‘Down,’ said Carolyn, but Tracey had already piled her hair up on top of her head. ‘No, you’re right. Up.’
‘What are you wearing?’
‘Terry’s got me a Stella McCartney.’
‘I love her stuff,’ said Tracey. ‘And she’s so animal friendly. Now, what do you want me to do with you?’
‘It’s got to be glamour, but I don’t want mutton dressed as lamb,’ said Carolyn.
‘As if,’ laughed Tracey.
‘I’m serious,’ said Carolyn. ‘I don’t want to see any nasty captions in the papers tomorrow.’
‘You’re in safe hands,’ said Tracey. She spent almost half an hour working on Carolyn’s hair and make-up, and by the time she’d finished Carolyn was well pleased.
She turned her head slowly from side to side, admiring Tracey’s handiwork. ‘God, you’re good,’ she said.
Terry appeared at the door, holding the dress. ‘OMG,’ he said. ‘You look fabulous.’
Carolyn got out of the chair and took the dress from him. She held it against herself and nodded appreciatively. ‘I’ve got a gold necklace that will look amazing,’ said Terry. ‘And a couple of chunky rings.’
‘Bag?’
‘I thought a black Prada. Nice and simple and it won’t be a distraction.’
‘And shoes?’
‘I’m going to stick with black and Prada. The dress is so fabulous we don’t want anyone looking at anything else.’
He folded his arms and nodded at her.
‘I’m not changing with you standing there,’ said Carolyn.
‘Darling, first of all, I’m gay. And, second of all, you haven’t got anything there I haven’t seen a dozen times already. And, third of all,…’ He threw up his hands. ‘I’m sure there’s a third of all but for the life of me I can’t remember what it is.’
Carolyn laughed, handed the dress to Tracey and took off the suit she was wearing.
Terry looked her up and down and smiled. ‘God, you’re fit for a… how old are you again?’
‘You are cruising for a bruising,’ said Carolyn. She dropped the suit on the back of one of the chairs and slipped on the dress. It was a perfect fit, accentuating her curves and revealing just enough cleavage.
‘You know, you should think about going braless,’ said Tracey.
‘I don’t think so, thank you very much,’ said Carolyn. ‘This is just fine as is.’
‘She’s right,’ said Terry. ‘Give it a go.’
‘You’re not serious.’
‘The way it’s cut, you’ll not see anything but you’ll get the ripple effect.’
Carolyn laughed. ‘The ripple effect? Or the nipple effect?’
‘Just try it,’ said Terry.
Carolyn took off her bra and then checked herself out in the mirror. They were right, it looked stunning.
‘Told you,’ said Terry. He handed her the shoes and she slipped them on. ‘You get your coat and I’ll fetch the bag and jewellery,’ he said.
Carolyn’s Tommy Hilfiger raincoat was in her dressing room. She was just putting it on when Terry arrived with the jewellery and a large black leather bag. ‘Room for your ciggies and big enough to pinch a couple of bottles of bubbly, if you’re half inclined.’ He put the necklace around her neck and gave her two large rings, both with red stones that were an exact match to the to the colour of the dress, and a pair of diamond stud earings.
He kissed her on both cheeks and waved her off like a father sending his daughter away to her first disco.
CHAPTER 9
Harrington was in the back of a Mercedes at the main entrance. Carolyn got into the back. ‘Frank’s not coming,’ he said. ‘His wife’s pranged the car. He’s not a happy bunny.’
‘Is she okay?’
‘She’s fine, the car not so,’ said Harrington.
The car moved out of the car park and headed south.
‘Why are we schlepping all the way down to Surrey?’ asked Carolyn.
‘Soap Digest have done a deal with Hello magazine,’ said Harrington. ‘And they don’t want all the celebs in the papers tomorrow. This place has got a ten-foot high wall around it and there’ll be security at the gate to keep the paparazzi out. That way, Hello gets the exclusive pictures. Plus they want to get the various stars together in a luxury setting. Makes a lot of sense.’
‘For them, sure. But I’d be happier at the Savoy.’
‘Maybe. But at least this way there’ll be no pictures of drunken stars tripping over and ending up in the gutter.’
‘Hey, listen, that was only once and it was eight years ago, and my heel broke,’ said Carolyn archly.
‘It was one hell of a picture,’ said Harrington.
‘Yes, well, my agent was supposed to have had all copies of it destroyed.’
‘These days it’s all computer files,’ said Harrington. ‘Once it’s out there, it’s out there for ever.’
‘So what is it? A country house?’
‘A country house hotel, I think is what they call it. And the chef’s got two Michelin stars, so the food will be good. And the wine cellar is world famous.’ Harrington rubbed his hands together. ‘And the magazine is picking up the tab, so it’s going to be one hell of a night.’
‘Do you think the show will get anything?’
‘It’s possible. You and Seb might even get best kiss.’
‘Oh God, don’t remind me,’ said Carolyn, settling back in her seat and folding her arms. ‘Jake, have you heard anything about the storylines?’
‘Like what?’
Carolyn shrugged as if she didn’t care overmuch. ‘Just where the story’s going.’
‘You know the directors are at the bottom of the food chain,’ he said. ‘First we get to hear of the plot is when the script arrives. We’re the hired hands.’
‘You talk to the writers, though.’
‘Only about the script I have. To be honest, even the writers don’t have much say in the plotlines anymore. It’s Paul who runs the show but even he has to take notes from the network.’
‘Since when?’
‘It’s been happening bit by bit over the past few years. In the good old days, long before my time, the network just put up the money and Paul produced the show. A couple of network execs might drop by during the edit but that was just a courtesy. It all changed when they asked for script approval. Then they wanted to make casting decisions and now the network decides pretty much everything.’
‘Paul never said anything.’
‘Well he’s not likely to, is he? The problem is that he doesn’t own the show. The network does. So if push came to shove, they could replace him.’
‘But it’s his show. He created it. Without Paul there wouldn’t be a Rags To Riches.’
‘Sure, but you’ve got to remember that when he was trying to get the show off the ground, he couldn’t get arrested. He was on London’s Burning and that closed, and he was on The Bill when that went under, and then he was unemployed for getting on five years. Rags To Riches was his way back in and the network knew that so they screwed him on ownership.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Carolyn.
‘Well it doesn’t affect you, does it? You’re a star. We all revolve around you.’
‘You think so?’
‘You’re the one they tune in to see,’ said Harrington. ‘You’re the one the public loves. You think they even know who Paul is? Or the network suits?’ He shook his head. ‘All those credits that run at the end of the show, do you think people even read them? That’s when they go for a pee or to put the kettle on.’
‘That’s funny because I heard that you directors refer to actors as talking props.’
Harrington chuckled. ‘You’d never hear me saying that,’ he said. ‘But there are some directors who feel that the actors do get in the way of their vision.’ He put his head on one side. ‘Something worrying you?’
Carolyn smiled, trying to make the smile appear as genuine as she could. She barely knew Harrington and while he seemed a pleasant enough guy and a competent director, she didn’t know him well enough to trust him. For all she knew, he might pass on anything she said to the network suits. ‘No, just wondering what was coming up, that’s all.’