In a short space of time Tony has turned the film around. We have a sense of purpose and I think we might just pull this off. I might be good. I don’t think I ever realised it till now. We live in a bubble, I haven’t seen the news or read a magazine in ages. I get up, go to work, say my lines, come home. I haven’t weighed myself in days, or got undressed and stared, despairingly, at my fat arse, for weeks. I haven’t ‘accidentally’ logged onto some site to see what a few teenage girls are saying about me, or checked out TMZ to make sure another schmuck is taking up the paparazzi’s attention. I think Sara thinks I’ve gone mad.
As for the white roses and everything – it’s like another world. The LAPD don’t seem to be any closer to finding out who it was. Every time I ask them, or Sara does, for an update they give a ‘we’re following several different lines of inquiry’ brush-off which Sara has to read out to me with a straight face. Anyway, I feel safe here. I’ve persuaded Angie’s boss Gavin to let me stay on in the Oak. She agrees with me – it’s no big secret we’re here, and there’s security in the hotel twenty-four/seven.
To be honest I don’t think about it too much at the moment. We are working hard, there’s no time for delays now. I’m in the zone: I understand the production, what’s missing, what needs fixing. I know what the budget is, where we’re overspending. I know when T.T. needs hand-holding and when the light’s not right or how to cheer up a pissed-off cameraman. I can see the schedule in my head, what’s missing, what’s on track. I grew up with a dad who felt more at home with the challenge of starting a business than the challenge of family life. Maybe I’m my father’s daughter, not my mother’s. Instead of fixating on the bad stuff and what might happen, I’m just getting on with it. And at the end of every day I fall into bed completely knackered, but happy.
A week or so after our strange trip to see Eve, I’m sitting outside on a warm, starry night watching the second AD round up everyone for the next shot. It’s a night shoot, at an old timbered cottage a few miles away that’s standing in for Shakespeare’s house. Annie the modern heroine has just landed back in the past and met the Bard for the first time. He’s sitting in the garden, musing, and she surprises him. He jumps and breaks the quill he’s holding, which makes him furious, and then he stares at her and thinks she’s a spirit from another dimension because of her appearance.
It’s a bit chilly, and I’m wrapped in a big cardigan. Alec and Paula are standing next to the monitors, talking intently. I watch Alec, admiring his legs in his Shakespearian costume. He totally pulls it off, because there should be something ridiculous about a man in a leather blouson shirt and knickerbocker-style breeches having an intense discussion with a woman in jeans but he looks … right, somehow. He’s always totally at ease, wherever he is.
I can hear him now. ‘Well, when will you know, Paula?’
Paula sighs sharply. ‘I have no idea. Ask T.T. Ask Tony. There’s no one available.’
They’re talking about old Anne, the part they were hoping Eve Noel would play. They’ve been on the phone to agents again all day, seeing who’s available. They want it to be a Name and they’ve had no luck so far.
Alec is cross. I can hear the thin reedy tone his voice gets when he’s peeved floating across to me in the chill night air. ‘It’s getting bloody ridiculous, Paula darling. I can’t react off Doug.’
‘You’re going to have to, I’m afraid.’ Paula is extremely calm. ‘We’ll know later this morning.’ She looks tiredly at her watch; it’s nearly two a.m.
‘What happened with Eve Noel?’ Bill Claremont asks, looking through his director’s viewfinder at me, then at Alec. ‘Thought we were going to try her.’
‘Didn’t you hear?’ Alec shoots me a look. ‘Tony and Sophie went to see her, but some old bag answered the door and said she was dead.’
‘That’s not quite right.’ I raise my voice so they can hear me from where I’m sitting on the ground. ‘I think it was her. I’m just not sure. And she wasn’t … an old bag.’
‘That’s not much help to us, is it, dearest.’ Alec is sarcastic. ‘Anyway, if she is dead, when did she die? Wouldn’t it have been on the news? She was a huge star.’
Bill steps behind a camera. ‘Not necessarily. The story I always heard was she had a breakdown and came back to England. Don’t know if it’s true but it was fifty years ago, you know. That’s a long time. People forget about you. They watch your films on bank holidays but they don’t wonder where you are.’
