Chapter 11 Cynthie
When Hannah and I step out of the car we are pummeled by a wave of sound so intense that I flinch.
Today, we’re filming exterior scenes outside a huge National Trust property called Darlcot Manor about thirty minutes from Alveston Hall.
The sheer number of people involved is mind-blowing—there must be well over a hundred crew members here, and the National Trust volunteers in their green fleeces look as shell-shocked as I feel while electricians and camera operators and sound technicians and goodness knows who else charge about, yelling at one another in front of the handsome building.
I take a moment, standing on the gravel driveway, in the middle of this wild storm, just to let it sink in: I’m really here, this is really happening.
Today we’re planning to shoot a scene where Edward and Emilia talk while walking in the grounds, and I spot Jasmine and Logan in the crowd, but currently they’re little more than fast-moving blurs of activity in designer waterproofs.
After my argument with Jack this all feels even more surreal.
If ever there was any dim hope that his opinion of my skills might have changed during rehearsals, that is long gone.
He thinks I’m not good enough. He couldn’t have made himself clearer if he’d hired a skywriter to emblazon the words cynthie taylor doesn’t belong here over our heads.
“I’m going to be sick,” I murmur, and Hannah steps up and squeezes my hand.
“I’ve got peppermint tea bags, indigestion tablets, diarrhea-relief tablets, and I found some of my mum’s anxiety medication rolling around in her handbag if things get really bad.
” She taps the side of the backpack she’s wearing, which is enormous and straining at the seams. “There’s nothing we can’t handle,” she insists.
“Okay,” I murmur. “But you do know there’s a paramedic on set at all times. You don’t have to carry an entire pharmacy with you.”
Hannah’s eyebrows shoot up. “As if I’m going to trust some Hollywood type to feed you drugs.”
“Says the woman with a sandwich bag full of loose tranquilizers.” I laugh, feeling better.
“Right.” Hannah scans the scene in front of us like a battlefield. “First step: dropping stuff off at your trailer before rehearsal and blocking, then hair and makeup. I think we’re supposed to meet—”
“Hi!” an extremely tall, gangly guy with deep brown eyes and a killer smile pops up in front of us. “Cynthie and Hannah, right?” We nod. “I’m Arjun, the third assistant director. We haven’t met yet.” He holds out his hand and grins down from his lofty height.
“Nice to meet you.” I wrap my fingers around his and shake.
“Remind me.” Hannah frowns down at the binder that hasn’t left her hands all morning. (I’m more than half convinced that she slept with it on the pillow beside her.) “Third assistant director…”
“Ah.” Arjun nods. “Basically, Jan—that’s Janice Howard, the second AD—coordinates everything from base.
” Here he gestures toward the cluster of trailers and canopies over to one side of the building that looks like the backstage area of a circus.
“She knows exactly where everyone is supposed to be and when, and then I run around herding people while she tells me where to go.” He lifts his walkie-talkie.
“I’ve got Cynthie,” he says into it. “We’re walking now. ”
He turns back to us. “Let me show you to your trailer, while everyone finishes setting up, then we’ll get you into rehearsal.”
“Sounds good,” I manage, my stomach in knots once more.
As if things hadn’t been bad enough before my blowup with Jack this morning, now I get to hear his words ringing in my ears too.
For a moment I almost felt guilty when I watched my own insults hit home—the man might be a wet sneeze in human form, but he’s undeniably talented.
It’s interesting that he isn’t quite as sure of himself as he likes people to think.
The things he said, though… well, best not to dwell on that, or I really will throw up.
“So, this is your first movie, right?” Arjun says as he strides along, his long legs eating up the distance, while Hannah and I trot behind.
“Yeah.” I smile weakly. “I guess it’s going to be a steep learning curve.” I glance around as we dart past dozens of busy people.
Arjun laughs. “Don’t be intimidated by the setup. There are a lot of people but that’s because everyone has a specific job. Think of us like a well-oiled machine—we keep things running smoothly so that you can concentrate on your part.”
“It’s actually my part that has me worried at the moment,” I admit.
“That’s totally normal.” Arjun’s voice is reassuring.
