by Susan Lewis
‘You can stay here the night if you like,’ Kirsten said joining her in the hall. ‘There’s plenty to eat in the fridge.’
‘No, I’d better get back. I’ll drop you in Soho if you like, save you looking for a taxi.’
‘OK. Got anything lined up for the evening?’ she asked, pulling an anorak on over her sweater and jeans.
Helena shrugged. ‘I thought I was spending it here, remember?’
‘Of course, sorry. You don’t mind me going off like this, do you?’
Helena shrugged. ‘Just so long as I know you’d do it to Anna Sage.’
Kirsten was about to answer then stopped to give the question some thought. The last thing she wanted was to abuse her friendship with Helena, but Helena was right, she wouldn’t have walked out on a meeting with Anna Sage. But there again she didn’t spend what few social hours she had with Anna Sage.
‘I’ll make it up to you,’ she said putting an arm around Helena’s shoulders. ‘You get my undivided attention all day Sunday. How does that sound?’
‘Pretty patronizing actually,’ Helena remarked. ‘But I’ll live with it,’ she added with a grin that faded the moment Kirsten turned to open the door.
The scissors were slipping in her fingers. It had taken so long to do this and the baby just wouldn’t stop crying. So many times now she had left her table and gone to the crib in the corner, lifting the tiny body into her arms and comforting it with all the love in her heart. She had held it to her breast, stroked it and changed it and whispered her dreams in its ear. The baby was sleeping now, its fair downy lashes still moist with tears, its smooth, tender cheeks flushed with warmth. The soothing tune from a musical mobile drifted over the room.
A smile curled slowly across her lips as she glued the last picture into place. She was creating the happiness for them, for her and for her baby. They were going to have a past just like they were going to have a future. They were going to be a family – all of them. She blinked as the tears started from her eyes. This was such a beautiful photograph now. So much better than it had been before. It was right to be like this – mother, father and two children. But of course there was the baby to go in yet, and that was why she was crying. She had no pictures of her baby.
Kirsten could hardly believe how fast the time had gone. It was now the beginning of November and they were scheduled to start shooting in less than a week. Alison and her crew were already over in Ireland preparing the castle, two line-producers, two production managers, three location managers and their assistants were over there too, setting up offices in trailers, sorting the make-up and wardrobe caravans, portable dressing rooms, honey wagons, catering facilities and the hundred and one other things that needed to be done before everyone arrived. In the Soho offices last minute details of artists’ contracts were being attended to, the final draft of the shooting script was going to print, Jake and his crew were doing double checks on the equipment lists and Laurence was yelling at the accountants for up to the minute costings.
Kirsten was unbelievably calm. She spent every day in a hotel conference room with the cast now, going over the script in the minutest of detail and loving every minute of it. Ruby was often at cast meetings and Kirsten frequently found her input as valuable as that of the cast themselves. Fortunately Ruby seemed to have got over whatever it was that had upset her in New Orleans, though she did appear to be drinking more heavily lately. This was something Kirsten left Laurence to handle, knowing that he was the only one who would succeed in keeping Ruby away from the cast until she was sober. Only once had she staggered in drunk and it wasn’t something Kirsten wanted repeated. To start calling her own work rubbish and telling the actors they were all wasting their time and should cancel their contracts before something terrible happened to them was not particularly helpful.
Occasionally Jake popped into the meetings and to watch him work his charm on the cast was as entertaining as it was welcome. Some of them had worked with Jake before so knew him well, and he went out of his way to make himself known to those he hadn’t met. There was no doubt in Kirsten’s mind now that everything was going to go as smoothly as these things could. The whole unit was at last starting to mellow towards her; being in no doubt now that Kirsten knew precisely what she wanted, was rarely, if ever, indecisive and was always willing to listen had raised their confidence in her no end.
