Lucky Break (41 page)

‘Well, I suppose Spam is fundamentally British.' Charlie raised her hand for calm. ‘There's more.' She cleared her throat. ‘ “When introduced to HRH The Prince of Wales, one should shake his hand, swiftly followed by a bow of the head – men. A small bob (curtsey) or bow of the head – women. And one should say ‘Your Royal Highness' or ‘Sir' whilst shaking his hand. Please note,” ' she paused for greater effect, ‘ “that women have the option to curtsey – a small bob is sufficient – or to bow their head.” Now this is the really important bit. “You should
not
initiate a conversation or ask Their Royal Highnesses any questions. Should Her Royal Highness ask you a question, answer naturally using the word ‘Ma'am' (rhyming with Spam), e.g. HRH: ‘Did you enjoy working on the film?' Reply: ‘Yes, Ma'am, it was . . .' ” ' Charlie's shoulders began to shake. ‘I promise I'm not making this up. “If asked a question by His Royal Highness,” ' she struggled on, ‘ “answer with the word ‘Sir' as above. If spouses or partners are invited to witness the royal line-up they should remain behind the presentee and SHOULD NOT be brought forward into the line. Once TRHs have passed down the line, the presentees will be ushered to the stage, or to their seats.” '

‘Thank God for that.'

‘So, Nell Gilby, tell me,' Charlie's royal accent was plummier than the Prince of Wales's, ‘did you enjoy working on the film?'

‘Yes, Sir,' Nell attempted a sitting curtsey. ‘It was great fun. It was . . .'

‘Time's up,' she barked. ‘HRH'll be on to the next one by now. Do you think he's got all night?' She turned to Tara Laurie, whose telephone had fallen finally from her ear. ‘So tell me, did you enjoy working on the film?'

Tara looked starrily up at Charlie and grappled for a reply.

‘Off to the Tower,' Charlie insisted. And Nell begged her to stop.

‘Right.' Melissa released the tongs. ‘Have a check and see what you think. We can always have a last go once your dress is on.' She blotted Nell's face with powder and touched up the mascara streak of her hysterical tears. There was a moment's silence when Nell stood up. ‘Gorgeous,' Charlie breathed, and Tara moved in and fastened a pair of drooping diamond earrings to the lobes of each ear.

‘Yes,' Milly sighed. ‘Very lovely.'

Nell inspected herself in the mirror. ‘Thanks.' She couldn't stop smiling. Her hair fell in glossy waves halfway down her back and her face was bright as a flower.

‘Right then,' Tara gathered up the dress, pressed and damply steaming from the iron. ‘Where do you want to get changed?'

‘It's OK,' Charlie took it from her, unhooking her own dress from the cupboard. ‘We'll call you if we need you.' And holding them both aloft she led the way along the hall to Nell's old bedroom.

‘Did you see her face?' Nell shivered in her bra and knickers.

‘She'll get over it,' Charlie said. ‘Those women are tough as old boots.' She held the silver material as Nell carefully stepped in.

‘So,' Charlie's hands fluttered across her back. ‘How have you actually been?'

Nell looked round at her, closer to Charlie's height now that she'd slipped into her shoes.

‘I mean . . .' Charlie was serious. ‘I know how lonely it can be on a film set. I was worried. I read something about Ciaran . . .'

Nell resisted her old habit of spilling out all her news. ‘It can be lonely,' she agreed, and she sucked in her stomach to help Charlie ease up the zip, slowly, carefully, her fingers straining as they pulled the cloth in tight.

‘You know,' Charlie breathed low over her shoulder, ‘for the longest time now, I've wanted to say sorry.'

Nell felt her bare arms shiver. ‘For what?'

‘You know. For . . .' Nell could hear her breathing, and then it was blocked out by the sound of her own heart beating, the rush of her insides, on fire. ‘Not being a proper friend to you. At college, you know. And after.'

There was a break in her voice and Nell turned round. ‘Hey,' she put up a hand to catch one slipping tear. ‘What is it?' But Charlie only sniffed. ‘I'm happy that you're back, that's all. I missed you.'

