Kate O’Mara - Good Time Girl

‘Right, now, Geoff, you enter on action across to the table here.’

‘What table?’

‘We’ll put one there.’

‘Table coming in!’ yelled someone.

‘Not now, not now,’ said Scott impatiently, ‘we don’t need it on this shot. So, in you come, Geoff.’

Geoff obliged. He crossed to the centre of the room and mimed putting his auction programme on the imaginary table.

‘All right, darling!’ called out Scott. Claire, waiting behind the door, was too nervous to bridle at the familiarity. ‘And – cue,’ said Scott. Claire entered. ‘And pause by the door, look at him intently, then as he starts to go – start to go Geoff’ – Geoffrey obliged – ‘then you, darling, you say your first line from the doorway, then come to him – and cue.’

Claire did as she was bid. She played the dialogue that followed well and she knew it. She had energy and intelligence and the scene, short though it was, worked beautifully.

‘Good stuff,’ said Scott in a surprised voice, when the rehearsal was over. ‘We’ll go for one.’

‘Make-up checks!’ called out one of the floor assistants, Brian.

‘What for?’ demanded Scott. ‘They haven’t done anything yet.’

‘Forget it,’ amended Brian, as Sonia and Glynis were about to dart in. But Glynis was not to be deterred.

‘Do you mind?’ she said with heavy irony to Scott. ‘I need to check my artiste.’

‘Funny how you’re never around when we need you,’ muttered Scott to the camera crew, ‘usually around tea break.’

Claire was relieved that Glynis, who as make-up supervisor deemed it beneath her to attend to anyone but the stars of the show, was not her make-up artist. She was disappointed that Larry was not part of this team for her debut, but he was on the next episode and she would probably have got her confidence by then. They did the take.

‘Print it,’ said Scott with satisfaction.

Geoff took advantage of the situation. ‘I’m going to enjoy our scenes together,’ he murmured quietly, looking deep into Claire’s eyes as he spoke.

Claire felt herself go weak at the knees.

There followed close-ups of each of them. Then a shot of Claire leaving the building amongst a crowd of milling extras, and getting into her car. Then a shot of her arriving. Then a shot of Geoff watching her departure from the door. Then Claire driving away. By the time this sequence was completed, it was almost lunchtime.

‘Everyone back at one forty-five to do the auction scene,’ called out Brian loudly. ‘And that means everyone ,’ he yelled to the crowd of extras who were making a beeline for the catering van.

‘Can I get you something?’ said Geoff, clasping Claire by the elbow and steering her away from the crowd. ‘Let’s go to the caravan – oh yes, they’ve actually provided the actors with a sort of green room,’ he said, seeing Claire’s look of surprise. ‘It was Bella’s doing – she insisted – went to Hugh and beat him up, verbally, until he gave in. Have you met Bella, by the way?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Then I’m sure you get the picture.’ He settled her in the actors’ caravan and then set off in search of food.

Over lunch he chatted to her easily. He had a fund of amusing stories from his days at Stratford, and told them with relish. Claire found herself giggling continuously and at one point was actually convulsed with laughter. Afterwards, they walked together to the make-up caravan, to be made presentable for the next shot. Claire felt she’d known him all her life.

The whole of the afternoon was taken up with shooting the scene in the auction room. They were separated then, being rivals in the bidding for a rare painting by a minor Italian master. But Claire was acutely aware of Geoff’s unabashed gaze of admiration and he was attentive and solicitous of her wellbeing whenever they were allowed to relax off-set between setups.

By the end of the day, Claire knew without a doubt that unless she was very careful there was a very great danger of her falling for Geoffrey Armitage. He had a reputation as a charming seducer and she now knew why. She also knew that he intended her for his next victim.

It was in fact Larry who had suggested Jim Dutton. Far from being immune to ‘crap TV’ as he had so contemptuously labelled it, Larry made a point of watching just about everything that was shown on television. It was his contribution to his job. He saw it as his duty to be informed on what the public wanted, who and what was popular, and to try to analyse that tantalizingly elusive quality that makes a person or a programme irresistibly watchable. In America it was known as the ‘Q’ factor. American TV researchers devoted hours of every day and days of every year to unravelling this mystery. A cross section of the citizens of the United States of America would be closeted in small viewing rooms with screens upon which were flashed mug shots of actors and actresses – some well known – some famous – some completely unknown. The captive audience was then instructed to press buttons to indicate its preference – and hey presto, another TV star would be born! Larry preferred to call it the ‘Ikon’ factor – the deliberate manufacture of a popular idol. It was the job he coveted most – Warwick the King Maker, the power behind the throne.

It was he who had put Claire’s name on the list of potential recruits for The McMasters. She and the glamorous American import would boost the ratings, so ensuring Martin’s, Hugh’s and his own tenure at the studios for at least a further two terms.

He had been idly flicking through innumerable channels on American TV whilst visiting some old friends in San Francisco, when his gaze had alighted on the undeniably attractive form of Jim Dutton. All his life a connoisseur of male pulchritude, Larry was impressed. Jim was almost impossibly good-looking and possessed a fine physique. Larry had happened to catch an episode in which Jim had been given a couple of emotional scenes, which he had handled well, not indulging in the usual Hollywood sentimentality. And he brought a wry humour to the part, which lifted the dialogue out of the prosaic and mundane.

After seeing the episode, Larry had contacted Meriel Brooks and requested photos of Jim. Her office had obliged, sending a selection, plus a curriculum vitae. Larry had returned home triumphantly after his vacation and had awaited his chance. At precisely the right moment, he had burst into Hugh’s office brandishing the pictures aloft.

‘There’s our new leading man!’ he had cried dramatically as he slung them onto Hugh’s desk.

Hugh had been startled but impressed. ‘What makes you think we can afford him?’ he had asked after surveying the array of male loveliness in silence.

‘He needs a job,’ replied Larry promptly. ‘He can’t afford to haggle.’

‘He certainly looks good,’ murmured Hugh doubtfully. ‘Can he act?’

‘Well, admittedly, I haven’t seen his King Lear, but he’s certainly up to the standard of this series,’ retorted Larry waspishly.

Hugh ignored this – he was used to Larry’s jibes. In any case, he had no illusions about the quality of programme he was producing. Of its own genre, as a drama series, it was top of the league, but it wasn’t exactly Shakespeare.

After a few further moments spent sifting through the pictures in silence, Hugh picked up a phone and said, ‘Deirdre, has Martin gone to lunch yet? … Good. Ask him to pop in here for a moment, will you?’

‘I knew you’d go for him,’ smiled Larry smugly. ‘Any chance of a coffee?’

‘Oh, and Deirdre, could you pop up to the canteen? … There’s a dear … Yes, sandwiches and coffee for three.’