‘But that’s extraordinary, when you think about it,’ Alec says. ‘She just – what? Vanished? Hid herself away? What on earth happened to her to make her do that?’ He turns to me, almost accusatory. ‘You were always obsessed with her. Isn’t there some biography or something?’
‘Eve Noel and the Myth of Hollywood,’ I say. ‘I’ve read it more than any other book I’ve ever read.’
‘So you’ve read it more than Fifty Shades of Grey. Big deal.’ Alec doubles up with hilarity. ‘Ah, sometimes I make myself laugh so much it hurts.’
I ignore him. ‘It only goes up to 1961. After Conrad Joyce killed himself she went away for a few months, no one knows where. The biographer interviewed this driver at the studio who says he took her for a drive some time in June but he wouldn’t tell him where he dropped her. It’s weird. What happened to her afterwards, no one knows.’
‘Didn’t she have any family?’ Alec asks, interested despite himself.
‘Her parents were dead by then, within a couple of months of each other. She wasn’t close to them, they were cold fishes. She had a sister … but she died. Drowned when she was eight and Eve was six. Her roommate at drama school says she blamed herself.’
Paula is peering into the camera next to her chair. ‘Well, she was an actress. It’s easy to make yourself invisible, if you want to walk down the street and don’t want to be noticed.’
‘How extraordinary. I always want to be noticed,’ Alec says.
‘I know what you mean,’ I tell Paula, ignoring Alec. ‘You don’t have to have twenty photographers waiting outside some bar for you. But you have to be clever about it. If you adjust the way you walk, don’t act suspicious, keep yourself to yourself – people don’t see you.’
‘Exactly,’ says Paula. ‘I’m telling you, no one goes looking for you unless you want people to know you’re hiding.’
I pull awkwardly on the long sleeves of my granny cardigan. ‘What I don’t understand is that she told her agent she’d see us. She sent her an email. Why would she do that if she was just going to deny all knowledge of us and say she was someone called Rose when we turn up at the door?’ I don’t like talking about it; the memory is still unsettling, upsetting. Those blank, sad eyes. Whoever that woman was, she needed help.
‘Rose?’ Paula says. ‘You never said that.’
‘Yeah.’ I pull the cardigan round me tightly. ‘A Girl Named Rose – weird, eh?’
‘I love that movie,’ Paula sighs.
‘But that doesn’t prove anything, either way,’ Alec says. ‘If she was Eve, she might say she was called Rose, if she’s off her rocker. And she might say she was Rose if she was trying to be Eve. It’s the part she’s best known for. Everyone knows that film.’
‘There’s something that doesn’t make sense.’ I shake my head. ‘If it is her, why did she tell her agent she’d see us and then freak out when we turn up? What’s she been doing all these years? By herself, in that creepy house.’
Bill looks thoughtful.
‘Maybe she’s not by herself,’ he says. ‘Maybe she’s got someone with her. Or maybe she’s dead and someone else is … I don’t know. Beyond me.’ He shrugs.
We’re all silent for a moment. ‘No, it was her, I’m sure it was her,’ I say obstinately. ‘I’m not mad.’ I rub my eyes. ‘I know what I saw.’
I sound too emphatic. There’s an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the thud of a sound man hitting something with a boom and cursing.
Alec breaks the tensi
on. ‘Well, you say that, but you did go out with that pranny Dave Oldman,’ he says. ‘For four years. What you see and what others see isn’t quite the same thing if I’m honest, darling.’
I can’t help smiling, and he pats my arm. ‘You were just jealous,’ I say.
‘You bet I was. He was cute, for all he was an idiot.’ His eyes glint.
‘Oh, go away and check your make-up again.’ I sit back down on the damp grass.
At that moment my phone rings and Sara, who is sitting next to me, glances up from her laptop. ‘Want me to get it?’
‘It’s fine.’ I look down at the flashing screen, and see a photo of a face I haven’t seen for a while. I think for a second, and then I pick up the phone and say, ‘Hey, Tina!’ Sara looks up quickly.
‘Hey, Sophie. How – how are you? How is everything?’ I’d forgotten how timid she sounds, with that low, slightly lisping tone. I’m pleased to hear from her; but I don’t know what to say. Do your lips still look like that? ‘Good, thanks. How – how was Vegas? How are you?’
