Chapter 16
Violet
Violet stood on the walkway and tapped her pen on her clipboard, watching as the minibus rolled slowly up to the studio entrance. Derek, the unit publicist, was beside her, head down, tapping away at emails on his phone.
‘Derek,’ she said. ‘They’re here.’
Derek’s head snapped up, and his phone disappeared into his waistcoat pocket.
He strode up to the bus, squeezing through the security barrier, waving at the driver to open the door and boarded before anyone could get off.
As instructed, Violet stayed put, waiting for the bus to be allowed past security.
Her clipboard already held a copy of everyone’s non-disclosure form, but Derek had said he’d be reading everyone the riot act on arrival, just in case.
Belt and braces, he had said. He said that a lot.
The lead cast were relieved from filming with main unit for the morning to spend the time doing press and publicity.
The drawing room set was off limits to everyone but publicity for the day.
A dedicated team of ADs, production runners, lighting, and sound crew were working with Derek to host a gaggle of entertainment journalists, bloggers and influencers.
Violet was there to help manage the visitors, look after the cast and keep interviews to time.
The security barrier rose, and the bus inched forwards, coming to a halt almost right in front of her. Derek clambered down, followed by a crowd of journalists and trend setters, mobile phones and tablets at the ready, visitor passes firmly pinned to their jackets.
Derek hurried past Violet, gesticulating for her to follow him.
‘Violet, love, let’s feed and water this lot first,’ he said in a stage whisper, motioning to the group behind them who were trying to take selfies as they hurried to keep up with Derek.
‘That’ll give us about fifteen minutes. Then we’ll send one group on the studio tour and start the interviews with the others.
Be a love and go and check on Jennifer and Finn, see if they are ready. ’
Violet nodded, hurrying ahead of Derek, into Stage 2, where Finn and Jennifer should be nearly ready to do back-to-back interviews.
As she navigated the dark edges of the stage, stepping over cables and past heavily laden props tables, she heard the bang of a door thrown open and then Derek’s voice urging people to follow him and watch their step.
The decision had been made to shoot the interviews on the drawing room set, with cast in costume to highlight the historical nature of the show.
Violet peeped into the green room, but there was no sign of Finn or Jennifer yet.
She radioed for an update and was told they were walking over now.
She knew they’d likely want drinks, so she turned back towards the refreshment station set up for the journalists.
One of the journalists had pulled out a small compact and was re-applying lipstick. Another was using her phone camera to try to shape her eyebrows. Violet gave a tiny shake of the head and went back to fishing out a green tea with lemon for Jennifer.
‘Are they ready?’ Derek murmured in her ear, making her jump.
‘Walking over now,’ she whispered back.
At that moment, she heard voices and footsteps on the far side of the stage.
‘That’s Finn and Jennifer in the green room on set,’ came Chloe’s voice over the radio.
Violet hit the button on the radio cord. ‘Copy that.’
The journalists mingled awkwardly, making the shallowest of small talk, reluctant to give away the wording of their questions, their ratings, followers, or readership numbers, unless they knew they could one-up the person they were talking to.
It made for an oddly stilted and quiet gathering for a group of professional presenters and wordsmiths.
There was a collective sigh of relief when Derek turned to them and took charge of proceedings, meaning they didn’t have to talk to one another.
Violet listened to Derek explaining to the group how the day would work as she stirred Finn’s coffee.
It had been nearly a week since she and Finn had encountered Cynthia on the way to the fitting.
She had seen him every day in passing and never on his own.
But it felt like something had shifted. Nervous as she was about her mother being on the show, she didn’t feel nervous that Finn knew about it.
It was the last thing she would have chosen to share with anyone, least of all Finn, but he had seemed so earnest in his promise not to fall for Cynthia’s considerable charms, she believed him.
With Finn’s coffee in one hand and Jennifer’s tea in the other, she skirted the edge of the set and made her way to the green room easy-up.
By the opening, she murmured, ‘Hi, it’s Violet, I have your drinks.’
Holding the paper cups carefully, she elbowed her way in and stopped when she saw it was only Finn, his dark head bent over his script.
