Starburst (17 page)

“Leonard, are you really being serious about all this?”

“Never more so in my life.”

“Then I have to come in on the deal.”

“Nick, you don’t need to—”

“No, I insist. I feel totally responsible for having brought you both to this decision and I simply cannot allow you to take on such a financial risk alone. I shall put up a figure of fifty thousand pounds and you, Grace and I will produce it as equal partners under the umbrella of Springtime Productions. I’ll give you backup for whatever you need and arrange for all processing and post-production work to be done here in London.”

“Are you sure, Nick?”

“In your words, Leonard, never more so in my life. I’m just so delighted you’re still going to be able to make the film. Dammit, if I wasn’t so busy, I’d come up and assist you myself!”

Leonard laughed. “Now, that would make it just like old times.”

“Yes, but I’m afraid an idea that’s totally unviable. Are you sure you’re going to be able to find someone to help you? I haven’t got one single contact in Edinburgh.”

“Don’t worry. I have a couple of days in hand to get myself sorted. I’ll put the word around at the theatre where the dance group are performing, and I’ve also met the man who owns the warehouse where we’re doing the shooting. He appears to have his fingers in enough pies.”

“Well, don’t go doing anything rash, Leonard.”

“In what way?”

“You won’t try going it alone, will you? It really is not worth the cost cutting. You have to remember you’re not as young as you were, and you have to consider your health.”

“Nick, I know my limitations.”

“I sincerely hope so. Have you been in touch with the dance company yet?”

“Yes, I’d just got back from their hotel when the equipment arrived. They have a young Scottish girl acting as an interpreter, and together we spoke with Mr. Kayamoto, who is the director. A very nice and courteous man. He never mentioned any changes to the schedule, so I doubt he knew at that time. I’ll give the girl a call now and arrange another meeting for tomorrow. I’m sure Mr. Kayamoto will be willing to continue as planned.”

“One problem has just occurred to me, Leonard.”

“What might that be?”

“You have two van-loads of equipment up there. How are you going to manage to drive both? And what will you do with all the equipment overnight?”

Leonard pondered on this for a moment before replying. “I think, Nick, having seen the warehouse, that I can afford to glean off some of the equipment, so I’ll just keep hold of one of the vans and get the boys to drive the other back to London with what I don’t need. And you don’t have to worry about security. I can lock the van and the equipment in the warehouse.”

“That’s good, then, and listen, my contribution to this venture is accessible now, so if you’re in need of any money short-term, you must just get in touch. Is that understood?”

“Thank you, Nick…for everything. I can’t tell you how happy I am this is going to go ahead after all.”

“Not half as happy as I am now that we’ve managed to come up with this solution. My heart has felt like concrete ever since ending that last call with you. But now we’re into exciting times, Leonard, exciting times!”

Leonard chuckled. “Yes, we are, aren’t we, if not a little precarious.”

T
he following morning, Leonard left the hotel after an early breakfast and took a taxi over to the lodgings where the rest of the crew was staying. He found them in gruff mood, having had the night to mull over the fact that they had lost out on three weeks’ work, but Leonard managed to mollify their anger by telling them that he would ask Nick to seek some form of compensation for them from the Japanese company. This news seemed to have a visible effect on their spirits, and by the time they set off back to London in the spare van, having helped Leonard to sort through the equipment at the warehouse, any ill feeling had dissipated and they left with hands waving from the windows and cries of well-wishes.

The day, however, did not continue in such a positive vein. Having booked himself out of the Sheraton Grand the previous evening, he spent the lunch hour and the early part of the afternoon on the telephone in the hotel lobby, with local newspapers and magazines scattered on the table in front of him, vainly trying to track down somewhere else to stay. At three o’clock, he realized that it was all to no avail. With little alternative open to him, he approached the reception desk to ask if he might have his room back for one more night, only to be told that it had been taken almost the moment he had handed in his keys. In desperation, he explained his circumstances to the receptionist, who had little to suggest other than he should try going to the offices of the International Festival to see if they could be of any assistance to him.

