In the Still of the Night

‘Send it to me,’ the PR girl said quickly.

He nodded but his eyes stayed on Annie.

She said huskily, ‘I’ll give you my private number, Johnny. I’m ex-directory, so it isn’t in the phone book.’

The PR girl frowned disapproval.

Johnny said, ‘Is it still the same?’ And said the number.

Annie gave a choky little laugh. ‘My God, your memory is phenomenal. Yes, that’s still it, but there’s the London prefix number now, of course. 0171 comes in front of the rest.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll remember.’

Would he ring her? Annie stared at him, trying to decide. Did she really want him to? A whole lifetime divided them. She was not the wide-eyed girl she had been; he was not that skinny, eager, gentle boy.

The PR girl shifted pointedly. ‘Sorry, but they’re waiting for you on the set, Annie.’

She nodded, sighed. ‘Yes, OK, I’m coming. Bye, Johnny.’

He put out a hand, their fingers touched, then she tore herself away.

Annie and Derek had to do a re-take of a brief scene they had shot that morning.

‘Sorry, not your fault. We’ve had to chop the next two scenes, they didn’t work out, so yours has to be re-shot,’ explained Harriet as they hung about waiting for the cameraman to set up the same angle he had used before, for the lighting team to fix the level of lighting.

‘Can’t you just jumpcut?’ grumbled Derek.

They usually shot three times as much film as they actually used, and when Harriet saw the unprocessed film she would simply jump-cut to make the story run well. It was unusual to re-shoot: far too costly, especially if you were working on location, but this scene had been shot on the studio set.

Harriet gave him a dry look. ‘If I could, I would, thank you, Derek. I do know my job.’ She handed them each a sheet of script. ‘Just mull this over, then we’ll do a quick run-through before we shoot.’

She darted away and Derek glared after her.

‘I was on my way home when she caught me. I’m dead on my feet. This job is a mug’s game, I get paid buttons and I’m worked like a slave.’

Annie was reading her lines, not listening to him. Sean hadn’t altered much; she read the words again, frowning with concentration.

‘I’m getting sacks of fan mail, now, you know,’ Derek muttered. ‘Time I had a rise. Annie, will you speak to Harriet for me? Tell her you think I should have a rise. I get almost as much fan mail as Mike Bloody Waterford.’

‘I heard that! And it’s a lie, you don’t,’ Mike said behind them. ‘Stop kidding yourself. I get more mail than anyone.’

Annie looked round at him and he gave her a slow, mocking smile, one of his practised smiles, meant to make women’s hearts beat faster. It did absolutely nothing for her.

‘Including you, darling,’ he told her. ‘I get twice as much fan mail as you do.’

Annie didn’t bother to answer. It was probably true; women all over the country went crazy over him, fell hook, line and sinker for the auburn hair and languorous dark eyes, the totally phoney charm of that smile.

‘I bet you earn twice as much, too!’ Derek complained, his face sullen.

‘I’m worth every penny,’ Mike said in self-satisfaction, sauntering away.

‘I’m not being paid what I’m worth,’ said Derek. ‘Will you talk to Harriet for me, Annie?’

‘Talk to her yourself. But it isn’t her decision, you know that. She has to convince accounts about every single penny she spends.’ Annie hunched her shoulders. ‘Look, can we learn these lines? We haven’t got all day.’

He looked quickly around to make sure nobody could hear them, then lowered his voice to a hissing whisper, grabbing her arm to make her look at him. ‘Annie, don’t force me to sell my story to the papers – because they’d pay a fortune! They’ve never managed to dig up any scandal about you; they’ll jump at what I know. I’ve never breathed a word before, I don’t want to – but if my back is up against the wall, I might have to.’

Angrily she pulled free of him. ‘Don’t you threaten me, you bastard!’