opportunity. What had been an urgent need was now an absolute necessity. âJust got to nip to the Gents. Be back in a ââ
âIâm not surprised, the amount you drink,â Sadie tossed savagely over her shoulder, as she barged out of the studio.
âOkay, Charles,â said Scott Newton, though there was no chance of the actor waiting for permission. âWeâll continue notes in the Control box if we have to move out of here.â
Charles Paris moved swiftly across the studio, trying not to break into the indignity of a run. As he went, he heard Scott continue, âNow, George and Aurelia ââ
âScott darling,â fluted Aurelia Howarthâs cultured elderly voice, âI am a little worried about Cocky. The poor darlingâs in the Quick Change Room. I wonder if . . .â
âYes, just a ââ
âOkay, boys and girls,â bellowed Robin Laughton. âSix oâclock. We are in a Line-up situation. Clear the studio.â
After the blessed relief of the Gents, Charles splashed water from the basin over his face. Sober up a bit before the next onslaught. It was a long break, an hour and three-quarters, before they were due to start recording. And that would inevitably mean one or two more drinks.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Dressed in the golf club blazer selected by Wardrobe, he looked more respectable than usual. Not in bad nick really for a man of fifty-two. And in work. In work! With the strong possibility of more work. Life felt good.
He walked out of the Gents and started instinctively towards the bar. Sadie Wainwright, in a rare moment of charity, had shown him a quick way up a fire escape on the outside of the building, which avoided waiting for slow lifts. He started up the metal steps, thinking what a flimsy structure it was on the outside of a comparatively modern block. He looked down to the car park some forty feet below.
He was half way up before he remembered the notes. Of course, he must remember that being in work did involve actually doing the job as well as drinking amiably in the bar. He started back down the metal fire escape.
The Production Control box was empty when he got there. All the banks of monitor screens were either blank or showing test cards. There was no one visible through the glass to the left in Vision Control, or to the right in Sound Control. They must be doing the notes elsewhere.
As he turned to go, he heard a voice clearly from one of the speakers. It was a familiar voice, recognisable from its South African twang, and even more recognisable from its tone of contempt.
He only heard two sentences, before the Sound Controller appeared in the box to his right and switched off the sound.
The two sentences were: âYou couldnât kill me. You havenât got it in you.
CHAPTER TWO
âEVERYTHING OKAY, Charles?â asked Peter Lipscombe from his position at the bar.
âFine, thanks.â Then, feeling that some comment was required, Charles offered the opinion that the recording had gone all right.
The producer confided that he thought it was very exciting, but very exciting. That wasnât exactly the word Charles would have used for the evening but, since the next question was what he would like to drink, he didnât discuss it. The importance of most things diminished when he had a large Bellâs in his hand.
Because he had only been in costume above the waist (barmen always being shot with their bottom half obscured by the bar), because he hadnât bothered to remove his make-up, and because he knew the short cut up the fire escape, Charles had managed to be the first of the cast to arrive in the bar. (He didnât pride himself on many abilities, but, in all modesty, had to recognise that he had few rivals in speed of getting to bars after performances.) He sat down with his drink and watched the rest of the actors and crew assemble.
As he did so, he witnessed a
âIâm not surprised, the amount you drink,â Sadie tossed savagely over her shoulder, as she barged out of the studio.
âOkay, Charles,â said Scott Newton, though there was no chance of the actor waiting for permission. âWeâll continue notes in the Control box if we have to move out of here.â
Charles Paris moved swiftly across the studio, trying not to break into the indignity of a run. As he went, he heard Scott continue, âNow, George and Aurelia ââ
âScott darling,â fluted Aurelia Howarthâs cultured elderly voice, âI am a little worried about Cocky. The poor darlingâs in the Quick Change Room. I wonder if . . .â
âYes, just a ââ
âOkay, boys and girls,â bellowed Robin Laughton. âSix oâclock. We are in a Line-up situation. Clear the studio.â
After the blessed relief of the Gents, Charles splashed water from the basin over his face. Sober up a bit before the next onslaught. It was a long break, an hour and three-quarters, before they were due to start recording. And that would inevitably mean one or two more drinks.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Dressed in the golf club blazer selected by Wardrobe, he looked more respectable than usual. Not in bad nick really for a man of fifty-two. And in work. In work! With the strong possibility of more work. Life felt good.
He walked out of the Gents and started instinctively towards the bar. Sadie Wainwright, in a rare moment of charity, had shown him a quick way up a fire escape on the outside of the building, which avoided waiting for slow lifts. He started up the metal steps, thinking what a flimsy structure it was on the outside of a comparatively modern block. He looked down to the car park some forty feet below.
He was half way up before he remembered the notes. Of course, he must remember that being in work did involve actually doing the job as well as drinking amiably in the bar. He started back down the metal fire escape.
The Production Control box was empty when he got there. All the banks of monitor screens were either blank or showing test cards. There was no one visible through the glass to the left in Vision Control, or to the right in Sound Control. They must be doing the notes elsewhere.
As he turned to go, he heard a voice clearly from one of the speakers. It was a familiar voice, recognisable from its South African twang, and even more recognisable from its tone of contempt.
He only heard two sentences, before the Sound Controller appeared in the box to his right and switched off the sound.
The two sentences were: âYou couldnât kill me. You havenât got it in you.
CHAPTER TWO
âEVERYTHING OKAY, Charles?â asked Peter Lipscombe from his position at the bar.
âFine, thanks.â Then, feeling that some comment was required, Charles offered the opinion that the recording had gone all right.
The producer confided that he thought it was very exciting, but very exciting. That wasnât exactly the word Charles would have used for the evening but, since the next question was what he would like to drink, he didnât discuss it. The importance of most things diminished when he had a large Bellâs in his hand.
Because he had only been in costume above the waist (barmen always being shot with their bottom half obscured by the bar), because he hadnât bothered to remove his make-up, and because he knew the short cut up the fire escape, Charles had managed to be the first of the cast to arrive in the bar. (He didnât pride himself on many abilities, but, in all modesty, had to recognise that he had few rivals in speed of getting to bars after performances.) He sat down with his drink and watched the rest of the actors and crew assemble.
As he did so, he witnessed a
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