Fourth Year Triumphs at Trebizon

by Anne Digby

  The film company had sent Miss Welbeck a video of one of their prize winning documentaries, A Day in the Life of a Miner, and both she and the Governors had been impressed by its air of factual reportage and quiet authenticity. 'There is to be no silliness or showing off, of any kind. Nor do you have to be on your best behaviour. Just be your natural selves, that is all that is required.'

  Miss Welbeck had a final announcement to make.

  'I am asked by Miss Willis to point out that there is a large collection of odd, unmarked games socks over at the sport centre and would the owners please come and claim them . . .'

  But nobody was listening.

  A film company was arriving in the town this weekend. They were going to make a film about Trebizon!

  Rebecca saw two of the film people in the town on the Saturday afternoon, when she met Robbie for a cup of coffee at Fenners. She'd noticed the big white van parked outside the Trebizon Bay Hotel, when she'd cycled into town, with the name Silent Eye Production Ltd painted on the side of the van.

  'They're going to make a film about Trebizon, Robbie!' Rebecca told him, excitedly.

  'They look like typical film people, don't they?' he grinned. 'Just how they're supposed to look.'

  It was true. From their vantage point in a window seat at Fenners, they could see the pair on the opposite side of the street – a cameraman taking some establishing shots of the picturesque town with a hand-held camera, a young woman at his side making notes on a large pad. Both wore white tee shirts with the company name Silent Eye and a bright green unblinking eye die-stamped across the back of the shirts. The cameraman, who was quite young but already balding, wore an eye-shade against the sun. The young woman, whom Rebecca presumed was the PA to the director that Miss Welbeck had mentioned, was the epitome of glamour and elegance. She had piles of blonde hair framing her face, the biggest pair of sunglasses that Rebecca had ever seen, fluorescent make-up on her face and an exceptionally perfect figure which enabled her to get away with wearing some brilliant pink jeans, very tight, that others might have thought twice about.

  'Isn't she just something?' laughed Rebecca.

  'Extraordinary,' said Robbie. 'She doesn't look real, somehow! She looks as though she's in films herself, not just helping to make them. You don't know her name by any chance?'

  Rebecca had seen their names up on the school notice board.

  'Miss Angel,' she replied.

  'Glamorous!' he exclaimed. And they both laughed.

  But Robbie and Rebecca, snatching a rare meeting during this hectic term, had something more important to discuss. They'd met up this afternoon to talk about the county closed.

  It would take place at Exonford over two days next week –the Thursday and the Friday.

  'I've got triple maths and an Oxbridge class next Thursday,' Robbie told her, 'but I've managed to dodge a few things Friday, so I'm coming! If Mrs Barry gives her permission, I can take you there in the car and bring you back afterwards.'

  'Oh, Robbie, that's wonderful!' said Rebecca.

  'So make sure you don't get knocked out on the first day, Rebeck. Not when I've gone to so much trouble.'

  'I can't get knocked out!' Rebecca wailed. 'I'm going to reach the final and play Joss Vining if it kills me.'

  Robbie smiled; he'd been joking. He knew what a significant match this was going to be for Rebecca – much more significant than Rebecca had realized when Mrs Ericson had first mentioned it at half-term.

  'Let's have some cream cakes on that,' he said, signalling to the waitress to come over. He looked at Rebecca thoughtfully. 'And don't forget to bring Biffy with you on Friday, either.' Biffy was their lucky mascot bear.

  'I'll bring Biffy all right,' said Rebecca, with feeling.

  She was exceptionally keyed up now about the county closed.

  There was every reason to be.

  'I'm a film star!' exclaimed Tish, bursting into the big room that they all shared in Court House, at eight o'clock on Monday morning. The others were only just getting dressed and even Rebecca had slept in for once. But Tish, wearing athletics briefs and tee shirt, had already been to Mulberry Cove and back, pounding along the sands in bare feet. The mornings were very warm now.

  'What are you talking about?' inquired Mara, yawning as she zipped up her school skirt. 'Hurry up and get changed, Tish, or we'll be late for breakfast.'

