by Seb Spence
#
Her train back to Bramlington left from Victoria Station, so after the concert he walked her there via St James’ Park, stopping at a little tearoom near Westminster Cathedral for tea and buttered toast. It had been a perfect afternoon, and Barton had not wanted to spoil the mood with his confession, so he had shelved it for the time being. However, as he stood on the platform waving to her as her train steamed out of the station, he realised that he must straighten things out soon. He resolved to visit her at the first opportunity and make a clean breast of it.
3.
Thursday, 5th September, 1940: West Kent
The chance to come clean came two days later, for Thursday morning found Barton and his recovery team once more trailing round the Kent countryside, this time trying to track down a balloon that had broken loose from the naval dockyards at Chatham. It had drifted in a southwesterly direction and eventually, just before midday, they had run it to ground near Sevenoaks, which was only a half-hour drive from Bramlington. Barton felt that this could be a good opportunity to drop in on Grace and end the deception, so once the balloon was safely stowed on the recovery truck, he told his team to take a long lunch and then set off in his Austin Eight for Bramlington.
He arrived in the village a little after one o’clock, but, starting to feel nervous about his mission, he felt he could do with a drink to help compose himself and decided to pop into the pub on the main street, the ‘White Hart Inn’. He ordered a pint of bitter and sat down with it at a table by himself. Sipping his beer from time-to-time, he went over in his mind the little speech he had prepared. Half an hour later, he emerged from the pub in a confident mood. He was just about to get into his car when he heard a familiar voice calling to him from behind.
“Mr Barton! What are you doing back in Bramlington?”
Barton turned to see Grace coming out of a seedsman’s shop that was next door to the pub. She was accompanied by a tall, irritable-looking, middle-aged man with gingery brown hair and a moustache. Her face lit up as she approached Barton.
“We’ve just been buying some vegetable seeds,” she announced with a smile. “We’re converting our garden into an allotment – ‘Dig for Victory’ and all that.” Turning to her gruff companion, who was now glaring at Barton, she introduced them. “Charles, this is Pilot Officer Barton, the pilot I was telling you about.”
Barton sensed the potential for disaster and thought it would be wise to make a quick exit again, but as he was formulating his excuses in his head, he saw the gingery man scowl down at the breast of his tunic.
“Pilot?” the man asked querulously in a sneering voice. “Unless the RAF have changed their insignia recently, I don’t think this officer flies anything. No wings,” he said, smirking and pointing at the area above Barton’s left breast-pocket. “He’s not even air crew.” Grace glanced down at where the man was indicating and then looked questioningly at Barton. He could tell she was hoping for an explanation that would exonerate him.
“If I’m not mistaken, you’re with Balloon Command, judging by the crest on your car,” the man continued, nodding towards the transfer of a balloon emblem on the front fender of the Austin Eight.
Barton ignored him and looked at Grace. He decided to make light of it. “I was actually coming to see you today,” he said, forcing a smile, “to straighten out this little mix up. It’s a funny story, really. It all started when that garrulous old bat, Mrs Talbot, got hold of the wrong end of the stick and-”
Grace’s expression hardened into a reproachful look and she interrupted him. “This is Mr Talbot, our postmaster,” she said indicating her companion, “Mrs Talbot’s husband.”
“Oh, right … This is awkward,” Barton blurted out weakly, and then continued after a pause: “You have to admit she’s a bit talkative. I would have corrected her, but I never got a chance.”
“Come along Grace, I don’t think we need to hear any more of this,” Talbot said and began to move off. Grace glared at Barton stonily for a few seconds and then walked on to join Talbot. Barton was left standing on the pavement, staring after them.
#
As soon as he returned to Stanmore, Barton tried to phone her to apologise, but the lines were busy and it took over two hours before he could get a connection. When he did finally get through to her, she refused to listen and asked him not to phone her again.
