Darling Sweetheart Page 4

  ‘Right away, Miss.’ Waiter and trolley followed Talbot smartly out the door.

  ‘The poor man!’ she remonstrated. ‘He thought you were mocking him!’

  Emerson reverted to his normal drawl. ‘Honey, I pay that guy so much money, he’s lucky I don’t paint him blue and make him work in a tutu.’

  Still, it was the waiter, not Talbot, who returned with Annalise’s beer. She took a swallow, still conscious of Emerson’s eyes on her, as if she were the hors d’oeuvre, not the prawns.

  ‘So,’ she toyed with her purple lettuce leaf, ‘you seem to know a thing or two about my family.’

  ‘I’ve done my homework. I think your father was one of the greatest actors who ever lived.’

  ‘Well then,’ she met his gaze, ‘you ought to know that he hated that whole Fanshawe and Grovel thing. He said it was a cliché that became a franchise. He made thirteen of them–’

  ‘I’ve seen them all, many times.’

  ‘–and he was utterly fed up by the time he finished the second. Can you imagine how he felt after twenty years of making pretty much the same film, over and over again? He complained that it wasn’t proper acting, just clowning around.’

  ‘But you could tell there was a great actor underneath, because only a great actor coulda made those guys so goddamn funny.’

  ‘I don’t think those films have dated well.’

  ‘They gotta huge followin’.’

  ‘So why don’t you do comedy?’

  ‘Because I ain’t funny.’

  ‘My father felt Fanshawe and Grovel were beneath him. “That Victorian poof and his retarded sidekick,” he used to call them.’

  ‘What’s a poof?’

  ‘Oh, a gay man. Not a nice word.’

  ‘Still, that poof made him rich.’

  ‘I think that’s one of the reasons he hated the whole thing. He was typecast; no one took him seriously in other roles. Every time he thought he’d made his last, some studio would come back waving a bigger pay cheque.’

  ‘Yet you said you never had any money.’

  ‘Harry, my father was… an odd person. I loved him very much, but he could be a terrible shit. He left my mother when I was nine, although, in reality, he’d left her long before that. I only saw him sporadically through my teens. Then his plane flew into the sea and that was that. As for money, often we wouldn’t hear from him for months. Then I’d come home from school and find a Palomino pony tethered outside my bedroom window. A bloody Palomino, when my mother couldn’t afford to buy me clothes. He sent me a sports car when I was thirteen–’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘–four years before I was legally allowed to drive. My mother sold it. The house was falling down around us and he sends me a sports car.’

  ‘But what was he like as a person? I mean, really?’

  ‘Da–,’ and she nearly said ‘Darling Sweetheart’ but caught herself just in time, ‘Da-David was one of the most marvellous people you could ever hope to meet.’ Her eyes stung, but she forbade them to moisten. ‘He was also one of the most horrendous. Actually, I have a policy of not really talking about him very much, if you don’t mind.’

  Emerson smiled benignly. ‘I saw the interview you did with that British paper before you started filmin’. I have it on file.’

  ‘You have a file on me?’

  ‘Frost keeps a file on everyone I work with; you got your policies, I got mine. We were always gonna work together, you and me. I just needed the right project.’

  ‘You cast me for this film because you’re a fan of my father?’

  ‘I cast you,’ his smile widened, ‘because I respect you as an actress!’ He made an expansive gesture. ‘I mean, here we are in France, eatin’ supper in a beautiful château…’ he frowned, ‘apart from those goddamn phoney books.’ Then he brightened again, ‘And the script says we gotta fall in love! What’s not to like?’

  ‘If you read that interview, then you’ll know I have a boyfriend back in England.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I said, “Do you love him?”’

  ‘That’s a very personal sort of question!’

  ‘I’m a personal sorta guy.’

  ‘What if I asked you questions about your love life, eh?’

  Suddenly, he looked like a solemn little boy. ‘I don’t have anyone right now.’

  ‘Rubbish – you could have your pick of all the women in the world!’

  ‘Do you include yourself in that category?’ She blushed again. He laughed uproariously and wagged his finger as if he’d been joking, but as the butler returned with the trolley and the waiter, she noticed that his eyes never left her. Talbot served them both mineral water.

  ‘No wine,’ Emerson wagged his finger some more, ‘because it doesn’t agree with you, right?’

