“So?”
I left her smiling and went off to dish up the pizza; I cut it into segments and laid them on a kitchen tray, then I picked up the champagne and carried the lot through.
“Rhona Waitrose hasn’t changed,” Susie said, when I got back.
I was taken by surprise. “You know her?”
“Before she got mildly famous, she used to sing with a band in Glasgow. They played at a club I used to go to, when I was fancy free. She practically screwed the guitarist on stage, and they said that off stage she screwed the whole bloody band.
“You tell her from me that if she comes near you again, I will fix her, big time.”
“I think she may have worked that out,” I said, ‘but I’ll tell her, discreetly’
“You do that. The other slut, Alison; she’s the one in whose business I was going to be daft enough to invest, is she?”
“That’s her. She doesn’t need our help any more though.” I told her about Ewan Capperauld’s unexpected Galahad act.
“Very noble,” she murmured. “What’s he like, the great man?”
“Takes a bit of getting to know, but he’s all right once the ice is broken.” I told her about his run-in with Miles.
She whistled. “Silly man, then; your friend Mr. Grayson is definitely not someone I would cross. There’s something lethal behind that smile.” She frowned. “He’s a bit like you in that respect.” I didn’t know whether that was a compliment or not, but eventually I decided that coming from Susie, it probably was.
We finished the pizza, and Bolly, then went back to bed; I set the alarm for six-forty-five and we made love until we fell asleep.
When Darren Adam woke me next morning on Radio Forth, Susie was up and in the shower. I decided that I liked that; it felt like home. But maybe I also liked, just a wee bit, the fact that she was going back to Glasgow and leaving me to my own life… hell, I didn’t know.
She was ready for the road by quarter to eight, having called Ethel to make sure that the baby was okay. “When will I see you again?” she asked, as we stood waiting for the lift.
“The first chance I get,” I promised, and I meant it. Listening to Susie talk to the nanny made me realise how much I wanted to see my daughter again too. “I’ll see how today goes; if it works out, maybe I’ll be able to come through tonight.
“Not tomorrow night, though; the fun starts on Sunday morning, very early.”
She smiled. “Sometime, I’d like to come through and watch you work. Would that be okay? Could you fix it with Miles?”
“Yes, I reckon I could. Once I see the schedule, we’ll set something up.” The lift arrived; I put a foot in the door, to hold it.
Her eyes narrowed, as a thought crossed her mind. “Here,” she muttered, ‘that Rhona Waitrose. Do you and she get to…? You know what I mean.”
“We’ve got a clinch later on; nothing horizontal, though, and we both get to keep our kit on.”
“Hmmph!” Susie grunted. “That’ll be a change for her.”
She patted my chest. “Right, I’m off. Before I go, though, I’ll make you a promise. No more surprises; thinking about it, I suppose I was taking a lot for granted.”
“No,” I said. “I loved your being here… eventually.”
She patted my groin. “Sorry about the kick in the balls. It didn’t do any lasting damage, though; in fact…”
I stopped her with a kiss, and pushed her into the lift.
Ewan Capperauld arrived ten minutes later, shaved, scrubbed and still wearing that black leather coat. I gave him coffee, and offered him toast; he declined, in favour of the last wedge of cold pizza, which he spotted on the work surface. I was getting to like the man more by the day.
He was halfway through it when the buzzer sounded again. “Package for you,” said Ricky Ross.
“Bring her up, then.”
“No, I’ll put her in the lift,” he said, tersely. “It’s a bit early for me to be mopping up blood.”
I was waiting when Alison arrived, wearing the clothes she had picked out the night before. “You’d better not be mad at me,” I warned her.
She smiled. “I’m not; I just told Ricky I was.”
“You went to his place then?”
“I asked that Mandy girl to take me there. She phoned him first and he said it was okay. What an action woman she is, by the way… although nothing compared to your girlfriend. Did you calm her down?”
“Eventually, no thanks to you and that other one.”
“Yes,” Alison exclaimed. “What a brazen cow she is!”
