notes on a yellow pad, listing a number of additional points to take up with Jerry and Jake. After ten minutes, he took off his horn-rimmed glasses and sat back in the chair, glancing around Monarch’s conference room, and with distaste. He found the ambience oddly depressing. The dark wood-panelled walls, the heavy mahogany furniture and the expensive wine-coloured carpet were ponderous and ugly, created a cheerless, dismal effect that reminded him of a funeral parlour. Somebody, most likely Hilly, Victor guessed, had felt obliged to hang a number of ornately-framed blow-ups of Monarch’s former contract stars on the walls, and this flashy gallery of retouched glossies, now considerably outdated, looked somehow ridiculous and incongruous in the setting which was decidedly Victorian in its overtones.
His thoughts settled on Hillard Steed. Although Hilly was an inveterate and endless memo-writer, and a fearsome perfectionist who tended to nit-pick in the most exasperating way, Victor was happy he had made the deal with Monarch. He had almost been on the verge of signing with Metro when, quite by accident, he had discovered that Mike Lazarus held a large quantity of Metro stock. Whilst this in itself did not mean Lazarus could interfere in any current productions, since he was not on Metro’s board, it did give Victor reason to pause, to evaluate and to reassess with caution. He came to the conclusion that Lazarus, being a megalomaniac, was more than likely to be entrenched with the top echelon at the studio. Remembering Nick’s anxiety about Lazarus, his terse warnings after the meeting at the Ritz, he had adroitly switched the deal to Monarch, who were poised, and eagerly so, on the sidelines. And in the final analysis, I made a far more advantageous deal, Victor told himself. Wuthering Heights aside, he and Hilly had already begun discussions about a number of possible properties they could co-produce, and both of them were thinking in terms of a long association between Monarch and Bellissima. The future looked decidedly rosy. And if Hillard Steed was something of a bugbear, he was, nevertheless, a weight that Victor Mason believed rested lightly on his broad shoulders. There were many other production heads who were much worse, if not downright tyrannical.
Feeling restless, Victor stood up and strolled across the room to the window. He parted the curtains and looked down into South Audley Street. It was still pouring with rain. As usual, he thought, and with resignation, cursing the English weather, wishing he was in Southern California, not necessarily at the ranch, just anywhere the sun was shining. He swung around as Jerry came back into the room, with Jake Watson following closely behind.
Both men looked unusually serious, and Victor at once suspected trouble, which he always did, trouble being endemic to any production. ‘What’s the problem now, boys? Don’t tell me the Earl reneged?’
‘No, no. Nothing quite as bad as that, old chap,’ Jerry instantly assured him. ‘We’re all set there. Everything’s perfectly okay. Although, speaking of the Earl, he’s had an accident. Oh yes, and Francesca’s ill,’ he mentioned as an afterthought. He rushed on, without drawing breath, ‘We are going to need the auxiliary generator. Francesca spoke to the bailiff, and the generator at the castle is sound, but he doesn’t think it’s completely safe to throw the whole load on to it. Jake and I agree. Those kliegs are hellish powerful. Incidentally, she came up with an idea that will help the budget no end –’
‘Jesus, Jerry! What’s got into you!’ Victor exploded, infuriated by his apparent callousness. ‘What do you mean, Francesca’s sick and the Earl’s had an accident? I’d like to know about my friends. Jesus Christ!’ He shook his head in disbelief, glowered with ferocity at Jerry, and then swung his irate gaze on Jake. The latter was now grinning, but his face sobered at once.
‘Oh, sorry, Victor, old chap,’ Jerry apologized nervously, looking abashed. ‘I’m afraid I am inclined to get carried away with my budget, aren’t I? Yes. Well. Er … er … nothing to worry about really. The Earl had a fall and fractured a pelvic bone. No problem, he’ll be up and about in a couple of weeks. Francesca, poor thing, has a rotten cold. At worst, just a touch of the ’flu.’