“I’ve worked on a bunch of films now and I have yet to meet an actor who doesn’t get first-day jitters…
or fourth-day jitters for that matter.” He guides us past a large, tented canopy and a couple of food trucks, waving at people as we pass.
“Craft services are here.” He gestures. “They’ve got snacks, hot and cold drinks, and they’ll serve lunch and dinner here too. ”
We keep walking and he stops in front of a small trailer. There’s a piece of paper taped to the door that says cynthie taylor.
I stop in my tracks. “Wow,” I whisper.
“Oh my goddddddd!” Hannah squeals. “Cynthie! Your name on a TRAILER!”
“We should take a picture,” I say, dazed.
Of course nothing throws Hannah, and she digs a camera out of her massive bag. Arjun is more than happy to snap half a dozen photos of the two of us standing by my name.
“Do you think you’re ready to see inside?” he asks finally, clearly entertained.
The inside of the trailer is very ordinary and very beige and I’m obsessed with it, and insist Hannah takes pictures of me sitting on the sofa, turning on the kettle, admiring the empty shelves like I’m starring in a catalog for extremely bland trailers.
“Okay,” Arjun says finally, “I’ve got to jet. Before I forget, Hannah, here’s your walkie-talkie. It’s already tuned in to the right frequency, but let me know if you have any problems.” He pulls a handheld radio from his belt and gives it to Hannah, who looks like she’s going to burst into tears.
“Wait, wait,” I say. “Arjun, hand it to Hannah again, I need to get a photo.” And I click the button on the camera as Arjun good-naturedly presents the walkie-talkie like it’s a sacred offering. Hannah thrusts it victoriously up into the sky, and I snap away as she and Arjun laugh.
“I’m sorry,” I say in the end. “I promise we’re going to be cool and professional now.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Arjun replies, already on the move, and I have the feeling that this superhero-style blur of activity is him in his natural state.
“I’m going to make you that peppermint tea,” Hannah says after he closes the door behind him, “and then I’ll get you some breakfast when you’re in hair and makeup. Unless you want something now?”
“Tea is good,” I say, perching on the narrow sofa. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat anything.”
“Of course you will,” Hannah replies. “You’ll get used to all this; we both will. It’s not always going to be so overwhelming.”
“It seems impossible.” I glance out the window at the mass of activity.
“Remember when we started secondary school?” Hannah says, dunking tea bags into two cups. “And it was an enormous labyrinth full of a million giant teenagers and we were so freaked out we hid in Miss Fletcher’s supply cupboard during lunch?”
“You shared your KitKat with me,” I say.
“I’ll always share my KitKat with you, Cyn.” Hannah grins. “The point is, we got through that, and within a few weeks we were basically running the place. It’ll be the same here.”
“I think your memories of school and mine are quite different,” I say, but Hannah makes a dismissive gesture.
“It’s all just people,” she says. “Soon, this will feel normal. You’ve just got to ride it out.”
“You’re so wise.” I take a sip of the tea she hands me. “Like a beautiful owl.”
Hannah’s walkie-talkie crackles and her face lights up. “Okay,” she says. “Showtime!”
AS WE LEAVE THE TRAILER, Jack steps out of the one next door. Of course. I link my arm through Hannah’s, making sure we stay in front of him as we head to the spot where Logan and Jasmine are setting up for the first shot of the day.
According to the schedule there are eight shots—or setups—of this scene to film today, and I know—from the extremely intense amount of research I’ve been doing on the subject—that each one requires its own lighting and camera positioning.
Still, it’s quite a different thing to know this fact and to see it in action.
“Greetings, you two gorgeous people.” Logan bounces up, a Labrador who has just been shown a tennis ball. “It’s here! Day one!”
Jasmine drifts along behind him, frowning and carrying a notebook in one hand and a cigarette in the other, which she waves in the air expressively.
“I think we might have to add in a couple of lines of dialogue here,” she says to the woman beside her, who she introduces as Laurie, the script supervisor.
“Jas!” Logan shakes her arm. “Just be in the moment, will you? Day one!”
“I know it’s day one,” Jasmine says. “And I also know that somehow we’re already behind schedule. How have we managed that?”
