ago. He’d also seen someone very like him walk past the office yesterday, though the man was so nondescript, with his wavy brown hair and bland face, that it was difficult to be sure. ‘Good,’ he smiled, giving her hand a squeeze. We’re probably making too much of all this, but nevertheless, don’t go taking any risks, will you?’