by Susan Lewis
She soon learned from Plum, another casting assistant (Susannah couldn’t help feeling relieved that Ben wasn’t around, after the last fiasco), that Jane Fullerton, a well-known drama director who’d already been hired for the opening episodes of the series, was in charge of the screen tests. No costumes were required, she was told, or props, and what make-up was needed would be applied by professionals in the studio’s make-up rooms.
As she sat in the chair having her eyes darkened and cheeks blushed, she could feel herself becoming higher and higher on her surroundings. Photographs from top-rated programmes were all over the walls, talkback from a production gallery was coming from some speakers somewhere, the ubiquitous smell of greasepaint was all over the place. She was absorbing it all like oxygen and feeling the charge running through her like adrenalin. It felt so right to be here, as though she was finally on the right train travelling in the direction she should always have been going. She wasn’t allowing herself to focus on failure, it was only on a subliminal level that she knew she simply wouldn’t be able to bear it if she suddenly found herself abandoned at a station again, watching the last carriages disappear along the track with another actress in a seat that could have been hers.
The scene she was to play was a fairly straightforward two-hander from episode three of the series, apparently, and had been biked round to her on Monday, so by now she knew it entirely by heart.
‘George Bremell’s being tested for the other part,’ Dorothy had informed her over the phone. ‘I’m sure you’re not too young to remember him.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Susannah cried. ‘But why’s he auditioning? Don’t they just offer parts to someone like him?’
‘Usually, but in dear George’s case they need to be sure he can remember his lines long enough to make starting the camera worthwhile. He had a drink problem a few years back that, so they say, addled his brain and put his looks through a mangle. He’s supposed to be on the wagon now, and the right side of a face job, so if he can prove himself he’ll be one of the leads and you’ll be a lucky girl, because most of Penelope’s scenes are with him and even when drunk he was always an absolute sweetheart.’
‘So I take it he’s the one Penelope’s supposed to be sleeping with?’
‘Indeed, but not because she has the hots for him, remember. She’s doing it to get back at his extremely beautiful, much younger, and fiendishly scheming wife, was how it was described to me. In fact, I’ve now learned that the series is more or less centred around the wife, but you won’t meet anyone who’s up for that part when you go on Wednesday, because Wednesday’s all about Penelope and Jerome, the character George is hoping to play.’
When Susannah’s call to the studio finally came her insides dissolved into chaos, and she wasn’t sure whether she felt buoyed, or more nervous than ever, when all four make-up artists embraced her for good luck and whispered that they hoped she got it over the other actresses who’d already gone through. It was wonderful to feel them rooting for her, but maybe they were saying the same to everyone.
As she followed a floor assistant from the make-up rooms, along a narrow corridor, then across a cluttered scene dock and in through the heavy fire doors of a small, undressed studio, she was focusing intensely on the little she now knew about her character, Penelope. She was clearly an angry and vengeful person, peevish and possibly very unattractively jealous. So there was quite a bit to play with there. Did she have a soft centre of any kind? If so, it wasn’t evident in the scene that she’d been sent. However, she’d been told at the original audition that Penelope wasn’t terribly bright, which gave her a slightly vulnerable and sympathetic edge, Susannah decided.
The next thirty minutes passed in what seemed like a heartbeat, as George Bremell, a portly, middle-aged Lothario who’d clearly already done a fine job of winning over the director and crew, encountered no problem at all adding Susannah to his conquests. With his fulsome moustache and wickedly twinkling eyes, she found him as mischievous and charismatic as he always seemed in chat shows, and he turned out to be so generous and respectful of her efforts, in spite of her lowly status, that she wanted to hug him over and over for how much confidence he gave her.
‘I promise you,’ she told Pats later, on her way home in a cab, ‘if I get this part it’ll be totally down to him. I’ve never come across an actor with so little ego and so much talent. If he weren’t gay and sixty I swear I’d be in love with him already. In fact, scrub that, because I think I am anyway.’
‘So he’s definitely off the booze?’
‘All I can tell you is that there was no problem about him remembering his lines today, which was what everyone was afraid of, and he’s still incredibly attractive in spite of the pouchy eyes and swollen veins, so I’m not convinced he’s actually had any surgery. Honestly, going in front of a camera with him was like being able to dance without knowing the steps. He just leads you through it, and before you know what’s happening you’re taking your bows and everything’s perfect and you’re still not quite sure how you did it.’
With a smile in her voice Patsy said, ‘OK, so if you’re the totty, did you find out who’s up for the part of his wife?’
‘Oh yes. Apparently it’s between Angelica Crush and Frances Emery.’
‘Never heard of either. Have you?’
‘Absolutely. They’re both around forty-five, maybe fifty, stunning in very different ways, and amazingly talented. I certainly wouldn’t want to be in the position of having to choose between them, because they’ve both been sensational in just about everything I’ve seen them in.’
‘But they weren’t there today?’
‘No. Today was the B list, apart from George, which means I got to meet the other contenders for Penelope, which was interesting. George insists that none of them stands a chance and I’m bound to get it, but for all I know he said the same to them. Actually, I kind of know one of them. Polly Grace. We did a commercial together aeons ago. She didn’t remember me, or she pretended not to, anyway. Apparently she’s the real hot favourite for Penelope.’
