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And yet … was this really Johnny? Oh, it looked like him, she’d have recognised him anywhere, in an instant. But although the features and the colouring stayed the same, this wasn’t the Johnny she remembered. This man disturbed her; he was a stranger in many ways she couldn’t exactly define. At first she had just thought the changes physical, but it was deeper than that – how could he not have changed under the bitter pressures of life in prison?
She sighed, and Johnny swung round at once. His face intent, he looked into her eyes. ‘Hello, Annie.’ His voice was low, husky.
‘Hi,’ she said shyly, and for a second it was the old Johnny again, his dark blue eyes shining, his smile gentle, almost pleading.
‘I was thinking about my grandmother’s house – do you remember?’ he asked her, and she caught her breath.
How could he even ask? Her mind instantly flooded with memories of them there together and her colour glowed hot, her lashes flickered self-conciously.
‘I’m going to have to sell it,’ he said, face sombre. ‘I held on to it all these years, I couldn’t bear to lose it, it was my last link with … with happier times, but now I’m having to face reality. I can’t afford to live there, it’s too far out of town, and I need money to live on. I’m only working freelance as a writer – I have to take part-time jobs on the side to survive, and it’s ridiculous to keep the house. I’ll sell it and buy myself a small flat. The rest of the money will help me survive until I get somewhere with my writing.’
‘Oh, Johnny, that’s terrible!’ she said, her own face distressed. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He watched her eagerly. ‘Wo
uld you like to see it again? I thought I might drive out there this morning and take a look at it before I get it valued. Would you like to come?’
She didn’t even hesitate.
‘Where the hell is Derek?’ Harriet raged, looking at her watch. It was nearly nine-thirty. Sean had done his rewrite and left to catch up on his sleep. They should have started work long ago. ‘Don’t tell me he’s doing a Mike Waterford? I can’t have two drunks turning up late whenever they feel like it. I have to put up with Mike because of the ratings, but I’m damned if I’ll put up with it from Derek bloody Fenn.’ She gave her assistant a glare. ‘Ring him, and keep on ringing until you get an answer. When you do get him, tell him to get over here right away or I’ll strangle him with my bare hands. And in the meantime I’ll set up for Scene 7. I’m not wasting a location shoot hanging around waiting for Derek Fenn. The actors in Scene 7 are all here. We might as well get on with that. Where’s Benny and the cars?’
They were filming in St Paul’s Piazza, the modern square surrounded with office blocks and shops built just behind the seventeenth-century cathedral. On this chilly spring morning the square had turned into a wind tunnel; actors in police uniforms huddled together under arches, drinking coffee out of paper cups.
Harriet’s assistant gestured down some steps. ‘Parked down there, on the pavement.’
‘OK. Before you start ringing Derek, get Benny up here, then ring Sean and ask him to get over here fast. He’ll have to rewrite his rewrite, I’m afraid.’
The other girl nodded, lifting her mobile phone to her mouth. ‘Benny? Harriet wants you in the square. Yes, now.’
The stunt driving would be the most complex part of the scene and would take the longest to shoot. The cars would have to drive up steps into the square and out the other side; it would take hours to set up so Harriet decided to begin with that, and, for once Mike Waterford was on time and not suffering from hangover. He actually knew his lines, too. Not that he had many.
‘A minor miracle,’ said Harriet thankfully to Sean when he arrived an hour later. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of shifting to him the lines you’d given to Annie in the first version of that scene. It was the only way I could go ahead with shooting the opening pages of the scene, and, as you see, the light’s terrible, and traffic is getting worse all the time. God, location work is such hell. Why do we do it? It’s so warm and cosy on a studio set.’
‘But it doesn’t have the impact a scene shot in a real location does,’ Sean said drily. ‘How are Benny and his stunt drivers doing?’
‘They’ve spent hours lining everything up, just for two minutes screen time.’
‘It will be worth it! What rewriting do you want me to do, then?’
‘Scene 6 – no Annie, no Derek.’ She explained and Sean frowned.
‘It isn’t like Derek. You say you’ve tried ringing his flat?’
‘Constantly. No reply.’
‘Maybe he spent the night somewhere else?’ Sean’s eyes were narrowed thoughtfully. ‘With Marty Keats, probably – he’s seeing her, isn’t he? Get your girl to ring her. Try wardrobe first, and if she isn’t at work try her home number. And don’t forget you and I are having lunch with BG.’
‘Oh, my God, I had forgotten,’ groaned Harriet. Billy Grenaby had ordered them to lunch out of the blue, having picked up on rumours, no doubt, that there were personal problems among the actors on the series. He interested himself in everything, even down to the tiniest morsel of gossip. ‘I’m so crazy, with all this hassle. It’s a wonder I remember my own name!’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s nearly eleven o’clock. I’ve just got an hour and a half before I have to hand over to Flora, then. OK, can you do that rewrite quickly, Sean, so that I can approve it before we have to leave? I’ll get on with Benny and the boys.’
It didn’t take Sean twenty minutes to rewrite the scene. Harriet glanced through it, nodded.
‘That’s fine. Still no sign of Derek, though, and Marty Keats isn’t at work today, nor is there an answer from her home number.’ Her eyes were worried.
Sean eyed her shrewdly. ‘Come on, Harriet – what’s bothering you?’
She made a face. ‘Annie is home alone. What if Derek turns up there, trying to get money out of her?’
Sean’s face tightened. ‘I should have thought of that.’ He took his mobile phone out of his pocket. ‘We’ll soon find out.’ He dialled Annie’s number. ‘Hello? This is Sean Halifax. Can I speak to Annie, please? What? What do you mean, not there? Where the hell is she?’ He listened, then said tersely, ‘Well, when she gets back tell her to ring either me or Harriet. We’ll be on this number.’ He gave the number of his mobile phone. ‘And tell her it’s urgent.’
