He held out a hand to Adam, who took it with misgivings, unwilling to be caught red-handed, as it were, in the middle of a porn set.
They tiptoed through the dense copse, the singing voice always nearby, until Adam caught a glimpse of a bright red scarf and ducked back.
Trevelyan, however, had not seen it and he blundered onwards. It must be the singer.
Seconds later, Adam heard Evie’s voice.
‘Trev! What you doing here?’
Chapter Eight
‘OH. HULLO.’
‘And you’ve brought your camera. I think someone’s got a naughty plan.’
‘I just wanted … You know, just for personal use. A few shots.’
‘Wank material? But you need everyone’s consent for that, love. Didn’t you know?’ She raised her voice. ‘Oi, everyone! I’ve found a stray photographer in the wild.’
‘No, no, I’ll go back, don’t …’
‘Come on, love. Come and have a look at what you wanted to see. Come with me.’
Adam allowed himself a moment of Schadenfreude. The odious Trevelyan had had his plans scuppered. But he supposed he ought to go and keep watch over him, in case the situation turned ugly. He edged forward, slowly and carefully, following the sound of cracking branches and footsteps ahead.
Soon he had his view of the lawn at the back of the manor, the pool in the distance. In the immediate foreground, camera crew and actors milled around, putting on make-up, drinking coffee and chatting. Into the midst of this, Evie pulled Trevelyan along as if leading a recalcitrant dog on its lead. She was wearing a tiny black dress accessorised with the bright red scarf Adam had caught sight of.
‘See! You’ve got real wildlife in your grounds, Seb,’ said Evie, stopping in front of the Lord of the Manor.
Sebastian looked the journalist up and down. ‘Who the fuck are you? And where have you come from?’
Adam could just make out the remark above the murmur of chat, which was dying down as people began to take an interest in the little scene.
‘I’ll leave,’ offered Trevelyan. ‘If you want. But I can get you some press interest, if you’d like that.’ He held up his camera. ‘Do you fancy it?’
Seb’s lip curved upwards.
‘You’re a journalist?’
‘Yeah, freelance.’
‘Why didn’t you approach me directly instead of creeping around in my bushes? You want to make trouble for me, don’t you?’
‘No, no, seriously, no. I don’t.’
Sebastian sat in his director’s chair and considered the situation for a while. Adam saw Trevelyan look around himself anxiously, checking for escape routes. He ducked down further, not wanting to be discovered himself.
‘I’ve got a story for you,’ said Sebastian suddenly. ‘It’s a good one. You’ll be able to sell it to a lad mag or a top-shelf version. My Day As A Fluffer. What do you think?’
‘What? You mean …’
‘You know what a fluffer is, don’t you?’
‘They, uh, they get the performers – ready.’
‘Ready, yeah. Hard. You can suck my actors’ dicks for them before they fuck their colleagues. What do you think?’
‘Um … I’d rather not. Not really.’