Araluen (52 page)

He had never forced himself upon a woman and he had no intention of starting now, but on the last night of the shoot when the party was at its height, he left early and waited for Emma outside her front door.

He was sitting on the verandah, swinging his legs in the moonlight, when she walked up the path. The sound of the revellers was still loud in the night. It was close and humid, a tropical storm
was threatening and the very air hung heavily upon her skin.

She knew the moment she saw him that she was going to weaken. She’d been so strong. Oh shit, she thought, don’t do this to me, it’s not fair. But it was the last night on the island and she knew she couldn’t resist him.

Send him away, one part of her brain said, he’ll go if you ask him.

Then the memories of their lovemaking flooded her mind and her body made the decision for her.

What the hell, she thought. This was their last night on a desert island together, a woman could only hold out so long, for God’s sake.

‘Emma, I had to see you. I – ’

She threw caution to the wind. ‘Come in, Marcel.’ She opened the door, took him by the hand and, to his astonishment, all but dragged him inside the hut. He’d been prepared to get down on his bended knees, to beg her to let him love her. But before she’d even closed the door, she was kissing him and touching him and pulling off his clothes.

Emma abandoned herself completely. The very elements were on her side, she thought. The storm broke over the island and the wind lashed and the palm trees clashed and the ocean swept itself into a frenzy. And, all through the fury, sweat mingling and skin sliding wet against skin, Emma gave herself up to her pleasure.

When they returned to Viti Levu the next day, the air washed clean by the overnight storm, Marcel
was in high spirits. He even told Derek that he was looking forward to working in New York. Marcel loathed New York, he always had. But Emma was going to be there. She loved him, he was sure of it – just as he loved her.

Everyone was pleased that Marcel’s enthusiasm had returned. His ill-humour had infected the entire company but, in true good-natured style, they forgave him. He’d become bored with the island, that was all. After several months they all had; it was perfectly understandable.

Emma was aware of the reason for Marcel’s buoyancy and her guilt returned tenfold. She cursed herself for her weakness. She didn’t love him, she knew it. And, despite his protestations, she was convinced that he didn’t love her. What was it he’d said to her? ‘This is not la folie du filmage, Emma. I love you. I love you deeply.’

‘Movie madness’ – what a perfect term, she thought. And she tried to put her guilt behind her. New York would sort everything out, she told herself. Michael would be there and he was a hard taskmaster.

Ahead of them lay the final three-week shoot culminating in the scenes of the motorcade through the streets of the city. The orchestration of the motorcade would be the most intricate and difficult sequence of the entire film – the whole of New York celebrating the triumph of the ‘Earth Man’ and the redemption of the planet. Yes, it would be a busy time, Emma told herself. There would certainly be no place for movie madness.

‘We have to rethink the end of the movie, the motorcade,’ Michael said. ‘It’ll be limp, it’ll wimp out, there’ll be no finale. We need more dramatic impact.’

It was conference time. They were seated around the boardroom table. Michael, Emma, and Stanley. Mandy was taking notes as usual and the only stranger in their midst was Derek. They’d viewed the rushes shot on Moala Atoll, together with the fortnight of city scenes they’d just finished shooting on location in New York.

‘We’re running the risk of being too complacent,’ Michael argued. ‘So the "Earth Man’s" won. So what? Too much the happy ending. Too smug.’

Derek was nodding. ‘Yes, there is that danger,’ he agreed. ‘We’re lacking conflict at the end of the film, but how do we combat that?’

‘We martyr him, that’s what we do,’ Michael said. ‘We kill him off.’

They stared at him. All four of them. ‘We kill him?’ Emma asked finally. ‘We kill the "Earth Man"?’

Michael nodded. ‘Yep,’ was all he said.

‘How? How the hell do we kill him?’ Stanley queried.

‘And why?’ Derek added.

‘I told you. Martyrdom. He’s assassinated by an extremist group – he dies for his beliefs. Good stuff.’

‘It’s a total change of script.’ Derek looked thoughtful. The idea was certainly intriguing.

‘We’d better check it out with Marcel,’ Emma added. ‘He might not like it.’

‘He’ll love it,’ Michael said scathingly. ‘His ego won’t be able to resist it.’ He looked at Derek, who nodded in agreement.