“Jesus!” I gave up and ushered her into the apartment. Ewan was still in the kitchen, demolishing the last of the pizza. I introduced Alison, who switched into business mode straight away. She handled it just right, I thought, letting him realise that she knew how important he was, but that she was not about to be overawed.
I went off to shower and shave; I took my time over it, leaving them alone for as long as I could.
When I got back, their deal appeared to be done, for they were shaking hands. Ewan looked at me as I came back into the room. “What do you think the chances are of the judge going easy?” he asked me, dropping into his Skinner accent.
“Pretty good. The Crown Office is making all the right noises. Alison’s lawyer’s pretty confident that they won’t press for a jail sentence. Your involvement will probably help too, if you’re happy to have it mentioned in court, that is.”
He shrugged. “No problem.” He glanced back at Alison. “Who is your lawyer, by the way?”
“His name is Charles Badenoch.”
Ewan laughed, suddenly. “What a fucking village this is,” he exclaimed. “I was at Heriot’s with Charlie. He was the classroom lawyer, even then. He used to defend guys who were accused of misdemeanours by the prefects. He got a few off, too, until he became a prefect himself, then he switched to the prosecution side.”
He glanced at his watch, then pushed himself up from the dining table, at which they had been sitting. “Come on, Oz,” he said. “Glen Oliver, my minder, is waiting downstairs in the car; we’ll give you a lift to the Assembly Rooms, after we’ve dropped Alison at her office.
“Mustn’t keep the director waiting; if we did that, I doubt if even Charlie could get us off.”
Thirty-One.
As it turned out, we made it to the Assembly Rooms a couple of minutes ahead of Miles and Dawn. The whole cast was there, in a big upstairs room with a chandelier, apart from Liam Matthews, who had so few speaking scenes that he had cut a deal with Miles, allowing him to turn up for rehearsals only a day before he was due to shoot.
Those of us who were there were each given a copy of the shooting schedule by Gail Driver. It isn’t invariable that the first scene in a movie is the one that’s shot first, but that was convenient in this case and so that was how it would be done.
I had thought that we might launch straight into rehearsal, but Miles began by gathering us all round, as he had done the day before in my apartment. This time, he ran through the script himself from start to finish, describing each of the locations we would use, and giving us a picture of how he saw our work developing.
That took up most of the morning; we didn’t break for coffee until almost mid-day. I had just picked up a mug and a couple of biscuits when Rhona Waitrose tapped me on the shoulder. I took a quick look to see that she was respectable, then gave her a noncommittal, “Hello’.
“Too bad about last night,” she murmured.
“Too right,” I replied, maybe just a bit tersely. “My nuts may never be the same.”
Rhona winced. “Sorry about that.” She paused. “That was Susie Gantry, wasn’t it; from Glasgow? She’s your girlfriend?” I nodded, twice. “I remember her, when her old man was king of the city, before he had his breakdown and got put away. She had guys swarming after her like wasps, but she never gave any of them as much as a sniff. None of them pushed it too hard, either. Her father had, shall we say,
a certain reputation.”
“He still has; but he’s not her father. Susie’s adopted.”
“Lucky girl, then, falling heir to all that.”
“Not at all; she works hard. She saved that business, after Jack’s trouble.”
“Have we fucked it up between you two, me and that other girl? Who was she, anyway? The way it looked when I came in, you and she were getting ready to make the beast with two backs.”
“She was an accident, waiting to happen; as it did happen, I was getting ready for nothing but pizza. How did you get the box, anyway?”
“I saw the kid arrive, and I just asked him if it was for you, by any chance. I got lucky.”
“You won’t say that if you ever meet Susie again. Since you asked, no, things are not bust between us.”
She whistled. “You are one smooth bastard,” she said, a little too loudly for my liking, ‘if you managed to talk your way out of that.” Mandy O’Farrell was on duty with the rest of the minder team. Rhona’s voice must have reached her, for she looked over her shoulder and smiled at me. I excused myself to my co-star and walked across to her. She was standing between Alan Graham and Mike Reilly, but she turned away from them as I approached.