Nell felt herself quake. ‘It's all right. I never thought that, anyway. I never minded, really. Well, not that much.' She laughed. ‘I'm just glad that we're still friends. Even if you only want to know me now because I'm rich and famous.'

‘At least one of us is,' Charlie wiped her eyes. ‘I'll need someone to support me in my old age. It's either that or the Actors' Benevolent Fund.'

‘Shut up.'

‘No really. I've been working at the health food store at the bottom of my road.'

‘You haven't!'

‘Rearranging the vegetables to hide the mouldy organic brown bits. It's actually quite fun. You wouldn't believe the propositions I get in there. If I wasn't on a sabbatical from sex, who knows what I'd be up to.'

‘Car's here,' Tara's voice called tersely from the kitchen.

Nell started in terror.

‘Tell it to wait,' Charlie shouted. And she put out her hands and held them lightly over Nell's head.

Nell closed her eyes. ‘What are you doing?' She felt a warm blanket wrap itself around her. She sighed. Even her shoes felt more comfortable.

‘It's all right,' Charlie whispered, ‘they always send the car too early,' and moving around her, swirling the energy, so that it roiled and pitched, she swept her hands in large strokes up and down Nell's body until she was calm. ‘Thanks.' Nell's eyes felt soft and shiny. ‘That was amazing.' And she looked at the tight curls of Charlie's hair, the rounded arm that hung from her new strong shoulder, and wondered what had happened in the time that she'd been gone.

It was only once they were in the car that Nell remembered that she'd forgotten to put on her Spanx. ‘Shhh. It doesn't matter,' Charlie soothed her. ‘You look great, although they may have been useful. If it snows you could have taken them off and used them as a hat.' Just then Poppy, from the PR company, phoned. Her voice was strained. ‘Where are you?'

‘I'm not sure.' Nell peered out of the window at the inky streets. ‘Where are we?'

‘Five minutes away,' the driver spoke up from the front.

‘Five,' Nell reported and Poppy shrieked. ‘No, that's too soon, we need you to be last, you mustn't get here before Wayne Hull, drive around the block for a few minutes. I'll call you, but wait till at least quarter to seven.'

The driver pulled up in a side street off Leicester Square, and Nell and Charlie lay back against the padded leather of the car's upholstery and waited. If I could stay like this for ever, Nell thought, just on the brink, but she was ready, all the same, when Poppy called again.

For almost an hour Nell stood on the red carpet, pressed against the barricades, talking and signing and shaking hands with a crowd of well-wishers who had come to cheer her on. Poppy guided her, wrapped in a red coat, while Nell, for the sake of stardom and her designer dress, remained half naked in the icy February night. ‘Nell, Nell Gilby!' young girls waved photos of her and shrieked, and Nell, caught up in their jubilation, moved from one to the other, signing her name on whatever they presented. She was too busy to notice the cold, not until she reached the entrance to the cinema where a man strode towards her, his lips blue, an expression of pitiful concern across his face. ‘Nell Gilby,' he was speaking for the camera that would flash her image up before the waiting crowd inside. ‘How does it feel tonight? The premiere of your first film?' Nell smiled. ‘Wonderful,' she said, although in fact she'd lost all sensation in her feet and she was worried, if she took another step, she might simply topple over.

‘From all reports it's destined to be a massive hit,' the man gushed, and Nell quivered, aware of several hundred beady eyes on her, grateful for the promotional words that were ready at her lips. ‘An enormous amount of work and passion has gone into the making of this film . . .' she began, and the two of them chatted, the wind gusting at her hair, his knuckles white where they clutched the microphone.

Eventually Nell was escorted inside, up the stairs to the foyer where the other actors and their guests, the producers from both sides of the Atlantic, and Ciaran, awkward in a suit and tie, stood waiting. ‘Well done,' Charlie had a glass of wine for her, and her own coat to wrap around her. ‘I'm sorry it's not hot chocolate,' and she took one of Nell's hands and attempted to warm it in her own. Nell glanced across at Ciaran. He was unaccompanied, at least she thought he was, and for a second it seemed as if he might be about to move towards her. But behind them through the wall of glass, the royal car was pulling into the square, driving up the red carpet to the cinema door. As fast as possible everyone manoeuvred into place, the front line sombre and expectant, the back row sniggering as if they were at school.

