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‘He isn’t normal,’ Harriet said shakily, and Sean gave a hard, unamused laugh.
‘You can say that again! Anyway, Marty has sent her kids to stay with her sister, just in case Roger goes to their house looking for her, and she’s asked for a few days off work, to join them.’
‘But presumably he knows where her sister lives?’
‘It seems she’s moved since Roger disappeared. He won’t know her new address – she left London and went north. Marty and her kids should be safe there.’
Harriet chewed her lip anxiously. ‘Do we tell Annie? What if he comes after her next?’
Sean frowned. ‘Oh, we have to tell her. She has to be warned. She mustn’t be left alone for a second.’
The final scene of the day was shot just before four-thirty and Annie was only in it briefly. She went back to her dressing-room after she had finished to change back into her own clothes and take off the make-up which she found too heavy off set.
Harriet put her head round the door just as Annie was about to leave. ‘I want to go home to get some clothes,’ Annie told her, and Harriet nodded.
‘Wait for me, we’ll go together. I just have a few phone calls to make. Sean has already left. He’ll see us back at his place.’
She vanished and Annie put on her coat, checked in her handbag that she had her key, sipped a little of the iced water which was always put in her dressing-room freshly each day.
Ten minutes passed very slowly. Annie impatiently looked at her watch every few minutes until the phone rang, making her jump.
‘Hello?’
Jason’s voice asked hopefully, ‘I’m sitting outside, Miss Lang – do you want me tonight, or not?’
She made up her mind in a flash. ‘I’m just on my way out, Jason. Sorry to keep you waiting so long.’
‘No problem,’ he said, his voice brightening.
Annie smiled and hung up. She scribbled a note to Harriet. ‘Gone home alone. I’ll take a taxi to Sean’s, see you later.’
Harriet rang her dressing-room five minutes later, but didn’t get a reply. She sent her assistant along to look for Annie while she made another transatlantic phone call. Harriet had just been invited to go to Los Angeles for three months on a swap with an American TV producer who wanted experience of working in London.
Billy had set it up on one of his frequent visits to the States and Harriet was torn between being excited about it and being worried about leaving someone else in charge of The Force. Billy had arranged for the swap to begin as soon as they finished shooting the present series, but Harriet wouldn’t be back in time to start working with Sean on the new scripts for the next series. She would have to leave that to whoever Billy put into her job during her absence.
When she had finished her call, she didn’t get up to go, she sat staring out of the window, chewing her pencil, scowling. Was Billy using the idea of three months in Los Angeles learning about American TV as a trap for her? What if his real objective was to detach her from The Force for good?
He had this crazy theory that it was bad news for a producer or writer to spend too long on one programme. Billy liked them to move on; he had kept trying to persuade Sean to move, and had hinted that Harriet should start a new series and let someone else take over The Force. She might come back to find she was off the series, and her temporary replacement had become permanent.
If that is what he’s up to, I’ll hand in my notice and get another job!
Her mind was in confusion; she was angry and hurt and puzzled all at once. I thought he really liked me. Was I imagining it? Why is he sending me away? Three months looked like a lifetime to her, and she couldn’t be certain if it was the series, her friends, or Billy himself she was going to miss.
Her assistant came back and said,
‘She’s gone.’
Harriet did a double-take. ‘What? Gone where?’
Her assistant handed her the note she had found in Annie’s dressing-room.
Harriet read it and swore. She dialled Sean’s number, but only got his answerphone, brisk and impersonal.
‘Annie went off home without me, Sean,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I’m still at the studio. Should I follow her to her place, or come to your flat and wait for her there? If you haven’t rung back in fifteen minutes I’ll come to your place. Annie may well be there by then.’
On her way home Annie called at the hospital to see her mother. She found Trudie still lethargic, saying very little, but looking better than she had. The police were no longer by her bedside, and she was back on the general ward. Annie held her hand and smiled at her, kissed her cheeks, which looked in this dry, overheated atmosphere like a petal from a dying rose, faded and crinkled, and had the same soft, powdery scent.
‘I want to come home,’ Trudie whispered.