  'They were over in the cove, the film people!' chortled Tish, scrabbling around in the cupboard for her school clothes. 'They were sitting on a rock down there, two of them. They took miles of film of me running across the cove and back, I saw them. Of course, I didn't take any notice, pretended they weren't there and all the rest of it. Obeyed orders!'

  'Oh, Tish!' said Elf, emerging from the other room. 'What fun!'

  'Down in the cove at seven thirty in the morning?' exclaimed Rebecca. 'I must say they don't hang about, do they?'

  'I expect Miss Willis has told them about Tish,' pronounced Sue, just returning from the bathroom, where she'd been scrubbing her face with some special soap that was supposed to do her complexion good. 'There's bound to have been a briefing. I expect Miss Willis told them that Tish is going to be a great runner! They must have been lying in wait for you, Tish!'

  'It would make a good scene for the film, wouldn't it?' murmured Rebecca, thinking about it. 'I mean, it's lovely down there in the early morning just now. A June morning . . . the empty sands . . . a solitary figure ...'

  But at breakfast time, Mrs Barrington was less romantic and more realistic about it.

  'I shouldn't get too excited, Tish. These fly-on-the-wall people shoot miles and miles of film. Then they take it all back to London to edit it and about three-quarters of it ends up on the cutting room floor.'

  'It's funny, Rebeck, but there's something bothering me a bit,' Tish confided in her later. 'It's been coming back to me off and on all morning. And I've just seen her again, chatting to some juniors over by the sports centre. The glamorous girl with the piles of blonde hair, Miss Angel or whatever she's called . . .'

  'What about her?' queried Rebecca. They were walking towards the dining hall together and she was actually wondering what was for lunch. 'I mean, why does she bother you then?'

  Tish frowned.

  'There's something mysterious about her.'

  'Not very real looking?' suggested Rebecca. 'That's what Robbie said.'

  But Tish just shook her head. 'Oh, no, not that. She's made up to the nines, of course, but I expect they all are in film circles. No, it's silly. I just have this funny feeling that I know her and that she knows me. The way she was watching me through her dark glasses, somehow, when I was out running this morning. It sort of gave me a little shivery feeling. I definitely feel that we know each other. And yet . . .'

  Tish pushed a hand through her dark curls, shook her head again and then laughed at herself.

  'And yet I've never seen her before in my life, have I, Rebecca?'

  'I wouldn't have thought so, Tish!' smiled Rebecca. She pushed open the glass doors into the dining hall and smelt the delicious smell of fish and chips. 'Cheer up. I expect they just cultivate that certain look. . . to go with their kind of film productions.'

  'What certain look?'

  Rebecca, pretending to be ghostly, whispered: 'The Silent Eye, of course.'

  NINE

  FILMING CONTINUES

  Rebecca had discovered the significance of the county closed tournament around about the middle of June. It had come as a very great surprise to her.

  The conversation with Joss Vining had come as a shock!

  Both girls had filled in all their results on special forms provided and submitted them to the Lawn Tennis Association for their LTA ranking to be updated. These had to be in by the 12th of June and, after the computer had done its work, they knew they could then expect to receive their new rankings early in July.

  'You've done very well so far, Rebecca, but you won't yet have reached the top 32 in your age g
roup!' Mrs Ericson had informed her. 'If you had, you'd be almost certain to be accepted for Eastbourne. But of course they accept 48 entries in total and I believe you stand a chance of being amongst those 16 acceptances that don't come off the computer.'

  After taking the top 32 off the computer, it appeared that the selectors took all sorts of other factors into consideration when picking a further 16 girls to bring the entry up to its full 48. Sometimes players had not entered important tournaments which scored high under the computer ranking rules – but in official LTA fixtures, such as county matches, had one or two notable victories which the selectors could not ignore. Or they might be previously top ranking players who'd lost form through illness or injury, only to find it again in the nick of time.

  So in selecting the field for Eastbourne it was the best results right up to July 2nd, the closing date for entry forms, that mattered – not by any means just the summer rankings, which would by then be to hand but were not regarded as infallible.

  Around about the middle of June, coming back in the school minibus from an away match (where Rebecca and Joss had enjoyed a very exciting doubles victory against Helenbury's first pair), Joss was a little more relaxed and talkative than usual.

