About the Book
Escape to the seaside with Part One of a brand-new four-part serial set on the Devon coast, from bestselling author Cathy Bramley.
Nina has always dreamed of being a star, unfortunately her agent thinks she’s more best friend than leading lady. Unsurprisingly, her career isn’t quite going as planned and the work seems to have temporarily dried up… But the bright lights of showbiz have always called for Nina and she won’t be giving up that easily – even if the reality of it is actually bit-parts and the small bedroom in her friend’s London flat.
But the next drama is never far away and after a series of very public blunders Nina is soon donning dark shades and a different hair colour – fleeing from the suddenly interested paparazzi. Although she was planning to lay low in Devon with her brother, Nina won’t be taking it easy — fate has very different plans.
An old pal is desperately in need of some assistance setting up his holiday home business. Always one to help a friend, Nina decides to stay at beautiful Brightside Cove – where new characters, inspiration and possibly love are waiting for her…
Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Part One: The First Guests
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The Thank Yous
The Hen Party
About the Author
Have You Read?
Copyright
For Gregory Carven, Hans van Eenennaam and John Dulos. We owe you everything.
PART ONE
The First Guests
Chapter 1
Maxine Pearce, the director, shoved her glasses to the top of her long charcoal-grey curls and clapped. ‘Okay, folks, quiet please.’
In Victory Road Studio Two, on the outskirts of east London, everyone fell silent.
We were about to shoot my final ever scene in the show. This bit was so absolutely top secret that Maxine had insisted on the minimum number of crew on set. No one else knew what we were doing. It was all very exciting.
And I was part of it. The thought sent a rush of adrenalin swooping through me. Acting was my life. My dream. There was a sort of magic that happened to me when I took on a role. I ceased to be forgettable, plain old Nina Penhaligon with hamster cheeks, freckles and impossible-to-style hair, who on a good day would be classed as curvy, and on a bad day really needed to lay off the peanut-butter Oreos, and I became … anyone, anyone I wanted to be. And I loved every second of it.
Not much magic required today, however, because my character, Nurse Elsie Turner, was lying dead under a collapsed beam.
It would be heart-breaking for fans of the show; the first death of a character.
‘Okay, Nina?’ Maxine asked before giving final instructions to Mike behind the camera.
‘Yep.’ I tried to keep the tremor from my voice; never mind the viewers, my heart was breaking too. I was going to miss this lot.
Victory Road was a weekly drama set in the east end of London during the Blitz. Think EastEnders with gas masks and victory roll hair-dos. It had been my best part to date by far. I’d earned proper money and hadn’t had to work for the temping agency for months. I detested office work, but needs must when you’re a jobbing actress.
But after today it would be over; I squeezed back the tears, mindful of my make-up.
This morning we’d shot the cliffhanger ending to an episode in which I, Nurse Elsie, had been hurrying to take cover during an air raid when I’d heard a cry for help coming from a nearby house. I’d gone in to rescue the old lady who lived there just as a bomb exploded and the house collapsed around me. As the credits roll, the audience would be left on the edge of their seats. Will Elsie survive? Will she still be able to meet her boyfriend, Constable Ron Hardy, in the square where he’s waiting with an engagement ring in his pocket? Will they be the first couple on the show to marry?
And only the people in this room knew the answers: no. I wasn’t even allowed to tell my best friend on the show, Becky Burton, who also played a nurse. I understood the need for discretion but I felt bad about leaving without saying anything.
‘And action,’ murmured Maxine.
The atmosphere in the studio was crackling with tension. The ratings had dipped a bit recently and the management was hoping that a death would revive them. I was their sacrificial lamb. Apparently that was an honour because it meant my character was popular.
The sound effects began and we were transported to bomb-scarred London as the distant bells of fire engines and the wail of sirens filled the little studio.
Lamplight illuminated the wreckage of 33 Victory Road and two air-raid wardens, Ray and Godfrey, picked their way over the rubble looking for casualties.
‘Over ’ere,’ shouted Ray.
Ray, played by actor Lee Harwood, was the male lead. Drop-dead gorgeous. Shame I was playing a corpse and couldn’t gaze up adoringly at him.
The beam of his lamp found my face. He dropped to his knees beside me and I managed not to blink under the glare. Godfrey leaned over us both as Ray checked for my pulse.
‘Cor blimey,’ Ray groaned, rocking back on his heels. ‘It’s Nurse Elsie. She’s dead.’
Ninety minutes later it was all over. I’d packed up my bits and pieces and said farewell to the crew who’d filmed my last scene. Maxine, her stiletto heels tapping on the marble tiles, accompanied me through the revolving doors and out into the April sunshine. We squinted as our eyes adjusted to the brightness. It was the first of the month today; I wondered briefly whether the end of my contract had just been an April Fool.
‘What an exit!’ Maxine said as we stepped towards the bus stop.
Not an April Fool, then.
‘So this is it,’ I said, fighting the urge to grab her hands, fall at her feet and beg her to let Nurse Elsie live.
‘You were marvellous today. Very professional.’ She gave me a brisk smile. ‘The reaction from the audience is going to be dynamite. It was a shame to kill you off but—’
‘Maxine!’ I warned as two teenage girls strutted towards us.
