Good Time Girl. Kate O’Mara
Читать онлайн книгу.
make-up caravan was especially equipped for the purpose. It was a smaller replica of the make-up room at the television studios, but with only three mirrors and three dentist’s chairs. Sonia’s place was in the middle and Claire was soon swathed in a make-up cape and had given herself over to Sonia’s ministrations. Less than an hour later, she was transformed. Her hair had been curled. Her skin glowed in spite of the make-up, and her eyes were luminous. She was looking the way she knew suited her best and she felt happy and confident.
She was next conducted by Terri to the wardrobe caravan, where she shivered in spite of the electric blow heater that was blasting through its interior. She donned the thermal underwear, and then put on a pale pink suit and fedora. She had exchanged her thick socks for glossy tights and her sneakers for a classy neutral three-quarter-heel Italian pump. She had only just managed to get herself ready when Terri appeared at the door. ‘You’re wanted on set,’ she said peremptorily. ‘Now,’ she added with a shrug, raising her eyebrows in a don’t-ask-me-I’m-just-the-office-boy sort of look. Claire sat gingerly in a waiting car, which Terri herself drove up the winding drive to the house. Glances of admiration and approval from the film crew followed her as she was led by Terri around technical equipment and into a small reception hall where a camera had been set up. The director, Scott Dudley, a diminutive but attractive middle-aged man with a lively expression and a shock of iron-grey hair, was sipping coffee and deep in conversation with a pretty, plump blonde girl. Terri brought her charge into Scott’s eyeline. They both turned to view the newcomer.
‘Good morning,’ said Scott, in what Claire could only describe later to Sally as a provocative way. ‘Well, you’re an improvement on the general standard of pulchritude in this god-forsaken series!’
Claire blushed under her make-up. She noticed that it was mainly men of a certain age and older that treated her as a sex object.
‘How do you do, Mr Dudley?’ she countered politely.
‘Know your lines, do you?’ asked Scott bluntly, ignoring her solicitude.
‘Of course,’ replied Claire hotly. It was one thing to be subjected to mild sexist chat, she was used to that, but to impugn her professionalism as an actress was not to be tolerated.
‘Okay, okay,’ he said easily, ‘keep your hair on. It looks very nice by the way – doesn’t it, Pam?’ He threw the observation in the direction of the blonde.
‘Yes, lovely,’ said she.
‘Pam’s my number one – can’t move an inch without her,’ he said, giving Pam’s bottom a playful squeeze. Pam seemed to have no objection to being treated so familiarly, merely giggling.
‘Had breakfast?’ asked Scott.
‘Er – no,’ said Claire.
‘Should do – we’ve got a tough day ahead.’ And so saying, he turned abruptly away to address a remark to a large burly man whom Claire soon realized was the lighting cameraman. She turned around to discover that Terri had disappeared and left her to her own devices. To cover her confusion, she started to devote her attention to the script, which she was clutching. Scott’s remarks had rattled her.
‘Care to go over some lines?’ said a deep, smooth, charming voice. Claire’s heart fluttered and she looked up into the quizzically smiling face of Geoffrey Armitage. His look of amusement turned to one of intense admiration as their eyes met. ‘I am enchanted to meet you, Miss Jenner. Please forgive the casual approach, I’ve tried to attract your attention for some time. You seemed to be engrossed in the script so I thought I’d try that avenue.’
Claire hardly heard what he said. The rest of the room seemed to have floated away and she had the absurd notion that she believed in love at first sight. Or was it lust. Certainly, the way Geoffrey was looking at her was lustful and yet she thought she detected a softness in that look, a sort of yearning, regret. She couldn’t fathom it, yet she felt utterly bewitched.
‘We’re ready for you, children. Ah, I see you’ve met.’ Scott’s cheery voice broke the spell. ‘Walk this way, please,’ and he guided them to a doorway that had lights trained on it.
‘Right, now, Geoff, you enter on action across to the table here.’
‘What table?’
‘We’ll put one there.’
‘Table coming in!’ yelled someone.
‘Not now, not now,’ said Scott impatiently, ‘we don’t need it on this shot. So, in you come, Geoff.’
Geoff obliged. He crossed to the centre of the room and mimed putting his auction programme on the imaginary table.
‘All right, darling!’ called out Scott. Claire, waiting behind the door, was too nervous to bridle at the familiarity. ‘And – cue,’ said Scott. Claire entered. ‘And pause by the door, look at him intently, then as he starts to go – start to go Geoff’ – Geoffrey obliged – ‘then you, darling, you say your first line from the doorway, then come to him – and cue.’
Claire did as she was bid. She played the dialogue that followed well and she knew it. She had energy and intelligence and the scene, short though it was, worked beautifully.
‘Good stuff,’ said Scott in a surprised voice, when the rehearsal was over. ‘We’ll go for one.’
‘Make-up checks!’ called out one of the floor assistants, Brian.
‘What for?’ demanded Scott. ‘They haven’t done anything yet.’
‘Forget it,’ amended Brian, as Sonia and Glynis were about to dart in. But Glynis was not to be deterred.
‘Do you mind?’ she said with heavy irony to Scott. ‘I need to check my artiste.’
‘Funny how you’re never around when we need you,’ muttered Scott to the camera crew, ‘usually around tea break.’
Claire was relieved that Glynis, who as make-up supervisor deemed it beneath her to attend to anyone but the stars of the show, was not her make-up artist. She was disappointed that Larry was not part of this team for her debut, but he was on the next episode and she would probably have got her confidence by then. They did the take.
‘Print it,’ said Scott with satisfaction.
Geoff took advantage of the situation. ‘I’m going to enjoy our scenes together,’ he murmured quietly, looking deep into Claire’s eyes as he spoke.
Claire felt herself go weak at the knees.
There followed close-ups of each of them. Then a shot of Claire leaving the building amongst a crowd of milling extras, and getting into her car. Then a shot of her arriving. Then a shot of Geoff watching her departure from the door. Then Claire driving away. By the time this sequence was completed, it was almost lunchtime.
‘Everyone back at one forty-five to do the auction scene,’ called out Brian loudly. ‘And that means everyone,’ he yelled to the crowd of extras who were making a beeline for the catering van.
‘Can I get you something?’ said Geoff, clasping Claire by the elbow and steering her away from the crowd. ‘Let’s go to the caravan – oh yes, they’ve actually provided the actors with a sort of green room,’ he said, seeing Claire’s look of surprise. ‘It was Bella’s doing – she insisted – went to Hugh and beat him up, verbally, until he gave in. Have you met Bella, by the way?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Then I’m sure you get the picture.’ He settled her in the actors’ caravan and then set off in search of food.
Over lunch he chatted to her easily. He had a fund of amusing stories from his days at Stratford, and told them with relish. Claire found herself giggling continuously and at one point was actually convulsed with laughter. Afterwards, they walked together to the make-up caravan, to be made presentable for the next shot. Claire felt she’d known him all her life.
The whole of the afternoon