‘I think we should let Emma break the news though,’ Derek suggested. ‘Just in case. Marcel will do anything she says.’

‘Yes, very well,’ Michael answered curtly. ‘You tell him, Emma. This afternoon.’

Michael had made it very apparent that he didn’t approve of Marcel’s obvious crush on Emma. ‘God Almighty, Emma, you couldn’t be interested in someone like Gireaux, surely!’ he’d exploded when he’d sensed, to his horror, a chemistry between them. ‘The man’s a poseur and a womaniser.’

‘I’m
not
interested in him,’ Emma protested. Although she didn’t agree with Michael’s dismissive view of Marcel, she was taken aback by his perception. There was an element of the poseur and womaniser in Marcel, certainly, an element few people recognised. But he wasn’t the fake that Michael thought he was. He was simply a man who took his passions very seriously. He embraced his women and his causes with equal fervour and, like a kid in a candy shop, he didn’t know how to be selective or where to stop.

She had told him as much when he’d come up to her apartment late at night having threatened, through the intercom, to ring every apartment bell in the block if she didn’t let him in.

‘But I love you,’ he’d said when she’d once again refused him. That was when she’d lost her temper.

‘You’re behaving like a spoilt child, Marcel,’ she said, exasperated. ‘Just because you want something,
that doesn’t mean to say it’s yours. You don’t love me.’ Before he could launch into his protestations, she carried on. ‘And if you do, you bloody well shouldn’t. I don’t love you,’ she continued patiently. ‘You’re a beautiful man, but I don’t love you. Practise a little self-restraint, Marcel. Grow up. This isn’t Fiji any more, this is the real world.’

She seemed to get through to him that night. They sat and had a drink and he apologised for harassing her.

‘It is not normal for me to make a nuisance of myself with a woman,’ he said sadly with as much dignity as he could muster. Emma wanted to laugh but she didn’t. She felt a genuine affection for Marcel. Beneath the talent and the sexuality and the charisma and everything that impressed his legions of fans, there really was an indulgent little boy.

She saw him down to the front door of the apartment block and couldn’t resist a teasing whisper as he left.

‘Starting tomorrow, we play grown-ups, all right?’

But he didn’t smile back. ‘I love you and you mock me,’ he said. ‘That is cruel.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ she answered. ‘A bit of mockery now and then does you the world of good. You don’t get enough of it. Oh, cheer up, Marcel,’ she said and she patted his cheek gently. ‘Friends, remember? I’ll always be your friend. And I’ll always remember Fiji. I promise.’ She kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘Now go home and go to bed.’

As Michael and Derek had anticipated, Marcel was in favour of the assassination of the ‘Earth Man’. He was more than in favour, he was delighted with the suggestion. ‘Excellent. What a scene we will have, eh? The death of a hero. A man who gives his life to save the world.’

Emma was pleased that the idea was appealing enough to distract Marcel from his melancholy. He’d been irritable and depressed since she’d convinced him that their shortlived affair was over. Now he could finish the movie on a high and, within a week, he would be back with Annette and the children.

Michael paid a fortune for the motorcade. Bugger Franklin’s modest budget, he thought, and forked out his own money to cover the massive scale of the scene. He paid a huge amount to the New York Film and Television Office for location rights to vast areas of the inner city and, although Captain Matthew (Mac) Macfarlane, Commander in Charge of the Police and Citizens Liaison Unit, insisted that the PCLU was proud to be a part of such a worthy project, a sizeable amount ended up in his pocket as well.

‘It’s an epic scene,’ Michael insisted. ‘Historic’ And he showed old footage of John Glenn and the first American astronauts as they were paraded through the streets of New York. ‘That’s what I want,’ he said. And that’s what he was going to get.

The streets were to be closed off to traffic and
the scene shot in the dawn light but Michael gave the story to the press to ensure that there would be thousands of people lining the pavements to watch not only the pomp and ceremony, but ‘the greatest European star of them all, Marcel Gireaux’.

And thousands there were bound to be. ‘Mac’ wasn’t too happy about it. ‘This wasn’t part of the bargain,’ he said when the story hit the papers. ‘We’ll need crowd control. I thought you just wanted the streets closed off.’ But Michael made sure it was worth Mac’s while.

