Merely Players

by J M Gregson

  ‘I never default on a promise,’ she told him earnestly. ‘The skill is to get the whisky beneath the cream, so that you can drink it through it. It’s not the Irish brand, as it really should be, but I defy you to tell the difference.’

  She watched him as he took his first exploratory sip, knowing well what was required of him. The hot, sweet coffee with its generous lacing of whisky and its subtle touch of cream passed deliciously down his throat, warming his chest an instant later. He took another sip, expanding the joyous, silly tension of the moment as she waited for his verdict. ‘Best I’ve ever had!’ he said. He took a third sip before he set the beaker carefully on the bedside cabinet and reached out to enfold her in his arms and tumble her back into the bed.

  She still had her dressing robe on and they dissolved into laughter at the confusion of its removal. ‘You actors know how to please a girl!’ she said mockingly. ‘But we never know whether to believe what you say, do we?’

  ‘Oh, it’s true all right. Best I’ve ever had.’ Then a moment later, ‘The Irish coffee, I mean, of course!’

  She punched him playfully on the chest and they chatted contentedly about the director and the people they worked with in the ten minutes it took them to finish the coffee. Then, as both of them had known they would do, they made love again, slowly and less frenetically this time, as confident as if they had done this many times before rather than a breathless once.

  They were looking at the ceiling again when she said, ‘Shouldn’t you be looking at your watch about now?’

  ‘My watch?’ He had in fact been wondering what the time was, but he was too experienced to make the mistake of searching for it.

  ‘Isn’t this the moment which reminds the mistress of her place? The moment when the married man takes over from the randy lover and she realizes she’s just the bit on the side?’

  He didn’t want her to consider herself his mistress. Even his bit on the side was running a little too far for the moment. He said, ‘It was all spontaneous today, you know. It wasn’t planned.’ Even as he said that, he wondered if it was exactly true.

  ‘Was it, Adam? I don’t think I can really claim that. I hadn’t planned anything, but I suppose I was wondering what it was like all through this episode of the series.’

  ‘Yes, it’s been good. Pity it’s the last one.’

  ‘There’s another series planned though, isn’t there?’

  ‘Oh yes. Already commissioned. Many of the storylines are already in place. I haven’t had time to look at them yet. I believe in giving all my attention to the work in hand.’

  ‘Yes. I noticed that tonight!’ She giggled a little, feeling her thighs and her side tight against his. ‘Still, we should be able to work together more regularly in the next series, when I’m your regular girlfriend.’

  There was a pause which was a little longer than she had hoped it would be. Then he said in a carefully neutral voice, ‘Been cast, has it?’

  ‘I believe so, yes.’ Suddenly she was trying to keep it light, to keep any anxiety out of her voice. ‘James Walton seemed to think it was a done deal.’

  ‘Did he, indeed? Well, what the producer says goes, as we are all aware. Speaking of which, as you so tactfully reminded me, I must be on my way.’

  He was abruptly distant and cold when she wanted him to be intimate. He dressed quickly, held her for a few seconds in an embrace, kissed her forehead, and was gone. He had smiled at her before he went, had said something conventional about doing this again.

  But he had said nothing more about working together. Half an hour later Adam Cassidy was nearing his house and his wife and his sleeping children. And Michelle Davies was still trying to thrust from her mind the producer’s final reminder to her that the star still had the final veto over casting.

  SEVEN

  Chief Superintendent Tucker would never have admitted it, but he was not immune to the celebrity culture which seemed to have captured British society in the second decade of the twenty-first century.

  He was as anxious to catch his first glimpse of the actor who played Alec Dawson as any of the eager audience for the afternoon chat show. He had accepted his wife’s injunction to have his hair cut specially for the occasion. He decided he was pleased with the effect, as he surveyed himself in the mirror after the make-up girl’s rather perfunctory attention to his solid fifty-four-year-old features. His hair was thinning a little, but still plentiful enough when brushed skilfully; the silvering at the temples would give just the correct degree of gravitas to the considered opinions of a senior policeman.