‘Ah, but does she have Michael Grafton’s backing?’
Experiencing a renewed fluttering of nerves, Susannah said, ‘We’re not even sure I do, and he wasn’t there today, which really threw me at first, because it was like getting all dressed up for a show and finding the audience hasn’t turned up. It seemed a bit pointless going on for a while, but thankfully I got over it, and thanks to George – and Jane the director, who was lovely too – the day turned out to be a lot of fun.’
‘So what’s next?’
At that Susannah almost groaned. ‘Any number of sleepless nights, because apparently the final decisions might not be taken for at least another two weeks, maybe even a month.’
‘What? They can’t keep people in suspense that long. What if you get cast in something else?’
‘In my case I doubt that’s going to happen, but if it did, I’d have to take whichever was offered first.’
‘Mm, I guess so. Oh, one last question before I have to go, do I take it the clothes stayed on for the screen test?’
Chuckling, Susannah said, ‘Absolutely, so my conscience will be clear when I report back to Alan. Now, before you rush off, when are you coming over again?’
‘Actually, I thought I might hop on a train this weekend to give you a hand with the move. If I don’t I’ll only end up spending it at the office, or flat-hunting on my own, or having dinner with Fronk which is …’
‘You mean he’s asked you out?’
‘He never stops asking me out, lunch, dinner, even breakfast yesterday, and no matter what language I say it in, he doesn’t seem able to get his head round the concept of no.’
‘The poor guy’s obviously smitten, and he sounds so lovely and irresistible …’
‘That would not be him.’
Laughing, Susannah said, ‘OK, then speaking selfishly it would be fantastic if you did come over. Alan’s hiring a van and a couple o
f lads from Lola’s estate are going to help shift the bigger things, but I’d really appreciate some backup with everything else. Neve’ll be around, obviously, complete with stroppy moods and bone-crushing spurts of affection. Honestly, I never know where I am with her these days, but I guess she’s going full throttle into puberty now.’
‘I take it she’s still happy about the move?’
‘Oh, she can hardly wait. Or that was this morning’s take on it, by now she could have done a complete one eighty again. I think she’ll miss our little house though. Actually, we both will.’
‘Which reminds me, if you’re still intending to rent it out, there’s a young girl here who’s moving over to our London office in June so she’s going to need somewhere to live. I’m not sure what her budget is, but shall I put her in touch?’
‘Definitely. If she’s coming with a recommendation from my best mate, I can hardly wish for more. I might even offer a better deal.’
‘Have you told Duncan you’re letting it?’
‘Not yet, but he still owes me half of all the mortgage payments I’ve made, so I don’t think he’ll shout too loudly once I remind him of that. Oh, I think this is Alan trying to get through, and I’m almost at Lola’s now, so I’ll have to love you and leave you. Don’t be too hard on Fronk – if nothing else, he’s clearly got great taste if he’s fallen for you.’
As she put the phone down at her end Patsy was wincing inwardly, determined not to look in Fronk’s direction. All the time she’d been speaking she’d been aware of his moody brown eyes gazing through the glass partition at her, and franchement if he didn’t let up soon she was going in there to belt him one. Better still, she might call maintenance to have the window bricked up, his door too, if she could only get away with it. The man was certifiably weird, though she clearly remained alone in thinking so, because everyone else insisted on treating him as though he were some kind of rock idol, or sporting hero. It wouldn’t even surprise her very much if, when the lift doors opened in the morning and he came swaggering down the concourse in yet another outrageous get-up, the girls in the offices either side suddenly leapt on to their chairs screaming hysterically and bombarding him with their knicks. She could just see him, pocketing a pair of little white frillies like a handkerchief, then producing them with a flourish in the middle of a meeting with a major client to blow his nose. And would he blush, or excuse himself, or quickly stuff them out of sight hoping no one had noticed? Would he hell! He’d undoubtedly bellow with laughter and hold them up for all to see, with some outrageous comment like, ‘Can you imagine the little derrière that belongs in these?’ Or – and she turned cold at the thought – he’d just as likely toss them across the table saying, ‘Patreesha, I think these must be yours.’
‘Patreesha, I hope I am not interrupting.’
Starting, and feeling her cheeks burn, she looked up from her computer and instantly wanted to bounce him back out of the door just for coming in, never mind for how pleased he appeared with having made her blush. ‘No, you aren’t interrupting,’ she told him smoothly. ‘What can I do for you?’
That had to be the singularly most stupid question she could have asked someone like him, because right on cue, his appalling eyebrows went into some kind of ritual mating dance, and though he wasn’t swivelling his hips or clicking his fingers, he somehow managed to give the impression he was. ‘Oh, I think you can do very much for me,’ he told her in his most suggestive drawl. ‘I have very big hard for you.’
She blinked in shock, until she realised he’d actually said ‘heart’. At least she hoped he had, and anyway, it wasn’t all that much better. ‘I have to tell you, Fronk,’ she said tartly, ‘you are absolutely without equal when it comes to being the world’s worst flirt.’
