Second Thyme Around (24 page)
Perdita opened her mouth to make some scathing remark, but didn’t. Lucas’s form of caring was nannyish and overbearing, but it was also strangely welcome.
‘Hi! Lucas!’
‘Hello, Perdita. What have you got in your basket for us? Anything nice?’
Perdita felt that if she had to come in through her own back door, smiling, with a trug of now somewhat wilting vegetables on her arm again, she would tell the world she had slugs and snails and puppydogs’ tails, and see what the star chef made of that.
‘Well, I’ve got some mizuna, which is a sort of mustard leaf, some cress, some nettle tops and some Good King Henry. And over there—’ she gestured to a copper bowl – ‘I have some sprouted lentils.’
‘And did you sprout these yourself?’ asked Lucas.
‘No, the fairies did it,’ she muttered, she thought, inaudibly.
‘Heard that!’ said the sound man. He was a taciturn young man in black, who held his endearingly fluffy mike like a fishing rod.
‘Cut!’ called George, the producer. He had replaced the charming, floppy-haired David Winter, who had called Perdita ‘Capodimonte in jeans’, and was a lot brusquer and more businesslike.
‘For God’s sake, Perdita,’ snapped Lucas, ‘stick to the script! We’ll be here all night.’
‘Well, it’s such a stupid question!’ said Perdita defensively. ‘Who else would have come into my kitchen and sprouted lentils!’
Lucas groaned. ‘Just say what’s on the script. We’re getting tired!’
Perdita had opened her back door, smiled, and said hello to Lucas possibly twenty times. Something was wrong every time. Her patience had suffered more than her vegetables. ‘But it’s so artificial! Lucas asks me if I’ve got anything nice, as if I’m likely to say, no, I was on my way to the compost heap with this lot! It’s silly!’
‘There does seem to be a bit of an edge between you two,’ said George. ‘Or is it just the script?’
‘It’s just the script,’ said Lucas.
‘We hate each other,’ snapped Perdita. ‘We told you that ages ago.’
‘Doesn’t look like hate to me. Let’s try again.’
A girl came up and powdered Perdita’s nose. ‘Getting a bit of shine, there,’ she said,
‘It’s called sweat,’ said Perdita. ‘It happens in kitchens.’
‘Actually,’ said George, who had been looking at Perdita through narrowed eyes. ‘I think she’s got too much make-up on. I think the natural, dryad look would be better.’
Perdita, who had never worn so much make-up at one time in her life, had been rather pleased with the effect. She’d never realised how long and curly her lashes could look, or how kohl could increase the size of her eyes. She didn’t want to take it all off, like a schoolgirl being made to scrub her face. ‘We spent hours putting it all on, and I like it. Can’t we just leave it as it is?’
‘Just do as you’re told, Perdita! You’re a natural beauty, you don’t need all that crap,’ said Lucas.
The producer flashed a glance at him. ‘He’s right, love. Let’s see how you look without it.’
Perdita and Sukie, the make-up girl, who’d had plenty of time to become friends, railed against the unreasonableness of the male sex together. They were in Perdita’s bedroom, which had been turned into a dressing room.
‘So, do you and Lucas know each other well?’ Sukie asked, scrubbing at Perdita’s lips with a tissue. ‘There seems to be, like George said, a bit of an edge.’
‘Oh, there’s an edge, all right. We fight all the time. But there’s nothing whatever romantic, if that’s what you’re hinting at.’
‘Hmm.’ The make-up girl regarded her through the narrowed gaze of a professional. Whether her comment referred to Perdita’s relationship with Lucas, or the effect a lot of make-up remover had had on Perdita’s face, Perdita couldn’t tell. ‘You know, you do look lovely. Especially with just the traces of make-up. You know how it is, your make-up always looks best first thing in the morning, when you’ve been too drunk or tired to take it off properly the night before.’
Perdita sighed. She could dimly remember this phenomenon.
‘And no woman could avoid fancying Lucas.’
‘I think I’ve got a hormone missing,’ she lied. ‘He does nothing for me.’
‘Really! What a waste, when he so obviously wants you!’
‘How on earth can you tell? I mean – you’re wrong. But what makes you think he wants me?’
‘Oh, you know! The way he snarls and smoulders at you all the time. He’s charm itself to me. There,’ she flicked Perdita’s face with a brush. ‘That should please them, now we’d better get back or they’ll go mad.’
