Carly bent her little finger back, as if she was about to give a list of all the signs of drug abuse, and then swallowed her words as the waiter entered with their food.
‘Something to drink?’
Drew was about to say no. It was early enough to eat and then get back on his bike and go—he’d be home by midnight. Then he caught sight of the tears brimming in Carly’s eyes.
‘A glass of house red would be great. Thanks.’
Carly nodded, and ordered the house white for herself. ‘She’s not using drugs. I’d swear to it. She doesn’t even take painkillers when she has a headache, just shuts herself away in her trailer.’
‘She has headaches?’
‘Yeah. Fewer than she says, sometimes she just doesn’t want to talk to anyone, but there are times when she’s telling the truth.’
How was Carly so sure? Drew’s experience of show business was limited to a couple of photographic shoots he’d been to with Gina, but his impression then had been that everyone treated the truth as if it was an optional extra. Gina had confirmed those suspicions herself, by lying to him with startling aptitude.
The waiter returned with their drinks, and Drew took a sip from his glass. At the back of his mind it registered that it was a very good red, and he took another swallow. ‘Look, Carly…’
‘Don’t. Please don’t tell me you can’t help because I know that you can. Please…’ Carly picked up her glass with a shaking hand and then put it down again and blew her nose on her napkin.
Perhaps Charlie had tipped her the wink that tears would help her case. Drew rejected the unworthy thought and apologised silently to his friend. Lying and manipulation were Gina’s style, not Charlie’s.
‘Okay. What do you want me to do?’ He could at least listen.
‘I’ve got the okay to employ a medical consultant on set. I said that it might help Sophie and right now the director would try just about anything to get her to pull herself together.’
‘I understand that she plays a doctor in the film.’
‘Yes. It’s set in 1944…’ Carly pulled a large, spiral-bound document from her portfolio before Drew had a chance to object that he knew nothing about historical medical techniques.
‘We’ve got this manual, written by an eminent medical historian. That’ll help you. And injuries are injuries, so you won’t have any trouble talking to the special effects guys about making them look authentic.’
‘But you’ve managed this far…?’ Drew picked his knife and fork up, in a signal that none of this held any water, and he was going to eat. The knife sliced through the tender, succulent steak as if it were butter.
‘We had a set consultant when we were here last winter, but we didn’t reckon we needed anyone this time around because there’s less medical emphasis. But when I told the director it might help Sophie, he agreed like a shot. No one cares about the cost of it, we’re talking a multi-million-dollar project here.’
Drew wondered what those many millions might have done, applied a little more usefully. Kept his old hospital open maybe. ‘Even assuming I take the job, I can’t do what you ask, Carly. The thing that will really help Miss Warner is to see a doctor, in a professional setting.’
Carly’s stricken look would have made Drew relent if he hadn’t been so sure that he was right. ‘Okay, then. What does work for you?’
‘What works for me is that I go back to London in the morning. If you want set advice, you get in touch with someone who’s interested in that kind of thing. And if you want advice on Miss Warner’s condition, you persuade her to go and see a doctor.’
Carly thought for a moment. ‘That makes sense. Now, given that Sophie’s adamant that she won’t see a doctor, and that I’m out of options and pretty desperate, is there anything else you can suggest?’
It was a straight question, with an easy enough answer. ‘I could stay on for a day. I’d be happy to meet with Miss Warner and try to persuade her.’
‘And she’ll say no, and then you’ll walk away. Job’s done as far as you’re concerned and nothing changes.’ Carly’s lip curled in contempt.
‘That’s not…’ Drew swallowed his words. It was exactly how it was. He was the one engaging in half-truths and excuses, not Carly. If he didn’t want this job, he should just say so.
But he couldn’t. However unlikely his role here and despite the fact that it wasn’t going to push the boundaries of medical science, it was somehow intriguing. Did he even have the right to call himself a doctor if he chose to turn his back now?
‘If I decided to do it, and I haven’t yet, there’d be conditions.’
‘Fair enough. I want you to tell me how to do this, not the other way around.’ Carly nodded him on, obviously aware that she’d found a chink in his armour.
‘I’m not Miss Warner’s doctor. I’m not going to guess at a diagnosis and I’m not going to report back to you on anything. If I have any concerns, I’ll speak only to her about them and advise she gets proper medical help.’
‘Just advising isn’t going to get you anywhere. Do you plan on being a bit more assertive than that…?’
Carly’s gaze met his and Drew held it for a moment. ‘What do you think? Do I seem assertive enough to you?’
‘Yeah. You do.’ She stretched her hand out towards Drew. ‘We have a deal, then?’
THE NEGOTIATIONS HADN’T quite finished there. Drew had insisted that a week was quite enough for them both to see whether or not the arrangement would work. For her part, Carly had vetoed his intention of returning to London the following day to pack for the week and suggested he let Charlie throw some things into a bag for him, for the set runners to collect. When he’d acquiesced, Carly had produced a contract, written in the dates by hand, and given it to Drew.
Armed with four hours’ sleep, and the knowledge that he might well have signed away his sanity for the next week, Drew was on the bus with a sleepy film crew at six the following morning. Carly had told him to consider today as an orientation exercise, and Drew was more than content to maintain a watching brief.
‘Five dollars on ten o’clock.’ An American accent sounded from the seat behind him.
‘I’m not taking dollars. I’ll give you three quid that it’s closer to eleven.’ A woman’s voice this time, speaking in a laughing, London drawl.
‘You’re on.’ Silence for a moment and then a chuckle. ‘C’mon, Madame Sophie. If you get outta that bed now, Dawn’ll have to buy me coffee.’
‘In your dreams. She’ll have to disentangle herself from last night’s waiter and wait for the uppers to kick in.’ Dawn yawned loudly. ‘It’s not fair…’
‘You had your eye on a night of passion with one of the waiters, did you?’
‘No.’ Dawn scoffed at the idea. ‘If we turned up four hours late we’d get the sack. She does it, and Joel’s all over her, grateful that she’s made it at all.’
‘She’s the star. We can be replaced, she can’t.’
‘True enough. Though we’ve still careers when this job is finished. I’d like to be a fly on the wall when she tries for her next part.’
Drew stared straight in front of him. If this was true, then Sophie Warner was more of a nightmare than he’d reckoned. If not… The remote chance