Merely Players

by J M Gregson

  ‘I thought you were happy with Dean Morley for the major villain and Michelle Davies for your regular female lead,’ said Walton. He glanced at Joe Hartley. ‘I think our director is certainly happy with their work in the series we’ve just completed.’

  ‘Very happy. Both of them are model professionals. And once I knew what was planned for the future, I’ve watched them off-shoot as well. They’re excellent team players, as far as I can see. That can be as important as acting ability when you’re asking people to work together for a whole series.’

  Walton nodded. ‘I’ve always been impressed by the ensemble playing in the Alec Dawson episodes. It makes it easier for everyone when you operate as a team.’

  ‘And no one sets greater store by team playing than I do,’ said Adam sententiously. ‘Nevertheless, I think both these roles need to be cast with great care.’

  ‘I can assure you that great consideration has already been given to them,’ said Walton with his first visible sign of irritation.

  Adam Cassidy smiled at him, feeling his power and enjoying it. ‘I don’t remember anyone asking me for my views on these developments.’

  Walton looked at Joe Hartley, who said, ‘Not formally, perhaps, Adam. But I’m sure you and I have discussed the new series and these two key roles. I got the impression that you were happy enough with Michelle Davies in the leading female role.’ He glanced for the merest instant at Cassidy, who did not react. ‘And I know that Dean Morley is a very old friend of yours.’

  By which he means that I’d never have got started without him, thought Adam. All the more reason to cast him off at this point, then. If I’m going to Hollywood and American television, I don’t want anyone from the past clinging to my coat-tails. ‘We mustn’t cast important roles on the principle of the old pals’ act,’ he said sanctimoniously.

  James Walton knew quite well that he had verbally already offered these parts to the pair he had mentioned. He was also uncomfortably aware that Cassidy had the right of veto, that the bigger the star, the more necessary it was to keep him happy. For the first time, he realized just how big a star Adam Cassidy had become, and cursed himself for not taking note of it earlier. During previous series, the man had seemed happy to have his role and be paid big bucks for it. Now he was flexing his star muscles and asserting himself. This might be a late and wilful, even a mischievous, changing of his views, but there was nothing they could do about it. Walton had seen too many big names stamp their metaphorical feet like spoilt children to think they would be able to argue Cassidy round, but they had to try.

  As if he read his producer’s mind, Joe Hartley said, ‘Dean Morley has a lot of experience. He knows what he’s doing. I think he’d play very well opposite you, Adam.’

  His star smiled, then tried to speak as if it pained him to be so objective. ‘Dean’s in a bit of a rut, in my view. It pains me to say it, but we know exactly how he’d play this villain. As an old-fashioned routine heavy rather than a Napoleon of crime, in my view. Call Alec Dawson is very big now. We can pick and choose among actors.’

  ‘That is certainly true. But we know Dean and what he can do. If we tell him what we want, he’ll rise to the demands of the new role.’

  Adam didn’t bother to answer that. He turned to Walton. ‘Let’s have someone completely new to the series. Let’s freshen things up.’

  It was time to cut losses. James Walton said, ‘All right. We’ll cast around. People will want the part, as you say, but we’ll need to find someone who isn’t already committed to other work. I suppose we can always come back to Dean Morely if no one suitable is available.’

  Cassidy said with a touch of venom, ‘Of course we can, Dean won’t be going anywhere.’ But all of them knew now that Morley wasn’t an option. The star had spoken.

  Joe Hartley said, ‘What about Michelle Davies? I thought you were happy with her.’

  Adam knew from some tiny inflection in his tone that Hartley knew he had bedded her. He said carefully, ‘I was perfectly happy with her in the one episode where we used her. It’s just that I have doubts about giving her this plum role for a whole series. Once again, I think we should set our sights a little higher.’ He produced his most disarming smile. ‘But you’re the expert, Joe. You’ve seen everything from the other side of the cameras. You can be objective. Do you think Michelle is the best we can get for this role?’