  ‘Your file goes into that sort of detail?’

  ‘Hell, no, I just remember that from your interview. I never touch alcohol – I like to think that I get high on life. I notice you don’t smoke either; that’s good, ’cos I really don’t approve of smokin’.’ The waiter lifted their starters – hers was barely touched – and served a main course of black pasta with cubes of white fish, a yellowish sauce and sprigs of thyme. ‘But seriously,’ Emerson continued, as his staff withdrew, ‘you know what they say about smoke and fire… do ya reckon we can do it? Can we set that silver screen on fire?’

  ‘I, uh, hope so.’

  ‘Good. Because I want Bernard and Roselaine to be as big as Scarlett and Brett.’

  ‘Scarlett. Johansson?’

  ‘No! Scarlett O’Hara and Brett… you know… thing!’

  ‘Rhett Butler.’

  ‘Yeah! I want this movie to be huge! I want Oscars, lotsa Oscars!’

  The question erupted before she could stop it. ‘Then why didn’t you hire a Johansson or a Knightley – why a relative unknown, like me?’ The tap of high-heeled shoes echoed down the hallway. He checked his watch and grinned.

  ‘Trust me, kiddo. I know exactly what I’m doin’.’ Frost burst through the door without knocking, brandishing a telephone.

  ‘Your call to Tress!’

  Emerson accepted the device and winked at Annalise. ‘Peter!’ He watched her throughout, as if his words were aimed at her and not at the director in his distant hotel. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Look, I’ll come straight to the point: I’m not happy with Sergio Palmiro.’ Annalise’s mouth went dry. ‘Peter… wait, wait… no listen, nothin’ you can say will change the fact that I’m not happy with Sergio Palmiro!’ He paused, then yelled suddenly, his face pink. ‘No! You fuckin’ listen to me! How am I supposed to work with a guy who calls me a son of a whore? Did ya know my mom, Peter? Did ya? Well she wasn’t a whore, okay? Goddamn right it was a fuckin’ rude thing to say! Yeah, I know he was upset! Yeah, I know it took all mornin’ to set up the shot; I waited long enough in my trailer! I don’t really care about that! I’m tellin’ ya, as the producer and the star of this movie, that I want Sergio Palmiro gone tonight! I don’t wanna see him in the mornin’! I don’t care! We’ll get someone else! I dunno, just someone!’

  ‘Harry!’ Again, she couldn’t stop herself. ‘You can’t fire Sergio!’

  ‘Wait a minute – I got someone here. Yeah, it’s Annalise Palatine. Don’t go away.’ He lowered the phone and addressed her with the same calm menace he’d used on Frost. ‘Explain that to me, please. What do you mean, I can’t sack Palmiro?’

  ‘Sorry.’ She put on her best little girl face. ‘I meant, please don’t fire Sergio.’

  ‘Gimme one good reason why.’

  ‘Because he’s brilliant at what he does.’

  ‘But this is my name on the line here. Me, Harry Emerson. If this movie sucks, is anyone gonna say, “Oh, there’s another flop from Sergio Palmiro?”’

  ‘No…’

  ‘Are they gonna say it’s a flop for Peter Tress or for Annalise Palatine?’

  ‘No,’ she w
hispered.

  ‘Damn right they won’t! I’m the big name, so I’ll be the one gettin’ leprosy!’ He raised the receiver to his mouth again. ‘Peter, you know how it works, don’t cha?’ He listened intently for about thirty seconds, then, ‘Okay. Here’s how it is: Palmiro can stay, but I’m tellin’ ya right now that I don’t like him, and if he screws up again, I’ll blitz him on the spot. You got that? Okay, what time d’ya want us in the mornin’? Okay. And how are we gonna finish that scene? Have you considered my suggestion? Good! Now we’re gettin’ somewhere! Goodnight, Peter, I won’t take up any more of your precious time.’

  He hung up. A wave of nausea hit Annalise. Frost emerged from the corner where she’d been waiting, to retrieve her phone. It annoyed Annalise that Frost had witnessed that scene – indeed, everything about the evening was deeply unsettling.

  ‘Look, thanks for dinner, but I think I should go home now. I’m tired…’

  He stood, his face a model of polite concern, but beneath his façade, she detected a flinty satisfaction. ‘Of course, of course – Judy, have Talbot call Levine.’