He was reluctant to give her up over – what was to him – a silly misapprehension that wasn’t his fault, so immediately after the call, he wrote her a letter. In it he explained what had happened, apologised for misleading her and asked her to give him another chance.
4.
Thursday, 5th September, 1940: Lewisham, London
At lunchtime on Thursday, Lucy Walker left Pickering’s Bookshop as usual and, in a state of nervous excitement, went to the phone box down the street to call John Elliott. Since her audition with Lyonesse Films, her mood had oscillated between gloom and elation. Repeatedly in her mind she had gone over the dismal attempt she had made at acting out the scene for her screen test, and concluded that they would never offer her a part in their film. But then she would recall Elliott’s remarks when they parted, and, buoyed by these, she would start to imagine her life as an actress.
As Elliott had suggested, she had told Mr Pickering that she needed to take a week’s holiday starting on Friday. Pickering had grumbled about the short notice but eventually agreed. Everything was ready; all she needed was a positive response from Elliott. With some trepidation, she picked up the receiver and dialled his number.
This time Elliott answered the phone himself; there was no Miss Wilks to go through. “Lucy, thanks for contacting us so promptly. I’m delighted to say you’ve got the part. Are you willing to accept it?”
There was a pause while she took in the news. “Yes, of course!”
“Excellent! Now, as you know, filming is due to start tomorrow, Friday. Have you organised things with Mr Pickering?”
“Yes, I’m free to start tomorrow.”
“And your aunt?”
“I’ve warned her I’ll be out all day on Saturday, shopping in town in the morning and at the cinema in the afternoon. She doesn’t suspect anything.”
“Good. Now, about the arrangements for tomorrow: you need to sign your contract first of all, and there are some administrative details to sort out – payment and things like that. So we’d like you to come along to the studio at 9am sharp tomorrow. After we’ve done the paperwork, we’ll drive out to where we’re shooting the first of the location shots for your scenes and start rehearsing. Does that sound ok to you?”
“Wonderful! I can’t wait!”
“See you tomorrow, then, Lucy.”
“You won’t regret this, Mr Elliott. I’ll be there at 9 on the dot.”
Lucy had her lunch in the park as usual and then returned to work, happy in the knowledge that this would almost certainly be her last afternoon among the dusty volumes at Pickering’s Bookshop.
5.
Friday, 6th September, 1940: South London
Lucy Walker arrived at the warehouse in Riga Street promptly at 9am and was admitted by Elliott himself.
“You’ll find this place very quiet today,” Elliott commented as he led her to his office, “everyone is away setting up for the location shots. Apart from Miss Wilks, who is getting your costume ready as we speak, there’s just myself and Mr DaSilva here. He’s busy at the moment but will come along to have a chat with us when he’s ready.”
Lucy felt rather disappointed on hearing that DaSilva was going to be there but thought that she had better get used to him being around since they were going to be working together. She was not looking forward to seeing Miss Wilks again, either.
“I thought Miss Wilks was your secretary?” Lucy asked.
“She is, but she also doubles as our wardrobe mistress. Lyonesse Films is a small company, Lucy. We can’t afford to have the same level of staff as the big studios. Everyone here has to
be a jack- or jill-of-all-trades. As well as casting director, I’m also the production coordinator – and I even appear as an extra in some of the films.”
On entering the office, Lucy noticed immediately that there was a cine-projector on Elliott’s desk and that a portable screen had been set up against one of the walls. Elliott smiled at her and waved a hand towards the projector. “Thought you might like to see your screen test. We’ll run it through when Mr DaSilva gets here.”
“I’m not sure if I really want to see it: I don’t think I did very well.”
“Nonsense, Lucy! If we didn’t feel you’d done well, you wouldn’t be here now. Anyway, we can discuss your performance with Mr DaSilva when he comes. In the meantime, there are some administrative details to attend to.” He opened a draw in his desk and produced a document several pages long, covered in dense print. “This is a standard contract. I’ll go through it with you and then you need to sign it. Once it’s signed, it will go to the company’s lawyers and they’ll send you a copy next week. As I said, there’s a ‘grace period’ written into it which means you can quit any time in the next seven days without incurring any penalty. After that, you’ve got to stay on for the duration of the contract. Does that sound fair?”