  He realized by the polite applause which greeted his introduction that he was to be merely the warm-up act for the eagerly awaited appearance of Adam Cassidy, but he didn’t mind that. It would take the pressure off him in a television world where policemen were sometimes not the most popular presence. And he had confirmed that he was to stay on set even when Cassidy appeared. Barbara would be delighted to see him accorded equal status with the great man, sitting beside him in the studio armchairs and exchanging friendly conversation.

  The host of the programme was Gerry Clancy, a bright Northern Irish man who had for ten years risen at four each morning to present the early morning show on Channel Four. It was his liveliness there which had earned him the right to this more relaxed and leisurely afternoon ITV assignment. The vehicle was ideal for him; he had a quick wit and an ability to mine the richest veins of ore among a wide variety of guests. Clancy knew the importance of preparation; one of the paradoxes of television chat was that to appear spontaneous you had to put in a modicum of research and the proper degree of forethought. Gerry had noted that Chief Superintendent Thomas Bulstrode Tucker was a senior policeman who was a little nervous and a little pompous. He was even more aware than his guest that policemen were not the most popular of public servants.

  He said as much to Tucker as soon as he had greeted him and set him politely in the chair opposite his.

  His interviewee had resolved to picture a doting wife rather than the sprightly and hostile Percy Peach as his audience. He smiled patronizingly at this man who was fifteen years his junior and plainly in need of enlightenment. ‘The public needs us and we need them, Mr Clancy. Our job is more difficult than it has ever been, and we do not always receive the cooperation we deserve from the public.’ He shook his head sadly.

  ‘Deserve, Superintendent? Surely trust has to be earned? If suspicion of the police is greater now than it has ever been, there must be good reasons for that.’

  Tucker allowed his eyebrows to lift a fraction, indicating surprise and disappointment. His demeanour conveyed that he wasn’t going to be worried by this modern tendency towards aggression in his interviewer. He was never at a loss for a platitude. ‘There is an unfortunate tendency in modern society to resent any form of authority, Gerry. Police officers suffer from that, as do teachers and anyone who has to enforce the rules. But I assure you, there would be chaos without us.’

  ‘I think everyone accepts that, Mr Tucker. Otherwise we shouldn’t be paying millions of pounds each year for your services. But some of us have begun to wonder whether that money is being well spent. We have more police officers each year. If we take account of the huge amount of what was formerly police work but which is now being done by civilians, we have almost twice the number of officers we had ten years ago. And yet the clear-up rates for so many crimes seem to get not better but steadily worse.’

  Behind his professionally calm exterior, T.B. Tucker was trying hard not to panic. They should have warned him that the man intended to say things like this. But he could hardly say that now. ‘Oh, I’m sure that if you compare like with like and examine the real figures—’

  ‘What would you say is the crime which besets and worries most people in their daily lives, Mr Tucker?’

  ‘Well, I’m sure that you’d get a variety of—’

  ‘Burglary, Mr Tucker. The criminal most likely to affect most people’s lives is the burglar. I s
hould have thought you might have known that.’

  A titter among the audience, alerting Tucker to the fact that things were moving against him, that in this bear-pit he was the amateur and Clancy the professional. He cleared his throat. ‘In the modern climate, where terrorism and all sorts of other violence threaten our society, burglary has necessarily assumed a lower profile than in former years.’

  ‘Indeed it has, Mr Tucker. It is an increasingly attractive proposition for our youth, many of them hooked on the illegal drugs you also seem unable to control. If I were a young man with no morals and in need of quick money for drugs, I should consider burglary a very easy option. Especially in view of the fact that well over eighty per cent of burglaries go undetected.’

  Laughter and applause, this time. Gerry Clancy let it run for a moment, then held up his hand, signifying to his audience that he wanted the chief superintendent to have a fair opportunity to refute this view. Tucker smiled a superior smile. ‘Statistics can be very deceptive, Gerry.’

