Kate O’Mara - Good Time Girl

At 6.35, she put on her quilted waterproof coat, assembled her handbag, script and small holdall and, donning a pair of huge sunglasses, grabbed her room key and went downstairs. In the lobby she found Sonia waiting smilingly for her. They exchanged greetings and were shortly joined by Terri, the very pretty dark floor assistant. It was her job to make sure that everyone was in the right place at the right time, whether on location or in the studio. She greeted Claire with a cheery, ‘Hi, I’m Terri. Everything okay?’

‘Yes thanks, I’m fine,’ replied Claire, feeling anything but. The lobby was beginning to fill with people.

‘Glad to see you’ve got something warm on – you’re going to need it!’ Terri added. She herself was clad in ski wear. ‘I’ve got thermals on underneath,’ she confided. ‘Don’t worry, wardrobe will provide you with some.’

‘I’m very glad,’ smiled Claire with feeling.

‘Bus is here,’ called out someone.

Claire gradually began to realize as several other people, men and women of all ages, climbed into the minibus with her, that her companions were extras, crowd artistes who had been requisitioned to supply the background action in the day’s filming. She smiled at them in a friendly fashion and greeted them shyly. They responded in like manner. She wondered if they knew that this was her first day. Terri stood by the driver and counted the heads of her charges.

‘Are we all here?’ she called out anxiously.

Claire was about to tell her that Sonia and the rest of the make-up girls were not present, when she saw them getting into a car that had drawn up alongside and was being driven by the dreaded Glynis. Claire thought it strange that she had been bundled in with the extras – not that she was in any way snobbish, she had simply hoped for a car to take her and her fellow actors to the location. She studied her call sheet more closely. She appeared to be the only actor called early. The men were not called until 8.30. Terri came and plonked herself in the vacant seat next to Claire.

‘You could have followed us in your own car if you’d wanted to,’ she said, as if reading Claire’s thoughts. ‘It means you can get away quickly when we’ve finished. The others like to dash straight back to London on the motorway.’

‘Oh yes, of course. Well, I’ll probably do that next time. I need to find my way around first,’ said Claire.

‘You’ll be all right,’ said Terri reassuringly. ‘They’re not a bad bunch.’

The bus rumbled away in the first light of day and, twenty minutes later, pulled up in the car park of the grounds of a large country house. The doors swung open and it disgorged its passengers.

‘I’ll take you straight to make-up,’ announced Terri, giving Claire no choice in the matter.

They picked their way across the potholes in the car park to one of several caravans whose interiors were aglow. There were other vehicles, the wardrobe department and the caterers were housed in caravans, whilst the sound and elecs had smaller vehicles. Several members of the crew had already arrived in their cars. All had converged on the catering van, which was dispensing hot bacon and egg rolls and porridge. There were trestle tables where people could help themselves to cereal and toast and coffee or tea.

Claire mounted the steps of the make-up caravan and blinked in the fluorescent-lit interior. Sonia was already there, busy laying out her equipment. She smiled when she saw Claire and gestured for her to seat herself. The make-up caravan was especially equipped for the purpose. It was a smaller replica of the make-up room at the television studios, but with only three mirrors and three dentist’s chairs. Sonia’s place was in the middle and Claire was soon swathed in a make-up cape and had given herself over to Sonia’s ministrations. Less than an hour later, she was transformed. Her hair had been curled. Her skin glowed in spite of the make-up, and her eyes were luminous. She was looking the way she knew suited her best and she felt happy and confident.

She was next conducted by Terri to the wardrobe caravan, where she shivered in spite of the electric blow heater that was blasting through its interior. She donned the thermal underwear, and then put on a pale pink suit and fedora. She had exchanged her thick socks for glossy tights and her sneakers for a classy neutral three-quarter-heel Italian pump. She had only just managed to get herself ready when Terri appeared at the door. ‘You’re wanted on set,’ she said peremptorily. ‘Now,’ she added with a shrug, raising her eyebrows in a don’t-ask-me-I’m-just-the-office-boy sort of look. Claire sat gingerly in a waiting car, which Terri herself drove up the winding drive to the house. Glances of admiration and approval from the film crew followed her as she was led by Terri around technical equipment and into a small reception hall where a camera had been set up. The director, Scott Dudley, a diminutive but attractive middle-aged man with a lively expression and a shock of iron-grey hair, was sipping coffee and deep in conversation with a pretty, plump blonde girl. Terri brought her charge into Scott’s eyeline. They both turned to view the newcomer.

‘Good morning,’ said Scott, in what Claire could only describe later to Sally as a provocative way. ‘Well, you’re an improvement on the general standard of pulchritude in this god-forsaken series!’

Claire blushed under her make-up. She noticed that it was mainly men of a certain age and older that treated her as a sex object.

‘How do you do, Mr Dudley?’ she countered politely.

‘Know your lines, do you?’ asked Scott bluntly, ignoring her solicitude.

‘Of course,’ replied Claire hotly. It was one thing to be subjected to mild sexist chat, she was used to that, but to impugn her professionalism as an actress was not to be tolerated.

‘Okay, okay,’ he said easily, ‘keep your hair on. It looks very nice by the way – doesn’t it, Pam?’ He threw the observation in the direction of the blonde.

‘Yes, lovely,’ said she.

‘Pam’s my number one – can’t move an inch without her,’ he said, giving Pam’s bottom a playful squeeze. Pam seemed to have no objection to being treated so familiarly, merely giggling.

‘Had breakfast?’ asked Scott.

‘Er – no,’ said Claire.

‘Should do – we’ve got a tough day ahead.’ And so saying, he turned abruptly away to address a remark to a large burly man whom Claire soon realized was the lighting cameraman. She turned around to discover that Terri had disappeared and left her to her own devices. To cover her confusion, she started to devote her attention to the script, which she was clutching. Scott’s remarks had rattled her.

‘Care to go over some lines?’ said a deep, smooth, charming voice. Claire’s heart fluttered and she looked up into the quizzically smiling face of Geoffrey Armitage. His look of amusement turned to one of intense admiration as their eyes met. ‘I am enchanted to meet you, Miss Jenner. Please forgive the casual approach, I’ve tried to attract your attention for some time. You seemed to be engrossed in the script so I thought I’d try that avenue.’

Claire hardly heard what he said. The rest of the room seemed to have floated away and she had the absurd notion that she believed in love at first sight. Or was it lust. Certainly, the way Geoffrey was looking at her was lustful and yet she thought she detected a softness in that look, a sort of yearning, regret. She couldn’t fathom it, yet she felt utterly bewitched.

‘We’re ready for you, children. Ah, I see you’ve met.’ Scott’s cheery voice broke the spell. ‘Walk this way, please,’ and he guided them to a doorway that had lights trained on it.