by Jules Wake
Saying it felt a touch disloyal. She loved her sister and niece but with her being the driver, it was incumbent on her to be entertainment officer, making sure they were both happy and did the things they wanted to do. After all, it was their holiday too.
‘I didn’t think you were,’ said Richard, ‘but if it makes any difference, I’ve got Sunday-night blues hanging over me. I’ve got to work later or play at being at work.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘We’re filming night scenes at the moment, hence being able to play hooky today.’
Carrie winced. ‘I’m sorry about what I said earlier.’
‘I can promise you, when it gets to midnight this evening and I’ve thrown myself out of a window for the ninth time, it will feel like proper work.’
He rolled over and floated on his back next to her.
She glued her eyes to his face.
‘Do you do your own stunts, then? I thought movie stars were too important and valuable to let near anything dangerous.’
‘I don’t think I like being referred to as a movie star,’ mused Richard, his brow wrinkling. ‘It sounds a bit ubiquitous, as if we’re all the same. I’m not doing the whole stunt, only the front end, where you see me go out of the window. I have a stunt double who does the thirty-foot drop on the other side but I still have to hurl myself through the frame enough times to please the director, Frank.’
‘You should be grateful you’re not the stunt double. I bet he doesn’t earn a fraction of what you do.’
‘True, but I think my dad would still prefer it if I were a stuntman.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yup. He’s pig-headed, proud of his grandchildren and still waiting for me to get a proper job.’
‘You said that the other day but it can’t be true.’
‘Want to bet?’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘He had the same job in the factory, from sixteen until retirement. He’s got a decent pension. A family. Something to look back on. It doesn’t help that I’m not … settled and given him grandchildren of his own. As he sees it, I’m self-employed with no job security. He can’t comprehend what my life is like in comparison to his, whereas what Michael and Robert do, he can relate to.’
‘How are they?’ Carrie had met them a couple of times when she and Richard were younger and she’d be hard- pressed to spot them in a line up. She had a vague recollection of sandy hair, indeterminate brown eyes, average height and insubstantial personalities, but then anyone would be eclipsed standing next to Richard. It hadn’t been his looks but his sheer energy.
‘Dull but very nice. Both married to nice, dull girls and have … I admit the kids are cracking, although,’ he added with a naughty smile, ‘that’s because they’re still of an age where other people’s feelings are immaterial and if they want something they scream until they get it. Much more interesting.’
‘Sounds like a lot of actors I know.’
‘You malign me. Although I do know a few who fit the bill.’
‘Like who?’ she asked, her feet drifting downwards to touch the sandy bottom.
‘That would be telling.’
Rising out of the water, as they neared the shoreline, sudden consciousness of her nudity gave Carrie a frisson of awareness, a sense that she was alive, her breathing easier as she circled her neck, letting all the tension float away. She hadn’t a care in the world, or certainly not on this beach. Richard had seen her body plenty of times before and in the intervening years, she’d been lucky, she could eat what she liked and it didn’t show. She’d rounded out a tad but her stomach had stayed put, nothing had stretched and her boobs were small enough that they stood upright on their own. Not that any of that mattered; this was for her, not him.
She lost her footing in the shallows, faltering slightly as the sand shifted underfoot. Richard’s hand came to grip her elbow and then, as she regained her balance, he took her hand, interlinking his fingers with hers.
Muscle memory again? Or no reason to fight against it. If she pulled her hand away she was making it into a big deal. She wanted to show him it wasn’t.
‘Do you fancy something to eat? I can guarantee Christine will have laid on something special. Let’s see what she’s lined up.’
Hand in hand they walked up the beach, towards the sunbeds. There was nothing quite like the heat of the sun streaming over skin chilled by the sea. Carrie tipped her face up to the sky and stood for a minute, conscious of being bathed in sunlight. Pure heaven.
Richard tugged at her hand and she caught an appreciative gleam in his eyes. ‘Come on, sun worshipper. I’m starving.’
She banished the insidious doubt that asked what Alan would think of this. Loose-limbed and relaxed, she sighed. She was on holiday, on a once-in-a-lifetime private beach, silky sand oozing through her toes and over her feet and her arm swinging in tandem with Richard’s, where they were linked at the hand. Her body tingled with awareness, as if her nerve endings had suddenly been fine-tuned to respond to the stimuli of the wind, the water and the air.
Real life seemed a very long way away. She’d hadn’t felt quite this relaxed and at ease with herself in ages.
‘God, Christine’s a bloody marvel.’ Carrie took another bite of the chilled butterflied prawn. ‘This is a picnic to the power ten.’ The cool box brimmed with bite-sized treats to tempt the most jaded of appetites but she was equally happy with the tiny triangles of cheese and salami sandwiches as the lobster claws and accompanying tart hollandaise sauce. She took a forkful of crisp cos lettuce drizzled with delicately flavoured Cesare dressing.
Opposite her, wrapped in a towel around his waist, Richard popped a whole mini quiche in his mouth, crumbs tumbling down and catching in the slight hairs on his chest. She resisted the urge to lean forwards and brush them off, instead picking up a cut-crystal glass of chilled Chablis, concentrating all her attention on the delicious cool liquid.
