‘You’ve started working for a banana exporter since I saw you this afternoon?’
First Big Bird, now this. She gave a weak smile. ‘No, it’s the Turner Travel uniform.’
‘Your family did this to you?’ That amused look in his eyes was well and truly back. ‘That’s grounds for legal action, surely?’
The clock in the hall chimed. Seven o’clock. She decided to ignore his comments. ‘We’d better go in. You’re sure you’re all right?’
He chose to misunderstand her, touching her briefly on the back as she moved to open the door. ‘I think so. But will you promise to stay out of any bright lights? I’ve left my sunglasses in my room.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Harriet had once read an article in a wildlife magazine in which a safari guide described how it felt to be almost trampled by a herd of buffalo: ‘They came rushing towards me, and for a minute I thought this is it, this is the end.’
As she escorted Patrick Shawcross into the cocktail room, she knew the sensation.
Ten minutes earlier, when she had called into the room to check all was fine and everyone had made it there safely, the tour group had been normal human beings. The women had been a little overdressed, perhaps, Mrs Lamerton like a peacock in full plume in a purple trouser suit, with a bright dragonfly brooch securing a mauve chiffon scarf around her neck. Beside her, Mrs Pollard, Mrs Hart and Mrs Pennefeather were in smart pastel twin-sets. She’d overheard them talking during the journey. Nylon was perfect for travelling, they’d all decided. It didn’t crush and was so versatile. She’d noticed both Mr Douglas and Mr Fidock were wearing cravats. Their accents had changed too, she thought. Both of them had been living in Australia for many years, and while they hadn’t lost their English accents entirely, there had certainly been nothing like the House of Lords plums they now seemed to be speaking with.
All their clothes and accents were virtually a blur, though, as they surged past her now towards Patrick. Harriet barely had time to say, ‘Good evening, everyone, may I introduce our special guest, Patrick Shawcross,’ before she had to step out of the way. She’d warned Patrick they were eager to meet him but she hadn’t prepared him to be mobbed. About to rescue him, she watched as the crowd parted. Patrick appeared again. Harriet was reminded of Moses and the Red Sea.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for that enthusiastic welcome.’ His voice had a deep, rich tone, with just the right hint of soft Cornish accent. He glanced over at Harriet and she was sure he gave her the slightest of winks. ‘Now, please, there’s no rush. We have four days together and I know there is going to be an opportunity to talk to each of you and for all of us to get to know each other very well indeed.’
They were visibly calming. Mrs Lamerton still seemed to be trembling, but she was at least keeping a normal distance. The group had somehow arranged themselves in a circle around him, as though in some pagan ritual. Any trace of the nerves Patrick Shawcross had shown earlier had disappeared. They must have been part of his preparation, to get himself into the mood and get the adrenaline rushing, Harriet realised.
‘Now, let me get myself a drink.’ He had barely uttered the word and one was thrust at him. ‘Oh, thank you, Mrs —’
‘Lamerton, Dorothy Lamerton,’ Mrs Lamerton said, her voice cracking. ‘It’s Guinness. I read that it’s your favourite.’
‘And it is. Thank you, Mrs Lamerton. Here’s to your excellent research abilities.’
There were peals of laughter.
He held up his hand again and looked around at them. They fell silent. ‘Let me say first and most importantly how delighted I was to be invited on this tour. My Willoughby years were among the happiest of my life and I’m truly touched,’ he put his hand on his chest, Harriet observed with some amazement, ‘that the program still means so much to all of you, despite the years that have passed. Since the invitation arrived from my friend Harriet over there …’
Harriet felt Mrs Lamerton bristle beside her. Uh oh. She should have filled him in on the whole story of the trip, and particularly Mrs Lamerton’s role in it. There hadn’t been time, though. She suspected he would be hearing it from the horse’s mouth soon. She stared fixedly at Patrick, ignoring Mrs Lamerton’s pursed lips beside her.
