Their Finest Hour and a Half by Lissa Evans Read Free Book Online Page B

requested changes and then enclose exactly the same script.’
    â€˜I can’t.’
    â€˜Try it.’
    â€˜They’ll notice.’
    â€˜They won’t.’
    And he had been right; the untouched version of draft five had passed from associate producer to script editor, from ideas conference to Home Security Propaganda Department Committee, subdivision 4/b (films) and it had been universally accepted as an officially-approved final draft. And here, now, were Mr and Mrs Brown, very nearly as she had imagined them (if a little too old), sitting together in the comfortably worn surroundings of their front room, a vision of suburban domestic harmony.
    â€˜Let’s have some quiet,’ called Briggs. ‘Going for a take.’
    â€˜One moment.’ Ambrose was packing shag into the pipe bowl with his thumb.
    â€˜Darling, you’re not really going to, are you?’ asked Cecy.
    â€˜What’s that?’
    â€˜You’re not going to smoke that filthy thing, are you?’
    â€˜I was going to, yes. I feel it’s appropriate to the character. If someone as irrelevant as myself is allowed to have any opinions whatsoever about such an issue,’ he added, glancing at the director.
    â€˜Couldn’t you just mime?’ said Cecy.
    â€˜I can mime smoking but I can’t mime smoke.’
    â€˜I suppose not. It’s just that my chest isn’t what it was.’
    â€˜I’m using a bronchial brand.’
    â€˜Besides, I always thought it was a continuity problem.’
    â€˜In what way?’
    â€˜Well, in the way that great puffs of smoke keep popping up at odd times.’
    â€˜You may possibly be thinking of actors who don’t understand the concept of continuity, as opposed to actors who possess an innate technical awareness.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to . . .’
    â€˜Excuse me, Mr Hilliard.’ It was Briggs, bending deferentially over the armchair. ‘The director says that he’d prefer if you didn’t have the pipe.’
    â€˜Oh, does he? May I ask why?’
    â€˜He feels it may distract the audience from the dialogue.’
    â€˜Oh, how ridiculous .’
    â€˜No, Ambrose, I think he has a point,’ said Cecy, jerking her needles for emphasis and knocking the ball of wool on to the floor. She reached out a hand, waggled it ineffectually in the general direction of the wool, and then looked around for help. ‘Could someone . . . so sorry to be a trouble.’
    â€˜Everyone happy?’ called Briggs to the floor.
    â€˜Perhaps I should read my dialogue from another room,’ said Ambrose, putting the pipe away. ‘I wouldn’t want to distract the audience with my presence.’
    â€˜Settle down, everybody. Going for a take on The Letter , first set up. Quiet please.’ Briggs glanced over to the camera, where the clapper boy was standing, board in hand. ‘Rolling?’
    â€˜Rolling.’
    â€˜Speed?’
    â€˜Speed.’
    â€˜Sound?’
    â€˜Yup.’
    The clapper snapped shut.
    â€˜And action .’
    Mrs Brown clicked her needles for a moment or two, and then looked up with a wifely smile.
    â€˜ I had a letter from April today ,’ she said. ‘ A nice four-pager .’
    â€˜ What’s she on about this time? ’ asked Ambrose. The camera was behind him, shooting part of the back of his head and the whole of Cecy’s face. She had angled herself towards the lights, as a sunflower swivels towards the sun.
    â€˜ She says she and Tony have made up ever such a clever code so that he can write to her about what he’s doing without anyone being able to guess .’
    â€˜ Oh yes? ’ Of course, one always continued acting even if one’s own face wasn’t in shot, it was simple professional courtesy, but since Cecy was barely bothering to glance at him between phrases, he allowed his eyes to