Sally Wentworth - Shadow Play

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘BUT that isn’t fair!’ Nell protested. ‘After all, it was my idea to adapt the book.’

‘And it was a good idea which deserves to succeed,’ the producer said smoothly. ‘You do want it to succeed, don’t you?’

‘Meaning?’ Nell’s face hardened even as she asked the question because she already knew his answer.

‘Meaning that it will have a much better chance with someone who’s experienced in writing for television to adapt it.’

‘I’ve adapted several books for radio,’ she pointed out.

‘But television is an entirely different medium.’

‘I know I can do it,’ she said doggedly, trying to keep the anger out of her voice, knowing it was useless, that he’d already made up his mind.

Max Elliott shook his head. ‘Sorry, Nell, I can’t afford to take the chance. But what I will do is to have you collaborate on the adaptation; that way you’ll get some good experience so that maybe next time you’ll be able to do the job yourself. How does that sound?’ He grinned at her, expecting her to be grateful.

Stifling her disappointment with great difficulty, knowing that she had to keep him sweet, Nell managed a small smile and said tightly, ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

Max laughed, pleased that he’d managed things so diplomatically. Reaching across the desk, he patted her hand. ‘Don’t look so unhappy; your name will be on the credits and everyone will know it was your idea.’

Nell dropped her pen on the floor and took her hand from under his to pick it up. It looked perfectly natural but wasn’t. Afterwards she folded her hands in her lap, out of his reach. ‘Who were you thinking of to do the adaptation, then?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure yet. I have to find out who’s available. But I do have someone in mind, and if we can get him...’ He made an expansive gesture, but then tapped his finger against the side of his rather long nose. ‘But I mustn’t speculate. I have to make sure first.’

‘It’s got to be someone good,’ Nell insisted.

‘Don’t worry, it will be. I want this project to be a success for all our sakes,’ Max assured her.

She leaned towards him, her chin thrust forward determinedly. ‘And there’s something else I want made clear.’

‘And what’s that?’ he asked indulgently, willing to accede a point now that he hadn’t been forced to fight and come the heavy to make her accept someone else to do the job. She’d taken defeat gracefully enough, and for that he was grateful.

‘I want whoever does it to be quite sure that this is a collaboration, an equal collaboration,’ she stressed. ‘I’m not going to be there as some glorified secretary, at some man’s beck and call. The person you’re going to get may have the technical know-how for television, but I know how I want the book to be adapted. You know that from the comprehensive synopsis I gave you.’

‘And it was the synopsis that sold the idea to me, and that’s the way I want it to be adapted, too. So you’ve got no worries on that score.’

‘But I might have on the other,’ she guessed shrewdly.

Max shrugged. ‘It’s up to you to work out a working relationship with the adaptor. It wouldn’t be professional of me to tell him how to behave towards you.’

He’d said ‘him’ again, Nell noticed, and was sure now that the person he had in mind was definitely a man. It was bound to be, she supposed wryly. ‘But you will make it clear to him that this is to be an equal collaboration?’ she repeated.

Max looked at her, wondering how a girl who had such striking looks could also be so intelligent. For a moment he was tempted to tell her to sort it out herself, but the book would make great television and he wanted her to come to him if she had any more bright ideas, so he said, ‘It will be written into the contract.’

She nodded, satisfied, and got down to practicalities. ‘How soon do you think we would be able to start?’

‘All depends if I can get the person I want.’

‘Haven’t you asked him yet?’

‘I’ve put out feelers to his agent,’ he admitted cautiously. ‘I gather there are one or two problems, but I should know definitely within a couple of weeks. I expect there’s some work he’s got to finish or something,’ he guessed.

‘Where will we work?’

‘How about your place?’

Nell shook her head decisively. ‘Too small and too noisy.’

‘Well, if the writer doesn’t have an office you can always use a spare one in this building. That OK?’

‘Fine.’ Her brown eyes filled with eagerness. ‘I can’t wait to get started.’

Max smiled, but said rather drily, ‘Well, don’t make a start by yourself; don’t forget this is supposed to be an equal collaboration, and equal works both ways.’

She gave a genuine smile of appreciation at that, warming and lighting a face that, although attractive, could be withdrawn in repose. ‘I won’t.’ She stood up. ‘You’ll let me know as soon as you know who the writer will be for sure?’

‘Of course.’

Nell left then, and took the Tube to Broadcasting House where a children’s serial she had adapted was due for rehearsal. There were a couple of hours to kill first, so she walked up the stairs to the first floor and took the lift up to the canteen on the eighth. Here she bought a coffee and sandwich, and took a seat at a table against the window where she had a fantastic view across the roofs of London, a view that never ceased to fascinate her, especially when the sun was shining brightly as it was today. But not all her attention was given to the view; she’d taken a seat facing the entrance so that she could see everyone queuing up for their food, and could wave to anyone she knew. When you were starting out on a rather precarious writing career, it was a good idea to see and be seen, to make and keep as many contacts as possible.

There was a book in her briefcase and she would rather have taken it out to read, to have sat with her back to the room and ignored everyone in it, but it was necessary to be friendly and outgoing. The canteen—it was now more grandly called a restaurant but the old name seemed to stick—wasn’t very busy at first, but after half an hour a young actress who was in the serial came in with a friend. Nell waved to her, the girls came over and soon they were joined by two other actresses they knew. That was good; you learned things, not only about the serial she’d written from the cast’s point of view, but about other productions the actors were in, and projects they’d heard rumours about where there might possibly be an opening.

Nell enjoyed chatting with the girls, especially when they talked shop, but got bored when they started talking boyfriends and pulling men to pieces.

‘How about you, Nell?’ one of the girls asked her. ‘Who’s your latest?’

‘Oh, I don’t have even an earliest, let alone a latest,’ she said lightly. ‘I’m far too busy working on my career and trying to earn a living.’

‘And me,’ said another girl feelingly. ‘This is the first part I’ve had in three months.’

So they were safely back discussing show business again.

When it was time to go to the rehearsal studio, Nell followed them out. Anyone watching them might well have taken it that they were all actresses; Nell, at twenty-five, was older than the other girls, and although she was quite short she had a good, slim figure, and a bell of thick dark hair that curled gently at the neck. But it was her face that caught and held the attention; her eyes, large and long-lashed, were set wide beneath level brows and a high forehead, and she had high cheekbones that thinned her face and gave it elegance. They also, though, helped to add to the look of cool withdrawal that came naturally to her and which she often had to fight against. But here she was aided by her mouth, which had a full, soft underlip that gave an impression of unawakened sexuality and was an attraction in itself.