  Frost dialled a number. When it was answered, she simply said, ‘Ready.’ All smiles, Emerson ushered Annalise into the hall, with Frost following a few steps behind. Talbot waited by the front door.

  ‘Goodnight, Harry. Thanks for such a lovely time.’

  ‘The pleasure’s all mine – I just know we’re gonna make a great goddamn movie here.’ On the portico, he embraced her as he had when she’d arrived, all charm and ultra-white teeth but barely touching. She was halfway down the steps when she remembered.

  ‘By the way – I never thanked you for the flowers.’

  ‘Flowers?’

  ‘The roses you left in my trailer today.’

  ‘Uh… Judy,’ he addressed his assistant, ‘did we send flowers to Miss Palatine?’

  Frost shook her head. ‘Negative, H.E.’

  ‘Oh.’ Annalise shrugged. ‘Must have been someone else. See you in the morning.’

  ‘Bright-tailed and bushy-eyed!’

  Talbot opened the car and she climbed gratefully into the warm leather seat. Emerson and Frost watched as the rear lights dwindled along the driveway.

  ‘Well – whatcha reckon?’

  ‘What do I reckon…?’

  He nodded impatiently after the car. ‘Her.’

  ‘Oh… I haven’t seen enough yet to form an opinion.’

  ‘Whatever happened to feminine intuition?’

  Frost smiled. ‘You got way more of that than me.’

  ‘Okay, but looks-wise, you gotta admit, she’s a helluva specimen.’

  ‘She is pretty.’

  ‘But in a wholesome sorta way, which is really important. Girl next door. We don’t want some painted slut. No shortage of painted sluts where we come from, Judy.’

  ‘Sure ain’t.’

  ‘You’ve had her double-checked?’

  ‘No dirt; not a speck.’

  ‘So whassamatter? She too young?’

  ‘Umm… twenty-four is… respectable.’

  ‘I think we’re catchin’ her at a real good time.’

  ‘You could do a lot for her career.’

  ‘Great pedigree, too.’

  ‘You do know that her father was… umm…’

  ‘What?

  ‘…kinda nuts?’

  ‘So? He died ten years ago!’

  ‘Eight. It was eight.’

  ‘Whatever. And the mother…?’

  ‘In 2004.’

  ‘Remind me?’

  ‘Domestic accident.’

  ‘Right. So poor little Annalise is all on her own.’

  ‘She has that boyfriend.’

  ‘Find out what you can.’

  ‘I got him on file.’

  ‘I’ve read it – we need more. Find out what he’s doin’ right now, as in tonight, tomorrow and the next day. There must be somethin’ we can use – he fronts a rock-and-roll band for Chrissakes.’

  ‘What makes you think she’ll play ball?’

  ‘somethin’ about her. It’s like she’s a lady but, underneath, I get the feelin’ she’s just a little girl. A little girl who’ll do as she’s told.’

  ‘Maybe she’s a good actress.’

  ‘She is a good actress.’

  ‘No, I meant–’

  ‘I know what you meant.’

  ‘So maybe you should get to know her better, before you make up your mind.’

  ‘No, this one feels right; I’m happy to go with it. You call them and tell them we’re game on.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Sure I’m sure. But it has to be anonymous, okay? Insider gossip – nothin’ official, until we see what way it plays.’

  ‘As long as you’re a hundred per cent certain…’

  ‘Judy, I promise not to fire you if my instincts prove wrong – how’s that?’

  ‘Good enough for me, H.E. One more thing…’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You don’t really want us to move from this place? Just because of the décor?’

  ‘Palatine has to see the magic kingdom in action, Judy. She has to see that when I snap my fingers, big things happen. So you better get to work – me, I’m turnin’ in.’

  He left her alone amongst the columns. Crickets competed in the warm, black air; with a deep sigh, she took her phone from her pocket.

  The Range Rover pulled into the centre of Beynac, nosing its unseemly girth along the labyrinthine, lamp-lit streets. Annalise peered out until she spotted a café.

  ‘Stop! Stop here, please. I’ll walk the rest of the way.’

  ‘But Miss Palatine,’ Levine rumbled, ‘I gotta drive you home.’