Logan rolls his eyes. “Well, on that stirring note, shall we start blocking our first scene?”
He guides us around the various cables and pieces of machinery. “So it’s a fairly light scene to kick off with,” he says. “Just a bit of jibber jabber as you walk.”
“ Jibber jabber .” Jasmine closes her eyes, pained.
“We’ll start up here,” Logan says, and then he and Jasmine walk us through the shot, and we work out where we’ll stop and where we’ll turn, where all the cameras will be positioned, and where our eyelines have to be so that we’re always looking in the right direction.
It’s a lot of information, and I’m focusing on it so hard that I don’t have time to dwell on Jack’s presence or the fact that a couple of hours ago he basically admitted he’s rooting for me to fail.
“Ah!” Logan suddenly gasps, delighted. “My sheep!” He lopes off, as a man appears with a truck carrying a bunch of very noisy, extremely woolly sheep.
“Him and his bloody mutton,” Jasmine says wearily, rubbing her forehead.
“They do look very… historical,” I admit, taking in their curly coats and horns as they’re unloaded. “Not like normal, modern sheep at all.”
“Yeah, and we’ve got the insane bill to prove it,” Jasmine says, clipped.
“Spending all our damn budget on a bunch of fluffy mammals that are going to baa all over everyone’s lines.
Apparently if they fall over, they can’t get themselves back up, so we’ve got a dedicated runner on sheep-tipping duty which is just…
” She exhales—a sound of noisy exasperation.
Logan looks up from beside the sheep and waves to us, his grin wide, like a child on Christmas morning.
“ Look at these fucking sheep !” he mouths, delighted.
Even Jasmine can’t help smiling a little at that, though she quickly covers it with her hand.
“Right, while my brother is busy with his new friends, let’s run through that again,” she says, shoving us back up the gentle grass slope.
“It has been quite the social season.” I say my line, trying not to look at my feet as we walk.
“And you and my brother have made a stir,” Jack responds, and he definitely doesn’t look like he’s thinking about the cameras at all.
He’s already Edward, even in the middle of all this madness, still dressed in his jeans and a sweater.
Somehow he’s shrugged the part on, as if it were a perfectly tailored jacket—made just for him.
He’s Edward, he’s Edward, he’s Edward , I tell myself.
“Do you—” I begin, but then I turn a fraction too early, and end up bashing into his side.
“For fuck’s sake,” Jack grumbles under his breath, Edward falling away. “This is really going to be a disaster if you can’t even walk in a straight line.”
He’s Edward, he’s Edward, he’s Edward, I tell myself again, gritting my teeth as we head back to our first position.
He’s funny and handsome and intriguing, and he’s your fiancé’s off-limits brother, who you fancy the pants off.
He is not a terrible excuse for a human who you’d like to push down this hill.
We go through the scene and make it to the end this time, without any more disasters.
“Okay, Cynthie,” Logan calls from behind the monitor, having abandoned the sheep for the time being. “It looks like you’re a bit off your mark at the end there, so can we make sure you stop right on that last line, please .” There’s exasperation in his voice.
“Of course, sorry,” I mumble.
“Jack, that was perfect,” he adds. “Don’t change a thing, not a thing.”
“You’ve got it,” Jack calls back, and he turns to whisper in my ear. “Remind me again which of us got here on merit?” His voice is low, his breath curling over the shell of my ear, and I indulge in an elaborate fantasy where I chop him into bite-size pieces and feed him to the historical sheep.
“I’m sorry,” I say, smiling back with all my teeth. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of that scenery-chewing you were doing.”
His smile drops and the look he shoots me is poisonous.
“Let’s have talent in hair and makeup,” Jasmine’s voice breaks in, echoing over several walkie-talkies around us. She moves away to talk to Marion, who stands with her ever-present clipboard, casting her eye over the scene.
Arjun descends—a whirr of long limbs—guiding Jack away, while Hannah appears at my side, a bottle of water in her hands, which she thrusts at me.
“How about those tranquilizers?” I say.
“I’ve decided they might actually be Tic Tacs,” she replies.
“Sounds about right.” I sigh as we trudge off toward base once more.