“I should thank you for last night,” I said, quietly.
She looked at me, her smile even wider, her eyes … very attractive blue eyes… sparkling. “It’s all part of the service.”
“How did you happen to turn up there, anyway?”
“I was keeping an eye on Rhona. I saw her pull her trick with the pizza delivery boy; then I saw her unbutton her raincoat. That told me the whole story. I’d have left you to it, but that other girl turned up and followed her into the building without using a key. I watched her, and I saw her get into your lift.”
“So, maybe I was planning a foursome?”
“If you had been I’d have apologised and left,” she chuckled. “But I knew who the second woman was. With Rhona having her goodies on display, and knowing what I know about her, I guessed there could be trouble, so I used my initiative.”
“You seem to know a lot about us all.”
“I did my research; that’s part of the job, too. Alison was a surprise, though.”
“That one? Every day, another surprise.”
“What’s her connection with my boss?” Mandy asked.
“That’s a long story. I’ll let him tell you.”
“Is he trying to keep her out of the slammer or put her there?”
“I’ll pass on that too.”
She looked as if she might have pressed me further, but right at that moment, Miles called us all back on parade.
In planning the project, he had decided that as much of the film as possible should be shot on location. That’s the way he usually works, and given the backdrops that Edinburgh offers it would have been a shame to do otherwise on this one. For a while he had harboured a wild hope that he would have been allowed to shoot in the real police HQ building, but not even he had the clout to pull that off. Instead, he had rented part of a rambling college building on the south side of the city, and an authentic office was being set up there.
Our first stop, though, was Advocates’ Close, which connects the High Street with Cockburn Street below, and which takes its name, I guess, from the fact that in old Edinburgh it was a favourite route of Scottish barristers on their way from their New Town homes to work in the Supreme Courts.
The book that we were filming opens there, with a headless body, right on page one. A little bloody, one might think, but the victim turns out to have been a lawyer, so that, as far as most people are concerned, made him fair game.
Ewan was scheduled to make his big entrance as Bob Skinner right at the start, with me hustling about as Andy Martin, and Dawn on hand as Dr. Sarah Grace, the scene-of-crime examiner, who also happens to be Skinner’s piece on the side. The script called for a degree of horizontal contact between Ewan and Dawn; those scenes would be filmed on a specially built part of our leased college, and were marked on the schedule as ‘closed set’. That meant that only those with an absolute need to be there would get to see the producer director’s wife in the scud. I noticed that Miles had ruled himself out from that part of the movie; the scenes were to be directed by Dawn herself.
However he was involved in our first scene, and that was the one he rehearsed hardest in the Assembly Rooms that morning, and afternoon. We had to use a bit of imagination to transport the chandelier to the gloomy Advocates’ Close, but he had brought along a prosthetic head, which we would use in the real thing, to give us a bit of added colour.
Eventually he was happy with the way we were playing the thing, especially with a scene in which Skinner delivers a dressing down to an over-enthusiastic young copper. The rest of the cast had been rehearsing their own opening lines and scenes in other parts of the room. Finally, he stood everyone down but us.
“Come on,” he said, to Ewan, Dawn and me, and to the supporting players. “Let’s take a run up there now, and look at the real thing. Do it today, and we can all have tomorrow off.”
With that incentive, all of us, and our minders, piled into two of the fleet of people-movers which he had hired. The city was really behind us, I guessed, when I saw that they had stickers that exempted them from the attentions of the Blue Meanies, Edinburgh’s detested traffic storm-troopers.
I had walked through Advocates’ Close many times before, in the years I’d lived in the capital, but I’d never really taken in the detail. As soon as we stepped into the entrance, I saw what the problems were going to be.
“This is going to take a long time,” said Miles. “We have to do this the old-fashioned way, with a single camera, because of the narrowness of the passage. That means that many of the lines are going to have to be lit and shot individually. You guys may have to shave twice on Sunday, just for continuity’s sake.”
