A Match Made in Devon

by Cathy Bramley

  I had sent her a message via Twitter to this effect last night, offering my sincere apologies and offering to donate money to her nominated charity. No reply so far.

  Ross narrowed his eyes. ‘So you did it for charity?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Ginny beamed. ‘So, moving on—’

  Ross held up a hand to silence her. ‘But Cecily has got the part you went for in Mary Queen of Scots? Aren’t you annoyed about that?’

  ‘Not at all.’ I frowned, feigning confusion. ‘I could never have taken that part because of my … other filming commitments.’

  His eyes locked on to mine. ‘But not for Victory Road?’

  I licked my lips, not breaking eye contact. ‘Yes. In fact, I’m due in the studio next week.’

  ‘So,’ he leaned closer, ‘Nurse Elsie is not dead?’

  The beads of sweat on my forehead were surely the size of golf balls by now. I glanced at Ginny, who shot me a pinched look. Ever since I’d arrived in her office this morning she’d adopted this martyred expression, as if I was making her life impossible. She wasn’t fooling me. Her pupils were dilated and there were two pink spots on her cheeks; she might hate me but she was loving the drama.

  ‘I can confirm that Nina still has scenes to shoot, Ross,’ she said, making cow eyes at him. ‘You’ll have to draw your own conclusions from that.’

  Ross thumped his fist on the table. ‘So what can you tell me, then? You disappeared to,’ he glanced at the press release for the first time, ‘Devon? What were you doing there, rehab? A love tryst?’

  My eyebrows shot up at that. The last thing Theo needed was to be romantically linked to me in the press. That would get Kate back from South America quicker than you can say divorce settlement.

  ‘I was resting,’ I said hastily, ‘I was overdue a break.’

  ‘So it was rehab?’

  ‘No!’ I stammered. ‘I was staying with a friend. Friends. Of my brother.’

  I glanced at Ginny for help. She was picking her nail.

  ‘A man? So there’s a man involved?’ Ross raised an amused eyebrow. ‘You’re blushing.’

  My jaw opened and closed pathetically until Ginny finally stepped in to rescue me. ‘We’re not dealing with Miss Penhaligon’s private life today, Ross,’ she said primly. ‘Now let me give you this DVD of exclusive Victory Road content. I’m sure we can trust you with the embargo …’

  I slipped away and left them to it, exhaling with relief. One ordeal down, next my meeting with Maxine …

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, pale faced, as Maxine opened her office door. ‘I’ve made a huge mistake.’

  Dressed in her habitual black wrap dress and heels even on a Saturday, Maxine pushed her mass of grey curls off her face and scowled at me for what felt like an eternity. She had good skin, I noted absently, a bit sallow from spending too much time at work, but very few wrinkles around her eyes. I knew she must be about sixty, but she could pass for much younger. She was taller than me and had a sturdy matronly figure, and right now, with her arms folded and her eyes trained on me, she was absolutely terrifying.

  ‘We’re all allowed one mistake,’ she said finally, standing aside.

  I heaved a sigh of relief and entered her office. It was full of clutter: a wilted pot plant, piles of papers on every surface and a teetering in-tray marked ‘scripts’. Was there a part suitable for me in amongst all of those? I wondered. Probably not the time to ask, all things considered.

  ‘Made an almighty one myself once,’ she continued. ‘I lived in fear of the consequences for years before life went back to normal.’

  It was hard to believe that Maxine Pearce, so totally in control, could ever have made a mistake. There was a misty look in her eye and I was tempted to ask what she’d done; whatever it was, it obviously hadn’t held her back. But she waved me into a seat at her meeting table and carried on talking.

  ‘Shame you followed Sebastian Nichols’ advice and decided to hide in Devon,’ she said, switching on a coffee machine in the corner of the room. ‘It must have been awful for you.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said noncommittally.

  I thought of Theo and me drinking coffee on his garden bench, the tang of sea in the air, watching the hens pecking amongst the grass; I remembered the shells I’d collected on the beach and splashing through the foamy waves getting my jeans wet. Awful.

  ‘And no mobile phone signal, you say?’ She pushed a cup of coffee in my direction.