  An old ploy, but none the less effective for that. Ask the opinion of the man in charge of shaping the whole series, of ensuring that his cast produces the best possible effects from the budget allowed to it. Flattering, on the face of it. But the question also implies that if the man sees no fault in a performer, he must be in some way deficient himself. Has he not spotted the limitations which are obvious to others? Is he sloppily going for the easiest option instead of striving for the very best available results?

  To do him credit, Joe Hartley stuck to his guns. ‘Michelle seemed to make the best of some very forgettable lines in the episode we’ve just finished. She’s got the looks and she doesn’t seem to have failed in anything she’s tackled so far. I think she’s learned her trade and she’s now ready for a major television role. And she’s a good ensemble player.’

  It was a valuable quality, especially for a director used to struggling to reconcile warring egos. But it was a mistake to conclude on that thought. Adam Cassidy allowed himself a patronizing smile. ‘Is that the best we can aspire to, Joe? A good team player? Someone who won’t rock the boat, whatever her other limitations? I didn’t suggest Michelle Davies was incompetent. All I’m saying is that we can do a little better. Gentlemen, look at the viewing figures for the last series, and set your sights a little higher for the next one!’

  James Walton frowned beneath his silver hair. Not for the first time, he was wondering whether he should consider an honourable retirement from an increasingly sordid working world. He had endured quite enough of modern television drama and the so-called stars who dominated it. Squalid little people, most of them, despite their earnings. For every Dame Judi Dench, there were a score of loud-mouthed braggarts who had fallen lucky and were determined to exploit it.

  He allowed himself a sigh before he said, ‘We’ll need to get on with it. I’ll make some phone calls this afternoon. See who’s available, for a start.’

  Adam beamed his approval, first briefly at Hartley and then continuously at Walton. Be magnanimous, once you’ve asserted yourself and they’ve come into line. ‘I’m sure you’ll find most people are available, once they find you are offering major roles in the new Call Alec Dawson series. With a hefty initial salary, worldwide exposure, and repeat fees stretching ten years ahead, actors tend to find ways of setting aside other commitments.’ He was quoting the phrases Tony Valento had used when he’d set up the last series for him, but this pair weren’t to know that. Pity he was having to ditch Valento, in many ways, but a world star demanded a world-class agent – a bit of quality.

  James Walton was thinking at that moment that quality was exactly what Cassidy lacked. But he knew who was the most important man in the room when it came to making decisions. ‘I’ll see what I can do. We’d better say nothing more to Dean Morley and Michelle Davies, for the moment.’ He tried to load his next sentence with irony, though he doubted if Cassidy would recognize it. ‘I’ll come back to you with any suggestions before making definite offers.’

  ‘That would be best, I think. Run it past me. And Joe as well, of course.’ Adam nodded two or three times, beaming with contentment. ‘I’m glad we’ve had this little meeting. Very productive, I think. Don’t you?’

  Thirty miles away in Cassidy’s native Brunton, DCI Percy Peach was also enduring a difficult meeting.

  In Tommy Bloody Tucker’s penthouse office, the fitful sun was at its lowest point of the year and it shone into Percy’s face. He had been asked to sit down and he had been called Percy by his chief: two warning signs. He gave a cautious account of his team’s CID action during the past wee
k, hoping that if he made it sufficiently routine and boring Tucker would not question him about the detail.

  The chief superintendent looked at him steadily over his glasses until he ground to a halt. ‘Not much doing in the way of serious crime, then.’

  ‘The way it should be, as you have often reminded us, sir. If there is no serious crime afoot, CID must be doing a good job.’

  ‘Indeed you must, Percy. But we must find a proper vehicle for your talents.’

  ‘Must we, sir?’

  ‘Indeed we must. I need to deploy my resources so as to make maximum use of their efficiency. That is part of my job, Percy.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Part of the overview you keep of the crime situation in our area.’

  Tucker looked at him suspiciously. When he found his own phrases coming back at him obsequiously from this source, there was usually mischief at hand.