‘Ah, thank you,’ he purred. ‘I am very flattered you think so. And you, Patreesha, are sweeter to me than all of our fragrances and all of the flowers that make them.’
‘Oh God, pass me a bucket,’ she groaned, almost serious about wanting to puke.
‘Un bouquet? For you, naturally,’ he promised.
‘A bucket!’ she corrected. ‘Un seau.’
He gave a jolt of surprise. ‘But why do you need a boo-kette?’ he asked solicitously.
‘To be sick in.’
‘You are unwell? Please let me help you. Tell me what I have to do.’
Knowing he was deliberately misunderstanding her, she said, ‘Getting lost would be a good start.’ Realising that for him, that would be quite likely to read as a come-on, she asked, crisply, ‘What did you want to see me about?’
‘Ah yes. I have some good news,’ he announced. ‘Madame La Comtesse du Petits-Louvens is very interested to speak with us about carrying our Fleuriste range of products in her ’ealth clubs.’
In spite of her inbuilt resistance to him, Patsy was suitably impressed. ‘Excellent,’ she responded, not having the faintest idea who Madame La Comtesse was, but all potential new clients were welcome. ‘Where are the clubs? And how many are there?’
‘They are many in the United States, but here in France they are two, here in Paris, and three in the south – St Tropez, Cannes and Monte Carlo. They are very exclusive. Only for the very rich people, which is why she is interested in our most prestige range. She ’as been using it herself, apparently, and she is very impressed. Naturally, I ’ave halready give her many samples.’
‘And you’ve set up a meeting?’
‘She will call me when she is returned from New York, which her secretary says is in two weeks. This will give us time to put together a very good package for a total body range which is her biggest interest. We are also invited to spend some time, as her guests, at the Thermes des Marins in Monte Carlo. This spa use only products of the sea, comme suggère son nom, so she would like us to relax and enjoy in this very special place while we formulate our ideas for the spas she have in the US and the rest of Europe. So, I have taken the liberty to book us a room at the very famous Hotel Hermitage.’
Patsy stared at him, dumbfounded.
‘For two nights,’ he added.
His nerve was so breathtaking that she still couldn’t think what to say. In the end, all she managed was, ‘I’m going to London this weekend.’
‘Ah.’ Then, throwing out his hands in his typically French way, ‘But it is all very simple, we will go the weekend after. And now that is settled I will return to my desk.’
‘No, no,’ she cried, almost reaching across her desk to grab him. ‘What do you mean a room? I think that’s supposed to be two rooms, isn’t it?’
‘No,’ he replied affably. ‘We only need one.’
She regarded him fiercely, until she remembered he liked it. ‘Frank, you’re going too far,’ she informed him. ‘Clearly we can’t turn down the comtesse’s generous invitation, but I have no intention whatsoever of turning it into a dirty weekend with you. So either reserve another room, or I’ll get my secretary to do it, or I’ll … I’ll … fire you.’
He grinned.
She closed her eyes helplessly. ‘Just go,’ she said, ‘before I end up doing something I regret – and don’t even think about double-entendring that or you’re toast, and I mean it.’
She should have known that would set off the eyebrows again, so she quickly covered her face with her hands and stayed that way until she heard her door close.
To her relief, when she looked up, he really had left, and when she dared to peek next door she discovered he wasn’t there either. Thank God. With any luck the next time she saw him would be out the window as he hurtled past en route from the top of the Eiffel Tower. The cheek of him. The sheer bloody impudence, not to mention conceit. How dare he book her into the same room as him? Apart from being gobsmackingly presumptuous, it was downright disrespectful and took wishful thinking to stratospheric levels.
It was only as she returned to her computer that it started to dawn on her that the whole thing was probably a wind-up, and he was no doubt down the cor
ridor somewhere now chortling away with his chums at her expense. She felt both dismayed and embarrassed – and angry that being the butt of his joke seemed to be bothering her more than the fact that the comtesse and her health spas probably didn’t even exist. If only she could remember the woman’s name she’d be able to check her out online, but she couldn’t and she sure as heck wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking. No, she was simply going to carry on now as though the past ten minutes hadn’t happened, leaving it up to him to persuade her that a business/leisure trip to Monte Carlo was not only genuine, but worth making, even if it did mean having to put up with him for an entire weekend.
Chapter Ten
THOUGH THE BIG move from Battersea to Clapham didn’t go off without the occasional hitch, at least the weather remained good, and the two helpers from Lola’s estate proved themselves worth every penny of the generous tip Alan insisted on paying them before they left.
From the beginning Pats had declared herself in charge of the move out, while Susannah directed events at Alan’s house, and Alan himself drove the van back and forth with Neve and the lads. Though Susannah realised that Neve’s outrageous flirting with the boys was an attempt to make Alan jealous or protective, all it seemed to earn her was Patsy’s amusement, her mother’s occasional irritation, and two new admirers whom she neither fancied nor wanted. As for Alan, apart from the odd jokey look he cast Susannah’s or Patsy’s way, he seemed to take it all in his stride.
