Worthless Remains by Peter Helton Read Free Book Online Page B

days after that. I’ll spare you the details.’
    â€˜Much obliged.’
    Without a fanfare the lights came on again and the ghosts sprang back into their niches.
    We made it through the museum without further incident. As the last level came into view Guy laid a hand on my arm. ‘Look, you won’t . . .’
    â€˜I won’t,’ I promised. ‘Presumably they all know you’re scared of the dark?’
    Guy just semaphored with his eyebrows then breezed into the arms of the
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crew. ‘Sorry, chaps and chapesses . . .’
    It turned out that one of the technicians had shorted half the museum when they relocated to the east end. Damp plugs, was the verdict.
    The atmosphere at the Baths was edgy. The sun had travelled around too far for the planned shot so everything was being moved to the east end of the outdoor area. It looked fussy to me but I supposed they knew their job. I had done mine by delivering Guy, who immediately got into a short sharp argument with Cy which was broken up by Emms who sent Guy off to have his make-up done. Guy had made me swear I would not mention the spiked drink to anyone. Everyone just assumed he had had too much to drink the night before. All except one, perhaps. If one of them was responsible for tampering with his whisky then not mentioning it was a show of defiance on Guy’s part that was nearly as admirable as his recuperative powers. But was it wise?
    Fifteen minutes later Guy emerged, looking on top form. Despite the bright sunlight the wall-mounted flares were lit for an extra touch of the picturesque. Another five minutes of discussion and he was in front of the cameras, delivering his opening piece, setting the scene and theme for this
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episode: Roman invasion, battles, dramatic changes, temples, offerings, new foods, luxurious bathing, under-floor heating and plumbing.
The Romans – where would we be without them?
    What on TV would look like one seamless speech, delivered with confidence and apparent depth of knowledge, was a painstaking and slow process, constantly interrupted by adjustments, small changes in the wording, change of camera angle, pace of delivery. One minute Guy was standing, being framed against the backdrop of the green waters, the next filmed from across the other side, seen walking, talking and gesticulating.
    Emms stood by the monitor, rehearsing, checking, changing. She had the kind of authoritative voice I always imagined directors to have. ‘That was good, Guy, but can you do that again, only a tad faster this time so you finish on “lead plumbing” before you get to the next column or you’ll disappear from view at the critical moment . . .’ To me it seemed a maddening procedure but everyone appeared to have endless patience with the process. With only minutes to spare before crocodiles of tourists descended on the place the shoot was wrapped up and everyone was nods and smiles again. The moment he was released Guy strode out of the colonnade and disappeared up the stairs towards the exit – his first day’s work done. Cy took me aside.
    â€˜That was another typically unnecessary, typical Guy Middleton delay. This show would be a lot easier to produce without a prima donna at the centre. Tomorrow morning we’ll start later, around eight, at the site of the dig. The archaeologists have to make up their minds about things before Guy is needed. It’s a week-long shoot so it’s nice and relaxed. Looks like we’re going to get some rain during the week but we should be fine. We rarely stop for rain unless it’s a real deluge. Make sure Guy makes it there by eight. It’s only four, five miles outside Bath; you can leave just after seven from his hotel. He’ll have his own car and he knows the way. You’ll follow him there.’
    â€˜Still keeping it a secret?’
    â€˜No offence. Not that I don’t trust you, but you