Terry took Richards around to the left. They turned a corner and found two dozen people, mainly men, standing around as Carolyn and Seb were talking. They were in the kitchen that Richards recognised from the DVD. Carolyn was holding a champagne glass and was listening to Seb, her head cocked to the side.
Standing a few feet to her left was a man holding a sound boom above her head. As Richards watched the two actors work, he was impressed with the way they were able to focus on each other and ignore the dozens of people who were standing around the set. Seb was accusing Carolyn of not pulling her weight at the company and, when it was her turn to speak, she ripped into him coldly and clinically and finished by throwing the contents of her glass in his face.
‘Cut!’ shouted the director.
Everyone started moving around purposefully, moving lights and reattaching cables, and a young girl in tight jeans rushed over to Seb and began dabbing at his face with a towel.
‘We’re breaking for lunch!’ shouted a girl with a clipboard. ‘Back here at two sharp to pick up with scene forty-seven.’
Carolyn walked over to Richards and held out her hand. ‘Welcome to the coal face,’ she said.
He shook her hand. ‘Thanks for having me,’ he said. He looked around the set. ‘I’m, surprised to see there’s just one camera.’
Carolyn laughed. ‘Most people are,’ she said. ‘They think we act and three or four cameras film it as it happens. No, we do it with just one camera. So they film me saying a line, then the other actor saying their line, then a shot with us both in the frame, then another looking over my shoulder. They sometimes film the same scene five or six different ways and then they all get cut together in the editing suite.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Are you okay for the canteen?’ she said. ‘It’s actually quite good.’
‘But no wine?’
‘Definitely no wine,’ said Carolyn. ‘In fact, that was lemonade I just threw in Seb’s face.’
‘And it was the third take,’ said Seb, walking over. He shook Richards’ hand. ‘You’re here for your twenty-six grand lunch?’
‘I certainly am,’ said Richards. ‘And I’m looking forward to it.’
A runner came over with a blue dressing gown and Carolyn slipped it on. ‘I feel a bit underdressed in the little black number,’ she said. ‘And I need to be wearing it for the next scene. Hope you don’t mind.’
‘You look good in blue,’ said Richards.
‘Well let’s go and see what’s on the menu.’
‘Do you want me to tag along?’ asked Terry.
‘A chaperone?’ said Richards. ‘I promise not to make any untoward advances.’
‘We’ll be fine, Terry,’ said Carolyn. ‘But leave your mobile phone on.’ She saw the look of surprise on Richards’ face and she grinned. ‘Joking,’ she said.
‘I’ll be on my best behaviour,’ said Richards.
‘I’m sure you will be,’ she said.
CHAPTER 37
Carolyn was surprised at how well the lunch went. Richards was very good company, he was funny and clearly intelligent, but he was a good listener, too. She’d picked at a Dover sole, not because she wasn’t hungry but because she was so involved in their conversation. Richards had chosen seafood spaghetti and most of it was untouched on his plate as well. She nodded at his plate. ‘Not good?’
‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘To be honest, I was having too much fun talking with you.’
She laughed. ‘I was thinking exactly the same.’
‘You should come to the club sometime.’
She lifted her glass of water and watched him as she took a sip. Then she smiled. ‘I might, at that.’
Richards grinned.‘If you need a chaperone, we could make sure Seb’s there.’
‘The problem is during the week we always have early starts,’ she said, putting down her glass.
He leaned towards her and lowered his voice. ‘Between you and me, there’s been a few times when Seb has gone straight from the club to the studio.’
Carolyn laughed. ‘I believe you,’ she said. ‘But Seb’s a guy and if he looks weathered that’s all well and good. We women have to look good at eight in the morning and make-up can only do so much.’
‘Weekends then,’ said Richards. ‘Friday is always a good night.’
‘Maybe,’ said Carolyn.
‘I won’t push you any more,’ he said. ‘I know it must be annoying being pressured by fans.’
‘Is that what you are? A fan?’
‘Of course.’
She raised one eyebrow. ‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously. Why else would I pay twenty-six grand for lunch with you?’
‘How many years has the show been running?’
‘Nine.’
‘What time does it go out?’
‘Eight.’
‘What car do I drive in the show?’
‘A Lexus Prius in town and a Land Rover Evoque in the country.’
She nodded, impressed. He grinned. ‘Do you want me to tell you what colour underwear you’re wearing?’
‘Now that would be creepy,’ she said.
Richards laughed as he speared a prawn with his fork. ‘Do you grill all your fans like this?’ he asked.
‘Only the ones that pay twenty-six thousand pounds for a plate of seafood spaghetti.’