  Rebecca had long given up asking Joss for a match, but now – in a roundabout way – the other girl raised it herself.

  'I gather you took the champion to three sets at half-term,' she said, giving Rebecca a sidelong glance. Joss usually sat in the single seat behind the driver on these journeys but on this occasion Trisha Martyn had grabbed it, she was in the middle of exams and wanted to read through her A level history notes. So Joss was sitting next to Rebecca, at the back. 'That must have felt good.'

  'It did,' said Rebecca.

  'Look, Rebecca, I'm sorry we haven't had a proper match yet,' said Joss. 'But it doesn't seem worth it now. It's not very long till the county closed and everybody seems to think we'll meet each other in the final. It'll be played according to LTA rules and will really count for something. It's going to be very important, I think.'

  'You mean for me? For Eastbourne?' asked Rebecca. 'If I can take you to three sets, too – it's going to improve my chances?'

  It was then that Joss said the very surprising thing. Smoothing her brown curly hair back at the temple with one hand, she gave a small smile:

  'Important for you? I've no idea. From what I've heard, you should be okay. It's my chances . . . As a matter of fact, I think I need to have a really good win. Hey, Rebecca, I don't think we should be discussing this, should we?'

  Rebecca lay awake that night, digesting the conversation, trying to work it out.

  The next morning, very early, she was out on the still-dewy grass courts with Miss Darling. It was a lovely mid-summer morning. Miss Darling was sending low balls pounding down to the base line, one after the other, for Rebecca to retrieve. She needed all the practice on grass that she could get – and how she loved it! The fast surface, the streaking low balls, the freedom of movement as she sprinted and hurled herself around ...It was without a doubt Rebecca's favourite surface now.

  But she had to know what Joss meant and afterwards she plucked up courage to ask Miss Darling.

  'Joss Vining is definite for Eastbourne, isn't she? Surely?'

  The tennis teacher, grey-haired and ramrod-backed, rarely smiled, but now the grey eyes that met Rebecca's blue ones in a level look had a touch of humour there.

  'Nothing's ever definite in tennis, Rebecca.'

  'But surely –?'

  'No, not definite. Lacking in dedication? Other things on mind? Hasn't entered many tournaments; hasn't beaten the right people always. Could be doubtful.'

  Joss – doubtful! It seemed unthinkable to Rebecca. She had been playing in national tournaments since she was 12 and since then had had a whole year in the States, getting special coaching and some marvellous competition, the firm hand of her father guiding her every step of the way. And this term, in their doubles matches together, Joss had pulled out the kind of tennis on occasions which Rebecca could still only hope to aspire to.

  'Well, if Joss is doubtful then – then I'm impossible,' said Rebecca, with sinking spirits.

  'Nonsense. Perfectly possible. Quite likely. You've been beating just the right people this year, Rebecca. You should squeeze in. Unless . . .'

  'Unless what?' asked Rebecca quickly.

  Again, the touch of humour in the grey eyes.

  'Try and work it out for yourself. If Josselyn is going to re-establish her quality in the eyes of the selectors, then she needs to get a move on. I believe she's playing Rachel Cathcart next week. After that, you two will no doubt meet in the final of the county closed.'

  'And Joss doesn't just need to beat me? She needs to wipe me out?' suggested Rebecca.

  'If she is to be sure of Eastbourne. Yes, I'm afraid so.'

  'And that could damage my chances?'

  'Of course.'

  Rebecca absorbed all this, then spoke up, in a defiant voice:

  'Well, it's got to happen first, hasn't it?'

  No wonder she was keyed up, now that the week of the tournament had arrived.

  All through the week, filming continued.

  Any anxieties that Miss Welbeck might have had about school life being disrupted proved to be completely unfounded. Surprisingly so.

  A lone cameraman had drifted in and out of school a few times, taking desultory footage of things like an art class in progress, girls filing out of the assembly hall, a Sixth Form tutorial in Parkinson. But that was all.

  The rest of the unit seemed to spend most of their time on the beach or else back at the hotel working on the script.