  ‘None,’ I said, trying to keep the wistfulness from my face. Not being contactable had been very liberating once I’d got used to it, although I’d soon got back into the habit of checking my mobile every five minutes in case I was missing something. I’d be back at Brightside Cove in a heartbeat, given a chance. Especially as giving autographs to the small crowd gathered outside the studio doors this morning hadn’t been half as thrilling as I’d imagined. All they were interested in was where I’d been and whether Cecily really was going to press charges.

  ‘Maybe not all bad, then.’ Her brow furrowed as her own phone began to buzz. She grabbed it and turned it off. ‘As far as your ex-agent goes, I think he’s been blinded by Cecily Carmichael’s sexy image and forgotten that actresses need to have talent too. Have you spoken to him?’

  ‘Only via email,’ I admitted. ‘I’ll be looking for new representation. Sebastian has made it quite clear that Cecily is his priority from now on.’

  ‘He’ll regret having anything to do with that family eventually,’ she said darkly. ‘I know I did. Anyway, that’s his problem. But ask someone else for advice in future.’

  ‘There isn’t anyone else,’ I said, blowing on my coffee. ‘My brother is lovely, but he’s a businessman with no idea about acting. And I have no parents; my dad—’ I cleared my throat. I rarely spoke about him and don’t know why I’d even mentioned him. Maxine cocked an eyebrow. I carried on. ‘And my mum died a few years ago.’

  Although she would have been the last person I’d ask for advice about my career. She’d told me once in no uncertain terms that acting was a sordid profession. Adding in the next breath that anyway, with my physique, the best I could hope for was the chubby and cheerful best friend. It had been a relief to leave home for university at eighteen and be away from her negative vibes. I supposed I should have been grateful that she used the word ‘cheerful’. Within eighteen months she had died and never got to see me on television. I think she’d have loved Victory Road and would have been proud of me. That was all we really ever wanted from our parents, wasn’t it? Love and pride, a place in their hearts.

  Maxine was still regarding me intently and I held my breath, hoping she wouldn’t probe about my family.

  ‘I could never confide in my mother,’ she said with a shudder, echoing my own thoughts. ‘She had very set ideas on what one should and shouldn’t do. I had to wait until she’d passed away before I could truly be myself. Anyway, in future, if you’re ever in need of a mature ear, ring me. I’ll listen.’

  ‘Really?’ A lump in my throat appeared from nowhere. ‘Like a mentor?’

  She gave me a brief but genuine smile, which transformed her usual steely face. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Thank you. So much.’

  She gave a quick nod to end the discussion and picked up a slim stack of papers. ‘Now would you like to know what Nurse Elsie has been up to while you’ve been away?’

  On Monday I was back on set. I’d spent the morning apologizing to everyone on the cast and crew as I’d encountered them and it was a relief to get down to work. In Studio Three it was the middle of the night, during the Blitz in February 1941, and I was in a hospital bed. I was in a white gown, with a white face and my head was swaddled in bandages. I had to look ill because I was in a coma. Which meant all I had to do in this scene was lie still.

  Handy really because I hadn’t got much sleep last night. Trudy had rented my room out to two male Korean foreign language students for a month, which meant I was having to share a bed with her. She
had talked until midnight and then even talked in her sleep. But I was grateful to have a bed at all given my emergency flit from Devon on Friday. It was odd being back; Trudy’s flat no longer seemed like home. With one Korean making a huge spicy mess in the kitchen and another Skyping his entire family at full volume in my old bedroom, it felt cramped and stuffy.

  Even having a bath had been difficult; someone had draped their wet washing over every surface and a row of misshapen T-shirts hung damply from the shower rail. I thought longingly of the big bathroom at Driftwood Lodge with its roll-top bath and its little window carved into the thatched roof with the view of the harbour in the distance …

  ‘Hey!’ Freddie Major, the man who played my boyfriend, Constable Ron, had arrived.

  My stomach flipped. I’d seen him across the canteen earlier but we’d not spoken yet. He, more than any other character, had been affected by me leaking the plot and I wasn’t sure what sort of reception I was going to get.

  ‘Nurse Elsie, as I live and breathe,’ Freddie said, bouncing on to my bed and rucking up the blanket.

