Читать книгу Good Time Girl - Kate O’Mara - Страница 11

She had class. Of that there was no doubt. She looked good, was in fact stunning. High cheekbones, slanting grey eyes, dark reddish brown hair and a flawless complexion. Hugh noted it all. The impeccably cut slate-grey suit. The moss agate earrings and matching ring, the dark green of which was picked up in a long narrow silk scarf hung loosely around her neck. The shoes and handbag of matching grey suede. The hair piled on top of her head. Hugh felt a surge of excitement. He had found Sara Harper.

‘Excuse me a moment will you, Ms Jenner?’ He rose from his seat. ‘Oh, would you care to take a look at the script?’ he added. ‘I’m just popping down the corridor.’

‘Thank you, yes, I’d love to.’

He seemed to be in a hurry, Claire thought. As soon as he had gone, she picked up the wodge of type-covered paper that he had placed in front of her. The pages were held together at the top with a single clip. ‘The McMasters. Episode 10’, it said on the front page, followed by a list of the producers, assistants and various other administrative personnel. She flicked through the pages, trying to find her character. She already thought of it as ‘hers’. She had an idea that Hugh was impressed. He had seemed agitated. She noticed that she often had this effect on men. Ah, here it was.

Int. Sara’s office.

A tall blonde woman is perched on the edge of a desk. She is speaking on the telephone. She swings a shapely leg as she talks.

SARA:	I don’t think I will have any difficulty in obtaining the Rembrandt sketch for you, Contessa. What are you prepared to go to – (She breaks off abruptly as her office door opens quietly.) Who the hell are you? Get out of here! (She glares at the intruder.)
PAUL:	Good afternoon. Ms Harper, I presume?
SARA:	Who are you and what the hell do you think you are doing in my office?
PAUL:	My apologies, Ms Harper. I came to pay my respects. Well no, to be truthful, I came to size up the opposition. (He smiles charmingly.)
SARA:	(Unimpressed.) Who let you in?
PAUL:	I let myself in. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind. (He gives her the benefit of another dazzling smile.)
SARA:	Well, I do mind. Get out!
PAUL:	(Taken aback.) I beg your pardon. I had no idea you’d take it so –
SARA:	I said get out! (She picks a nearby ledger and flings it at him. He ducks and exits hurriedly.)

Claire smiled to herself. This was right up her street. She had to have this part. The door opened and Hugh reappeared with another man in tow, older, bald, benign-looking.

‘Ah, Ms Jenner, you’re still here,’ he sounded relieved.

As if I’d think of going anywhere with a part like this hanging in the balance, thought Claire.

‘This is Claire Jenner, Martin,’ said Hugh. ‘Ms Jenner, this is our producer, Martin Roberts.’

‘I’m so pleased to meet you,’ said Claire, rising to shake hands. Martin nodded and smiled shyly, shook her hand vigorously but did not speak. They both seemed uncertain of what to say next.

Then, seeing the script, Hugh had an inspiration. ‘So, what did you think of Episode – er – Ten – is it? Yes, Episode Ten.’

‘I’ve only just glanced at it,’ replied Claire, wondering how on earth he supposed she’d had time to read it in the few minutes it had taken him to fetch Martin.

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Hugh replied. ‘Did you manage to find our Sara?’ He spoke of the character as though she were a personal friend.

‘Yes, I found her first entrance. I think it’s brilliant.’ Both men looked at her eagerly.

‘Good, good, splendid,’ said Hugh. ‘And how do you feel about her?’

‘I can handle her,’ she replied, fingering the script for a moment, then tossing it across the desk.

‘You can?’ said Hugh. They were both looking at her intently.

‘Oh yes, she’s right up my street. Would you like me to read for you?’

‘Oh no, no, good Lord, no, that won’t be necessary, we know of your reputation.’

Do you? thought Claire in amazement. What reputation? She’d hardly done any television. Then she remembered. Of course, Larry Matthews – he’d obviously said nice things about her Lydia Languish. ‘Oh, I’m so glad,’ she laughed. ‘That’s all right then.’

Martin had still not said a word, but was looking at her as though he wanted to drink her in. Claire didn’t quite know what was expected of her. Hugh finally wound up the meeting.