‘Oh gosh, yes.’ She tutted, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Here I am enforcing an embargo on the storyline and then five minutes later blabbing it.’
‘Ask her, ask her,’ hissed the shorter of the two girls, pushing her friend towards me.
‘Can we have your autograph?’ The tall one shoved a scrap of paper and a pen at me.
‘Of course,’ I said, surprised to be recognized in public. I signed the back of what appeared to be a note excusing her from PE.
The two girls stared at the piece of paper.
‘Oh.’ The small one’s face dropped. ‘It’s not her.’
‘Told you.’ The big one elbowed her sharply.
They screwed up my autograph, dropped it on the pavement and sashayed off.
Maxine and I exchanged wry smiles.
‘At least they didn’t hear what you said,’ I said, scooping up the paper.
‘Thank heavens. More than my job’s worth if we had a story leak now.’
‘Ditto,’ I agreed. ‘Not that I’ve got a job any more.’
Maxine smiled sympathetically. ‘Sorry. But it’s testament to your talent that you’ve lasted this long. The writers had originally only scripted you in for six episodes but you proved yourself worthy of more.’
I nodded, not sure how to respond other than to do the begging thing.
‘When will you tell the rest of the cast that Nurse Elsie
is … dead?’ I said, lowering my voice on the last word.
‘Not until the last possible moment. Can’t risk the press getting hold of it. We’ll let the rumour mill work its magic as long as we can: is she dead or alive? The love story between Elsie and Ron has captured the nation’s hearts; the bookies are already offering odds on a wedding. This could really put Victory Road on the map. And you, too, Nina.’
‘I hope so; it’s such a good show.’
Maxine checked her watch. ‘I’d best press on. You’ll be at the party later?’
Jessie May, who played the flirty pub landlady, was having a birthday party in Soho.
‘Of course,’ I replied.
The press would be out in full force for this one; there was no way my agent Sebastian would let me pass up such an opportunity. He had recently told me that whilst I hadn’t got star quality, there were plenty of parts out there for Miss Average (he was nothing if not brutally to the point), but that I had to show my face at showbiz parties, on the basis that someone might remember me and cast me in something. So that’s what I did.
‘Good.’ She exhaled with relief. ‘I was worried you might not feel like partying now that we’ve killed you off.’
‘Actually, I …’ I bit my lip, wondering whether to confide in her even though it hadn’t been confirmed in writing yet.
‘Go on.’ She waited, one eyebrow cocked.
I couldn’t resist; the opportunity to impress her was too great to miss.
‘Strictly off the record, I’ve got a part in the new BBC period drama: Mary Queen of Scots.’ I tried to look cool about it but my excitement was impossible to contain. ‘So I’ll be celebrating that.’
‘Brilliant news!’ Her angular face softened into a smile. ‘Queen Mary?’
I blinked at her. ‘The lead role? Gosh, no! My agent didn’t put me forward for that.’
‘He should have. Sebastian Nichols is your agent, isn’t he?’ Maxine furrowed her brow. ‘Prince Charming himself.’
I nodded. Sebastian wasn’t all that charming to me; ruthlessly ambitious, he only turned it on when he needed to.
‘So who are you playing?’
‘Eve, lady’s maid to Queen Mary herself,’ I said. In the distance I spotted an approaching bus and felt in my bag for my Oyster card. ‘I’m just grateful to still be acting.’
Maxine took her phone out as the driver pulled up to the stop.
I jumped aboard and waved to her. ‘Thanks for everything. It’s been a joy working with you.’
‘Likewise. But, Nina, hold on; something’s niggling me.’
She rested the tip of her shoe on to the platform of the bus, thus preventing the driver from pulling away. I shot him a nervous smile while Maxine tapped at her phone screen.
‘Ah. Thought so. Cecily Carmichael.’ She pulled a face. ‘Not a name I’d forget in a hurry, more’s the pity. I had a brief fling with her father – awful man.’
It struck me that that was the first personal piece of information she’d ever revealed to me; Maxine was notoriously private.
‘Thought what?’ I said, conscious of a chorus of tutting passengers behind me. ‘What is it?’
‘Nina, dear heart,’ she held the phone out to me, ‘that part is already spoken for.’
‘What? Who?’ I took the phone from her and stared at it. Somebody’s Twitter profile filled the screen and it took me a second to take it in. ‘No way!’
Maxine was right: another actress, Cecily Carmichael, had announced that she had got my part. The part I had set my heart on. The one that was going to keep me in acting and out of temping. Her Twitter feed was full of it. Disappointment trickled through me like iced water.
Soooo thrilled to announce I’m to play Eve in new @BBC drama #QueenMary #excited #perioddrama MORE news at 6pm!!
Cecily’s timeline was full of congratulations. Even Benedict Cucumberpatch had wished her well, as had … Sebastian – my Sebastian? – had sent her his love.
‘I don’t understand.’ I stared at Maxine in disbelief. ‘And she says she has more news to come? This can’t be right.’
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘Darling, they must be barmy to pass you over for her. She auditioned for us once; she had about as much facial expression as Big Ben.’
