‘Well, Zack Smith’s the main draw, isn’t he? I bet you knew he was in it.’ I nodded vigorously and he grinned. ‘From what I can make out he’s the young pretender to the throne or the rightful heir or something – you know how these things work. Faith is the evil queen, and she’s married to Jeremy Mayhew.’
‘Who’s that? The name rings a bell.’
‘He was in that cop show years back, Bagnall. The one up North. Last seen in Game of Thrones, where he died a hideous death.’
‘Didn’t everyone?’ I said. ‘I know who you mean. I thought he’d died of alcohol poisoning or something years ago.’ Mayhew was a Liverpudlian actor, handsome in a craggy-faced kind of way, what they used to call a ‘man’s man’ – basically, a heavy drinker with a short fuse and a sexist attitude to women. Faith had reached that age where she had officially been declared a National Treasure, having started life as a model, then acted in a few minor Hollywood movies in the Eighties before becoming a staple of British television and, more recently, a long-running cast member on an even longer-running soap opera. ‘How do you know all this, anyway? This is only our first day on set.’
‘I talk to people.’
‘You mean you’re as blooming nosey as I am!’
Tony grinned and shook his head. ‘I ain’t nosey, I’m a people person. And then there’s the love interest, because you’ve always got to have a love interest. Another one I’ve never heard of, Kim Tacky-something. Japanese, I think…’
I thought hard. ‘Kimi Takahashi? She was in that superhero movie a couple of years ago, with the machines that turn rogue.’
‘Terminator?’
‘No, no, much more recent than that, it was a kids’ film. Daisy was obsessed with it. She played a toaster or something.’ Tony burst out laughing. ‘I’m being serious! She was like, the soul of this four-slice Breville sandwich press—’
Tony put his hand on my leg to steady himself as he laughed hard. I normally wouldn’t even have noticed, but those snug breeches had had a rather disquieting effect on me. ‘Stop it, you’re killing me,’ he gasped. ‘Oh God, these trousers are so tight. One big sneeze and this crotch is toast.’ And that started me off too.
We got a few strange looks, this weirdly dressed couple having hysterics on a bench while all around us were people getting on with their jobs, but if anything, that made it harder to stop.
But we did stop – eventually – and Debbie came to join us, looking at our red faces and watery eyes curiously. Not long after, we were called onto the set – the grand ballroom.
Polvarrow House hadn’t had a grand ballroom when I’d last visited, but it did now.
‘Wowsers…’ I said, as we were herded into the room, and even Debbie, who wasn’t easily impressed, whistled through her teeth.
‘Bloomin’ ’eck!’
The room was light and airy, with huge windows along one side that looked out onto the grounds. The last time I’d seen this room it had been in dire need of a repaint and had been crowded with furniture. Now it had all the period details I’d been hoping for: a huge marble fireplace at one end, with white plaster cornicing and decorative mouldings on the ceiling. There was a massive mirror over the fireplace and someone had gone crazy with the gilding, but when I looked closer I could see that a lot of it was just gold paint; the film crew had done a few temporary alterations to make the room even grander than the bones of it suggested. There were heavy gold velvet drapes at the windows, and lights and candles everywhere, reflecting off the white marble and the gilding; the room felt dressed for night-time.
‘Right, hello everyone!’ A businesslike but smiling young woman stood in front of the assembled extras. ‘My name’s Lucy. I’m the first AD’ – a woman in the crowd of extras raised a hand – ’first assistant director. I’m kind of the liaison between our director, Sam Pritchard, and everyone else.’ The woman put her hand down. Lucy smiled again. ‘Okay, so as you can see, we’re at a ball. We’re going to meet our handsome young pretender to the throne, the lovely Zack, in this scene. There will be some dancing going on but all you lot have to do is stand around and mingle. Look like you’re having a good time, but remember, this is set in a kind of parallel eighteenth century, so nothing too rowdy.’ She fixed Tony with a mock-stern look. ‘Remember, you’re not down the pub with the lads!’ Everyone laughed politely and Tony gave her a little bow, grimacing slightly as his trousers creaked under the strain. She turned to look at me and my fellow housemaids; there was also a tall, gangly lad in a tight footman’s uniform who was squirming about uncomfortably. Chafing, I thought to myself. ‘Now, you guys just have to stand around the room, as if you are ready to serve at a moment’s notice. So be alert, but don’t stare directly at anyone; you’re the help, remember.’ I nodded along with my fellow servants, but the rebellious little voice inside me didn’t feel very agreeable; I was still sore about the costume.
The walkie-talkie clipped to Lucy’s belt crackled and she answered it, holding up a hand to stop us talking as she listened.
‘Okay, if you can all just wait here…’ she said, hurrying away.
We stood and waited. And waited. My feet started to hurt and the room was beginning to get hot. Everyone else seemed to have important things to do – playing out cables and taping them down with duct tape to prevent trip hazards, fluffing up furnishings and moving them a tiny but significant couple of centimetres to the left, then back to the right, then, no, back to the left, adjustments to the camera – but we extras just