‘Well, thank you, Ms Jenner, for coming in to see us. We’ll be speaking to your agent this afternoon.’ He held out his hand. Martin followed suit. Claire, relieved that it was over, gathered her things together and took Hugh’s outstretched hand.

‘Thank you for seeing me,’ she said charmingly. And then offered her hand to Martin. She had turned to go when the door burst open to reveal a tall blond good-looking man.

‘Claire Jenner!’ he proclaimed dramatically. ‘What a lovely surprise. Are you leaving us?’

Claire crossed to the door, recognizing Larry Matthews at once. ‘How good to see you again,’ she said and meant it. ‘Yes, I’m just off.’

‘Then allow me to escort you to the lift.’ And he took her arm and steered her out of the room and down the corridor.

‘You look stunning,’ he told her. ‘I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.’

‘I do hope so,’ replied Claire fervently.

He propelled her into the lift, waving goodbye as the doors started to close. ‘Have no fear,’ he called out, as they shut and the lift started with a slight jolt to descend.

I think I’ve got it, Claire thought excitedly to herself. I think I’ve got it! She had driven herself to the offices and had been allowed to park briefly at the back of the building. She rescued her car, and smiled and waved cheerily at the man on the gate as she drove off. It took her some time to negotiate the London traffic. It was raining heavily and conditions were bad. She hardly noticed. All the way back, she kept saying to herself, I think I’ve got it, I think I’ve got it, hardly daring to believe it. When she finally got home an hour later, she tore up the front steps, flung herself into her flat and made straight for the telephone.

‘David, David, it’s me. I think I’ve got it!’ she cried excitedly.

‘Yes, they want you,’ replied her agent mildly.

‘How do you know?’ she asked astounded.

‘They rang the moment you left and offered you the part.’

‘Oh God,’ breathed Claire in a sort of ecstasy. ‘It’s a wonderful part, David, it really is.’

‘Good,’ said David briefly, ‘then let’s hope they offer you some wonderful money to go with it, which I very much doubt.’

‘I don’t care what they pay me,’ said Claire recklessly.

‘Well I do, I need the money even if you don’t,’ replied David tartly. Then relenting he said, ‘No, seriously, Claire, I’m very pleased, you deserve it, well done!’

‘Thank you,’ said Claire happily. ‘I won’t let you down.’

‘I know that,’ replied David. ‘You never do.’ It was the nearest to a compliment she’d ever received from David, and she felt a warm glow of contentment.

He then instructed her to get pencil and paper and jot down filming dates. He told her that wardrobe and make-up would be contacting her, and to make herself available to them. And she was to present herself at the studios at the next recording a week from the day, for a make-up test.

She left an excited message on Sally’s answering machine, thanking her profusely for the loan of the suit, which she was convinced got her the part.

She then phoned her mother in Wiltshire. She hadn’t spoken to her in weeks. Claire had deliberately not contacted her during her recent unhappiness, not wanting to burden her and add to her own distress. Beatrice Jenner was over the moon. Inordinately proud of her beautiful daughter, she had known it would only be a matter of time before she got the break she deserved.

‘Roger must be pleased,’ she said happily.

The remark took Claire completely unawares. Finally she said falteringly, ‘Oh, er, Roger and I are not seeing one another any more, Mum.’

‘Oh dear, I am sorry, darling,’ was the sympathetic response. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Oh, months ago. I didn’t bother you with it at the time, because – well – it really wasn’t important enough – we’d been building up to it for ages.’ Claire was awfully afraid that she was going to cry. The sound of her mother’s caring, understanding voice had brought a lump to her throat and she suddenly realized how much she had missed her.

Beatrice had heard a note of distress in her daughter’s quavering voice, but kept her own counsel. She said, ‘Well, darling, it’s marvellous about this part. Your father will be thrilled.’

‘How is he?’ asked Claire, concerned.

‘Not very well, darling, but this news will do him a power of good!’

After Claire had finished speaking to her mother, she felt guilty. She had not asked after her father for ages and her mother had borne the worry all alone.

It also occurred to her that she had not thought about Roger once the whole day.