My heart was pounding so much I couldn’t even absorb the compliment. I needed this job; it was the only thing that had been keeping me going. It could be ages before something else came along.
‘Is she getting on or not?’ the bus driver grumbled.
‘Not,’ I replied. ‘Sorry.’
Just then a young mum with a double buggy huffed up to the bus stop and Maxine and I helped her on to the bus.
‘You need to be aiming higher than Eve the lady’s maid,’ said Maxine. ‘And if your agent can’t see that, he’s a fool.’
‘But it was better than nothing and if I don’t act I’ll never become famous and—’
She held a hand up to stop me. ‘Fame is completely overrated and totally unnecessary for a serious actress. Which I know you are. I’ll see you at the party and don’t forget in the meantime … Nurse Elsie’s story.’ She mimed zipping her lips.
‘Absolutely. Bye for now,’ I called as the bus doors closed in my face.
The bus joined the stream of traffic and I waved through the window and tried to make sense of my thoughts. I had every respect for Maxine, but she was wrong about the fame thing.
My need to be famous wasn’t driven by vanity, it was fuelled by fear. A fear of being forgotten.
Because when you’ve been forgotten by the one person you thought loved you most, the world became a much scarier place.
Chapter 2
There would be an explanation as to how another actress had stolen my part in Mary Queen of Scots from right under my nose; I was sure Sebastian would be in touch, I just needed to be patient. I plucked my book from my bag and tried to distract myself by reading as the bus trundled towards the city.
But it was no use; my thoughts kept turning to Cecily.
She was the daughter of Campion Carmichael, the famous landscape artist. I knew Sebastian had been trying to woo her from a rival agency for months: she’d bring such a wealth of contacts with her. Not, I’d noted at the time, because of her incredible acting talent. In fact, to my knowledge, she’d only appeared in a documentary and even that had been about her father.
Two bus journeys later I was in Knightsbridge and striding towards Harrods to meet my flatmate Trudy. She worked behind one of the make-up counters and she’d offered to give me a makeover before tonight’s party.
I checked my phone as I got to Harrods’ doors. Still no call from Sebastian. This was all very odd. At my audition, the casting director had said that I was perfect for the role of Eve: I was the right age, build, colouring, even my slight northern accent would give the role just the right twist. So why had blonde, twiggy, plummy Cecily-bloody-Carmichael been given the part instead?
Somebody behind me huffed at me for blocking the doors. I murmured my apologies, stepped to the side and gazed at a window display of expensive handbags. A text flashed up on my screen from Trudy telling me to hurry up.
It was nearly six o’clock, Sebastian would be leaving the office soon. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait; I absolutely had to hear from him tonight or I’d never be able to relax.
I leaned against the window and called his number. It rang for ages before he answered.
‘Nina,’ he said flatly. ‘I’m with someone, can I call you back?’
‘Let me just quickly ask …’ I heard him sigh softly, but I soldiered on. ‘Mary Queen of Scots?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Yes?’
‘Have you heard from the casting director?’
‘Not exactly.’ There was a giggle in the background and I could tell he wasn’t concentrating on what I was saying.
‘Are you in your office?’ I asked.
‘Yes, and as I say I’m with someone, so—’ He coughed light
ly and prepared to end the call.
‘I’ll come over. I need to talk to you.’ I was already marching to the tube station; it was only two stops to his house-cum-office in Kensington.
‘Nina, no.’
‘It’s no bother; I can be there in no time. Bye.’
Within minutes I’d completed my tube journey and was heading away from Gloucester Road station. Discussing this in person would be far better. And Trudy wouldn’t mind. I’d already sent her a text cancelling my six o’clock appointment. Something else was happening at six, what was it?
Oh yes – more news from Cecily.
I slowed down to open the Twitter app on my phone and clicked on her profile. My stomach flipped, my jaw dropped and some extremely uncharitable thoughts whirred through my brain.
Drinks with NEW AGENT @SebastianNicholsTalent Exclusive interview on Entertainer’s News coming soon #actressgoals #livingthedream
The tweet came with a selfie of her and Sebastian in his office, chinking champagne glasses, a huge bouquet of flowers at the edge of the shot. All at once things began to make sense. Cecily had got my part because Cecily had also got my agent and was consequently living my dream. Sebastian must have persuaded the casting director to offer the part to her instead of me. The total, absolute slimeball.
I flounced through the gate of the little mews house where Sebastian lived and up the path. It had been a long and strenuous day and my hair, which had looked amazing this morning, curled and fixed into victory rolls, was itchy from fake bomb-blast dust. I punched the number into the security pad at the front door to let myself in and ran up the stairs two at a time to the first-floor office. The sound of male and female laughter rang out; they were both in there.
I curled my hand around the door knob, drew myself up to my full height and threw open the door.
There they were, exactly as Cecily’s selfie had shown them: glued to each other on Sebastian’s side of the desk, champagne flutes in hand, the bottle nestling in a bucket of ice and the flowers perched next to it.
‘Nina!’ Sebastian ran his tongue over his lips. ‘That was quick.’
The First Guests Page 1
