‘Yes. Now what’s his name?’ mused Hilary.
Carrie waited, shifting from one foot to the other, trying to hide the fact she wanted to grab Hilary and give her a damn good shake.
Hilary scrunched up her face. ‘He was also in …’
Carrie bit her lip. God give her strength. ‘Do you mean Richard Maddox?’ she asked, sounding normal and sane and not wanting to rip the woman limb from limb.
‘That’s the one.’ Hilary’s friend hissed in a carrying whisper. ‘You clever girl. Ooh are you alright? You look rather pale.’
‘Have you seen him?’ Carrie stood on tiptoe but there was little going on. The two tramp look-a-likes had gone, leaving the girl with the clipboard moving from group to group, gesticulating madly.
‘Not now. He was here earlier. I bet he’s gone back to his Winnebago.’
‘Do you think you’d get a Winnebago up these streets, Kathleen? I’m not sure.’
‘Maybe he’s dropped off in his chauffeur-driven Bentley each morning.’
With nothing very much happening now, the crowd began to thin and Carrie had a much better view. A jolly market tradesman in an apron, who clearly wasn’t a trader, sipped coffee and chatted to a couple of other decidedly French- styled people with string baskets and shopping trolleys. Definitely extras, Carrie guessed. The crew worked around them with that busy precision of people who know exactly what they’re doing. Some peeled the gaffer tape securing the cables to the floor, others were dismantling the lights and others consulted schedules while packing things into large padded boxes.
To a man they ignored the crowd around them, they might as well have been behind a sheet of bullet-proof plate glass, a deliberate policy to discourage the general public from getting too close, as if they were an alien species apart from everyone else.
Carrie hesitated, imagining the crew might dismiss her as yet another fan or a lunatic stalker but she couldn’t let this chance slip by. For a minute, a smile played around her lips. What if she marched up and told them she was Mrs Maddox, Richard’s wife? It would be worth it to see their reaction, before she was carried off to the funny farm.
Thing was, she had once been in this world. Okay, she’d had a few walk-on parts in a couple of films, none of which had been spotted by a director and propelled her to instant stardom or even a bigger part, despite her vain hope that one of them would say who is the girl with the curly hair?
It had been such a long time ago; she’d virtually buried that part of her life. Being on set had been such a thrill, despite sometimes being tedious. There could be a lot of hanging around to get one small scene in the can but she’d loved being part of something, working alongside the whole crew all beavering away to achieve that goal. It had always been fascinating watching all the separate parts; the sound guys making sure they’d got what they needed, the camera men anxiously checking the light and conferring and most of all watching the director in action and comparing how she might approach a scene instead.
Added to all that, there was something quite indulgent about being on set, apart from the horrifically early hours. You didn’t have to do anything but focus on what you needed to do, your scene. Not like in her job now, when as a teacher you were pulled in a thousand different directions on a daily basis. On set you might spend hours between takes but you had nothing else to do apart from learn lines or rehearse and there was always someone to talk to, someone else having to hang around. No wonder food was always plentiful. The catering guys worked non-stop and there was always a never-ending supply of bacon butties. Did they have salami baguettes here instead?
With a mental rap of the knuckles, she told herself to stop stalling. Here was her best chance to track Richard down and she’d done nothing for the last five minutes but hop about from leg to the other like a demented stork. If she didn’t get a wiggle on, they’d have packed up and left.
She forced herself to wander over, picking the youngest- looking member of the crew, on the basis that she hadn’t been doing this long enough to be blasé about her job and therefore would respond to the friendly chat of a passer-by.
‘Hi, looks like you’ve been hard at it since the early hours.’
‘God, yes,’ the girl, in her early twenties, brushed her hair out of her face, straightening up from the coil of wires she’d recently gathered. ‘We started at five, but it’s a wrap now.’
‘Got much more to do today?’ Carrie summoned up a sympathetic tone.
‘A couple of takes with the extras to get some general shots. But most of the crew are going on to the next location to do a recce.’ Carrie bit back a smile, the girl didn’t look as if she’d had that much experience, but she was certainly up to date with the jargon.
‘The talent did it in a couple of takes. Which is always nice. They’re done for the day.’
Inwardly Carrie cursed Jade. If she’d left when she’d planned, she might have got here in time.
In time to do what, mocked a voice inside her head? March right up to Richard and then what?
‘Who is the talent?’ For her own peace of mind, she had to check. She didn’t quite trust Hilary and Kathleen. ‘Anyone I would have heard of?’
The girl laughed, producing a bag of cable ties from her back pocket. ‘You’re kidding. Unless you’ve been living in a cave for your whole life.’ She lowered her voice, ‘Richard Maddox and Savannah Murray.’
‘Wow. What is it? A big feature film?’ Carrie was starting to enjoy herself, getting into character of friendly star-struck person who happened to be walking by.
‘Turn on the Stars. It’s a romantic comedy. Great script. We were lucky to get them both on board, it’s taken a while for their schedules to coincide.’
‘Are you out here for long? You sound English? Where are you filming next?’
‘I’m from Essex. This unit is from England as most of the filming is here. I think there are a few scenes set in the States and they use a unit there. We’re here for the next six weeks.’ She grinned cheerfully. ‘Not a hardship. Summer back home looks crap.’
She stooped down and started disconnecting some of the cables from each other and tying them up with the plastic ties. ‘I’ve got no complaints and for the next week we’re down on the harbour at Port les Pins. Less busy than St Tropez, thank goodness. It’s a pig to park the vans down there and the traffic is horrendous this time of year. The local authorities are helpful, though, it’s good for tourism. The tourists love it when they see …’ The girl faltered.
Carrie laughed. ‘Yes we do. But many years ago I was an actress. I know the drill.’
‘Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to … you know.’
‘It’s fine. The film world looks glamorous to the outside world. They don’t see the long hours and the hard work the crew put in.’
‘God no, I mean I love it but its non-stop. We’re back on set again tomorrow morning at five. The early mornings are killers.’
‘I remember having to travel miles between sets, as well.’
‘This isn’t too bad, our base is in St Tropez.’
‘Nice,’ teased Carrie. ‘Posh hotel?’
‘Yeah, right! We’re in the Ibis. The director and the big names are staying in Le Chateau de la Messardière. Now that is posh.’
‘And of course, that’s where Richard Maddox and Savannah Murray are staying?’ Carrie twinkled, a sudden fizz of excitement at how easy this was turning out to be. Her first attempt and she’d discovered where Richard was staying. This Mata Hari lark was proving to be rather enjoyable.
‘Of course, not that I’ve