  ‘And in what respect is this particular one deceptive, Chief Superintendent?’

  Tucker sighed, then offered the patient smile which was meant to convey that mere amateurs couldn’t expect to understand these things. ‘One has to allocate resources economically. Burglary is one of the pettier crimes, you know. It cannot always be accorded a high priority.’

  This time there were murmurs of discontent in the audience, many of whom had suffered from this crime. Clancy nodded thoughtfully. ‘So the public just has to accept that even a much enlarged police service is incapable of dealing with petty crime.’

  Tucker’s smile was now covering an increasing desperation. ‘I did not say we were incapable.’

  ‘No, you didn’t admit to that. Then are we to presume that you choose to neglect burglaries, Mr Tucker?’

  ‘We have to allocate resources, Mr Clancy. It is part of every senior police officer’s duty to decide on priorities.’

  Gerry Clancy turned directly towards his audience. ‘And it seems that this particular senior officer chooses not to prioritize the very crime which every survey shows the citizens of Britain find most disturbing. Food for thought there, certainly.’ He shook his head solemnly, then let his face light up. ‘But now to happier things. It is time for us to meet the actor who was last year voted Britain’s favourite television star. Ladies and gentlemen, Adam Cassidy!’

  Adam gave it a full two seconds, whilst the clapping swelled in volume. Then he walked briskly on to the set and smiled with modest thanks at the studio audience. It might be some time since he had appeared on a stage, but he hadn’t forgotten how to milk applause. He sat down carefully between his host and Tucker, making sure that the adulation lasted for a few seconds more, plucking at the trouser creases of his superb light-grey suit, smiling first briefly at Tucker and then more warmly at his host.

  Clancy radiated good humour and welcome; this was a good star to hitch your wagon to. ‘We’ve all seen what Alec Dawson’s been up to. Haven’t we?’ He flung the question at his audience, who roared an enthusiastic affirmative, and then turned back to Adam. ‘How does it feel to be a national institution?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. I might prove to be just a passing fancy!’ Adam smiled at the women in the audience, who loudly refuted any such heresy. ‘Theatrical institutions are people like Jean Simmons, who built up a body of work.’

  Clancy knew his cue. ‘You worked with our late lamented Jean, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did indeed. In one of my first television assignments, back in 1990, Jean was Miss Havisham in Great Expectations. She was a great actress who was also tremendous fun. I learnt an enormous amount from her.’

  ‘You played Herbert Pocket, if I remember right. And how was the great Jean to work with?’

  ‘Oh, entirely approachable. A great pro. She was very kind to me when I was an inexperienced young actor. People thought of her as a grande dame of theatre and cinema, which she was. But as I say, she had a wicked sense of humour!’

  He launched into a well-rehearsed, mildly bawdy, anecdote about the great lady. He had learned early in his career that it was always safest to attach your stories to a dead thespian, who could no longer challenge the verity or the detail. He struck the right humorous, slightly daring, note. The audience gasped in surprise, then roared with delighted laughter, which culminated in a round of applause that Gerry Clancy dutifully encouraged. Laughter was infectious; if the studio audience was relaxed and amused, the television viewers would be happy in front of their sets with their afternoon cups of tea.

  They moved on to Alec Dawson, so that Adam could feed in the excellent viewing figures for the present series and the announcement that a new series was already commissioned for next year. Clancy spoke about the appeal of the series. Was it not strange that this type of multi-action adventure, usually favoured by men, should have such a high female quota among its audience? What was the reason for that?

  Adam said he’d never thought about that. He couldn’t think of any reason. Surely, his host said, the appeal must stem from the looks and personality of its star? The prolonged round of applause pleased both host and guest. Then Clancy leant forward a little on his chair, always an indication that something a little more serious was to be introduced.

  ‘Hand on heart, Adam, how seriously should we take Alec Dawson and his adventures?’