There had been a slight hiccup the week before though, when Dermott Campbell had written an article entitled Iniquity on the Road. In order to avoid a libel suit Campbell hadn’t come right out with his accusations, but the essence of the piece was that Laurence was having to cope with a writer who was a drunk and given to manic outbursts; a Don Juan of a DP who couldn’t keep his hands off the director; a director who couldn’t keep her hands off anyone and whose interpretation of turn over had little to do with a camera; a cast who had no confidence in either the director or the script; and a budget that was already fast running out. Through the unit publicist Laurence had made a short statement to the press thanking his good friend Dermott Campbell for his concern, but should he care to get his information from those in the know rather than from the mole he had planted, then he would discover that not only did he, Laurence, have a thoroughly professional team working for him, but that he had rarely had greater confidence in a director or in the success of a movie that was far from being in any financial difficulties. This was backed up by a memorandum to every member of cast and crew assuring them that the budget was in no danger of drying up and that they had his personal assurance that they would continue to be paid right up to the end of shoot. He had then, unbeknownst to Kirsten, contacted Campbell and invited him to come on to the set any time he liked to gauge for himself the inaccuracy of the information he was receiving. So far Campbell had declined. Laurence was neither surprised nor sorry. He knew he was in danger of sticking his neck out too far by issuing the invitation when they hadn’t even started, but he had total confidence in Kirsten’s ability and knew that any problems that might arise would not be of her making – and it was Kirsten’s skin Campbell was really after.
Things had settled down again now, though not even Laurence knew about the angry words that had been exchanged between Kirsten and Helena when Kirsten had asked Helena if she was still seeing Campbell. Helena had denied it so vehemently that Kirsten believed her and apologized, but Helena was still smarting at the damned impertinence of being told who she could and couldn’t see. The fact that she really wasn’t giving Campbell his information any more – and hadn’t been since Kirsten and Laurence stood by her over the exposé of the schoolboy’s suicide – had made it easier to defend herself, but she sure would like to know which member of the crew was in his pay. Not surprisingly Campbell had refused to tell her, in fact he’d gone so far as to swear on his mother’s grave that no one was, but she didn’t put much store by that. Anyway, why should Kirsten worry what Campbell said when she had Laurence there to defend her all the time? Laurence, who anyone could see was as crazy about Kirsten as she was about him. He might be hiding it from himself, but seeing them together these past few weeks had left Helena in little doubt that Laurence McAllister was in love right up to his eyes.
In fact Kirsten’s response to the way Laurence was behaving with her was not at all what Helena might have expected – had Helena known about it – for the way Laurence supported her, complimented her, laughed with her and perpetually flirted with her was getting on Kirsten’s nerves. She hated the idea that he seemed to be handling his emotions so much better than she was, especially when for a while she’d believed that he was the one in turmoil. Well if he had been, he certainly didn’t seem to be now and though Kirsten had more than enough to occupy her mind to her frustration she was becoming obsessed with getting some sort of response from Laurence before they started shooting. She’d intended all along to discuss with him what had happened in New Orleans before they got underway, she knew too what she was going to say, it was just that he wasn’t giv
ing her much of an opportunity to do it.
However, she created the opportunity the day before they flew out by closing their office door behind her, picking up the telephone and telling Sonya, Laurence’s assistant and Vicky, her assistant, that she and Laurence were not to be interrupted.
Laurence looked up from what he was doing, an expression of curious amusement in his eyes as he watched Kirsten, looking undeniably sexy in a tight black sweater and skirt, move around to the front of her desk and perch on the edge of it. ‘Is something bothering you?’ he asked pleasantly.
Kirsten nodded. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact it is.’
Laurence put down his pen, sat back in his chair and cocked an eyebrow for her to continue.
Now that she was facing him, under the scrutiny of those annoyingly knowing eyes, Kirsten wasn’t quite so sure of her ground. She gave herself a moment by turning pensively to the window and watching the drizzle etch crooked patterns through the grime. Dear God, she was thinking to herself, all I want right now is for him to get hold of me and do what he did in New Orleans. She jerked herself to her feet and went to sit behind her desk. She had it fixed in her mind what she was going to say, at least she thought she did, so now she was going to say it.