‘Great. Thank you. The procedure went really well.’
‘I’m so glad!’
‘Thanks. Yes, this whole process has been … very, er, helpful. Made me see a lot of things more clearly.’ Tina gives a little laugh, which I find disconcerting. ‘I’m sorry, I just realised what a strange time it is to call, but I had to speak to you, Sophie. Did you get my message?’
‘What message?’
‘I called you last week about coming back early – I was going to fly to London. I’m kind of going mad, hanging round here. I’d love to start with you again as soon as is convenient. I’ll pay for the flight—’
I interrupt. ‘When did you call me?’
‘A few days ago. I left a message. I emailed you too. I know you’ve been busy—’
Tina’s voice is really faint but it’s still weird, hearing her after six, seven weeks. It takes me straight back to Hollywood. ‘That’s odd, I never got it.’ I look round for Sara, but I can’t see her. ‘Look, there’s no need for you to come over. Things are working out really well,’ I say, then regret my choice of words. ‘I mean, Sara’s here and it’s all fine so why don’t you just take some more time for yourself and I’ll see you back in LA.’
There’s silence. ‘Tina?’ I ask tentatively, after a few seconds.
‘I wanted to come back and help you right away,’ Tina bleats, suddenly loud in the murmuring static. ‘You need me.’
It’s such a curious thing to say I can’t reply immediately. ‘Stay in Vegas for a while and I’ll let you know what’s going on.’ I realise that doesn’t sound good so I add, ‘I’ll need you soon, that’s for sure! Sara’s great, but she’s not you.’
I realise someone’s at my elbow and I turn to see Sara standing next to me, slightly out of breath, her eyes enormous as she watches me intently. I give a little start, and then roll my eyes and silently mouth, Tina at her, in a co-conspiratorial way that makes me feel shitty.
Sara says in a loud voice, ‘Sophie, I have Artie on the line for you, it’s urgent. About the police case.’
I stare at her. ‘Hey, Tina,’ I say into the phone. ‘I have to go. Please don’t worry. Enjoy your time and I’ll see you in a month.’
‘But—’ Tina says. ‘But Sophie, are you sure? Are you OK?’
‘I’m good. I’ll see you soon.’ I say goodbye and end the call, turning to Sara.
‘Is that Artie?’
‘What?’ She smiles. ‘Oh, no, he’s not there. I just figured you could do with a little help.’ Then she says, ‘I mean, not to – Tina is great, I just thought maybe—’ She passes her hand over her forehead, like she’s tired. I’ve noticed it lately, she seems less perky. ‘I’m jealous of her, I guess! I like working for you.’
‘Sara, I—’ I look around, as there’s some sort of commotion on set and I think they’ll need me soon. ‘What are you going to do next, after this job?’
‘Is Tina coming here?’ she asks immediately.
‘No, no, of course not.’ I choose my words carefully. ‘I mean, it’s just – it’s a three-month contract and it’s halfway through now and this has been great, but – don’t you wonder what you’ll do afterwards?’
‘Sure,’ she says. ‘It’s OK. I’ve got a plan.’
‘Cool. What is it?’
She taps the side of her nose. ‘Can’t tell you. But you’re going to love it.’
‘Are you going back into acting?’ I say suddenly.
She gives me a strange look. ‘No. Why would you say that?’
‘No reason,’ I backtrack. ‘Just think it’s a shame you don’t do it any more. You were really good.’
‘I think I’ve found something else to be good at,’ she says. ‘And it’s all thanks to you.’ She touches my arm and points over to where T.T. is standing. ‘They need you, Sophie.’
My mind is racing as Alec comes towards me and takes my hands. ‘Do you mind standing in to play an old lady?’ he says. ‘Mm, I see a little touch of loose skin around the upper arms. Yes, you’ll do perfectly.’
He smiles and I roll my eyes. His fingers are warm in my clasp, and the night is chilly. ‘Who was that on the phone?’
‘Oh, my old assistant. My assistant, sorry.’
‘The one with the crazy face?’ I bat him lightly on the arm. ‘Where’d she go?’