‘Try one of these,’ he said, offering her a miniature tart, spilling over with a rich, creamy wild mushroom filling. ‘She has the lightest touch with pastry.’ His fingers brushed her lips as he leaned forward to pop it into her mouth.
‘Mmm,’ she groaned, focusing on the flavour, trying to steer her thoughts away from the sudden static spark of his touch that tripped her pulse. ‘That’s divine.’
He grinned, wicked eyes glinting, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
She grabbed her glass and took a gulp, gazing away at the perfect view.
‘This is a gorgeous spot. So peaceful.’ And not what she’d expected. ‘Jade thought we were going to Nikki beach or somewhere.’ And so had she. What was he playing at? Was this another part he was playing? Amusing himself. Creating a romantic scene, like in one of his films. Closing her eyes, she swung her legs onto the sun lounger and lay back.
‘I thought you might like it. You always loved the sea and the sand. And I’m being a little selfish, it’s one of my favourite places. I’m on show all the time, it’s good to be able to get away from everyone.’
Replete after lunch and two glasses of wine, she dozed, too lazy to pick up her book and read. When she woke, to the sound of the sea lapping at the shore and the keening cry of a solitary seagull circling the bay, Richard had stretched out on the sunbed next to her, a mere arm’s length away. Surreptitiously from beneath her sunglasses, she couldn’t help but take a closer look at him lying motionless on his front, his head propped on one forearm. Was he asleep? Her eyes roved over his body, with its tanned skin, his bottom lighter than the rest of him.
She propped herself on one elbow, almost giggling, to take a closer look at well-conditioned buttocks. What was it Jade had called him, Mr Delicious Arse? He hadn’t moved for at least fifteen minutes and she reckoned it was safe. The heart-shaped birthmark was still there. It had always fascinated her. Would he notice if she touched it, like she used to do? Skim her hand over his buttocks, lingering there before gliding
up his back to massage his shoulders the way she’d done before an audition?
Did he sunbathe nude often? There was so much she didn’t know about him any more. His daily routine, what he drank. Where he went on holiday normally. Who he spent his time with? Was there a girlfriend? Impossible to believe there hadn’t been anyone in his life recently. In the early days, when he’d first gone to America, it had been hard to avoid the pictures of him posed with glamorous leading ladies, the headlines speculating about their relationships. Despite knowing how the industry worked, seeing those pictures hurt, like a giant hand squeezing her heart with ruthless fingers.
With every shot of his arm slung around some starlet’s shoulders, his face bearing a hundred-watt smile, a little bit more of her shrivelled inside. A hundred times she thought of hopping on a plane, but there was always something stopping her. Jade was ill. Angela was ill. The understudy chasing her part. And the worry that she couldn’t survive parting with him again.
The award season, the Golden Globes, the BAFTAs, the Oscars, should have inured her to any further pain, when there’d been after-party pictures galore. Everyone pictured Richard with a different drop-dead gorgeous actress, peering seductively up at the lens from beneath sooty lashes.
For some reason the picture of him and his leading lady, Natalie Howe, who’d picked up best supporting actress, had been different, or maybe it hurt more, because this time it marked the turning point. It featured Richard, his bow tie undone and hanging down his white shirt with his arm linked through Natalie’s as he stared down into her eyes – a snapshot of intimacy that mirrored the picture on her bedside table, taken the day after their marriage. The precious picture was the closest thing to a wedding photo she had.
‘You okay?’ With a start she found Richard had turned his head and his eyes were now open and filled with concern.
She wiped away a tear.
‘Sand in my eye. I’m going for a swim.’ With a fluid movement she left the shelter and broke into a run, letting the tears fall freely.
She was an idiot, she told herself, as she dived into the sea, welcoming the shock of the icy-cold water, which drove all thought from her as she concentrated on swimming hard.
When she’d acclimatised enough, she faced the shoreline, watching Richard’s solitary figure in the awning. A man alone. Was that what this was all about?
Providing him with company? Surely, a man like him couldn’t be lonely, although he’d intimated as much earlier. He’d never be short of invitations, but could he trust those people? Today was one of the first times he could relax and let his guard down without having to worry about her motives.
Suddenly she understood exactly why he wanted these two weeks, it gave him a break from what was his real life, took him back to a time before fame and, no doubt, gave him a sense of freedom. However, she needed to make sure she protected herself. Far too many memories were being dredged up that were best left alone. She’d built a life with purpose, which she could guarantee was happier and more fulfilled than his. She had Angela, Jade and Alan in her life. A good job. Good people.
The sun had moved around, someone had pitched the shelter perfectly and now that the midday sun had dipped slightly, the sun lounger was out of the shade. That was clever. She flopped down to dry.
‘How was your swim?’ asked Richard using the script in his hand to shield his eyes from the direct sun.
‘Lovely. Thank you for bringing me here. It has been a real treat. A whole beach to ourselves.’
Richard lifted his shoulders and retreated back behind the script. ‘Pleasure.’
‘Learning your lines?’
