Chapter Six
The young bride knelt at the altar of her family chapel. Her hair was hidden by a long white veil that flowed down her back, covering a large shiny wedding dress. She looked up solemnly at the priest, her small face framed by heavy make-up.
‘Do you, Patricia Byrne, take Henry Ferguson, to be your lawful husband to have and to hold?’
Patricia took a deep breath to steady her nerves. ‘I do,’ her voice was quiet and husky, and there were appreciative nods from the people standing around. The priest turned to the bridegroom, a tall man with a bored expression wearing almost as much make-up as Patricia.
‘And do you, Henry, take Patricia…’
All eyes turned to the handsome groom, who opened his mouth and promptly gave a massive yawn and stretched his arms. The bride tried not to giggle. In the corner of the chapel, the director yelled, ‘Cut!’
Paddy stood up and stretched. The stone floor of the chapel was freezer and she waved for the heater to be brought over so she could stop her teeth from chattering. She had been at this all day and was turning into a popsicle.
The German film crew had arrived at Kensey House yesterday, a few days after Paddy had settled in and she was enjoying watching them bring the big house to life. When the director had offered her a bit part, she was even more excited. Normally when a camera was rolling, she was the main attraction. For once she was just a face in the background and she was loving the anonymity. She had been even more delighted when she met her acting partner. Initially she had mistaken him for a model; he certainly had the looks and height, and the way he grinned at her suggested that, for once, he wasn’t gay. However, it was quickly apparent that he wasn’t an actor or a model. He had none of their nervous energy. He was so confident that she wondered if he might be a producer but after five minutes of his company it was clear that he wasn’t that either. He was relaxed, had a great sense of humour and took the mickey out of himself. A confident and powerful man with no need to prove anything. He had introduced himself as Henry but promptly invited her to call him Hal, saying that’s what his close friends called him. Now he was making a mess of their small scene.
‘Come on, Klaus! Have pity. I’m nursing the most colossal hangover.’ He yawned again. ‘See! Why don’t you just dub over the yawn? No need to cut.’
‘Because the camera is pointing at you, everyone would see you yawning.’ The director was growing increasingly frustrated. This tiny scene was being totally ruined by some jumped-up amateur. The role had been won in a charity auction so Pieter had no choice but to put up with him. He was about to shout action again when the man spoke over him.
‘Look Fritz, I’ve an idea. When I’m speaking, point the camera at the bride. She’s easily the prettiest thing in the room. Why would anyone want to look anywhere else?’
Pieter groaned. He knew having amateurs on set was going to be a problem. ‘Because that would look ridiculous. Okay, is everyone ready? From ‘Do you, Patricia Byrne, take’.’
Now Paddy was blushing furiously and if anything her smile was even sweeter than before. Obviously, people were always commenting on her looks but no one had ever made her blush like this before. Hal really was something, but at the moment a lot of that something was rudeness.
They knelt at the altar rail and started again. The actor they had got in to play the role of priest seemed confused and flustered and Paddy wondered if he had also won his role. All the professional actors were currently engaged at the church porch. Apparently, that was the big dramatic scene. During a village wedding, the heroine is revealed to be the daughter of the local mayor. Or something like that. Paddy’s German was a bit sporadic but she thought that was the rough gist.
The director finally convinced Hal to toe the line and whilst Paddy found him amusing, she also thought his behaviour was a bit poor. Everyone was on a tight timetable. As a model herself she fully understood how time meant money; too many takes made for a particularly unpleasant atmosphere.
When she and Hal had gone to sign the register, the priest kept getting annoyed with the cameraman, insisting that he didn’t get so close. When she asked what name to use the priest looked at her as though she was deranged, telling her to use her name. She and Hal had a non-speaking role so hadn’t been assigned names. The priest was right, so long as she could be seen writing something, that was all the camera man needed. She had had to explain to Hal that even though they were speaking for the camera, their voices would be cut from the final show.
‘We’re just fancy extras,’ said Paddy with a grin.