Victor sat down at the conference table, surprised at his sense of relief. ‘I’m glad to hear neither of them are at death’s door,’ he remarked, the sarcastic bite in his voice underlining his continuing irritation. ‘So …’ He leaned back in the chair, steepled his fingers and gazed at his two associates over them, his eyes cold. ‘Since everything is hunky-dory, why were you both looking as if we had a major crisis?’
Jake said swiftly, ‘A minor crisis. Hilly Street to be exact. We ran into him in the corridor, and he informed us we can only have two more offices for the production staff. He says he can’t release any more space to Bellissima, so we’re short of one office.’
‘Is that all!’ Victor’s face was a picture of disgust. ‘Let’s hope most of our problems are as serious. If they are, we’ll breeze through the picture. And there’s a very simple solution to this one, Jake. Tell Hilly that Bellissima are taking a suite at Claridge’s for the rest of the production staff, and that we’re charging it to Monarch. Believe me, Jake, he’ll find you that extra office within the next hour, even if he has to turf out one of his executives.’
Jake chuckled. ‘It’ll be my pleasure. I’ll go and see him right now.’
The minute they were alone, Jerry flopped down into a chair. He said softly, ‘Hell, Victor, I didn’t mean to sound so cold-blooded and heartless …’ He fidgeted in his seat and ran his hand through his unruly red hair. ‘It’s not that I’m oblivious to people or their problems,’ he explained, selecting his words with care. ‘I’m just preoccupied with the film, and I’m afraid this does cloud my judgment … But still, I know that’s no excuse.’ His voice petered out lamely. He was at a loss for words, understanding he had blundered.
Sensing the other man’s acute discomfort and embarrassment, Victor smiled, his charming manner restored. ‘Relax Jerry. Forget it. I know you didn’t mean any harm, and your dedication to the film is commendable. I’ve no quarrel with you there. And I didn’t mean to come down on you so hard.’ He laughed self-deprecatingly. ‘I guess I’m a bit sensitive in certain areas. I took a bad fall once, on location, and before I could open my eyes, pick myself up and shake the dust off me, I heard the line producer voice the opinion that I’d just screwed up the budget by getting myself killed. He was actually annoyed at my carelessness, and was still exclaiming about all the wasted footage when I threw him a right hook.’ Victor roared. ‘The bastard hadn’t anticipated getting slugged, least of all by a supposed corpse.’ He continued to chuckle, recalling the incident and its repercussions.
Jerry joined in, but his laughter was stilted. I sounded downright cavalier, he thought regretfully, and then he cautioned himself yet again to watch his step around Victor Mason, who was obviously an original, and quite unlike the Hollywood stars with whom he had worked in the past. For the most part they had been egomaniacs, and insensitive bastards to boot. Mason continued to surprise him, and in the most unexpected and unpredictable ways. He might be a stern and demanding task master, a tough executive producer who had his eyes smartly peeled and was ten jumps ahead of everyone else, but it was clear he was a superior human being. It appeared he was decent and caring. Nor was he bizarre in an industry in which to be bizarre was more often than not quite normal. As yet, he had not once played the star; he had made no peculiar demands; and he treated everyone as an equal. I’ve got to hand it to him, he’s got immense style, Jerry thought.
Conscious of the growing silence, and in an effort to dispel Jerry’s lingering uneasiness, Victor’s tone relaxed. ‘Anyway, onward and upward. What did you start to say about Francesca having an idea?’
Relieved that the awkwardness between them had evaporated, Jerry said, ‘Ah yes, Francesca. Apparently the attics of the castle are stuffed with old furniture, lamps, bric-a-brac, lots of stuff, in fact. And according to Francesca, it’s not particularly valuable. She thinks we might be able to use some of it for the film. I’d told her about replacing certain items in the rooms where we’ll be shooting. She suggested we sort through the junk – her word, not mine – and select anything we think we can utilize.’
‘That’s very bright of her,’ Victor pronounced, suppressing a small amused smile, inwardly applauding her shrewdness. ‘It will save us money, providing the stuff is