Merely Players (11 page)

‘Oh, I don't know about that. I might prove to be just a passing fancy!' Adam smiled at the women in the audience, who loudly refuted any such heresy. ‘Theatrical institutions are people like Jean Simmons, who built up a body of work.'

Clancy knew his cue. ‘You worked with our late lamented Jean, didn't you?'

‘I did indeed. In one of my first television assignments, back in 1990, Jean was Miss Havisham in
Great Expectations
. She was a great actress who was also tremendous fun. I learnt an enormous amount from her.'

‘You played Herbert Pocket, if I remember right. And how was the great Jean to work with?'

‘Oh, entirely approachable. A great pro. She was very kind to me when I was an inexperienced young actor. People thought of her as a grande dame of theatre and cinema, which she was. But as I say, she had a wicked sense of humour!'

He launched into a well-rehearsed, mildly bawdy, anecdote about the great lady. He had learned early in his career that it was always safest to attach your stories to a dead thespian, who could no longer challenge the verity or the detail. He struck the right humorous, slightly daring, note. The audience gasped in surprise, then roared with delighted laughter, which culminated in a round of applause that Gerry Clancy dutifully encouraged. Laughter was infectious; if the studio audience was relaxed and amused, the television viewers would be happy in front of their sets with their afternoon cups of tea.

They moved on to Alec Dawson, so that Adam could feed in the excellent viewing figures for the present series and the announcement that a new series was already commissioned for next year. Clancy spoke about the appeal of the series. Was it not strange that this type of multi-action adventure, usually favoured by men, should have such a high female quota among its audience? What was the reason for that?

Adam said he'd never thought about that. He couldn't think of any reason. Surely, his host said, the appeal must stem from the looks and personality of its star? The prolonged round of applause pleased both host and guest. Then Clancy leant forward a little on his chair, always an indication that something a little more serious was to be introduced.

‘Hand on heart, Adam, how seriously should we take Alec Dawson and his adventures?'

Adam leaned forward in turn. He spoke confidentially, as if imparting a confidence which should go no further. ‘Between you and me, Gerry, it shouldn't be taken very seriously at all.' A collective gasp, then delighted enthusiasm from the audience for his candour. It was as if they had been the first people who had been privy to this revelation: Adam Cassidy, the man who played the dashing Alec Dawson, did not take himself too seriously. Adam beamed at the rows of laughing people, as if the revelation had been a relief to him. Then he said without warning, ‘What we put together is what my old English teacher used to call interesting yarns. We make them as entertaining as we can, but we don't take ourselves too seriously and we don't expect our viewers to think of them as real life. Real crime is a different and more serious thing altogether, as this gentleman is well aware.'

He turned unexpectedly towards Thomas Bulstrode Tucker, who had been relaxing in the thought that his torment was over and with luck would be forgotten in the shadow of this bright torch of celebrity. He managed a weak smile of acknowledgement. ‘I can certainly confirm that. Real crime is nasty.'

‘And also dangerous. I was listening with interest before I came on, Chief Superintendent. As you may know, I was born and brought up in Brunton.'

Tucker did not know. He gave a weak smile and managed a ‘Really?'

‘My father and the rest of my family still live there, indeed. I was disturbed to hear how little control you seem to have over crime in the area. My poor old dad did his bit for Queen and country, but he's an invalid now. He won't be pleased to hear how likely he is to be burgled. Still less to hear that the thugs will more than likely get away with it. I only hope he doesn't try to take things into his own hands.'

Murmurs of approval and a few ‘Hear hear!'s from an audience now hanging on his every word. Tucker's smile was a mistake this time; it signified complacency to his listeners. ‘He shouldn't do that, Adam. We always advise the public against—'

‘Frustration makes ordinary people desperate, Chief Superintendent. Tough old codgers like my dad believe in looking after themselves, not leaving things to the nanny state. When they see yobbos getting away with things, they do not always behave rationally. Wouldn't you agree?' He turned directly to his audience in a blatant piece of demagoguery. They burst into massive applause, as if they had been waiting for exactly this cue.