  By Thursday, Miss Welbeck was feeling slightly uneasy about one aspect of the filming. She called in Miss Sara Willis, head of the games staff.

  'I gather they've taken miles of film of the girls swimming and using the surf boards.'

  'They think it's colourful, Miss Welbeck. And of course the weather is absolutely glorious outside.'

  'Yes,' frowned Miss Welbeck. 'And I realize that they'll be doing a lot of shooting indoors when it comes to Commem on Saturday. But even so, showing the girls in the sea all the time gives a slightly unbalanced picture of life here. Another thing concerns me. I specifically told them that any scenes in the bay should include Harry – but I gather from Harry that they've hardly filmed him at all. He's quite hurt about it.

  'It's not his pride I'm concerned about. This film is already slotted for a television showing and will be seen by a wide audience. If swimming scenes are included and don't finish up in the cutting room, I want viewers to be quite clear that we have a professional lifeguard on duty at all times, as well as members of staff where the younger girls are concerned. Quite apart from the fact that no girl goes into the sea until she's passed her bronze. Have they taken any film at the indoor pool?'

  'Not yet,' said Miss Willis. 'But I'm sure they will! And the director's assured me we'll see rushes of the finished film, Miss Welbeck.' Sara Willis had been getting on rather well with Mark Coughlin, the man directing the film, a slim, dark-haired man, softly spoken and very charming. 'They've taken some lovely shots of Margot Lawrence surfing – very dramatic with her dark skin, white malibu board, sparkling turquoise sea – very filmic.'

  'Quite so.' Miss Welbeck spoke crisply and decisively. 'Nevertheless, Sara, I want them deflected. They have quite enough film of Trebizon Bay. Surely there are other things happening? Can I leave it with you?'

  'I know the very thing!' said Miss Willis. 'It's the county closed at the moment. Our two young tennis stars here are almost certain to be playing each other in the final tomorrow – and a coachload of girls is going to Exonford to cheer them on. I'll insist to Mr Coughlin that they go and film the whole thing.'

  'At my special request, please,' nodded Miss Welbeck. She smiled and felt more relaxed. 'That's a splendid idea, Sara.'

  'If the old trout's getting worried, I suppose we'd better go and cover
this tennis match, then,' said Mark Coughlin to his team, down at the Trebizon Bay Hotel on the Friday morning.

  He eyed the two cameramen.

  'We'll need both cameras, I guess. Get the gear packed up and put in the van. What about you, Libby? Do you want to come?'

  'If I must,' sighed his personal assistant.

  They drank their coffee slowly and later ambled out of the hotel to their vehicle.

  TEN

  THE BIG MATCH – AND AFTER

  In less than half an hour's time, Rebecca was due to play Joss Vining in the final of the county closed tournament for junior girls aged sixteen years and under. A coachload of spectators from Trebizon had already arrived at the grass tennis courts in Exonford Park, at the back of the sports centre, having left school immediately after lunch. They were thronging round the wire netting on the far side of Number One court, where the big match was to be played, talkative groups and gaggles of juniors and a few middle school girls – including, of course, the rest of 'the six' who'd all used their powers of persuasion to get off Friday afternoon lessons and bag seats on the coach.

  'The film people are here!' said Elf, in delight. Cameras were being set up on stands at each end of Number One court and sound recording equipment was being checked. 'They must have got permission!'

  'And there's Rebeck – she's getting some practice in, with Robbie!' commented Tish, shading her eyes and staring along to Number Six court. She could see two track-suited figures skimming balls backwards and forwards over the net down there. She shouted and waved. 'Yahoo!'

  But Rebecca was too deeply engrossed to hear. She was only dimly aware of the distant hum of voices, mingled with the nearby humming of wild bees that swarmed all over the honeysuckle at the back of Number Six court, as she practised turning her racket head to put maximum top spin on the balls that Robbie was sending down to her.

  'That's it, Rebeck.'

  The previous day, Rebecca and Joss had travelled to Exonford together by train, then back home to Trebizon in the evening, having done what was expected of them in the earlier rounds of the tournament. On the journey back, in particular, they'd spoken very little. Partly through exhaustion, partly because there was a certain tension hanging in the air between them now.