The week before the actual parade, Derek filmed the segments of the scene involving the assassin.

The motorcade was to proceed from upper Manhattan down 5th Avenue on its way to the United Nations building. It would never get there, of course, because the assassination was to take place on central 5th Avenue. After a short search, Michael had decided that the ideal location for the assassin was the rooftop of the Frick Museum on the corner of 5th and 70th.

The Frick Collection was housed in the former residence of Henry Clay Frick, a gracious two-storey stone mansion built in 1913. There was a wide roof area with plenty of space to set up a film unit and, not only was it a perfect vantage spot for a would-be assassin, the building itself would look superb on film. It was without doubt the ideal location and, having gained permission and generously greased the right palms, Aiichael gave Derek the go-ahead.

Several days later, Michael sat back in the
viewing room and watched the rushes. Derek had done well, as had the director of photography and the actor. It was an effective sequence. The man on the Frick mansion rooftop. The perfect view overlooking 5th Avenue. The Heckler and Koch .308 sniper rifle, the military model, with bi-pod and Bisley 20x80 telescopic sight.

The man methodically and painstakingly setting up his equipment and making himself comfortable, very much the way a birdwatcher might. The man settling himself in for the long wait, everything prepared.

Then the man’s reaction as the quarry came into view and he positioned himself for the kill. Then the careful sighting. No rush. Then the gentle easing back of the trigger. And then the man packing away his equipment as methodically as he had assembled it.

Cut in with the master shots and the close-ups of the parade it would look superb. Michael was pleased with the rushes. A member of the crew had paraded around the block a number of times standing up in an open car so that the eyeline of the actor playing the assassin would look correct in the editing. And of course there would be a marvellous soundtrack to accompany the suspense. It was all looking very good.

The day of the parade dawned bright and clear. It was going to be hot. But the light was perfect and they would finish filming well before the fierce heat of the New York summer hit.

The press announcements had served their
purpose. Despite the early hour, thousands of people lined 5th Avenue, a particularly dense crowd gathering around the Frick Gallery. And the media were everywhere – photographers, journalists and television crews from the various news and current affairs programmes. Michael was delighted. It was a publicity coup – the exposure was going to be fantastic.

They filmed the start of the procession at the top of 5th Avenue, Marcel looking resplendent as he stood in the open limousine waving to the crowds, occasionally making the victory sign and acknowledging the flowers that were thrown high in the air to land on the bonnet or in the vehicle itself. Every now and then he’d catch one and the crowd would roar its approval.

They stopped filming for half an hour while the cameras were set up by the Frick Gallery to cover the assassination. Derek was using five cameras, four to film the wide shot of the procession and one to concentrate on the close-ups of Marcel.

Michael, Emma and Mandy stood on one of the gallery balconies beside the cameraman covering the close-ups. They watched as Derek gave his final instructions through a two-way radio to his assistant director, who was with the waiting motorcade a block up the street. ‘Standing by,’ he said finally and signalled one by one to the cameramen covering the wide shots. One by one the cameramen signalled back. Derek looked towards the cameraman covering the close-ups. The cameraman nodded. ‘Action,’ Derek said into the walkie-talkie and the motorcade started its slow procession towards the Frick Gallery.

The extras amongst the crowd whipped the onlookers into a frenzy. People cheered energetically and waved the flags and threw the flowers and streamers that the film unit had handed around. Marcel saluted them, acknowledging the tribute. Stanley, in his role as bodyguard to the ‘French Ambassador’, was travelling in the vehicle behind Marcel’s. When the shot rang out, he was to leap from his car into Marcel’s and throw his body over that of the mortally wounded ‘Earth Man’.

Closer and closer came the motorcade, led by four motorcycle police and two cars. They crossed 71st Street. The motorcyclists passed by the Frick Gallery and over 70th Street. The two cars passed by. Then the Earth Man. Marcel, smiling, waving, acknowledging the victory and the cheers of the crowd. The vehicle was directly in front of the Gallery. A shot rang out, clear in the early morning air. Marcel fell back onto the car seat.

To Emma it looked effective. It looked as if all had gone according to plan.