‘There’s been a change of plan,’ said George. ‘We’re abandoning the script. Perdita will come in and show Lucas her basket. He’ll say something spontaneous – like, “What’s this load of rubbish?”—’
‘And I hit him?’ asked Perdita, hopefully.
‘No. You tell him what you’ve got, but in a light-hearted way, and he’ll take a bit of each thing and tell us what it tastes like. And you can make a joke about the dandelions being called
pissenlit
in France.’
pissenlit
in France.’
‘So do we need to practise this spontaneity?’ asked Lucas. ‘Or can we just make it up?’
A girl with a clipboard murmured something in George’s ear. ‘Make it up, but quickly, it’s nearly time to break for lunch.’
The lighting was altered, the microphone lowered, and everyone got out of the kitchen and squeezed themselves into the passage, several of them crouching down behind the table.
‘Action!’
‘Five, four, three, two, one—’
‘Well, Perdita, what have you got in that trug of yours? Anything edible? Or do they all just have indigestible names, but no flavour?’
Perdita smiled sweetly. She had nipped back to her tunnels to fetch something Lucas hadn’t asked for. ‘Well, here’s something which could have been grown with you in mind, Lucas.’
His brows narrowed suspiciously. ‘What is it? It looks a bit like spinach.’
‘It’s really more like sorrel.’
‘So what is it?’
‘Something you really, really need, Lucas …’ Perdita could feel the heat of the lights on her face, she knew the camera was trained on her face. She gave a brilliant smile. ‘Herb patience.’
Perdita left Lucas and the crew at four o’clock. He was cooking trout fry, which were like whitebait and looked enchanting peeping from the crust of miniature star-gazy pies. Perdita felt sorry for the tiny fish, though she agreed
with everyone, they were extremely decorative.
with everyone, they were extremely decorative.
Almost as decorative were the people who crammed her sitting room, alongside the bygones. There was a producer, an assistant, a sound man, a camera man, his assistant, and, to Lucas’s chagrin, two home economists, who had done all the preparation, and had previously cooked all the food, to every possible stage, so Lucas’s genius fingers were shown doing comparatively little.
Perdita was completely exhausted and her face was stiff from smiling. She couldn’t wait to get out. She walked over her land, climbed over the fence and into Kitty’s, grateful that at least it wasn’t her responsibility to clear up. It would be her responsibility to produce all the vegetables again tomorrow that hadn’t made it into shot today, but she could think about that later. Now, she collapsed into the chair by Kitty’s wheelchair, grateful that the ubiquitous Roger seemed to be absent.
‘I need a very large drink, then I’ll tell you all about it.’
Beverly came in with the whisky bottle, two glasses and a slightly disapproving expression. She didn’t think women should drink neat spirits. Perdita remembered that she hadn’t liked whisky very much herself, once, but it seemed a long time ago.
‘I told you about my house being turned into something out of a magazine, all bunches of flowers in inconvenient places, and piles of packing cases where they catch your shins as you turn round the corner? Well, at first the script was just as artificial, but then we asked if we couldn’t just say what we were meant to say, and not use the words they’d given us. That worked quite well for a while, but I can’t see Lucas putting up with it all for long. He upset everyone by using an antique copper bowl to whisk egg whites in. He couldn’t understand why they were so cross. He said there was a chemical reaction between the little bits of copper which get scraped off and the egg whites, which increases their volume. Apparently they’d got it on
loan from an antique shop and it wasn’t supposed to be used.’
loan from an antique shop and it wasn’t supposed to be used.’
‘Don’t say any more until I’ve got the supper!’ said Beverley. ‘Roger’s not coming back tonight, so we can have it on our laps, and I don’t want to miss a word.’
Perdita took advantage of her absence to close her eyes for a few moments, wondering why they ate formally for Roger, when they didn’t want to. She failed to push away her uncharitable thoughts about him. She didn’t believe he was after Kitty’s money, but he was boring.
‘Well,’ said Beverley, putting a plate of cod-in-sauce, green beans and new potatoes on Kitty’s table, and handing one for Perdita to eat on her lap. She put her own on a little side table. ‘Did they make you wear make-up?’
‘To begin with, I had the works. The make-up girl, Sukie, was lovely. I really liked how I looked – not a bit like me, of course, but quite a nice-looking woman. But then they made me take it all off. Fortunately, what was left looked quite nice too. Look, can’t you see it?’ Perdita batted her eyelashes at Beverley and Kitty, who peered, but didn’t comment.