  Adam leaned forward in turn. He spoke confidentially, as if imparting a confidence which should go no further. ‘Between you and me, Gerry, it shouldn’t be taken very seriously at all.’ A collective gasp, then delighted enthusiasm from the audience for his candour. It was as if they had been the first people who had been privy to this revelation: Adam Cassidy, the man who played the dashing Alec Dawson, did not take himself too seriously. Adam beamed at the rows of laughing people, as if the revelation had been a relief to him. Then he said without warning, ‘What we put together is what my old English teacher used to call interesting yarns. We make them as entertaining as we can, but we don’t take ourselves too seriously and we don’t expect our viewers to think of them as real life. Real crime is a different and more serious thing altogether, as this gentleman is well aware.’

  He turned unexpectedly towards Thomas Bulstrode Tucker, who had been relaxing in the thought that his torment was over and with luck would be forgotten in the shadow of this bright torch of celebrity. He managed a weak smile of acknowledgement. ‘I can certainly confirm that. Real crime is nasty.’

  ‘And also dangerous. I was listening with interest before I came on, Chief Superintendent. As you may know, I was born and brought up in Brunton.’

  Tucker did not know. He gave a weak smile and managed a ‘Really?’

  ‘My father and the rest of my family still live there, indeed. I was disturbed to hear how little control you seem to have over crime in the area. My poor old dad did his bit for Queen and country, but he’s an invalid now. He won’t be pleased to hear how likely he is to be burgled. Still less to hear that the thugs will more than likely get away with it. I only hope he doesn’t try to take things into his own hands.’

  Murmurs of approval and a few ‘Hear hear!’s from an audience now hanging on his every word. Tucker’s smile was a mistake this time; it signified complacency to his listeners. ‘He shouldn’t do that, Adam. We always advise the public against—’

  ‘Frustration makes ordinary people desperate, Chief Superintendent. Tough old codgers like my dad believe in looking after themselves, not leaving things to the nanny state. When they see yobbos getting away with things, they do not always behave rationally. Wouldn’t you agree?’ He turned directly to his audience in a blatant piece of demagoguery. They burst into massive applause, as if they had been waiting for exactly this cue.

  Tucker said, ‘Policing is more difficult now than it has ever been. We have more officers than we have ever had, but more crime as well.’

  ‘More officers, yes. But how often do we see the copper on his beat nowa
days?’ More shouts of approval. Adam had an actor’s sense of when the audience was with him and he knew how to harness the conditioned reaction. ‘I think most people believe that a visible police presence would itself prevent of lot of petty crime. And prevention is always better than cure, is it not? But who am I to say that? You’re the man with the expert knowledge, Chief Superintendent.’

  ‘Yes. Well, in fairness to my officers in Brunton, I must point out that we have more serious crimes on our patch than burglary.’

  ‘Indeed you have. We live in dangerous times, do we not? The terrorist threat is ever present, and cells of militants have recently been unearthed on your patch. I’m sure the people here and those watching this afternoon would be interested to hear about your progress in this area.’

  ‘We have a large Muslim population. The overwhelming majority of them are law-abiding citizens, who are peaceably disposed towards their neighbours.’

  ‘And as you imply in saying that, there is also a tiny and highly dangerous minority, who are anxious to take innocent British lives. Would you say you were on top of the situation?’

  ‘This is not a local but a national problem, countered by a national initiative. Anti-terror action is coordinated nationally. We offer whatever help we can, of course, but thankfully anti-terrorism is not my pigeon.’

  The last phrase was a mistake; it made Tucker sound complacent. The producer’s voice on Gerry Clancy’s ear mike told him that there were two minutes of his programme left. He said with a smile and a face full of reason, ‘In that case, Chief Superintendent, one is driven to ask why this vastly increased police service cannot deal with the burglary which has spread like a plague over this green and pleasant land. Why, as Adam suggests, police officers cannot at least be more in evidence as a threat to the petty crime which besets us all.’ He turned to his audience. ‘I’m sure you would want me to thank Adam Cassidy for his presence here today. He has been a joy to talk to, as always. And he has also given us food for thought about some serious issues.’