The cameraman’s English wasn’t great so Paddy kept trying to act as go-between, although both priest and cameraman seemed to be getting exasperated. The groom wasn’t exactly helping as he had started to yawn again and at one point had wandered off to see if he could find some communion wine. ‘Hair of the dog,’ he winked at Paddy. The cameraman went ballistic and started shouting to the director, who came back and started generally shouting at the priest, Hal and Paddy, as though they were all equally to blame.
‘If we could just finish this final scene and then we won’t need your services anymore. Just stand at the altar, the priest will pronounce you man and wife, the groom will go to kiss the bride and just before he does, Ignetta will smack Johan across the face and the whole congregation will turn around to look at the drama unfolding by the main door. Okay!’ The director glared at the three of them and the rest of the crew to ensure that everyone understood.
It was a well-known feature of life in Cornwall that there would always be a German film crew filming episodes for its wonderful Rosamunde Pilcher series. Jobbing actors enjoyed the opportunity to get some paid work, even if it was only as an extra. However, the congregation had been playing up; chilled by the cold February air and the unheated chapel pews, they had started to fidget and play on their phones. The smack scene was their only chance to be properly featured on camera. Up until now they had just been backs of heads as the camera had been fixed on the bride and groom, but now the director would want some reaction shots and they were beginning to mug up their roles. It was his third take and poor Johan now had to have the make-up artist rush in each time to try and hide the growing red mark on his face. She seemed to be slapping him with enthusiasm and he wondered about the prudence of commenting on her weight gain just before filming.
‘Okay, for the fourth and final time…’
‘Klaus!’ The groom had been lounging on the steps and now sprang up. ‘Look, don’t you think this is all a bit boring? I don’t get to kiss the bride? That’s what everyone wants, isn’t it? I know I do!’ He laughed and was joined by a few men in the congregation.
Paddy hissed at him. ‘Shut up! I’m not kissing you! And stop calling him Klaus, for God’s sake. His name is Pieter.’
Hal looked over at the director, who was now diverted by a concerned lighting engineer. ‘Don’t think so. Pretty sure it’s Klaus or Fritz or something like that.’
‘Maybe Gunther?’ Paddy rolled her eyes.
‘Could be. I honestly can’t remember. My head is absolutely thumping.’
Now Paddy groaned. What was it with public school boys and their confidence, that everything they thought was right? ‘And I think you’ll find it’s Pieter.’
‘Really?’ Hal yawned again. ‘Not convinced.’
‘Hey Pieter?’ Paddy called over to the director, who by now was trying to reassure his leading lady that she hadn’t put on weight and she wouldn’t be upstaged by the bride at the other end of the chapel. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Pieter.’
‘Cheers!’ Paddy grinned at Hal.
‘Well I never. Why on earth didn’t he say?’
Paddy raised an eyebrow. She didn’t want to be rude. ‘Maybe he did and you weren’t listening?’
Pieter cleared his throat loudly enough for even Hal to get the point.
‘Right! There will be no kissing! Last time. ACTION!’ And as the groom leant down to kiss the bride for the fourth time, a slap rang out, the congregation turned, and the director cried cut. As he did Hal leant forward and gave Paddy a very chaste little peck on the cheek and winked at her. ‘Can’t leave a bride unkissed at the altar. Bad luck or something.’
She laughed. ‘Well, if it’s to ward off bad luck I suppose that’s fine.’
Paddy had resolved to give him the benefit of the doubt. It had been a long day and for someone unused to it, it could be bewildering how long it took to shoot a couple of minutes. It didn’t help that some directors were known for doing a thing twenty times, only to go with the first take.
‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘after we get out of these costumes what say we make an evening of it? Dinner over at Cliff House? They’ve just got their third Michelin star?’
Paddy thought it was a great idea but was unconvinced that he’d get a table at short notice. Nevertheless, she agreed and headed off to change, smiling to herself. Despite his momentary lapses, he had been run company throughout the day and when he wasn’t yawning or getting his cues wrong, he had entertained her with stories and ran to get her hot drinks every time she had begun to shiver. Now, the promise of warm food was more than she could resist. Today was shaping up very well indeed.