“Yes, but I’m sure I won’t want to quit.”
Elliott spent ten minutes going through the small print in the contract and telling her about the administrative arrangements for payment, time off, sick leave and so on. “Any questions?” he asked finally.
“No, it all seems fine to me. Where do I sign?”
He took a fountain pen out of his inside jacket pocket and passed it to her. “Just here at the bottom of the page,” he said, indicating the line for her signature. No sooner had she finished signing than DaSilva appeared.
“Good morning, Miss Walker. May I welcome you to the cast of my latest project,” he said affably, shaking hands with her. He seemed to be in a good mood. “I trust you will enjoy working with us.”
“I’m sure I will, Mr DaSilva. Thank you for selecting me. You won’t regret it.”
He fixed his glittering eyes on her and, after a pause, responded, “I hope not, Miss Walker; we’re counting on you.” Transferring his gaze to Elliott he continued, “Are all the formalities complete?”
“Everything’s in order, Mr DaSilva. Do you want to go over the screen test now?”
“Yes, let’s run through it,” he said, sitting down and taking a cigar from his inside pocket. He lit up and began to draw on it.
Elliott pulled down the blind over the room’s only window and set the projector running. Lucy had never seen herself on film before and was fascinated to see the moving black and white images of her on the screen. But at the same time, she felt uncomfortable. She watched, slightly embarrassed by her wooden acting and clumsiness in the scene. All her blunders had been captured and, if anything, they looked worse than she remembered them. Fortunately, it was all over in a couple of minutes. Elliott stopped the projector.
“Well, Miss Walker,” DaSilva said at the end, taking out his cigar, “what do you think?”
“For a first attempt, I suppose it’s not too bad.”
“Not bad, she says, John,” he said, grinning at Elliott, and then turned back towards her: “Why, Miss Walker, it was appalling. This has to be the worst screen test I’ve ever seen in my career. You were unspeakably hopeless.”
The blood ran to Lucy’s face, and she felt her eyes water. “Why did you ask me to come here then? Is this some kind of joke?” Feeling angry and hurt, she was on the verge of storming out.
“Don’t be upset, Lucy,” Elliott said, attempting to placate her. “Wait till you’ve heard what Mr DaSilva has to say.”
She glared at the little, gnome-like figure as he began explaining. “I’ve hired you in order to prove a point, Miss Walker. Much of what you see at the cinema these days lacks realism. The acting is stilted and belongs on the stage, not the screen. This is because the actors are always aware of the camera and play to it. They are having to act in front of a room full of other people: technicians, camera crew, sound recordists and the like. As a result, their performance is unnatural. I want to get away from that, Miss Walker. I want my actors to act in the most realistic environment, one without all the trappings of the studio – no movie paraphernalia, no crew, and no cameras. That way, the actors can become the people they are trying to create, instead of simply pretending to be them.”
Lucy stared uncomprehendingly at him. “I don’t see what this has to do with my performance, and anyway, how can you make a film without cameras?”
“Oh, the cameras are there, Miss Walker, but they’re hidden. Now, just to demonstrate the difference it makes, I’d like to show you another clip. Cast your mind back to when you were rehearsing your scene with Mr Mitchell in this office. You see the door over there?” As he said this, he pointed with his cigar at a door in the far corner of the room. “It leads to the adjoining room. Notice the small mirror on the front of the door – it’s two-way. The part of the door behind the mirror has been cut out so that it’s possible to film what’s going on in this room from next door. We filmed the last of the rehearsals you did in here with Mr Mitchell.”
Lucy didn’t know whether she should feel admiration for their ingenuity, or outrage at the gross invasion of privacy. DaSilva seemed to sense her equivocation. “Let’s see the film before you pass judgement, Miss Walker.”