The taxi took Leonard the short distance up past the castle and dropped him off outside the old church at the top of Lawnmarket. He entered the building towing his suitcase behind him, and made his way along the passageway to the ticket office. He approached a young man wearing a festival logo-ed sweatshirt, who sat in one of the booths.

“Can I help you, sir?” the young man asked with a cheery grin.

“Yes, I wonder if it would be possible to speak to someone in the International office?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t, but my name is Leonard Hartson, and I’m up here to film the Japanese dance company that’s performing this year.”

“Ah, right.” He picked up the receiver on the telephone and pressed an intercom button. “Hullo, Tess, there’s a Mr. Hartson here in the ticket office who’s needing to speak to someone…no, he doesn’t, but he’s filming the Japanese dance company…All right, I’ll tell him.” The young man put down the receiver. “Mr. Hartson, Tess Goodwin will be down to see you in about five minutes. If you go across to the Hub Café on the other side of the corridor, Tess will meet you there.”

“Thank you very much,” Leonard said with an acknowledging smile and walked the few steps across the corridor and pushed open the glass entrance door of the coffee shop.

Ten minutes later, as he drained the last drops of his now-lukewarm coffee, the door of the café swung open and a young woman came in, dressed in a pair of jeans and a brightly coloured shirt and holding in her hand a spiral notepad. She scanned the tables before catching sight of Leonard, who had risen to his feet on her entrance.

She came over to his table. “Mr. Hartson?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Tess Goodwin,” the young woman said, offering out a hand to Leonard. “I work in the International marketing department.”

“Miss Goodwin…” Leonard began, shaking her hand.

“Tess, please.”

Leonard nodded. “Tess, thank you for sparing time to meet me. I know you must be very busy right now.”

“Up to the eyeballs, actually.” She pulled out a chair for herself. “But never mind, let’s sit down and you can tell me how I can be of help.”

Leonard resumed his seat once she had slipped a mobile phone from her back pocket, put it on the table beside her notebook and made herself comfortable. She opened up the notebook to a fresh page and hovered her pencil expectantly above it.

Leonard took this as a sign that she did indeed have little time to spare for him, so he started his explanation immediately. “Tess, this might not be part of your remit at all, but I’m afraid I didn’t quite know who else I should ask. The fact is that, for reasons that I won’t bore you with, I have to find other lodgings for the duration of the festival, and so far I’ve had absolutely no joy.”

“Where are you staying at the moment?”

“At the Sheraton Grand, but there have been unforeseen changes to the budget of the film, and I can’t afford to stay there any longer.”

Tess bit at her lip thoughtfully. “You’re right. This is not usually my remit. We have an artiste liaison team which handles everything to do with the International performers, and they’re usually booked into the more expensive hotels in Edinburgh.” She tapped the end of her pencil on the notepad. “I can’t promise you anything,” she said, picking up her mobile, “but I’ll try the Fringe office. They have many more performers than we do, so they might have something available.” She dialled a number and held the mobile to her ear. “Hullo, can I speak to Lewis Jones, please? It’s Tess Goodwin at International.” She smiled reassuringly at Leonard as she waited to be connected. “Lewis, good afternoon, it’s Tess…absolutely hectic…no, you’re right, no time to enjoy married bliss at all. Listen, Lewis, I am with a Mr. Hartson who is in Edinburgh to film one of our events and he needs to change his accommodation arrangements…Yes, he’s staying in the Sheraton Grand right now, but he’s looking for somewhere a bit cheaper. You don’t know of anything available, do you?…No, I understand that.” Tess looked across at Leonard. “He says the whole of Edinburgh is chock-a-block.” She listened once more to the man on the line. “Oh, right. Yes, I can hold.” She took the mobile away from her ear. “He says someone came in a couple of weeks ago who had rooms to let, due to a cancellation. He’s just trying to find the piece of paper now.” A voice sounded down her mobile and she listened once more. She raised her eyebrows hopefully at Leonard as she picked up her pencil and began writing. “Jamie Stratton…okay…was that number seven London Street?…Right, and telephone number?…that’s brilliant, thanks, Lewis…Yes, a drink would be good, if I can find the time…bye.” She punched the “end” button on the mobile. “Well, that sounds hopeful. Let’s give this Mr. Stratton a call.”