Tucker said, ‘Policing is more difficult now than it has ever been. We have more officers than we have ever had, but more crime as well.'

‘More officers, yes. But how often do we see the copper on his beat nowadays?' More shouts of approval. Adam had an actor's sense of when the audience was with him and he knew how to harness the conditioned reaction. ‘I think most people believe that a visible police presence would itself prevent of lot of petty crime. And prevention is always better than cure, is it not? But who am I to say that? You're the man with the expert knowledge, Chief Superintendent.'

‘Yes. Well, in fairness to my officers in Brunton, I must point out that we have more serious crimes on our patch than burglary.'

‘Indeed you have. We live in dangerous times, do we not? The terrorist threat is ever present, and cells of militants have recently been unearthed on your patch. I'm sure the people here and those watching this afternoon would be interested to hear about your progress in this area.'

‘We have a large Muslim population. The overwhelming majority of them are law-abiding citizens, who are peaceably disposed towards their neighbours.'

‘And as you imply in saying that, there is also a tiny and highly dangerous minority, who are anxious to take innocent British lives. Would you say you were on top of the situation?'

‘This is not a local but a national problem, countered by a national initiative. Anti-terror action is coordinated nationally. We offer whatever help we can, of course, but thankfully anti-terrorism is not my pigeon.'

The last phrase was a mistake; it made Tucker sound complacent. The producer's voice on Gerry Clancy's ear mike told him that there were two minutes of his programme left. He said with a smile and a face full of reason, ‘In that case, Chief Superintendent, one is driven to ask why this vastly increased police service cannot deal with the burglary which has spread like a plague over this green and pleasant land. Why, as Adam suggests, police officers cannot at least be more in evidence as a threat to the petty crime which besets us all.' He turned to his audience. ‘I'm sure you would want me to thank Adam Cassidy for his presence here today. He has been a joy to talk to, as always. And he has also given us food for thought about some serious issues.'

The closing credits rolled, as the cameras switched away from the discomforted Tucker to the faces of the vigorously applauding audience.

A mile away from the television studio in Manchester, Cassidy's new agent was enduring a difficult phone conversation. Mark Gilbey gazed out at the spectacular view of the Lowry Centre's stainless steel from his fourteenth-storey office and listened carefully, whilst saying as little as possible.

This wasn't a new situation for him. Former agents often cut up rough when their clients transferred their allegiance. Indeed, Gilbey handled very few people who hadn't come to him from someone else. He didn't take unknowns on to his books; he could afford to pick and choose among the people who wanted him to represent them.

Normally the complaints of agents who had been forsaken did not trouble him. He never poached clients, so his conscience as well as the legal situation was clear. Everyone who used the Gilbey agency came to him on his or her own initiative. Mark's only action was to agree to take them on. Any previous business relationships were neither his responsibility nor his concern. Agents who felt they had been betrayed must take up the issue with their former clients, not with him. The legal situation was exactly the same for him in this case as in many others; he had nothing to fear from the law. But he was being very careful not to offer provocation to the angry man at the other end of the phone line.

That was because this man was Tony Valento.

Mark had no idea which of the many tales which were told about Valento were true. The man was certainly of Italian extraction; his dark hair and olive complexion bore witness to that. But he spoke with no trace of an accent other than cockney. How far his reputation for violence was genuine was not clear, and Mark did not intend to research the matter at first hand. Tony Valento was supposed to have Mafia connections and to have made his way in the industry by a mixture of charm and violence. How much violence? There were few facts and a wealth of myth about that. As usual, the rumour-mongers could soon transform a small happening into high-pitched melodrama. Mark Gilbey would stick to his guns, be as firm as he always was, but steer clear of any personal involvement.

Valento was going through the sort of argument Mark had heard many times before. ‘I took the bastard on when he was almost unknown. I made the brand that is now Adam Cassidy. He'd have got nowhere without me.'

