Chris followed her glance and jumped up, grabbing the phone. ‘Erin. You have a few days off,’ he said, holding the phone in his fist. ‘You’re entitled to a break and you have a book to write, or should I say a book to start, otherwise you are going to get fired by your agent.’
‘But you don’t understand,’ said Erin, raising her voice. She snatched the mobile from his hand and ran through to the kitchen. Through the closed door, Chris could hear a muffled conversation. When she returned he fixed her with a sour expression.
‘You’re going back to London, aren’t you?’
‘I have to,’ said Erin. ‘There’s been a fire in the Midas Corporation mine in Kazakhstan. Adam is freaking out. He has to fly out there.’
‘So why do you have to go back to work? He has other people that can sort things out, doesn’t he? I mean, they managed okay before you came along.’
Erin flung her mobile on the sofa angrily. ‘Chris. The Midas Corporation is a multi-billion-dollar business. I can’t just turn my loyalties on or off as it suits me. I am Adam’s assistant, I have to be there whenever he needs me. And he needs me now.’
Chris started shaking his head slowly. ‘You’re desperate to be part of that world, aren’t you? No wonder you can’t bring yourself to write about the women who hang around Adam, because you appreciate what they’re after.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a shit,’ she snapped. ‘Forgive me if I enjoy my job, and forgive me if I want to help my boss. Adam saved me from a mundane life in Cornwall, and I’ll never forget it.’
A small smile of resignation pulled at Chris’s lips. ‘You’re in love with him, aren’t you?’
‘I am not,’ said Erin, blushing furiously, feeling as if she’d been caught out. Chris saw her expression and shook his head sadly.
‘Well, I guess I can’t blame you. He’s super-rich and good looking, and so are his friends. I just thought you were different,’ he said softly.
‘I’m leaving,’ she said, moving towards the door.
‘Oh, don’t be stupid,’ said Chris, moving across to stop her. ‘It’s late and it’s dark.’
‘I thought you were my friend,’ shouted Erin, pushing him away.
‘I am,’ replied Chris, touching her on her shoulder. ‘That’s why I’m saying this.’
Erin looked at him intently and shook her head. He’d touched a raw nerve and she hated him for it. ‘I’m going back to London,’ she whispered, and ran upstairs to pack.
52
Imogen Sanders, one of the UK’s top casting directors, worked out of an office in a little row of pastel-coloured mews houses in Notting Hill. After spending ten years in LA working with some of the biggest names in the film industry, she had returned to her home town to set up on her own. Right now, Imogen was the hottest casting agent in the capital; she was the woman who producers and directors turned to when they were looking for hot British talent.
&nbs
p; ‘So, tell me about yourself, Summer. Your likes, dislikes. What you want to do with your life,’ said Imogen, smiling kindly at Summer Sinclair. In her twenty or so years in the business, Imogen had seen hundreds, if not thousands of models, desperate to move into acting. While most of them had a face that the camera loved – big mouths, button noses, perfect ivory teeth – only a handful of them had the x-factor to make them into stars. Imogen had already seen Summer’s showreel before she had got here – just a few rushes from some cable TV show which was endearing in its raw naïvety, but Summer’s beauty was unmistakable and she certainly had on-screen charisma. The question was: could she act? If she could, thought Imogen, Summer Sinclair could make the hottest entrance to the movie scene since Cameron Diaz blasted onto the screen in The Mask.
‘Tell you about myself?’ smiled Summer trying to relax into her brown leather armchair. ‘Well, as I’m twenty-four, I guess I’m a geriatric model. I came back from Japan to ease myself into retirement, but my TV career has kind of taken off. I got my break into TV when the “On Heat” presenter literally jumped ship; she’s cruising the Med with her multimillionaire lover as we speak,’ she smiled wryly.
Imogen nodded, urging her to say more.
‘Likes and dislikes? I like being in love, chocolate biscuits and sailing. I don’t like sitting in front of you with no acting experience to my name. But I’ve spent a lifetime on photo-shoots and I feel like I’ve spent my whole life playing a part as Molly Sinclair’s daughter, even though I don’t really like parties and the London social circuit.’
Summer looked at Imogen anxiously, having no idea whether she was making a good impression or embarrassing herself totally.
‘My dear, most of us spend half our lives acting, even if we don’t realize it,’ she said, taking a sip of water. ‘As for your lack of acting experience, we’re not looking for someone with a CV as long as Julia Roberts’. This is going to be a blockbuster movie, but the producers and the director are looking for an unknown or a relative unknown for the female lead.’
‘How come, if it’s a big-budget picture?’ asked Summer, confused.
‘Unknowns are getting more of a shot in bigger roles in Hollywood these days,’ Imogen explained. ‘Traditionally the studios wouldn’t take a chance on an actor with no track record: big names equalled big box office. But when half the budget is going on special effects these days – and Krakatoa is going to have incredible special effects – the studio might not want to pay a big A-list female lead twenty-five million dollars.’
‘I suppose not, when she’s going to get upstaged by a volcanic eruption,’ smiled Summer.
They both laughed. Imogen liked her and she knew Luc, the director, would like her too. Summer’s was a fragile, refined beauty, but there was a toughness behind her eyes that suggested she had been through a lot. And she was going to have to be tough if she wanted to survive in the Hollywood jungle.
Imogen passed Summer a copy of the script; she could almost feel the pages crackle with excitement and promise.