“If you would prefer, I could—”

“No, let’s see if he has anything available first,” she cut in, dialling the number written down on her notepad. She bit at a fingernail as she listened for the telephone to be answered. “Hullo, Mr. Stratton?…yes, this is Tess Goodwin at the International office. I believe you had some rooms to let…you still do…oh, that’s wonderful…just the one, it’s for a Mr. Hartson…Right, and are you going to be in this afternoon?…Good, so Mr. Hartson could come round anytime…Many thanks indeed…bye.”

“You’re in luck,” she said with a smile as she ended the call and laid the mobile down on the table. She tore off the sheet from her notepad and handed it to Leonard. “London Street is quite central, so you should be able to find it easily enough. You can make your move whenever you want.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Tess,” Leonard said, folding the piece of paper and tucking it into the top pocket of his tweed jacket.

“I’m glad we managed to sort something out for you,” Tess said, rising from her chair and picking up her notepad and mobile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must really dash.” Giving him a brief wave, she turned and hurried away towards the glass door.

Walking out onto Lawnmarket, Leonard crossed over the cobbled street, feeling the late afternoon sun warming his back, and began walking down towards the High Street where the street theatre was in full swing. People thronged the closed-off thoroughfare and gathered around the acts in progress. There was first a jazz band, and then a juggling stilt walker, and further on an escapologist, naked to the waist, his face crossed in the blue and white of the Scottish saltire, who appeared to be in dire threat of hanging himself from a lamp post. His attention being captured by this alarming form of entertainment, Leonard never noticed the small dumpy woman who kept abreast with him on the other side of the street, trying to keep the large Samsonite suitcase that she dragged behind her from keeling over on the uneven paving slabs.

Rene Brownlow bumped the suitcase uncaringly up the two stone steps and pushed open the door to the Fringe office. She towed the suitcase into a corner where it wouldn’t be in anyone’s way and, puffing out a breath of exhaustion, she approached the long counter that was piled high with flyers and leaflets. A girl, dressed similarly to the appalling Andrea from the Corinthian Bar, left her computer screen behind the counter and approached her.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. My name’s Rene Brownlow. I’ve been doing a show in the Corinthian Bar, but I want to—” She never got any further, feeling the lump rise in her throat and the tears bubble in her eyes, just as they had done endlessly for the past twelve hours.

The girl smiled at her. “Don’t worry. I know exactly who you need to talk to.”

She went back to her desk and picked up the telephone. “Lewis,” Rene heard her say, “you have another tortured soul to deal with.”

The girl put down the receiver and came round from behind the desk and put a hand on Rene’s shoulder. “Come on, I’m going to take you to see Lewis Jones. He’ll sort everything out.”

These were about the first kindly words that had been spoken to Rene since she had arrived in Edinburgh a week and a half before, so by the time that she took her seat at the desk in front of the young man with the unruly mop of dark curly hair, she was snivelling uncontrollably. Lewis leaned forward on the desk, spinning a pencil about in his fingers, a huge grin spread across his stubbly face.

“Come on, things surely can’t be going that badly, can they?” he said in a lilting Welsh voice. He took a handful of tissues from a large box of Kleenex at the side of the desk and passed them over.

Rene nodded as she peeled one off the pile and blew her nose with force. “They couldn’t go any worse,” she sobbed. “I’ve ’ardly had anyone come to the show, and no one understands me ’umour and I’m never going to be able to cover the theatre cost. I just want to go ’ome now.”