Elliott started up the projector again. It could have been a different woman in this new scene: Lucy’s character seemed relaxed and genuine. She looked happy and as a result looked much more attractive than the anxious looking girl in the screen test. There seemed to be a real chemistry between the two characters, and Lucy exuded a charming innocence, much as she did in real life.
“Well, Miss Walker, is that not a considerable improvement?” DaSilva said when it was over
“Yes, yes,” Lucy replied, smiling, pleased with her performance. “It’s an amazing difference. I wouldn’t have believed it possible.”
“And may I say how good you look on film, Lucy,” Elliott interjected. “The camera likes you. So now you see why we have offered you the part.”
DaSilva drew on his cigar and then slowly exhaled a stream of smoke. “The film we are embarking on, ‘Agent of the Reich’, is one of my most ambitious projects, Miss Walker. I intend to film it entirely using this new method. You are fortunate to be taking part in such a bold experiment.” DaSilva looked at his watch. “Well, enough chitchat. Time is wearing on. We have much to do today, so I think we should now get down to business. Show Miss Walker the script, John.”
“We don’t have a spare copy of the full screenplay for the film but we’ll get you one for next week. I can give you this, though,” Elliott said, passing her a typed sheet. “It’s all you’ll need to be going on with: it’s the shooting script for the scene we are doing today. It describes what you have to do. There’s no dialogue in this scene, so you don’t have to worry about learning lines. Your character, the Nazi courier, is called Eleanor Mortimer and this is her final scene, the one where she is arrested. Have a look through it now.”
Lucy took the sheet from Elliott and read it:
ARREST SCENE
EXTERIOR STREET IN INDUSTRIAL AREA – DAY (ESTABLISHING)
LONG SHOT – SHOOTING DOWN LENGTH OF STREET
A deserted street in an industrial area. It is lined with brick buildings – factories, warehouses. ELEANOR appears around corner and starts to walk down the street towards camera, then crosses over, from camera left to camera right.
FULL SHOT – ELEANOR
As she approaches. She starts to look obliquely at the brick wall she is walking by.
CLOSE SHOT – ELEANOR
As she walks along, she is looking at the wall at about waist height and a few yards in front of her. She appears to be seeking something.
EXTREME CLOSEUP – SMALL PART OF BRICK WALL
It contains a loose half
-brick with a chalk mark on it.
MEDIUM SHOT – ELEANOR
She appears to see what she is looking for and stops. She looks up and down the street to check that no one is watching and then removes the loose brick. She reaches into a recess behind the brick and takes out a small package, the size of a matchbox. She replaces the half-brick and puts the package in the shoulder bag she is carrying. Once more, she looks up and down the street and then continues walking.
CAMERA PANS to follow her as she walks by. Suddenly, several men appear – they have been hiding from view further down the street. Two of them grab her arms, one each side. They are arresting her. She struggles wildly as they try to lead her away but then appears to calm down.
CLOSE SHOT – ELEANOR
Her lips are tightly closed but her jaw moves as she bites on a capsule in her mouth. She grimaces and then her head drops forward.
FULL SHOT – ELEANOR
She is slumped forward lifeless, supported by the two men on either side.
CUT TO:
“Does that make sense?” Elliott enquired when she put it down.
“Not sure about the bit with the brick – what’s that about?”
“The recess in the wall is a ‘dead-letter box’ – in the spying trade this is a location where one agent can leave material for collection by another. In our story, the package Eleanor picks up contains film of top secret blueprints.”
“Oh, right, I see.”
“The camera referred to in the script will be hidden, Miss Walker,” DaSilva interposed, “so, as you walk down the street, you will see a normal street scene, not a film set. The thing to bear in mind is that we are aiming for one-hundred-percent authenticity. As you proceed down this street you are a Nazi agent; you are not an actress pretending to be one.”