Cherringham--Final Cut (2 page)

All the horses … all so still …

Except for the one at the back, with the woman in the long dress …

That already fractious horse suddenly backed up, then lowered its head and started to turn. And while the sword battle continued, Daniel suddenly saw the men on the sidelines start to move.

“Something’s wrong,” Daniel said.

He could see that the black horse, nodding its great head, now stomped the ground with its hooves, while twisting and turning as if eager to break away from the orderly line.

And while men from every side raced to the horse, even the director, Daniel kept his binoculars tight on it.

The actress held the reins tight; she looked scared!

Something was about to happen.

Now what had been pretend … suddenly turned real.

“This is bad, Tom,” Daniel said. “There’s something weird going on with that horse.”

And just as he said those words the black horse, its handlers still feet away, did more than shake its head and pound the ground.

It reared back high on its hind legs as if about to jump a giant fence.

Towering over the other horses.

And in that move, the actress riding it went flying, with no one yet close enough to catch her.

It happened so fast.

The other actors on their docile animals, turned to look just as the woman, blonde hair whipping around her face as she tumbled, went rocketing to the side.

“Daniel!” Tom said. “She’s going to get killed!”

Daniel didn’t say anything, but it looked so dangerous.

The stallion, now out of control, pounded its forelegs on the ground; it looked as though he had landed right on top of the actress.

Then it reared again — still right above her, as if claiming her as its prize.

Somebody do something …
Daniel thought.

Then — when it landed again, when anything could have happened to the actress — the men were finally there, three, then four of them, one grabbing the reins.

Another got an arm around the horse’s neck.

Two others went to one side as if shielding the woman on the ground.

Other men ran over and they quickly slid her away.

This is not what we expected to see,
Daniel thought.

Was the actress hurt?

“Tom — can you see? Is she okay?”

“Not sure. She’s not moving.”

Daniel and his good friend both waited silently. Until finally, the actress with two men helping her, stood up.

Like a footballer after a nasty foul.

She gave a wave to the crew.

And then — the strangest thing — applause.

Daniel even heard a few whistles.

But he could also see the black stallion being led away, still trying to pull left and right.

The other horses stood still. The actors in their costumes and heavy armour sitting on top of them, doing nothing.

The director hurried over to the actress, put an arm around her, and walked her away from the scene.

But not before he gestured at some of the crew.

The white sails near the camera were lowered.

Some actors started — with difficulty — to get off their horses, while others waited until someone came to help them down.

Daniel lowered his binoculars and turned to his friend.

“Wow. That was something.”

“Amazing! I thought movies were supposed to be safe. All looking dangerous, exciting … but totally safe.”

Daniel nodded.

After the accident, this day’s filming looked over.

And he thought.

Right. Safe.

All pretend.

But what they had just seen didn’t look safe at all.

*

Sarah looked at her son making the chicken parmigiana disappear.

More like he’s inhaling it than eating it,
she thought.

She saved a plate for Chloe, though her daughter had said she’d probably be eating at her friend Steffi’s after they finished doing homework together.

Doing homework.

And probably talking about boys.

Boys
.

Inevitable, Sarah knew
.

Between gulps, Daniel gave her the report from his spying on the movie set.

“It looked really amazing, Mum; all those horses, everything so real. Loads of people too. You know most of them just stand around? They do that a lot.”

Another forkful of cheese-coated chicken vanished.

“And the actress? She looked okay?”

A few chews, then: “I think so. I mean, she got up, waved at everyone. That horse though … he looked
wild
.”

Strange,
thought Sarah
.

Big production like that. You’d think every precaution would be taken to keep the actors safe, especially the stars.

“The other horses, they just stood there. Well-behaved. But that black one? Looked amazing, totally black — but he seemed out of control.”

Sarah nodded.

Cherringham was abuzz — literally — with the arrival of a film company to shoot the Civil War epic.

Shops were busy; pubs and restaurants packed — and the film company had taken over Repton Hall as a production base. From what she’d heard, the leading actors were all being put up there, while the rest of the cast and crew had the village’s hotels and B&Bs fully booked.

It was a boon for the village, that’s for sure.

Though she had heard some grumblings from people in the shops about ‘all these outsiders …’

Parking in the centre of the village had become an impossible challenge.

She planned on doing a piece about the film for the Cherringham newsletter. It was, after all, the first movie ever filmed in the village.

“Then they stopped the filming?”

“Yeah. Well, maybe they were done for the day anyway. Or had to get another horse. Tomorrow, Tom and me plan—”

“Tom and I?”

Daniel grinned. “Yeah, me and Tom. Anyway, we’re going to go there tomorrow again straight after school. Though I wish I had binoculars like his.”

“Mine work perfectly fine for the wrens and robins.”

“Mum, his dad’s field glasses were
amazing
.”

Daniel’s plate was empty, the bottomless pit that was his appetite these days like a black hole for food.

“Seconds?”

“Brilliant! Thanks.”

Sarah took his plate and put another chicken breast on it, a dollop of sauce, and then she scooped out some more of the penne.

She knew that she wasn’t much of a chef.

But this meal?

Never failed.

She put the refilled plate down in front of Daniel. “Just make sure you get all your school work done.”

A nod. Daniel worked hard; no complaints there.

Still — she knew that as he got older, teenage years looming … things could change.

And she’d then have her hands full with two teenagers, all on her own.

She loved them dearly … but it wasn’t always easy.

She was about to get up and start filling the dishwasher, a task that Daniel always pitched in on, when she heard the fanfare ringtone from her mobile.

Now — where was it?

Right.

Out in the living room, still buried in her handbag.

She walked there, and dug out the phone.

“Sarah? How are you dear?”