He was now completely relaxed, the pint of Guinness in one hand, the other hand leaning casually on the antique dresser beside him, the white shirt and dark curls painting the perfect Willoughby picture. ‘… I’ve found so many memories have come rushing back. There’s a lot to making a series like Willoughby. Not only the scripts, and the location hunts, but all the laughs, the dramas, the sheer bloody hard work,’ (there was a ripple of oohs at the carefully placed swear word) ‘as well. It will be my pleasure to go walking back down the Willoughby memory lane again with all of you.’
He smiled and threw out a hand. ‘And that’s it for the formalities. Please, enjoy yourselves and feel free to approach me at any time. I promise I won’t bite.’ There was more laughter. He held up his pint. ‘Here’s to wonderful times and travels ahead.’
There was a loud burst of applause, a raising of glasses and then another surge forward. Harriet was impressed. Who would have thought twelve elderly people could move so quickly, or make so much noise? Their comments were flying around the small room. Several of them were speaking loudly, as if Patrick Shawcross was still on television and not able to hear them.
‘He’s so charming, isn’t he?’
‘That voice of his nearly makes me melt.’
‘His mother must be so proud of him.’
‘I think he’s even better-looking than he was on the TV. Do you think he’s had plastic surgery?’
The final remark sailed through the room.
Patrick Shawcross gave a wry smile. ‘Well, if there’s something I’ve learned about Australian tour groups today, it’s that there is no beating around the bush. So you deserve an honest answer. No, I promise I haven’t had plastic surgery, lip implants or taken any performance enhancing drugs.’ There was more laughter. ‘But if any of you would like to come closer to check for scars, please feel free.’ He caught Miss Talbot’s eye. ‘Perhaps I could ask you to check on behalf of everyone, Mrs —?’
‘It’s Miss,’ she said in her high, bell-like voice. ‘Miss Emily Talbot.’
‘Would you like to check, Miss Talbot?’
To whoops from Mr Fidock and Clive, who had just sidled in from the front bar, a now pink-cheeked Miss Talbot marched up and took Patrick Shawcross’s face firmly between her little hands. He had to lean down and she had to stand on tiptoes but she made a thorough inspection.
‘No, all clear,’ she said, stepping back and smoothing down her red velvet pantsuit. Harriet recognised it from the front window of Tina’s Teen Wear in Merryn Bay. ‘And I can also tell you he smells lovely!’
The room soon filled with questions, laughter and conversation. Harriet remembered as a child desperately trying to get Austin or James to include her in their ball games, jumping up and down, calling ‘Kick it to me! Kick it to me!’ The same urgent tones sounded all around her now. ‘Mr Shawcross, come and have a drink over here!’ ‘Mr Shawcross, can I get you a drink?’ ‘Mr Shawcross, look at me! Talk to me!’ She checked to see if he was all right. He was more than all right. He was in his element.
Two hours went past before Harriet felt a touch on her arm. After his speech she had started circulating around the room, making sure everyone had drinks, that there was plenty of food and no trouble with spillages or allergies. She kept a close eye on Patrick Shawcross. There had definitely been no mention of an armadillo, or any animal at all, when she had been near enough to listen in to the conversations he was having. She had spoken to every member of the tour group, but she realised they weren’t at all interested in talking to her. Not tonight, anyway.
At one stage, she and Clive stood back from the group, watching it all. Clive had changed from his bus driver shirt and shorts into quite a natty suit. His manner was the same, though.<
br />
‘He seems like a nice enough bloke,’ he said, too loudly. ‘But how come I’ve never heard of him since Willoughby? He’s hardly set the world on fire with his acting, has he?’
Clive was jealous, Harriet realised. She felt a need to defend Patrick Shawcross. That protective instinct kicking in again, she realised. ‘Actually, Clive,’ she whispered, ‘he’s hugely famous in America. We had to ring ahead to check that there weren’t any Americans staying in the hotel, or he wouldn’t have got any peace at all.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
He still didn’t look convinced.
Harriet had just fetched Miss Talbot another Fluffy Duck cocktail from the bar (‘Oh, would you, Harriet?’ she had said. ‘They’re so pretty and they make me feel so nice inside.’) when she felt the touch on her arm. ‘Harriet, could I have a word?’