Lewis leaned back in his chair, the grin still fixed on his face. “Rene, would you believe you are the fifth person I’ve had in today, saying exactly the same thing?”

Rene wiped at her eyes, her sobs slowing down as his words sank in. “Really?”

“Yes, really. You’re not the only one in the boat, you know.”

“But I’ll never be able to cover the—”

“Look, it’s early days,” Lewis said, leaning forward on his desk once more. “Quite a number of the performers get a bit despondent about this time. That’s why I get a rash of visits about now. My advice to you is to stick it out, because you’re sure to regret it if you don’t.”

At that point a dark-haired girl put her head over the partition that separated Lewis’s desk from the rest of the office. “Lewis?”

Lewis watched Rene turn her head away to stop the girl from seeing she was crying. He looked up at the girl. “Not now, Gail, I’m busy.”

“I know, but is that Rene Brownlow you’ve got with you?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I thought you might like to see this.” She handed him over a folded copy of a newspaper before disappearing once more behind the partition. Lewis scanned through the piece that Gail had highlighted in fluorescent yellow.

“There you are, you see,” he said, spinning the newspaper onto the desk in front of Rene. “You are being a bit hasty, aren’t you? That’s in
The Scotsman.
Everybody reads that in Edinburgh.”

Rene picked up the paper and stared at the black-and-white photograph of herself. She glanced quickly through the words written underneath. “Rene Brownlow…an original wit…splitting my sides at her characterization of the members of Andersons Westbourne Social Club in her home town of Hartlepool…this act is definitely worth a visit.” Rene placed the newspaper back on the desk and let out a short laugh that was caught up in the last of her sobs.

“Not bad, eh?” Lewis said.

“No,” she replied quietly.

“I wish I could have produced reviews like that for the other four people who came to see me today.”

Rene smiled at him. “I’d better get on with it, then.”

“I think that would be the best idea. You wait until tonight. I bet you’ll find the place packed.”

Rene lowered her head and pulled another tissue from the pile and once again began wiping at her eyes.

“What’s up now?” Lewis asked in a baffled voice.

“I don’t want to go on living where I am right now,” Rene said with a renewed sob. “I’m in this ’orrible ’ouse with this dreadful woman, and I ’ave to be out every day at eleven o’clock and I just ’ave to walk the streets all day.”

Lewis puffed out his cheeks in disbelief. “Oh, that’s all a bit violent, isn’t it? It sounds like that particular lady deserves to lose your custom.” He sucked in air through his teeth as he gave Rene’s predicament some thought. “Hang on a minute.” He began sifting through the piles of paper that littered his desk. “Now where the hell did I put that address?” He shifted his attention to a wire tray, flicking through its contents. “I only had it in my bloody hands about ten minutes ago.” He ducked out of sight for two seconds and came up brandishing a scrumpled piece of paper. “Here it is. Under my foot, it was.” He put it on his desk and smoothed it out with a hand before picking up the telephone and dialling a number. “Let’s just keep our fingers crossed,” he said, shooting a wink at Rene.

“Hullo, is that Jamie Stratton?…Right, well, this is Lewis Jones at the Fringe office. I’ve just given your name to a colleague of mine…yes, that’s right…ah, so do you have any more rooms available?…oh, you do. Well, in that case, I’ve got someone here who would like to take one of them…Yes, her name is Rene Brownlow…Yes, how do you know that?…ah, well, there you go then. I’ve just given it to her to read…Right, so she can come round anytime, then?…Good, thank you, Jamie.”

Lewis smiled at Rene. “There you are, you’re famous already. Your new landlord has just read your review.” He quickly copied out the address onto a notepad, tore it off, then pushing himself out of his chair, he came round the side of his desk and handed it to Rene. “You’re going to be in London Street, which is just down the road a bit from the top of Leith Walk, so it’s a good place to stay. He says you can go round anytime you want.”