‘I just want you to know,’ she began looking at him as steadily as he was looking at her, ‘that the incident that took place in New Orleans must not happen again.’
‘And which particular incident would that be?’ he asked his eyes alive with humour.
‘You know perfectly well what I’m talking about,’ Kirsten answered, trying not to bite out the words. ‘I’m right on the point of making a breakthrough with the crew and I don’t want anything you do to spoil it.’
‘You can rest assured on that,’ he smiled.
‘I don’t want any more suggestions that I got this job because I slept with the producer.’
‘You didn’t.’
‘I know, but I don’t want those accusations rearing up again once we start shooting. I’m going to have my work cut out over the next few months and I don’t want you playing me any underhand tricks by trying to seduce me.’
‘You got it,’ he said.
Kirsten glared at him, but when his smile widened she looked away. This was all coming out wrong and she was beginning to feel extremely foolish. ‘Well, just as long as we’ve got that straight,’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s not that I don’t want us to do it again . . .’ Jesus Christ, what was she saying? ‘It’s simply that I don’t need my emotions playing around with. If it was purely physical between us then it might be different, but since it goes a lot deeper than that . . . Well, I don’t want to be concerning myself about you and our personal feelings when I should be concentrating on other things.’
‘OK,’ he said.
Kirsten’s eyes darted back to his. ‘OK? Is that all you’ve got to say?’ she demanded.
He shrugged. ‘What else do you want me to say?’
She took a mouthful of air then let it go without a sound. What did she want him to say? She wanted him to argue with her, that’s what she wanted. She wanted him to tell her that he didn’t think he could handle being around her morning, noon and night for two months without touching her. She wanted him to get up out of that chair, right now, and come over here. She wanted to hear him tell her he was as crazy for her as she was for him. All these things she could argue with, but his acceptance . . . Well, that hadn’t been a part of how she’d rehearsed this conversation at all. Why wasn’t he sticking to his script, the bastard?
‘So,’ she said. ‘I guess we’ve cleared the air.’
He grinned. ‘Yeah, I guess we have,’ he said. ‘Now, do you want to come over here, or do you want that I come over there?’
Kirsten’s eyes flashed. This was better, this she was ready for. ‘Didn’t you hear what I just said?’ she cried. ‘There’s to be no more sex . . .’
‘I was talking about getting together over this graphic,’ he interrupted, holding it up.
Kirsten felt herself colour to the roots of her hair. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Um, well, I’ll just tell Vicky and Sonya to start putting the calls through again,’ and picking up the phone she buzzed through to her assistant.
Not until much later in the day when she was sitting alone beside the fire in her own home nursing a glass of wine did she allow herself to recall the whole insufferable conversation. Not even by the flicker of a muscle had he indicated that he was in any way bothered by her decision. If anything, he’d given her the impression that he appreciated the way she was attempting to deal with her problem.
Oh shit, she groaned inwardly. This was all she needed right on the eve of shoot, to be tormenting herself over Laurence. Their conversation that day was supposed to have prevented this, and maybe it would have if she hadn’t made such a damned hash of it. Well, she just had to be tough about this. She wasn’t going to let it get to her, she was going to put it right out of her mind and give everything she had to the film. She reached out to pick up the phone as it rang, knowing that right at that moment she’d have welcomed a call telling her the whole shoot was off. She gave a wry laugh. The truth was she’d be devastated. She was as excited about the next two months as she was nervous and nothing, not even some weirdo who kept playing bloody baby chimes down the phone to her, was going to spoil it for her now.