  Peach took advantage of his hesitation with an attempt at diversion. ‘I thought you might have told Mr Clancy about your overview and the way we worked last week, sir.’

  ‘You saw the way that fellow treated me?’ Tucker had maintained a resolute silence at the station in the days since the Gerry Clancy show. He’d been hoping against hope that this man hadn’t seen it. He realized now that he should have known better. ‘They don’t give you a chance, you know. They say the wildest things and don’t give you the chance to answer.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Perhaps best not to go on and give them the chance to do that.’

  ‘It’s part of the job of senior officers in the service to present our case to the people,’ said Tucker loftily.

  God help us if we have to rely on the likes of Tommy Bloody Tucker to do that, thought Percy. ‘Yes, sir. I haven’t got your experience of television and the media, but I didn’t think they allowed you to give a very balanced view.’

  ‘You’re right there, Peach. I had no chance to state our case. And it wasn’t just Clancy. That actor fellow was most offensive. I said so to Barbara, but she thinks the bloody man can do no wrong.’

  He was being addressed as Peach again; that was a good sign. And when he thought of the formidable wrath of Brunnhilde Barbara, even Tommy Bloody Tucker compelled in Percy a reluctant sympathy. ‘I don’t think you were given a fair hearing, sir. I suppose we shouldn’t expect it, on a programme like that. They’re only interested in entertainment.’

  ‘I got an autographed picture of Adam Cassidy for Barbara. He seemed to have hundreds of them ready to hand out.’

  ‘Really, sir? And I shouldn’t think you had one of yourself ready for him to take home for his wife.’

  ‘I could have done with you beside me, Peach, to speak about our Asian element. I found you quite impressive when we had that community meeting.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I probably said more than I should have, but it came from the heart. But I don’t consider it an area of expertise for me.’ He was suddenly afraid that he was to be redeployed on to anti-terrorist work. ‘Well, I really mustn’t take up any more of your time, sir. I know how busy you always are. It’s good of you to fit me in as you do.’

  He had been gone two minutes before Tucker remembered that he had intended to switch Peach and his team on to a series of burglaries in the best district of Brunton, where Tucker himself lived. Back in the CID section, Percy was reflecting that this could be only a temporary reprieve from some boring assignment.

  What he needed was a high-profile murder case, as quickly as possible. Not that he wished ill on any of his fellow citizens, of course.

  As the evening advanced, a white frost was creeping stealthily over the land to the east of the Trough of Bowland. But it was pleasantly warm in the kitchen of the big new house on the edge of the village. Adam Cassidy and his wife were speaking guardedly to each other.

  Adam worked in a world where people treated each other with conversational kid gloves. You might trust people you had known for a long time, but you treated even their opinions with suspicion, if they involved professional judgements. Everyone needed constant reassurance in the world of show business, but the fact that it was always at hand and always favourable meant curiously that none of it could be trusted. In a world where you were always wonderful tonight, darling, no assessment could really be taken as genuine. There were the critics, of course, but every actor knew that the critics had no idea of what they were about. You read them of course, but you always claimed that you despised and ignored them.

  Jane Cassidy knew all this from her own years in theatre and television, but a house and domesticity and above all children gave you a proper sense of perspective. You couldn’t give yourself airs and graces in a maternity ward, even in an expensive private hospital. The business of giving birth was at once degrading and uplifting, but it didn’t leave room for any deceits. And now you couldn’t pussyfoot with children. Everyone at the school gates knew that.

  Jane realized that she was being guarded with Adam, but she wasn’t sure that he had noticed that. The bloody man was so preoccupied with himself and his own plans these days that he seemed scarcely aware of her and the children.

  She tried a little self-consciously to get closer to him as he stared at the Aga. ‘We’ll have more time together, now that you’ve finished the series.’

  ‘What? Oh, yes, I suppose so. I’ve put off a lot of things, though, whilst we were working so frantically over the last few months. There are a lot of things waiting for my attention.’

  ‘Yes. Your children for a start. They’ve hardly seen you recently.’