‘Oh, hi,’ she said, with a half-smile, extending her arm. ‘Coffee for you,’
Finn flipped his script over face down, straightened and looked up at her.
‘Hi,’ he said, with a smile. He took the coffee and inhaled the steam from the cup. ‘Thanks, I need this.’ Sipping it, he raised his eyebrows. ‘This is actually half decent, Vi. No rat poison in it today to do away with me?’
Violet lifted one shoulder. ‘I’ve run out.’ She glanced about the tiny space. ‘Chloe said Jennifer was here too.’ She lifted the steaming cup of green tea.
‘Gone to make a phone call, I think,’ Finn said.
Violet nodded as she carefully placed Jennifer’s drink on the table beside the empty stool and turned to go.
‘I’m not looking forward to this,’ Finn said.
Violet stopped and looked back. ‘But Finn, it’s a chance to talk about yourself all day. I would have thought you’d love it.’
Finn rolled his eyes at her. His dark hair, carefully styled by the hair and makeup team to look effortlessly ruffled, fell in waves across his brow.
‘You might find this hard to believe, but the novelty soon wears off when you are asked the same question over and over. And some of those influencers are very pushy.’
‘I’m sure you’ll cope,’ Violet replied.
Finn opened his mouth to respond when there was a rustle as Jennifer pulled back the awning.
‘Oh hi,’ she said.
Violet stepped back to let her inside, making room for Jennifer and her voluminous skirts.
Violet spent the next couple of hours helping to chaperone small groups of journalists around the studios and onto a couple of other sets so they could take photos.
They got to meet a couple of the producers and had brief introductions to the costume designer and production designer.
Violet was as fascinated as anyone and learnt as much in those few hours as she had in the previous few weeks.
By lunchtime, there were only a couple of interviews with Finn and Jennifer left to do, and the remaining journalists lurked shiftily near the tea and coffee, waiting their turn.
The other journalists had already started their interviews with other cast on another stage, so the drawing room set had fallen quiet.
Derek hovered over each interview, listening carefully to ensure no one deviated from the pre-approved talking points, and Violet lurked nearby, ready for any request Derek or the cast might have.
Some of the journalists had camera and sound setups of their own, whipping skinny tripods, tiny cameras and clip-on mics out of packs the size of a medium handbag.
Others just recorded the audio, ready to write up articles and blogs and pair with photos later.
The makeup standbys hovered in the wings, jumping in between each interview for touch-ups.
Jennifer and Finn were shuffling and stretching in place whenever the cameras weren’t on them.
They had been sitting in the same spot for over four hours, with only short breaks.
During each interview, they were engaged, charming and perky, making each interviewer feel like they had the best questions and the best rapport with these emerging stars.
Now, in the short break as the final interview was set up, Jennifer looked slightly glazed, and Finn looked tired.
He had been right, Violet conceded; the questions were almost exactly the same each time.
He and Jennifer had made their answers feel fresh even on the eighth time of answering.
As Violet watched, Finn leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his costume jacket stretching across his broad shoulders.
From her spot in the shadows, she watched as he massaged his temples.
She was so rapt, watching him, that when there was a tap on her shoulder, she physically jumped.
It was Derek, phone in hand, screen lit up.
‘Violet,’ he whispered, ‘I have to take this. It’s the studio. Can you please oversee this one? You know the talking points. Should all be straightforward. I won’t be long.’
He was backing away and lifting the phone to his ear before he even finished talking.
Violet nodded and stood up straighter. Sure, she could oversee an interview.
Looking back at the stage, the makeup artists were now huddled around Finn and Jennifer, doing final touch-ups.
The journalist, whose name Violet had forgotten, was finishing the set-up.
This was a filmed interview, and Jennifer and Finn were attaching the little mics the journalist had handed to them to their costumes.
Both were in publicity mode now, smiling, joking, making the journalist feel at ease.
There wasn’t much for Violet to do except listen to Jennifer and Finn field the same questions for the next fifteen or so minutes.
‘So Jennifer,’ the journalist was saying. ‘What drew you to playing Beatrice?’