101 Pieces of Me by Veronica Bennett Read Free Book Online

opened and David slid into the seat beside me. “Good God, Clara, I need a drink!” He leaned across me to speak to the driver. “Eddie, the Ritz!”

D avid took a cigarette from the silver case he always carried with him and felt in his pockets for matches. When he had lit the cigarette he drew on it with satisfaction, then slumped in the seat and let his head loll backwards. “Jesus, what a day! Aidan really is impossible.” He glanced at me. “Oh, I’m so sorry” – he waved the cigarette case – “should I have offered you one?”
    “No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”
    He put the case in his pocket. “You will. Now, tell me truthfully. Are you happy?”
    “Happy?” I was not sure what he meant. “Er … yes, of course.”
    “Despite that ridiculous fellow?”
    I hesitated. What did he wish me to say? That I would tolerate Aidan’s behaviour for the sake of the actual takes, during which he outacted me, or that I would prefer a different leading man, or perhaps that I cared not a bit one way or another? Before I could speak, David rolled his head sideways and looked at me. “No, I should not have asked you that. You are too professional to criticize him to me.”
    I returned his look. My heart thudded a little, thrilled by the ease of his manner. It was delightful to be treated as the grown-up I was beginning to consider myself. I took in once again how handsome he was and felt my colour rise, though in the semi-darkness of the car he probably could not see it. “Do not say that, David,” I told him. “I am not professional at all, you know. I have never had an acting lesson in my life.” Now it had started, the confession I longed to make tumbled out. “I just muddle through, hoping I am doing the right thing and that I will not make too much of a fool of myself.”
    “Oh, stuff and nonsense!” David leaned forward and faced me, his knees touching mine. “Do you think I chose you merely because you are young and very beautiful and would look pretty on the screen?”
    Very beautiful!
My heart leapt to my throat. I could not speak. But David answered his own question. “Of course not! When I saw that newsreel, I had no idea that I would pick anyone out of it. I was not talent scouting – I was really only half watching it, to tell the truth – but that glimpse of you was enough. I telephoned to Bunniford that very moment.” He began to act it, using his director’s voice. “‘Get me that girl in the unflattering hat who appears about ninety seconds in!’ I told him. ‘I want her for my next picture!’” He moved even closer to me, and spoke in his ordinary voice. “The fact is, Clara, my dear, though you were on the screen for only one hundred and one frames, I went over those one hundred and one frames several times, and each time I grew more convinced you are an actress by nature. All the training in the world cannot better that, you know.”
    I had calmed a little, and could breathe. But I was mystified. “Frames?” I asked. “Like a frame round a painting, you mean?”
    He laughed delightedly and puffed on his cigarette. As he exhaled, the smoke went up my nose and I coughed. “My dear child,” said David, waving the cloud of smoke away, “has no one explained? Then allow me!”

H e rested his cigarette on the ashtray so that he could use his hands to demonstrate. “A film is a long strip of pictures taken by the camera. You see the camera operator winding the reel of film through as he films, do you not?”
    I nodded. David held up the palm of his left hand and made rolling movements over it with his right. “Well, when the film is shown, it is passed over a light at the correct speed, and the pictures seem to move.” He picked up his cigarette and flicked the ash off the end. “Each second, twenty-four frames pass over the light, which is the speed that gives the most natural-looking movement we can achieve.”
    I considered this. “So the one hundred and one frames