  ‘My darling Constable Ron,’ I said casually. ‘Have you missed me?’

  ‘I have, actually. You’re not looking too hot, though,’ he said, peering at my white face. ‘You’re like that Lazarus from the Bible. Back from the dead.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe. Or maybe I am dead and we’re just shooting this scene to throw people off the scent.’

  ‘What?’ He gave me a quizzical look. ‘I just meant back from Devon. It’s gotta be dead there. You must be relieved to be back from exile.’

  ‘Um …’

  I didn’t get a chance to argue with him because someone shouted, ‘Quiet please,’ and I took some deep breaths ready for shooting to commence.

  Was I relieved? I’d always loved London: the energy, the bustle, the noise of it all and the feeling of being part of something exciting. And I loved my job, no doubt about that. But after two weeks with Theo at Brightside Cove, where the light was clear and the air was pure and the constant restlessness of the sea gave a different sort of energy to the rhythm of the day, the city had lost a teeny bit of its sparkle. Plus, now I was allegedly famous, I spent my time scurrying around behind my sunglasses. I knew it wouldn’t last; someone else would do something outrageous next week and I’d soon be forgotten, but right now, for someone used to a quiet life, it was exhausting.

  Maxine shoved her phone into her back pocket and blew her curls out of her eyes. ‘And action,’ she called.

  I lowered my eyelids, keeping them slightly open so I could still make out what was going on.

  ‘Elsie, sweetheart, can you hear me?’ Freddie as Constable Ron pleaded softly. He slid further along the hospital bed towards me. Fake tears glittered in his eyes.

  ‘She’s had a serious blow to the head, Constable,’ whispered Becky Burton, from the other side of the bed. Becky played flirty Nurse Marjorie and was my best friend in the Victory Road cast. Or had been – she was a bit frosty with me because I hadn’t returned her texts when I was in Devon. She took my pulse and checked it against the fob watch pinned to her apron. ‘But the sound of your voice might bring her round. You can touch her, too.’

  I kept my arm heavy and lifeless as he clasped my hand in his.

  ‘If you can hear me, squeeze my fingers,’ he breathed over me.

  I stayed resolutely unresponsive.

  ‘Keep talking,’ said Nurse Marjorie, replacing a clipboard on the rail at the bottom of my bed. She paused to rest her hand on his shoulder, adding breathily, ‘Imagine how wonderful it would be to wake up to find you on the bed.’

  She batted her eyelashes at him and they shared a long look. Poor Elsie. How could Marjorie do that to her, they were supposed to be friends? The audience would be shouting at their TV screens.

  As soon as she had gone, Ron took a ring box out of his pocket. He held up a slim diamond engagement ring to the light and then slipped it on my finger, wiping a glycerine tear from his eye.

  ‘I love you, Elsie,’ he murmured, pressing a kiss to my nose. ‘You’re my girl and I’ll wait for you. As long as it takes. One day I will make you my wife.’

  He dropped his chin to his chest and shook his shoulders to make it look like he was overcome with grief.

  ‘And cut. Nicely done.’

  I opened my eyes as Maxine stepped from the shadows and into the scene.

  ‘If that doesn’t get the tears jerking nothing will,’ she said briskly. ‘Right, off you go, Freddie.’

  ‘Cheers, boss.’ He grinned and hung an arm around her neck casually. She gave him one of her stares and he immediately removed it.

  ‘Yes, well done, Freddie.’ I propped myself up on my elbows. ‘And I’m really sorry if my behaviour has caused you any problems.’

  Freddie punched my arm. ‘No worries, you’ve done me a favour, as it turns out. My agent got straight on the case as soon as you leaked the story. I’ve landed the role of Buttons in Cinderella in panto in the West End, my Instagram followers have passed the half-million mark and now that my girlfriend’s in a coma, all the female viewers will adore me. And all because of you and your big mouth.’

  ‘Glad to be of use,’ I said through clenched teeth.

  He winked at me and sauntered off.

  His agent sounded a damn sight more proactive than mine had been. Sebastian, rather than take the opportunity to strike while my name was hot, had struck me off his list and sent me away to hide.