“Where will we do that?” asked Ewan.
“They’re going to close off Cockburn Street to all but essential traffic; we’ll park the production trailers down there.”
Miles spent another half-hour walking us through our parts, showing Ewan how he wanted him to make his entrance, showing me how he wanted me to crouch beside the headless dummy, and taking final decisions on placing the camera. By the end of it all, we were knackered; even Dawn was getting irritable, and that’s unusual. Miles got the message from her, if from nobody else. “Okay,” he announced at last, ‘that’s it for today. I’ll see you all back here Sunday; six-thirty. Be sharp, be rested, be good.”
Thirty-two.
Their departure gave me a reality jolt. Glen Oliver took Ewan away in a taxi, Miles, Dawn and Mike Reilly took one of the people-movers back to the Caledonian, and the bit players commandeered the other to go back to the Assembly Rooms.
There was I, an international movie star, left on his own in a rapidly cooling Advocates’ Close. Mind you, after the day I’d had, a pint was an appealing proposition, and Deacon Brodie’s Tavern was only a few yards away. Then, later, with any luck, I could escape to Glasgow, and the bosoms of my new family.
Only I wasn’t alone. When I stepped out of the passageway into the High Street, who was waiting round the corner but Ricky Ross. “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked him
“Waiting for you,” he told me, cheerfully. “I thought you might fancy coming with me on a visit I have to pay on someone.”
“And why would I want to do that?”
“You’re a golfer, aren’t you? I thought you guys were all groupies when it comes to meeting pros. Alison gave me a list of the boy David’s friends; right at the top is Don Kennedy, the golfer.
“As it happens, he’s not playing on the tour event this week. He’s had a couple of sponsor’s days up at Murrayfield Golf Club, and I’ve arranged to see him there.”
I started to say that I wanted nothing to do with his games, and that I had better things to do than run around Edinburgh playing detective with some clapped
out ex-copper, but then I thought about a persistent slice that had been creeping into my game.
“Okay,” I said. “Provided it doesn’t take too long.”
His car was parked round the corner in St. Giles Street, beside the High Court, where, in a few weeks, Alison was due to take her chances with a man, or maybe a woman, in a wig and a red jacket. I found myself wondering how Rhona Waitrose would look in that outfit; she’d certainly done a lot for a simple raincoat..
There was a parking ticket on Ricky’s Alfa Romeo. He ripped it off the windscreen and threw it away. “These wankers will never learn,” he muttered. “My number’s on a list, and they’ve all got it. Whoever wrote that’s in bother when he files it.”
He didn’t say another word of any consequence on the journey to Murrayfield. I’d been expecting him to quiz me about Alison’s unexpected appearance at his place, but he didn’t. Maybe Mandy had told him the whole story, maybe she hadn’t. I was fairly sure that Alison hadn’t.
The traffic was light so the trip across the New Town and into Ravelston Dykes didn’t take long. We pulled into the car park in front of the club-house building. I was wearing black designer jeans and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt; given the strict dress codes that operate in some of these clubs, I wondered if they’d let me in.
They might not have, but fortunately Don Kennedy was dressed in more or less the same way as I was, and also, he was waiting for us in the casual bar… known in some golf clubs as the ‘dirty bar’.
I’d seen him maybe a hundred times on television, so I recognised him at once. He was shorter than I’d expected, but like most golfers he had shoulders that looked capable of supporting a house, and hands that were big enough to dig its foundations without a shovel. When I was in my early twenties, a bloke in St. Andrews showed me what he assured me was one of Arnold Palmer’s old golf gloves. God isn’t all that tall either, while I’m not a little guy myself, but I swear I could have got both my hands in there.
Kennedy is not famous for smiling on the golf course, but he was affable enough as he greeted us. A weak sun was shining through the window, and glinting on his trademark copper curls. “Mr. Ross,” he began, engulfing Ricky’s hand in one of his. Then he looked at me, and frowned. “I know you, don’t I,” he muttered, ‘but I can’t place you.”
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