  ‘Yes. Well, I expect we could go for a holiday, if you like.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Oh, some time in the new year, I suppose, when I’ve had the chance to wind down and catch up with other things.’

  ‘The children are getting older, Adam. We can’t just take them out of school for a fortnight at a time.’

  ‘Let me speak to that snooty head teacher. She needs to understand that I have to take holidays between schedules. I can’t just go off when I want like other people.’

  Jane gave a sad little smile. ‘Other people have problems too, you know. And I’m not just worried about what the head teacher might say. I don’t want our kids missing their schooling.’

  ‘We can pay for private tuition. That’s not a problem.’

  She turned the heat low under the pan and crossed the big kitchen to where Adam sat at the table. ‘You can’t solve every problem by throwing money at it, Adam. The children want to be like the other children they’re with every day. I know that’s not always possible, but—’

  ‘It’s bloody impossible and you should know it! They’ve got a famous Dad, who’s probably got more money than any other Dad whose kids go to that school. We can’t alter that, and personally I wouldn’t want to.’

  She sat down opposite him and he knew he was in for one of her little holier-than-thou lectures. He noted with a little shock how coarsened her hands had become. He hadn’t noticed that before. She gave him a nervous smile before she spoke. ‘Money isn’t a problem, as you said. Couldn’t you use some of it to buy a little time for yourself? They don’t need expensive presents from you. What Kate and Damon need is your time and your affection. You don’t want them to grow up without you, do you?’

  ‘No, of course I don’t. What sort of a question is that? I have a high-pressure job and I need to wind down. I don’t always choose to do that with noisy, demanding young kids. OK?’

  She looked at the surface of the long rectangular table, at the brilliant deep blue of the piece of Moorcroft pottery he had brought when he had come in late a couple of weeks ago. She knew she should be looking into his face and smiling as she said this, but she could do neither. ‘Is your job really so high-pressure? What about the man who’s wondering all day whether he’ll be working next week? Sometimes I think we give ourselves excuses; sometimes I think the pressures are just different, not greater.’

  He resented her including herself alongside him in this. He wanted to
tell her that she was small-time as an actress, that he had moved on now, that she couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to be a major star, surrounded by all the new strains that brought. He had more sense than to voice the thought. ‘I’ll find time for them, Jane. After all, Christmas is coming up. You can’t get away from children at Christmas!’

  He smiled at her, but she wished he hadn’t put it like that. She made herself think of Damon and Kate and what their faces would be like on Christmas Day. ‘Well, you’ll be able to see more of them between series, won’t you? Perhaps this weekend, for a start.’

  ‘Yes. Well, perhaps not this weekend. I’ve already made plans to do other things, this weekend, Jane.’ For a moment, his face was a blank in which she could read nothing. Then it brightened abruptly. ‘You should come and see what I’ve bought!’

  He sprang up from the table. After a moment of contemplation, she rose and followed him from the room. He was already disappearing up the stairs when she reached the hall. She was getting used to the distances in this house now, but she still found that everything took a little longer. That gave you more time to think, and you didn’t always want that. Adam was throwing aside some sort of packing, caressing the dark wooden handle of a new gun, when she entered the room. The stock, you called it; she remembered that. ‘Isn’t she a beauty?’ he asked her, transformed by his excitement from a forty-two-year-old man to a child with a new toy.

  He was staring down at the bright, dark metal of a new shotgun. She wanted to share the animation which had transformed him. But she found she could say only, ‘It looks very good, yes.’ She felt him looking hard into her face, but she could not take her eyes from the thing in his hands. ‘I know nothing about guns. You must remember that.’

  ‘This is the best you can get, Jane. Purdey, the classic make. It’s a thing of beauty!’ He broke the barrel and flexed the gun, showing her how the cartridges were automatically ejected. Then he took swift aim and brought down an imaginary woodcock from high on the bedroom wall. ‘Just feel it! Feel the balance of it. Feel how it sits in the crook of your arm!’