It was Patrick Shawcross. She hadn’t noticed him escaping from the scrum. ‘Of course.’
‘That outfit of yours really does have its uses, doesn’t it? I’d have spotted you a hundred miles away.’
‘That’s the idea. Is everything okay? No sign of any, um, armadillos?’
‘An extremely large armadillo, unfortunately.’
She lowered her voice. ‘You’d like to go?’
‘As soon as you can manage it.’
‘Of course. I wasn’t sure if you were enjoying yourself or not.’ Talking in whispers like this, standing close to each other, she had the strangest sensation that they were a long-married couple deciding whether it was time to go home.
‘More than I’d thought possible. I’m not being sarcastic, I promise. I have enjoyed it. It’s just been a little more …’
‘Overwhelming?’
‘Exactly.’ He smiled. ‘Overwhelming than I expected. Could we go? And could you come up to my room with me? I need to talk to you about something.’
She didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Of course. Let me just say goodnight to everyone.’
She clinked a glass to get their attention. ‘Hello again, everyone. I’m sorry to interrupt your conversations. I wanted to let you know that Mr Shawcross needs to take his leave of us now.’ Had she actually said ‘take his leave’? Somehow it fitted. Everyone in the room seemed to be speaking in heightened English this evening. ‘Thank you so much for making him so welcome. Please continue to enjoy yourselves and I’ll be back down with you soon.’ Not that they would miss her for a second.
Beside her, Patrick paused, waiting until he had everyone’s full attention, not speaking over remnants of conversations and glass shifting as she had. All the stage tricks were obviously coming back to him. ‘Thank you, Harriet, and thank you, everyone, for that warm welcome and all the fascinating conversations I’ve had with many of you already tonight. I’m looking forward immensely to the next few days together.’
They left the room surrounded by applause, walked down the corridor in silence and into the small lift. She waited for him to speak, but there was someone else in with them. He obviously wanted them to be alone. She dreaded what it was he needed to talk to her about. Please don’t let him say it was all too much. Or that he’d changed his mind about staying on. It would be even worse now if he left, now that the group had had a glimpse of him, brushed against him. It would be like so much promise being snatched away.
She started talking as they left the lift and walked along the corridor but he touched her arm, nodding at a guest standing outside his door further down. He spoke in a low voice. ‘Can we wait? Just until we get to my room?’
‘Of course.’
They were barely inside when he turned to her. He was very serious.
‘Harriet, they are all mad. To the last person, completely and utterly mad.’
Oh, thank God, she thought. That’s all that was wrong. ‘No, they’re not. Not really. Not all of them, anyway.’
‘Harriet, they are. They know more about me than I know myself. I’ve heard of fan conventions but this lot are in a league of their own.’
‘I’m sorry, I did want to warn you …’
‘I need a crash course in not only Willoughby but in my own biography, fake or not. Why did I agree to do this again?’
‘Because you didn’t want to let everyone down.’ She was struck again by the difference. He had been larger than life downstairs. Now he seemed … he seemed normal again. Worried, even. She rushed in to help. ‘It’s not an examination, I promise. It’s pure enthusiasm. They just love the show so much. And when we knew we had you as our special guest, Mrs Lamerton started holding Willoughby information evenings. That’s why it’s all so fresh in their minds.’
He ran his hand through his dark curls. ‘I’m going to have to do something about this.’
Did he mean make a complaint? About her? ‘Oh, please, don’t do that. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. I mean, it was more a chain of things, James falling off the ladder, and then Lara deciding to go away like that, and maybe faxing the magazine article didn’t help in the first place, I can see how that might have been confusing, but —’
‘Harriet, I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?’
‘I’m trying to explain how it all went wrong. I can see how you might want to make a complaint, but it’s just there is an explanation for everything —’
‘I’m not going to make a complaint. I meant I’m going to have to do something about this, before I really do let everyone down. Did you say you had tapes of the Willoughby series?’
‘Two series.’