Perdita took a forkful of cod-in-sauce and had a moment of longing for the duck which had been cooking on and off all day, in a way that meant they couldn’t eat it. It had ended up being sprayed with glycerine, to give it the shine it had lost since nine o’clock that morning. Shine on for the food, shine off for Lucas and Perdita.
‘What about Lucas? He didn’t wear make-up, did he?’ Kitty sounded horrified.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Perdita, not wanting to spoil Kitty’s image of macho Lucas being above such frivolities. ‘What he does have is women, home economists who do the food – all the preparation, the producer’s assistant—’
‘What do the home economists do?’ asked Kitty. ‘If they want Lucas to cook, why do they need them?’
‘To save Lucas’s valuable time. They prepare everything,
chop the onions and put them into little bowls – you should see the little bowls: none of their Pyrex crap, like on
Blue Peter,
for this they’ve used little pottery bowls with little handles. Very cute. Apparently some home ec. women will even devise the recipes, but Lucas balked at that. The producer’s assistant, Karen, told me. Anyway, the home economists cook everything to every different stage, so you might have a shot of him putting a bit of duck into a pan, but then he won’t go on cooking it. Or you might have him slicing it into slivers about a centimetre thick, really small, anyway, and practically raw, or putting the sauce on, or whatever. Everyone faffs around Lucas like anything, because he’s the star, and the more they do the more he smoulders, and the more he smoulders the more they seem to like it.’ She look a large sip of the small whisky which Beverley had poured her. ‘It’s quite funny, really. Only everything takes so long to set up, my poor veg keep wilting under the lights.’
chop the onions and put them into little bowls – you should see the little bowls: none of their Pyrex crap, like on
Blue Peter,
for this they’ve used little pottery bowls with little handles. Very cute. Apparently some home ec. women will even devise the recipes, but Lucas balked at that. The producer’s assistant, Karen, told me. Anyway, the home economists cook everything to every different stage, so you might have a shot of him putting a bit of duck into a pan, but then he won’t go on cooking it. Or you might have him slicing it into slivers about a centimetre thick, really small, anyway, and practically raw, or putting the sauce on, or whatever. Everyone faffs around Lucas like anything, because he’s the star, and the more they do the more he smoulders, and the more he smoulders the more they seem to like it.’ She look a large sip of the small whisky which Beverley had poured her. ‘It’s quite funny, really. Only everything takes so long to set up, my poor veg keep wilting under the lights.’
‘It sounds terrific fun, darling. Did you eat all Lucas’s delicious cooking?’
‘No, because it had all been kept hanging around too long. His women wouldn’t let us eat it. They said it had probably picked up all sorts of bugs.’
She sighed. Now the excitement of telling Kitty and Beverley about it all had worn off, she felt exhausted. She had lost her appetite and the whisky had made her very sleepy. She pushed her food around her plate until it looked as if she’d eaten some of it, and then excused herself.
‘Would you think I was an awful spoilsport if I had a bath and a really early night? I’ve got to be up God knows when tomorrow, to get the day’s veg organised. And I ought to send a few things to Ronnie. It’s not fair to forget all about him. The other customers can manage because I told them I couldn’t give them anything. But I think Ronnie should have his stuff.’
She was up at four the next morning, stealing downstairs
in the dark, putting on her boots and going across Kitty’s land to her own. She felt better after her long night’s sleep, but she wanted to spend time in her tunnels, not only to pick salads, but to remind herself what real life was like before spending another day in front of hot lights, people, and Lucas.
in the dark, putting on her boots and going across Kitty’s land to her own. She felt better after her long night’s sleep, but she wanted to spend time in her tunnels, not only to pick salads, but to remind herself what real life was like before spending another day in front of hot lights, people, and Lucas.
On the final day of filming, her energy, and therefore her temper, were running out. She found Lucas infuriating. He was being such a bully, shouting at one of his women for cutting something up into too small cubes, just as if she were Janey, and throwing a batch of alfalfa into the sink because it had gone brown. It would have been easy if he’d just said it was brown, someone would have taken it away and given him some more. As it was, it had to be picked out of the sink, which took ages and eroded everybody’s patience still further.
‘He’s so brilliant,’ said Karen, the assistant producer, and one of Lucas’s biggest fans. ‘He really cares about the food, which is what makes him temperamental.’
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