‘Shhh,' Nell attempted to quieten Charlie, who was exchanging gossip with the producer's teenage girlfriend, and abandoning the coat she turned to watch The Royal Highnesses, who were moving along the line. ‘Did you enjoy working on the film?' the Prince was asking, true to his script, his head bent in earnest anticipation of the replies, while Camilla sailed along beside him in a floor-length maroon dress. ‘Sensible,' Charlie hissed over her shoulder, ‘warmer than Spam,' but there was no time to respond, the royal entourage was upon her. ‘Did you . . .' a new idea had occurred to the Prince, she could see it dawning on his face. ‘Did you find it very difficult, learning your lines?'

Nell was thrown. Not just by the question, but by the sheer delight the Prince took in producing it. ‘Actually, well, no, not really . . .' She felt a nudge from behind. ‘Sir . . . But it was fun. Being in the film. I loved it.'

‘Hello.' Camilla had caught sight of Charlie, peering over the top of Nell's head. ‘What are you doing . . .' she looked amused, ‘standing back there?'

Charlie tried to duck. ‘We're under orders. Ma'am. I'm not even meant to be talking to you.' She grimaced, and then curtsied. ‘Pretend you never saw me.'

Camilla laughed. ‘But I have seen you. Aren't you the girl from
The Inspectors
? Yes, I liked that. I thought you were awfully good.'

‘Really?' Charlie frowned. ‘I thought it was awful . . . but actually, thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it. It means a lot.'

Nell and Prince Charles, the odd couple suddenly, stood nodding politely, trying to think of anything else to say. But then an aide was moving them on, a gentle hand at the Prince's elbow, and Nell too was steered away, down a flight of stairs, along dark corridors, into the secret bowels of the cinema to the wings of the stage.

Ciaran Conway stood before the curtained screen. ‘And of course none of this would have been possible without my brilliant scriptwriter, the director of photography, the editors and producers who've worked so tirelessly, all of whom I thank from the bottom of my heart . . .' There was a catch in Ciaran's voice, and his fingers trembled as he spread his arms wide, ‘which only leaves me to introduce the cast, who dug so deep inside themselves to bring this story to the screen. There are many pitfalls in this business but there are wonders too, and we are honoured tonight to have so many of the actors with us . . .' And having shaken off his usual shyness in favour of passion, Ciaran began to call the actors out on to the stage, hugging each one as they arrived, until Nell heard her own name. She took a last deep breath and walked out into his embrace. ‘And now,' Ciaran kept one arm around her, ‘it is with most humble gratitude, that we announce the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall.' Above them, at the top of the stalls two trumpeters appeared, and with a blast of silver notes filled the auditorium with the medieval sound of victory. Tahdatadaaaaaah! The royal couple stood, heralded in state, while everyone in the cinema rose up in their seats and clapped. Ciaran took Nell's hand and squeezed it. ‘It's so good to see you,' he spoke out of the corner of his mouth. ‘I've missed you like hell.' The trumpeters blasted out another long, rich trill.

‘Don't think,' Ciaran was still talking, ‘that I'm letting you get away from me, ever again,' and Nell, dazed with happiness, looked out over the thousand starry faces, and seeing her mother, and in the row above, contrary to all expectation, her father, she pinched herself to check she wasn't in a dream. Further along the row was Pierre with his fiancé Robin, and Hettie, beside them, in some kind of feathered hat. Her sister was there too, with her husband, and Sita and Raj, their arms around each other. And there at the end was Charlie, luminous in her white dress, waving, blowing a kiss out over the crowd.

‘Yes' was all Nell could say as Ciaran's arm tightened around her, and raising her free hand to her lips, she blew her own kiss back.

Acknowledgements

I'd like to thank the many actors who gave me inspiration and ideas for this novel, none of whom appear as themselves, but to avoid confusion I shall avoid listing names. But if I interviewed you, or cornered you at a party, or just watched you in admiration from the stalls, thank you, I couldn't have written this book without you.