‘No, it’s a draft, done by the current scriptwriter on the film. She’s a friend and wanted me to read it to see if I’d be interested. She’s on at me to do theatre. I might consider it if they develop it into a screenplay. I said I’d read it, as a favour, but I won’t do a play.
‘Why not?’
He pushed his sunglasses up. ‘I’m not a stage actor.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because.’
‘Because what? You’re an actor.’
‘I’m a film actor. The two don’t translate.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘Language, Mrs Maddox.’
She ignored the inflammatory use of their name. ‘That’s utter bollocks. You trained as an actor. I’ve seen you on stage. You can act. You know you can. You’re being disingenuous.’
‘What I do in front of a camera is completely different, and you know it. I can’t do stage work any more.’
‘Of course you can. You’ve chosen not to.’
‘No, I can’t. It would destroy my reputation. I can’t risk it.’
‘What do you mean you can’t risk it?’
‘A flop on the stage might ruin my future films. I have to stick with projects I know will deliver.’
‘Isn’t that rather dull?’ It sounded horribly risk averse. ‘I mean, haven’t you got enough money in the bank?’ Bringing crude dollars up seemed crass but surely he’d reached the point where money wasn’t important.’
‘It’s not about money. It’s about reputation. I’m a bankable star. The minute I’m in something that tanks, it makes getting the next job that much harder.’
‘Rubbish.’
He tossed the script aside. ‘I’m going for a swim.’
She watched him stomp rather sexily, she had to admit, down to the water, before picking up the script. It wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. Although she’d have ramped up the conflict between the two characters a lot more and made the bad brother less evil and more complex. At the moment he was too black, as opposed to the good brother who was too whiter than white. Both characters needed more light and shade to them.
She frowned. She could bet her last penny that Richard had been offered the good brother. Clean-cut and horribly obvious. Playing the bad brother would be a much more challenging and interesting role.
When Richard reappeared dripping, she swung her legs over the bed, jabbing him with the script as he leaned forward to grab his towel.
‘You should do this. It needs work but you should go for it … and play Derek.’
‘Derek? They’ve offered me Frank.’
‘Yeah and …’
‘Frank’s …’
‘Dull. You could have a lot more fun with Derek. There’s so much you could do to develop the character. At the moment, he’s too one-dimensional but it’s easily fixed. They need to sort out his motivation. At the moment he’s successful because he’s greedy. It would make the story much more tragic and tug at the heartstrings of the audience if you change it, making Derek become a victim of his own success but he needs that success to support Frank and his family, which is ultimately the cause of his downfall.’
‘Bloody hell. You’re good at this. I kept reading this, thinking something’s not right, but you’ve got it.’
He pulled out a pen and pushed the script towards her. ‘Write it down. I’ll go back to Miranda. That’s brilliant and exactly right.’
He raised a hand and she high-fived him. ‘I might even do it.’
‘I think you should.’
‘I mean the film.’
‘Whatever, but you should play a villain for a change, take a walk on the wild side.’
‘What? Like you?’ his eyes mocked.
She couldn’t look away. Was it her imagination or wishful thinking that his eyes held a touch of longing?
She forced herself to take a deep breath and look away.
During the rest of the afternoon, Richard kept reading out chunks of dialogue and asking for her opinion.
They’d debate the pros and cons of the character’s responses, with Carrie scribbling notes in the margins as they talked. Every now and then, he’d throw in a comment and tell her to write it down. Or she’d stop him half way through a line and ask him what he thought it said about the character and whether he believed it fitted.
‘You’re good at th
is. What’s the play you’re hoping to get put on in London?’
‘It’s a twist on the Cinderella story. Instead of being the downtrodden step-sister. She’s a high-powered control freak who takes care of her much weaker step-sisters and step-mother, who are good but gentle people.’
‘I like it. Good idea. Tell me more.’
‘Ella does everything for them because she doesn’t trust anyone to do anything as well as she does it. She’s a corporate shark who doesn’t believe in happy-ever-after.’
‘Tell me, how does she meet Prince Charming?’
‘Mr Charming. She runs the family business, a shoe factory, and he’s the family solicitor who is sorting out the family estate and business interests after their father has died. Ella is all about streamlining the business and making shoes for the mainstream market. The sisters want to make fairy-tale bespoke shoes.’
‘Sounds a great twist. I can see that would have genuine audience appeal.’
‘That’s exactly what Andrew Fisher said. He’s trying to find a backer at the moment.’
‘Hmm, I don’t know that much about theatre. Is that hard to do?’
‘It’s not easy.’
When they climbed the steps towards the gate, sun-soaked and tired with the weariness that came from lying about and swimming all day, Carrie realised she also felt energised in a way that she hadn’t for years. Her head buzzed with ideas and suddenly she itched to get back to her own script. She’d been fiddle-faddle farting about with it for weeks and in one diamond-sharp moment, it had come to her, the motivation of one of her character’s was all wrong. Change that and everything would drop into place.
Happily, she took the wooden steps two at a time, following Richard, who grumbled at the top that she hadn’t pulled the gate shut properly behind her. Had she? She was pretty sure she had but who cared? If she could write a few lines in scene one tonight, she could see the difference it would make to the play.