‘She went to Vegas to get her crazy face fixed,’ I say, watching Sara walking away. ‘At least I think she did. I’m not sure any more.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
NIGHT SHOOTS TOTALLY mess me up. By the time we’ve finished, a rosy dawn is creeping out behind the black trees around the cottage. Kim, a new on-set security guard, drives me and Alec back to the hotel. I look at my watch and it’s almost five o’clock. I’m numb with tiredness, that slightly fizzing feeling you get after a red-eye flight. Thank God we don’t have to work today.
I’m still in the loose cotton Elizabethan dress Annie changes into during the scene; they said I could wear it home. I stare out at the sunny yellow wheat fields. The sky is now bright, candy pink.
‘Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning,’ Alec says, beside me. ‘What does it mean? I’ve never known a red sky in the morning mean a storm’s on the way.’
‘I don’t know.’ I think about it. ‘You don’t really get dawn in LA. Not in the same way.’
‘Get some lovely ones in London,’ Alec says. ‘Rising up over the rooftops. I often see it if I’m on my way home from somewhere.’
‘I bet you do,’ I say. ‘How’s Eloise, by the way?’
He frowns. ‘Who? Oh, her. She’s – I think she’s fine, isn’t she?’
‘Alec!’ I say, shaking my head.
‘I’m not the total slag you think I am, you know,’ he replies.
‘Of course you are.’
He clicks his tongue almost impatiently, and purses his lips. ‘You don’t understand. I’m not really like that.’
I put my hand on his knee. ‘It’s fine by me,’ I say. ‘Honestly, I don’t care. You never messed me around. I don’t have any hard feelings.’
The car purrs along, and otherwise there’s silence. There’s a dewy mist rising just above the contours of the fields, gentle curves like bodies. Across the horizon towards the south, a bird rises up above the yellow corn. I watch it circling, higher and higher.
‘Sophie, there’s something I want to tell you—’ Alec opens his mouth to say something, and then suddenly clamps it shut.
I rub my eyes. ‘Go on then.’
We swerve around a corner and I loll against him.
‘Never mind,’ he says, after a pause. ‘Doesn’t matter. I’m talking rubbish.’ He kisses my hand swiftly, and it’s so abrupt that I feel my heart jolt. I hold his hand in mine.
‘Alec—’ I say. ‘You think you have to change for me. You don’t. I love you just the way you are.’
‘I loathe the way you misquote romcoms and try and pass them off as you
r own off-the-cuff remarks,’ he says, and then he leans forward and kisses me. ‘Darling Sophie.’
He slides his hand around my neck, his tongue into my mouth, and I hear him sigh, deeply, somewhere in the back of his throat. I am surprised, but I move towards him, sliding my hand up and around his smooth neck. I’m not that surprised, after all. It’s Alec. Haven’t I been wanting this to happen, since the day I first discovered he was on this film? The answer is yes.
I need to give Kim the new guard the slip, so as we walk through the deserted lobby I say, ‘Give us a minute, will you, Kim?’ I wink at her. ‘Angie’s in the next room, it’s fine. You can leave me here. I just want to say goodnight to Alec. See you tomorrow.’
She nods shyly. We creep up the stairs, tiptoeing hand in hand and trying to avoid the creaking floorboards. We walk past my room, down the corridor and around the corner, up some stairs, to Alec’s room. When we get inside, he shuts the door and pushes me against it, cupping my breasts in his hands and burying his head between them.
‘My Elizabethan wench,’ he murmurs. ‘Aren’t you?’
He kisses the top of each breast in turn, running his lips over my skin, then fumbles with his leather breeches.
‘I love you in costume.’ I pull his cotton shirt out, take off the leather top. It makes a creaking, rubbing sound against my skin. ‘I love the leather.’
‘Me too,’ says Alec. He gives me a smile. ‘I really didn’t think this’d happen. Aren’t you seeing that chap?’
‘Who?’ I pause for a second, thinking of George.
‘Patrick Drew. The surfer dude with the idiot hair. I thought you were banging him. Said so in Heat last week.’
‘No, absolutely not.’ I don’t want to be annoyed, or get distracted, not by Patrick’s kind face, his intense gaze, his warm hands. I shake my head. ‘He’s not an idiot—’ I stop. ‘It’s all made up, you should know that. I’m totally footloose and fancy free.’ I run my hands over his shoulders, his smooth, pale skin like marble.
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