Her father.

They didn’t chat too often by phone, but Sarah made sure that she got over to her parents’ place at least once a week. Sometimes she thought they worried about her — and raising the kids.

They had taken her divorce hard, and though that was now a few years ago, they still found it difficult to accept she was a single mum.

“Hi Dad. Everything okay?”

Slight hesitation.

“Yes. Everything’s, um, fine. Look we’ve got Will Goodchild over. And, well, someone from that film they’re making. Think you could pop over for a bit?”

“Sure. Dinner’s done here, Daniel’s about to dive into schoolwork.”

“Oh –and Sarah … I’ve asked Jack to come along.”

And that stopped Sarah cold.

Jack?

With Will Goodchild, the village historian?

This clearly wasn’t social — which meant that something was up.

She wanted to ask her dad exactly that was.

But if she could be patient, after a ten-minute drive she’d get answers.

And she thought …

Jack must be wondering what this was all about as well.

“I’ll be right over, Dad,” she said. “Bye.”

She went out to the kitchen to tell Daniel she’d be gone for a bit.

And though she guessed that he’d be excited to hear that she was going to meet someone from the movie … for now she’d just tell him that her father wanted to chat about something.

After a couple of years of working with Jack, the two of them doing investigations, it didn’t take long for questions to start popping into her head.

And she had to admit — racing out of her small house — she absolutely loved it when that started happening.

It was getting dark when Sarah pulled up outside her parents’ house and crossed the gravel drive to the front door.

She could see three cars parked — including Jack’s.

As usual, she opened the front door and walked into the house as if she still lived there.

The sprawling place, with its wide lawns that sloped down to the river, would always be home for her, no matter how old she got.

And when she got to the sitting room, everyone was already armed with a cup of tea.

“Sarah — thanks for dashing over,” her father said.

Jack did a small salute to his partner-in-crime. “Sarah …”

Will Goodchild stood by the fireplace, cup and saucer in hand.

And in the wing-backed chair nearest him, a young woman, blonde hair — her blue eyes dazzling even from across the room.

Someone from the movie company,
her father had said.

Sarah knew exactly who it was.

One of the stars.

Her mother bustled in ready to hand over the mandatory cup of tea.

“Sarah, sweetie … nice and hot. Mint — just the way you like it in the evening.”

The steamy vapour laced with mint was almost too strong.

More like time for a glass of Pinot Grigio
, Sarah thought.

“Thanks, Mum.”

“Sarah, Jack just got here as well,” her father said. “So … perhaps Will — you might explain about this little meeting?”

Will nodded. The man — a veritable treasure trove of historical knowledge, especially about the Cotswolds — put his teacup on the fireplace mantel.

“Sarah, Jack, this is Zoë Harding. She — well Sarah you may remember — must have been a few years after you moved to London … won a Best Newcomer award? A remarkable
Glass Menagerie
, so I’m told …”

“Of course,” Sarah said, going over and shaking the young woman’s hand. “Didn’t you star in
Romeo and Juliet
at the Globe last year?”

Zoë smiled, nodded. “Yes.”

“Didn’t see it — kids you know. But God,” she turned to Jack, “the reviews, well … as they say a star is born.”

Zoë laughed at that. “Well, it did get me the part in this movie.”

Then silence for a minute; Sarah still didn’t have a clue what the meeting was about.

Then: “Wait, was it you … that had that accident today?”

Zoë nodded. “News travels fast, hmm.”

“Accident?” Jack said, shifting in his seat.

Sarah knew Jack had to be wondering what this was all about.

“Yes. My horse …” Zoë said. “Just reared up, threw me. I was side-saddle …”

“Historically accurate,” Will added.

“And then he came down, quite close apparently. Nearly got the stuffing knocked out of me,” she said with a grin.

But Sarah noticed that neither her father nor Will Goodchild were smiling.

“You see, Sarah,” Will said. “Seems like a few things have plagued this production, all to do with Zoë here.”

“Just accidents, I’m sure,” Zoë said. “Still — we’ve lost a few days on the schedule here and there.”

The actress took a breath. “No one’s happy about that.”

Then — after a pause — Jack: “Sure they’re accidents?”

The question made the smile evaporate from Zoë’s face.

“I mean, yes. God, what else could they be?”

At that, no one said anything.

Sarah looked at Jack.

She could guess what he was thinking.

In his world accidents are never just accidents
.

Will lightly clapped his hands together as if commencing the monthly meeting of his Historical Society.

“So then, let me get to the point. Why we asked you over to meet Zoë, yes?”

On cue, Sarah’s mother stood up. “And I’ll go and put the kettle back on.”

“It was your father’s suggestion, really …” Will said.

*

Sarah sat down on the couch near her dad.

“Will here has been serving as historical advisor to the production.”

“Local advisor, that’s all, really,” said Will looking embarrassed. “They’ve got all sorts of high-powered researchers back in London …”

“But nobody who really knows this area like Will,” said Zoë, her smile dazzling. “He’s been fantastic, helped me so much …”

“Though it seems like history is the
last
thing anyone on the production is concerned about,” Will said.

“What’s the story?” Jacks said.

The actress answered. “It’s the tale of the great romantic rivalry between Oliver Cromwell and King Charles I over the legendary beauty, Lady Ann Seymour. That would be me — at least when I’ve spent hours with makeup and hair,” she said grinning.

“Unfortunately, the whole story is — well, quite frankly … impossible,” Will said.

Jack looked up at the historian. “And why is that, Will?”

“Because … well, the historical record shows that Oliver Cromwell was deeply committed to his wife and had no interest in romance whatsoever. My God — he was a puritan! As for Charles I, well his marriage was exemplary.”