  I let out a breath of relief at having got that conversation out of the way.

  ‘Smug little whatsit.’ Maxine rolled her eyes as Freddie left the studio for the day. ‘Right, we need some close-up footage showing you unconscious to splice into future scenes so we don’t need to call you in, and then tomorrow we’ll re-shoot the bomb explosion scene.’

  ‘I think I can manage that,’ I said with an awkward smile.

  I felt at a distinct disadvantage, lying prone under a hospital blanket with her looming over me. Despite her offer to mentor me when required, she could still turn me to stone with her icy glare.

  ‘The reaction to Nurse Elsie’s rumoured death was far bigger than we’d expected, probably fuelled by your disappearance,’ she continued. ‘So the writers have ramped up the next few episodes accordingly. We’ve got so much conflict and heartstring tearing that the audience won’t be able to leave their sofas.’

  ‘I can’t apologize enough for all this extra work I’ve created,’ I mumbled.

  ‘I’d noticed,’ she said flatly and then her lips twitched. ‘Although that clip of you tipping ice over Cecily Carmichael’s head was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. All my friends have watched it.’

  My stomach lurched; being an internet sensation had never been on my agenda. I wanted to be known for my acting prowess not my tantrums. ‘Don’t remind me.’

  ‘What’s done is done and in the long run you may even have done the show a favour.’

  ‘That’s something, I suppose.’

  If I could turn the clock back, I would. Some people might relish this sort of publicity but I was much happier being in character than being a YouTube sensation as myself.

  Chapter 12

  The following morning, I was back at the studios bright and early. It was a rerun of the scene where the two air-raid wardens, Ray and Godfrey, discover my body amongst the ruins of the house. Only this time, they find a weak pulse, whip me on to a makeshift stretcher and stumble out from the wreckage over the rubble to get me to safety. I’d also had to wear a wig to cover my dark hair. I’d repeated my apologies again, and they appeared to accept them, although they plonked me on the stretcher quite roughly and I was glad when I made it off set in one piece.

  By eleven o’clock my scenes were done, another strand to my storyline was in the bag and I wouldn’t be needed again for the foreseeable future. At least not until Maxine decided whether or not Nurse Elsie was going to recover from the coma.

  Downstairs
in the canteen, I bought myself a cup of coffee and a slice of toasted fruit loaf and took it outside to the courtyard. As gardens went it was a bit manmade but miniature willows, red-leafed acers and cherry trees helped to soften the look of a modern metal water feature and stark concrete benches, and two symmetrical rows of copper urns looked very smart filled with lavender bushes.

  It was the closest I had come to peace and quiet in four days. Bliss.

  The silence lasted about ten seconds until my phone began to buzz. I looked at the caller ID. It was Eliza. I grinned, imagining her in her shop, cuddling kittens and chatting about mermaids.

  ‘Hey!’ I said, brushing toast crumbs from my chin. ‘How are you? How’s Devon? Have your authentic mermaid tails arrived from America yet?’

  ‘Fine, good and almost, stuck in customs. I owe two hundred dollars in customs duty, that’s my next job. But that’s not why I’m ringing.’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘If this is about Danny …’

  Eliza’s brother was the reason I was no longer in Brightside Cove helping Theo out.

  ‘It’s about Theo.’ I heard the wobble in her voice and my heart began to pound with dread. ‘I’m worried about him.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ I sat up straight, ears pricked; I’d called Theo last night and he hadn’t picked up.

  ‘Raquel from the pub saw him at the doctors collecting a prescription yesterday. She said he looked awful and his eyes were all puffed up from crying. She thinks he was getting anti-depressants.’

  ‘Really?’

  I’d only been gone for a few days and he’d seemed okay before then. He’d been disappointed that I was leaving but he’d driven me to the train station and promised to keep me posted on the plans for marketing the cottages. Could he really have sunk so low in such a short time?

  ‘And that’s not all,’ Eliza continued. ‘He went into Jethro’s General Store and had an argument because he was only allowed to buy thirty-two paracetamol and he wanted more. Jethro tried to explain that it was the law, but Theo just stomped off in a rage.’

  How odd: why would Theo need more than thirty-two tablets so urgently?