He made a sound that I took to be disapproval and glanced at me. ‘Have you met Capperauld yet?’
‘No, only his dead cousin.’
‘You may have seen the family at its best,’ he said, emphatically.
‘Uhh?’
Miles grinned. ‘Maybe I’m being unkind. Ewan’s an “Actor”, of the old school. . or he thinks he is at least. I’m a movie-maker; I haven’t been on the boards in twenty years, and I’ve never done anything like the West End or Broadway. I’ve used him once before, and he was a royal pain in the ass; he made it clear that he didn’t regard me as qualified to direct him. I made it clear that I was qualified to pay his fee, and that that allowed for everything else.’
‘He’s going to look down on me from a great height, then.’
‘He’d better not try; I don’t allow that on my movies, from anyone. But the word on the grapevine is that he’s usually in humble mode just now, being nice to everyone, because he’s next in line for a knighthood. A couple of the old acting “sirs” have fallen off the perch lately, so there’s maybe a vacancy.’
‘Who’s his agent, that he has you reschedule for him?’
‘For her; it’s his wife, Margaret.’
‘You’re kidding. Couldn’t they have had a working breakfast, then?’
‘A good question; but Ewan said that she’s going back to London to work on the negotiations for his next two projects and that they have a lot to discuss. She’s a very capable woman, is Mrs Capperauld; she’s as imposing as he is in her own way. They make quite a team.’
He chuckled. ‘Fuck it, Oz, I’ll humour him for now. Once I start spending real money, I’ll have less time for any shit. But the thing is, he’s the obvious man for the part. I wouldn’t have done this project if I hadn’t been able to get him. You’ve read Skinner?’
I nodded.
‘He is Skinner.’
In that case, I thought, he must be one impressive actor.
Chapter 28
He was. When he walked out of the lift and across the hall into the apartment, five minutes after two-thirty, I almost said ‘Hello, Bob.’
I’d seen him on screen before, and on television, in costume parts, contemporary parts, comedy and tragedy. In all of them he’d looked handsome and slightly patrician, a tall dark-haired man in early middle age.
The Ewan Capperauld who walked into my apartment was tall, okay, around six-two, but that was as far as the comparison went. His hair was steel-grey, flopping loosely over his forehead. His shoulders were wide and he walked loose-limbed, almost like a gunfighter. It was a mild autumn day, yet he wore a long black leather overcoat.
He looked as if he had stepped straight off the front page of Skinner’s Rules.
‘Hello, Mr Director,’ he said, spotting him across the room and extending a hand. His accent had the same rough edges as the rest of him. I took a closer look at his face, and found myself wondering if his nose had always been just a bit off the straight, or if he’d had that done for the part as well.
‘Hi, Ewan,’ Miles responded. He looked him up and down, then smiled. ‘I knew you’d put in an appearance.’ He turned to me. ‘I cast this guy in Kidnapped and he turned up for the first meeting in highland dress.’
He glanced around the room; everyone else had turned up on time and was munching on sandwiches and drinking champagne. The conversation had stopped, though; they were all staring at the newcomer. Scott Steele was standing at my elbow. ‘Fucking poser,’ he muttered; he was enough of an actor to make sure that his voice carried, but Capperauld never even twitched.
‘Can I have your attention, please?’ Miles called out, unnecessarily. ‘Dawn, Scott, you’ve worked with Ewan before, but let me introduce everyone else.’ He went round all the cast members, one by one; the star greeted us with a nod of the head, held eye-contact for precisely two seconds, then moved on to the next.
When the ‘hellos’ were over he crossed to Dawn, took her hand and kissed it. ‘My dear,’ he murmured, ‘how good to see you again.’
‘I’m pleased you remember me, Ewan,’ I heard her answer. I guessed she was speaking the truth, for she had told me five minutes earlier that she had never exchanged a word with Capperauld while they were making Kidnapped.
I hadn’t been sure how Dawn would greet me, but she’d been okay. ‘Have you heard from Prim?’ I’d asked her.
‘I saw her the day before we left.’
‘Is she happy?’
‘She says so; are you?’
‘I think “slightly stunned” covers the way I feel. The baby is just great, but I don’t have to tell you that.’
‘And her mother?’
‘She’s great too.’
‘That’s good; I hope it works out for you. It’s best that the pretending’s over between you and my sister. Actors do enough of that in their working lives, without having to face it at home too.’
That was the most profound thing I’d ever heard Dawn say. When I met her she was just an exceptionally pretty face; now there was a lot more going on behind it.
‘Okay,’ Miles called again, ‘attention please, everyone. There’s a lot of us here, and I want everyone to know where everyone else fits in. For a start, there’s the author of the book we’re filming.’ He pointed briefly to his left, towards a big, grizzled, middle-aged guy, with a Mediterranean tan, who was leaning against the wall, nursing a glass of champagne, which he waved vaguely, in acknowledgement. ‘He isn’t going to be riding shotgun on the production, but he’ll be free to join us on set, any time he likes.’
He turned and beckoned towards a corner of the big room. ‘Now, I want to introduce Mr Richard Ross; he’s our head of security, and he’s going to explain a few things to you. He’s a former Edinburgh detective; I guess you could say he used to be Bob Skinner in real life.’
Ricky liked that one; I could tell as he stepped into the circle. ‘Thank you, Mr Grayson,’ he began, then looked around the group. He was dressed to impress, but in a different way from Ewan Capperauld. He wore razor-pressed slacks, and a double-breasted blue blazer with gold buttons, embossed with a crest, which I guessed belonged to one of Edinburgh’s better golf clubs.
‘I’ll begin by putting you at your ease; my firm hasn’t been hired because of any perceived security threat. We’re here as a precaution to guard against one that comes out of the blue. Our remit is to ensure that everything goes smoothly for the production, and for its key people as individuals.’ Good pitch, Ricky; I was feeling reassured already.
‘I’ll have a staff of five attached to the production; they’re all ex-police or ex-armed forces, they’re all here, and I want to introduce them now. First, Mike Reilly.’ A stocky man, with light red hair and piercing blue eyes, stepped forward and nodded. ‘Mike will be responsible for Mr and Mrs Grayson’s welfare; round the clock.
‘Next, Glen Oliver.’ Big, muscular, fair-haired, late twenties, soft features, hard eyes. ‘Glen will cover Mr Capperauld.
‘Third, John Takei.’ Oriental, a small, dark-haired package. ‘He’ll be looking after Mr Katayama.’ The Japanese actor, a beaming man in his late fifties, nodded to his minder and bowed.
‘Finally, Alan Graham and Mandy O’Farrell.’ The first, early thirties, sloping shoulders, tired eyes; no obvious threat, but he wouldn’t have been there if he didn’t possess one. The second, late twenties, around six feet tall, blonde and tanned, angular features, long, hard-edged martial artist’s hands. ‘Alan and Mandy will be responsible for Mr Steele, Mr Massey, Ms Waitrose and Mr Blackstone.’ Ricky looked around us all. ‘They’ll never be far away and you’ll be given mobile phone numbers you can call if you feel under threat, or you’re being harassed by a persistent member of the public.’
Rhona Waitrose grabbed my arm and squeezed. ‘Hey, this is cool,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve never had my body guarded before.’
I looked down at her; in the flesh she was much shorter than she appeared on screen, but just as pretty. ‘You’ll have had volunteers, though,’ I murmured.