‘I'm sure you're right, Tony. These people have no loyalty. I'm sure all show business people have a touch of the tart in them.'

‘So tell him that. Tell the bugger he'd have got nowhere without me.'

‘I'm sure you've already told him that yourself, Tony.'

‘I haven't. The first I heard about this was the letter from you today which told me you were taking over his contracts.'

‘I'm sorry about that. I am really. But all I got from him was your name as his former agent. It's the normal protocol to write and inform the previous operator that you've been asked to take over. I'm sure you do the same thing yourself.'

‘But this is the first I've heard of it! The bloody man hasn't said a word to me.'

‘I'm sorry about that. I can see how annoying it must be for you. But you must take that up with Mr Cassidy. All I've done is agree to represent him, in response to a direct request from him. I'm sure you'll agree that I have acted honourably. Indeed, I would have been flouting the unwritten rules of our profession if I had refused a well-established actor services which he considered would be valuable to him. I have fulfilled all the normal protocol. That includes my formal letter advising you of our representation of Mr Cassidy, which you received this morning.'

‘I got him the Alec Dawson role. He'd be nothing without that. Now he thinks he's big enough to ditch me and go to Hollywood.'

‘He didn't tell me about the way he was treating his previous agent. I didn't even know that was you, Tony. But of course that wasn't my business, was it? If these people come and ask us to act for them, we have to take them on, don't we? I can only presume that he thinks we have the contacts to get him the work he wants. But from an ethical point of view, he should have discussed it with you first. Of course he should.'

There was a pause. Mark could hear the man breathing hard into the mouthpiece of his phone; ethics were probably a novel consideration for Mr Valento. ‘You say the bugger's already signed up with you?'

‘I'm afraid he has, yes. He should have discussed his intentions with you, but I'm sure you'll agree that I couldn't turn him away when he came to us.'

‘Too bloody right you couldn't. Or wouldn't. The slimy sod's going to have to answer to me for this!' The line was abruptly dead.

Mark Gilbey ran a finger round the inside of his collar. He was sweating, despite the calm tone he had preserved for his phone conversation. Adam Cassidy was perfectly within his rights to change his agent. There was no doubt about that. But at the moment Mark was glad that he wasn't in Cassidy's expensive Italian leather shoes.

‘You're late!' said Harry Cassidy accusingly to his elder son. As with many an ageing person, his world was growing smaller by the day. And he was increasingly unaware of anyone else's world outside his own.

‘It's only twenty past five, Dad. And you know I never arrange to be here at a particular time, because I'm never sure when I'll be able to get away after school. I have things to do after the children have gone home. I was giving a bit of tuition to a couple of sixth formers who are trying to get into Cambridge.'

‘You fart about with all kinds of stupid things, you do! You've missed our Adam on the telly.' He spoke as if this were a sin several degrees beyond adultery.

Luke had forgotten all about the chat show appearance, though his father had spoken of little else for almost a week. ‘I couldn't have seen it anyway, Dad. I was teaching thirty fourteen-year-olds when the Gerry Clancy show was on.'

‘Well, think yourself bloody lucky, then. I've recorded it for you on the Sky Plus.'

‘That's good. I'll just put this dinner in the oven for you and then we'll sit down and watch it together.'

‘You'll enjoy this,' his father assured him, as Luke pulled up a chair beside him. ‘There's some bloody police officer on from Brunton. Our Adam makes a right fool of him.'

Luke decided after watching Thomas Bulstrode Tucker for two minutes that the man was probably a pompous twit. But he plainly didn't realize that he'd been set up as an easy target by his amiable-sounding host. Luke began to have a little more sympathy for Tucker as Clancy weighed into him about the incidence of burglary.

‘He's a right bloody twit, this bugger,' said Harry Cassidy.

‘He's on a hiding to nothing here, Dad. And he's probably very nervous.'

‘Nervous my arse!' Harry's language had become steadily more uninhibited since his wife's death. ‘Just you watch what a fool he looks when he tries to argue with a smart lad like our Adam!'