penetrating enquiries about the strange disappearance of the last slice of pizza and had not entirely accepted his explanation that aliens had taken it for testing. But what connection could the star’s anorexia have to Ethan? Had he said something to her about her getting fat? This was quite probable. The two of them had an agonistic relationship. Snipe, snarl, snap.
Bernie’s choux puffs came out of the oven looking gorgeous. My cream was whipped and my chocolate icing melted. We made a pyramid of them which would have made Pharaohs fight for our acquaintance.
I noticed the chicken soup going out to Ms Atkins. It smelt delicious. Daniel would have approved. A store of the very best stock is essential to the good governance of any kitchen and this was clearly twice-cooked mother of stock, so concentrated it was almost demi-glace. That ought to build Ms Atkins up to her fighting trim.
After which she would be going out to demolish poor Emily, who had had the nerve to wear her clothes and speak her lines as well as she could wear and speak her own. I did not want to watch this. I did watch, however. Inadvertently. Kylie and Goss, lurking by the door as they were not required on set, made frantic gestures to me to come and join them. As my work was done, I had no excuse. I sidled out into the main hall and was instantly grabbed, one to each arm.
‘What happened?’ hissed Kylie.
‘To Ms Atkins?’ completed Goss. They sometimes did this, sounding like the Bobbsey Twins. Who were really before their time.
‘She fainted from lack of nourishment,’ I told them. ‘Which is now being provided. She ought to be back with us very soon.’
‘So that’s . . .’ said Goss.
‘All right,’ concluded Kylie. ‘But why has she been fasting? We’ve been eating because Tash says she’ll sack anyone who fasts during shooting. She watches, you know. Tash sees everything.’
I could believe it. I was just managing to remove my mistreated arms from their grips when Ms Atkins, full of chicken soup, issued forth from her dressing room like an army with banners. Mr Leonard hurried over to her but she brushed even that great artist aside. Holding his useless makeup brush he watched her as she strode to the set, shoving aside the crew.
‘I’m back now,’ she announced in a steely tone. ‘Thank you, Emily,’ she added, as Emily, crestfallen, slunk off set to her side. ‘Now, where were we?’
The cast readjusted themselves. Harrison, waiting for his entrance, sighed, ‘Magnificent.’ Emily fumbled for a hand- kerchief. Ms Atkins was in entire possession of the room.
I was going home. I did not like the company in which I found myself. I shucked my apron and started walking.
Home was lovely; devoid of actors, pique, pain or humili- ation. Also devoid, alas, of Daniel. Horatio and I had a quick drink on the roof and then I decided to deal with my emails. Amid the usual dross was one from Jason. I knew that he didn’t have a laptop so I assumed that he was writing from an internet cafe.
Job hard. Fd gd. How things? Miss yu .
I wondered what to reply. I could say the same about my present life. Food was undoubtedly good. Work was hard. I missed him, too. We had adopted roles from Patrick O’Brian’s Master and Commander and I missed not having my midshipman. Daniel came in as I was pondering my reply. He read the email over my shoulder and chuckled.
‘What should I reply?’
‘Just as you feel,’ he advised.
So I replied Things good. Miss yu tu , which was all true. Daniel kissed the back of my neck. ‘You’ll be a geek before long,’ he told me.
‘So, “How things?” as Jason would say,’ I asked him.
‘Terrible and sad,’ he replied, quoting AA Milne. ‘I have reached a dead end. Pockets seems to have had the documents, and he has, as he told us, “filed them in the proper place”. The only way I can find the proper place is to follow Pockets. I have been doing that. But he has nothing he deems
Bernie’s choux puffs came out of the oven looking gorgeous. My cream was whipped and my chocolate icing melted. We made a pyramid of them which would have made Pharaohs fight for our acquaintance.
I noticed the chicken soup going out to Ms Atkins. It smelt delicious. Daniel would have approved. A store of the very best stock is essential to the good governance of any kitchen and this was clearly twice-cooked mother of stock, so concentrated it was almost demi-glace. That ought to build Ms Atkins up to her fighting trim.
After which she would be going out to demolish poor Emily, who had had the nerve to wear her clothes and speak her lines as well as she could wear and speak her own. I did not want to watch this. I did watch, however. Inadvertently. Kylie and Goss, lurking by the door as they were not required on set, made frantic gestures to me to come and join them. As my work was done, I had no excuse. I sidled out into the main hall and was instantly grabbed, one to each arm.
‘What happened?’ hissed Kylie.
‘To Ms Atkins?’ completed Goss. They sometimes did this, sounding like the Bobbsey Twins. Who were really before their time.
‘She fainted from lack of nourishment,’ I told them. ‘Which is now being provided. She ought to be back with us very soon.’
‘So that’s . . .’ said Goss.
‘All right,’ concluded Kylie. ‘But why has she been fasting? We’ve been eating because Tash says she’ll sack anyone who fasts during shooting. She watches, you know. Tash sees everything.’
I could believe it. I was just managing to remove my mistreated arms from their grips when Ms Atkins, full of chicken soup, issued forth from her dressing room like an army with banners. Mr Leonard hurried over to her but she brushed even that great artist aside. Holding his useless makeup brush he watched her as she strode to the set, shoving aside the crew.
‘I’m back now,’ she announced in a steely tone. ‘Thank you, Emily,’ she added, as Emily, crestfallen, slunk off set to her side. ‘Now, where were we?’
The cast readjusted themselves. Harrison, waiting for his entrance, sighed, ‘Magnificent.’ Emily fumbled for a hand- kerchief. Ms Atkins was in entire possession of the room.
I was going home. I did not like the company in which I found myself. I shucked my apron and started walking.
Home was lovely; devoid of actors, pique, pain or humili- ation. Also devoid, alas, of Daniel. Horatio and I had a quick drink on the roof and then I decided to deal with my emails. Amid the usual dross was one from Jason. I knew that he didn’t have a laptop so I assumed that he was writing from an internet cafe.
Job hard. Fd gd. How things? Miss yu .
I wondered what to reply. I could say the same about my present life. Food was undoubtedly good. Work was hard. I missed him, too. We had adopted roles from Patrick O’Brian’s Master and Commander and I missed not having my midshipman. Daniel came in as I was pondering my reply. He read the email over my shoulder and chuckled.
‘What should I reply?’
‘Just as you feel,’ he advised.
So I replied Things good. Miss yu tu , which was all true. Daniel kissed the back of my neck. ‘You’ll be a geek before long,’ he told me.
‘So, “How things?” as Jason would say,’ I asked him.
‘Terrible and sad,’ he replied, quoting AA Milne. ‘I have reached a dead end. Pockets seems to have had the documents, and he has, as he told us, “filed them in the proper place”. The only way I can find the proper place is to follow Pockets. I have been doing that. But he has nothing he deems
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