19
The wind was mewling like a child across the stark, winter-torn plains of the Irish hillside. The storm gathered overhead in great mountains of purple-black cloud, the tall, yellowy grass bent towards the gloomy castle in the distance. The lone horseman, barely more than a silhouette, galloped across the horizon through the driving rain, his cloak billowing furiously behind him. The camera, perched on its tripod, held steady on the wide shot, the operator, with small protection from an umbrella, was being buffeted by the wind and drenched by the rain as he panned slowly with the rider taking him to the castle. Jake and Kirsten, huddled into the meagre warmth of padded anoraks, moon boots and woollen scarves, were standing together beneath their own vast umbrella, watching the shot on a tiny black and white screen. The rest of the crew were grouped around them, two sound booms loomed overhead sucking the howl of the storm into their headphones. Rain dripped from the peak of Kirsten’s cap, pools of mud swam around her feet but she was aware of nothing more than what was being relayed from the camera to her monitor.
At last the horseman arrived at the castle, a slight, shadowy figure in the distance. The ominous rumbling of thunder started to vibrate through the wind as he dismounted, handed the reins to a barely visible boy and stomped into the blackness of an open door. Kirsten’s fingers crossed in her pockets as her heart seemed to fill her throat. The camera held steady, there was virtually no movement now, just the boy leading the horse away and the shuddering branches of trees straining towards the castle turrets.
After a while Kirsten’s eyes flicked to the script supervisor who, checking her stop-watch, eventually raised her arm and Kirsten shouted, ‘Cut! Check the gate!’
She turned to Jake to find his smile as wide as hers, then she shrieked and laughed with euphoria as he scooped her up in his arms and swung her round. The first shot, after eight takes, was in the can! There was no rain on the lens, the stunt rider hadn’t slipped in the mud, no one had appeared in the castle doorway – it had been perfect . . .
‘Gate’s clear,’ Lindon, the camera operator, shouted then joined in the round of applause as walkie-talkies crackled into life, David, the first assistant, yelled into a megaphone and Ruby took a gulp of relief from her handbag.
‘Moving on!’ David was shouting. ‘Shot two, medium-wide from the middle of the field.’
‘How long down here?’ a voice came from the castle.
‘Stay inside,’ David answered, ‘I’ll let you know.’
The grips moved swiftly, rolling up cables, packing up the monitors and removing the camera from the tripod. The sound guys pulled in their booms, disconnected them from the
Nagra and saluted Laurence as he walked through the milling crowd.
Kirsten and Jake, already discussing the next shot, linked arms and started down over the hillside to the centre of the field.
‘Do we want Jean-Paul for this shot?’ a second assistant enquired over the walkie-talkie.
Kirsten stopped and looked back over her shoulder to David.
‘No,’ David answered, giving Kirsten the thumbs up as he pressed the radio to his lips. ‘Get the stunt guy back on the horse. Not now, we’re not ready yet. I’ll give you the word. Put Jean-Paul on stand-by.’
Kirsten smiled then hugging Jake’s arm they walked on. It was a heady experience knowing that all the information she’d spent the past months giving out had filtered through to the point that questions like that needn’t concern her unless she decided upon a last minute change. But even more intoxicating was to watch everyone zooming around, yelling to each other, heaving equipment, rigging dollies, checking schedules, moving props, organizing the action and battling the weather all at her behest. As she watched them she was overwhelmed with emotion and knew that she had never loved Laurence more than she did in that moment for giving her this chance to fulfill a dream. She wondered if Paul could see her now and again her heart swelled. How happy he would be to see her and Laurence working together on a movie that was going to be dedicated to his memory.
The rest of the morning and the first hours into the afternoon, until the daylight had all but disappeared, were spent doing exterior shots of the castle, a tracking shot of the thundering horses hooves and a close up of Jean-Paul’s face as he rode through the storm. They wrapped right on four o’clock and piled into the location buses that were taking them to the hotels, boarding houses and bed and breakfasts in the town. Laurence drove Kirsten, Jean-Paul and Ruby back in his hire car and though he’d made very few comments throughout the day Kirsten could tell from his expression that he was as delighted as she was with what they had achieved.