‘We made two series?’ He shook his head. ‘I’d forgotten that too. Of course we made two series.’
‘Twenty episodes. Half an hour each.’
‘Do you have the itinerary?’
She reached into her bag. She carried it with her everywhere. ‘Right here.’
He took it from her and glanced through the pages. Harriet knew what he would be reading. The list of locations they’d be visiting and the episodes they had featured in. It was there, in great detail, with James’s extra handwritten comments alongside.
He handed it back. ‘Harriet, I’ll need your help. Can you watch some of the Willoughby episodes with me? Two heads will be better than one. Then if I forget you could nudge my memory?’
‘Now?’
‘If that’s all right?’
‘Of course. I just need to say goodnight to everyone first.’
He checked his watch. ‘It’s nearly nine-thirty. That’s not too late for you?’
That mixture again of actor confidence and regular courteous human being behaviour. ‘No. Anything to make the tour go well is fine by me.’
‘While you’re doing that, I’ll call the front desk to see about a video player.’
‘I already have one. It’s set up in my room.’
‘You’re a mind-reader as well? That’s great. I’ll come to you, then.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Is fifteen minutes okay?’
‘That’s fine.’ She gave him her room number, trying to remember how much mess she had left behind. She’d have to quickly tidy it before he got there.
Downstairs, the tour group had barely noticed she’d gone. Everyone was swapping stories on what they had said to Patrick Shawcross, what he had said to them, what they planned to say to him tomorrow. As expected, Mrs Lamerton was holding court.
‘As I said to Mr Shawcross …’
Harriet coughed politely in a bid to get everyone’s attention. It was difficult over the hubbub. A clink of a spoon on a glass again worked much better. ‘Hello again, everyone, and thank you all for making Mr Shawcross so welcome.’ At the mention of his name the room quietened completely. ‘If you’ll all excuse me, I need to say goodnight myself and go and check some of our arrangements for tomorrow. Please enjoy yourselves and I look forward to seeing you all at breakfast in the morning.’
Mrs Lamerton gave Harriet one of her imperious waves, spilling her bright pink drink as she did so. ‘Harriet, I’ve ordered another round of cocktails fo
r everyone. I assured the young lady behind the bar that was all right.’
Harriet decided not to worry. It was the first real night of the tour. They were excited. Turner Travel could wear the expense. ‘That’s no problem at all, Mrs Lamerton. Goodnight, everyone.’
But, just in case, she went to the bar manager on her way upstairs and asked her to close the tab.
She had time to hastily tidy her room before his knock came. The room was compact, and the addition of the TV and video player on their stand made it even more crowded. There was only one armchair, as well. He could have that. She would have to sit on the edge of the double bed.
As he came into the room, she saw he’d changed his clothes. He was now wearing a dark blue sweater and a pair of dark jeans.
He was very relaxed again. ‘Thank you so much for this, Harriet.’
‘It’s no problem at all. You don’t want to watch all of them tonight though?’
‘No, it’s an episode or two a day, in a way, isn’t it? Taking in several locations, is that right?’
She nodded.
‘I think the best thing is if we watch the right episodes the night before each trip. I can learn the lines again, refresh my memory, come up with a few anecdotes.’ He shook his head again. ‘Did you know those two men can do the dialogue from all the final summary scenes? Twenty programs’ worth?’
She nodded. She’d heard them do it often enough.
‘And that lady with the blue hair —’
‘Mrs Lamerton.’
‘She could describe every outfit every female character was wearing. Down to the jewellery. I heard her telling that tiny lady, the one with the white hair and the funky clothes —’
Harriet’s lips twitched. ‘Miss Talbot.’
‘Miss Talbot. The pair of them were swapping facts about Willoughby’s girlfriends and who was better suited to him. In all seriousness.’
Harriet wasn’t at all surprised to hear it. She knew Miss Talbot had been keen on Willoughby ending up with Lady Garvan, whereas Mrs Lamerton felt she was nothing more than an upper class gadabout, to use her term. ‘They have taken their research seriously.’
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