  ‘I am home. I live less than a minute’s walk away. I want to buy a bottle of mineral water.’

  ‘Okay,’ he stopped the car, ‘I’ll wait, then drive you home.’

  ‘Please don’t. Really, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’d be in a worlda trouble, Miss Palatine, if anythin’ happened to you on my watch.’

  ‘Hey – I’m a big girl now. Plus, every second you keep this car running kills another polar bear. See you around.’ She slid from her seat, closed the door and walked into the bar-tabac without looking back. Still, she saw from the corner of her eye that Levine waited for a good thirty seconds before driving off.

  ‘C’est fermé, Mademoiselle.’ The unkempt barman barely glanced up from drying his dishes. Chairs were upturned on tables and a waitress mopped the floor. The only remaining customers were two noisily drunk extras, who flirted with a pair of local girls in the far corner. They were still in costume; one was a soldier, the other convincingly resembled a pestilent old beggar; he cackled and pawed at the shrieking girls. Not wanting to be recognised, Annalise turned her back to the party and rummaged in her purse. She placed a twenty-euro note on the bar.

  ‘Ça, c’est pour vous.’ The barman raised an eyebrow. She placed another beside it. ‘Ça, c’est pour une bouteille de blanc à em-porter, du Marlboro Light et des allumettes – s’il vous plaît.’

  With a shrug, the barman fetched a bottle of white wine from the fridge, then a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches. He dropped one note in the till and stuffed the other in his pocket. Outside, she paused and checked the street, so no one would see her guilty purchase. It was empty, but she had barely covered ten paces when a voice came from behind.

  ‘Coo-eee! Annaliiise! Coo-eee!’

  It was the pestilent beggar, poking his head around the doorway of the bar. He waved at her. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She shivered and walked away quickly.

  Inside her apartment, she kicked off her shoes, took a glass from the kitchen, retrieved her mobile from the sofa – she’d completely forgotten about it in her rush to leave – and let herself onto the balcony where she fell into a deck chair. She poured a large glass of wine, downed it and lit a cigarette. She checked the phone. One missed call. She dialled her voicemail.

 
‘Hello,’ Jimmy didn’t disguise his middle-class enunciation in private, ‘we’re on in ten minutes, so here I am, trying to get back to you.’ Click… and that was it. She thumbed his number. It wasn’t quite midnight, early yet for any post-gig party. But his number diverted again to mockney Jimmy.

  ‘It’s me. I can’t talk, but you know what to do.’ Beep.

  ‘Hi pet, I hope your gig went well. I’ve had a totally insane evening and I’d really like to talk to you. Call me back if you can… I miss you.’ She hung up, poured another glass of wine, drew deeply on her cigarette and stared into the night, where the river slid silently by.

  3

  Roselaine de Trenceval lifted her skirt and climbed the cliff path. Bernard de Vaux hacked at the undergrowth with his sword.

  ‘This way, lady! We must reach your father’s castle before de Montfort’s army arrives! We must warn him of the fate awaiting all who resist!’ She stepped past him.

  ‘I thank you, Sir, but I am very well capable of looking after myself. And I think you’ll find my father more than capable of resisting.’ Roselaine mounted the ridge. She stopped abruptly and he heard her say, ‘Oh!’ He scrambled up to join her.

  Before them on the hilltop, a castle was under siege. Men shot arrows from its ramparts at the army below but, as they watched, first one and then several of the castle defenders tumbled to their doom. A wooden catapult launched a jagged boulder at a section of wall, which collapsed in a cloud of smoke, provoking a roar from the hordes.

  ‘No!’ Roselaine gasped. ‘It cannot be!’ Her eyes filled with tears. She turned away from the battle and buried her face in Bernard’s shoulder. Awkwardly at first, but then more firmly, he put his arms around her and let her weep.

  ‘You!’ She pushed him away. ‘You are one of them! It is you who do this to my people!’ In the background, the mêlée thickened, as the howling troops surged and attacked the castle gate. She turned to flee, but he caught her by the wrist. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Let me go! Get away from me!’

  ‘Listen!’ He pulled her close, his face urgent, stern. ‘Listen to me, Roselaine!’ She struggled but could not break his powerful grip. ‘Your father’s castle is finished; it is only a matter of time! But if you do as I say, I can get your family out! I can save some of your people!’