The Berkeley Method (8 page)

I eye James behind the wheel. He looks alive with pleasure, and I feel a thrill of happiness to see him so carefree.

This could be the perfect time to quiz him, I decide. I have him all to myself, with no chance of a physical distraction.

“How do you know Natalie?” I ask casually, opting for my most pressing question.

He gives a smile, which shows he’s seen through me immediately.

“Everyone in LA knows Natalie,” he says. “She’s very talented.”

Ouch.

“Is that why you cast her in your movie?”

“Of course.” He turns to look at me for a moment. “I also think she needs a second chance. Natalie is one movie away from Hollywood death. It would be a shame to waste her abilities.”

This is news to me.

“Why one movie away?” I ask, curious.

James shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Because she is extremely difficult to work with,” he says. “No other director will touch her. And her last few movies bombed.”

“But you think you can bring out the best in her?” I can’t keep the pain from my voice.

James looks at me, surprised.

“Isabella Green,” he says, “are you jealous?”

“A little,” I admit. “I’m also curious. What is it she does which makes her tough to work with?”

“What
doesn’t
she do,” says James. “She’s late, rude, argumentative. And she has a list of diva demands as long as your arm.”

“But you want to work with her?”

“I think she would be less unreasonable with me.”

“Why is that?”

Does she like him? Does he like her?
My mind is in a jealous funk and refuses to listen to reason.

“I am good with difficult people.”

This brings a flash of memories to me. Of his past. His ex-girlfriend. The love of his life.

Can I ask him about it? His car feels like a safe space somehow.

“Was your ex-girlfriend a difficult person?” I whisper. “The one who died of a drug overdose?”

James lips set in a tight line, and for a moment I think he won’t answer.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about that, Isabella,” he says, and the sadness in his voice is heart-breaking. “I’m not saying I’ll never be ready. You are the only person I can imagine talking to about it.”

He is still staring at the road.

“Did you love her very much?” I ask.

James blinks in surprise.

“No,” he says after a moment. “No, I wouldn’t say I loved her. But she needed me. It was a complicated situation.”

Oh
. I stare ahead at the road, wondering what to make of this.

“I will say this,” adds James, turning to me for a moment before resting his attention back on the road. “I never felt for anyone what I feel is possible with you. What I do feel for you. Right now. After only a week.”

He turns again, showing me with his eyes the depth of his feelings.

“God Isabella,” he says, “if you only knew.”

And then he turns back to the road, as if resolving to say no more.

I sit in silence for a moment, letting a slow sweep of joy burst through me.

He’s never felt for anyone what he feels for me!

I hug the admission to myself, hardly knowing what to make of it.

“I feel that way about you too,” I say quietly.

At the wheel, James breaks into a wide grin. He turns to look at me, and suddenly I’m grinning too. We stare at each other for a brief happy moment, and then James returns his attention to the oncoming traffic.

We’re out of London now, and James puts his foot down. The car leaps forward into the fast lane, eating up the asphalt and sending trees and green hills zipping by.

“I think you’ll like the studio,” he says as the car sprints along. “Who knows? You might even like Natalie.”

We’re pulling off the main road now, heading into the English countryside.

I stare ahead. Will I like Natalie? Somehow I don’t think so.

“You’ll also get to meet Callum Reed,” he reminds me, “whom I know you’ll like.”

Callum Reed. How could I have forgotten?

He’s cast as male support.

“I love Callum in movies,” I say, excited at the thought. “He makes all his characters seem so warm.”

James nods, keeping his eyes forward.

“If it hadn’t been for his drug issues, Callum would have won an Oscar a long time ago,” he replies. “I hope this movie will help him shine. He’s in his forties now. It’s about time he got a break.”

“Did you know him before the movie?” I ask, wondering how this all works.

James nods. “We’re good friends.”

Oh. I ponder on this. Good friends. Both with drugs in their past.

“Did you both…” I hesitate, uncertain of how to phrase the question.

“Get high together?” fills in James, predicting my question with embarrassing ease. “No. We moved in different circles.”

“But you think I’ll like him?” I ask, moving the subject away from drug abuse.

“Oh yes,” says James. “Everybody likes Callum.”

“Even Natalie?”

James hesitates. “Natalie is not the easiest person to get along with.”

Chapter
10

The BMW approaches a set of high sturdy gates, and James tugs the steering wheel to move towards a security booth.

The large sign reads ‘Berkeley Studios’, and once again I am struck with how much James has managed to achieve at such a young age.

He stops the car and walks around to let me out.

“You’ll need to register your fingerprints,” he explains, “for security.”

I raise my eyebrows fractionally.

“It’s standard practice,” he says, leading me to a small window where a burly security guard sits.

The guard gestures to a small laser panel where I should press my fingers, and after a few seconds, informs me the prints have been taken.

“Is all this really necessary?” I ask as we walk back to the car and climb inside.

“It’s how the entire studio runs,” explains James. “It keeps things simple and safe.”

Safe. That wasn’t something I expected to be an issue on a film set.

After a moment, the heavy gate swings slowly open, and we cruise inside.

“Why the huge gates?” I ask, staring at the thick structures topped with razor wire. “It looks like we’re going into a prison.”

James gives a little laugh, but it sounds forced.

“Security has to be tight on set,” he says. “Actors and actresses are natural targets.”

“For photographers?” I ask, remembering the paparazzi shots of James and I tango dancing.

“Partly that,” he says, “partly they’re prey to stalkers.”

Stalkers
. I hadn’t considered that.

“For the most part, stalkers are harmless,” continues James. “But you get the odd one which is dangerous.” His mouth is set in a hard grim line.

I feel a spasm of fear hit my belly. For some reason I think there’s something James isn’t telling me.

“Does Natalie have a stalker?” I ask, feeling an uneasy sensation creep around my hairline.

“Natalie has three very mild-mannered stalkers,” says James, his tone light again. “But they’re not dedicated or wealthy enough to fly out from LA, so she won’t be troubled by them here.”

We drive on in silence, and I have the distinct feeling that something is not quite right.

I am soon distracted by the studio itself, however. Now that we’ve passed the ominous security gates, we’ve passed into what looks like a little town. Buildings of various sizes line the main through-road, and we pass by a petrol garage and a huge gym.

“Is that for the actors?” I ask, turning back to stare out of the window.

James nods. “I’ll take you on a tour later. There’s everything a modern actor could want. The gym has a pool, sauna, hot-tubs. And there is also a spa which gets a lot of use. We even have our own hairdressers here,” he adds, “though some actors prefer to bring their own.”

No prizes for guessing which actors
, I think, remembering that Natalie has a list of diva demands.

“Everything in the complex is free of charge to the actors,” adds James. “You’ll get a card which lets you use any service you like. There’s a beauty salon where you can get facials and manicures, and that kind of thing.” He turns to give me a little smile. “Girly stuff. There’s also a mall of sorts.”

“For shopping?” I’m incredulous. I had no idea a movie studio came with so many facilities.

“Don’t get your expectations up,” says James. “It’s a very small collection of shops. Most of the cast prefer to shop in London.”

Still. A mall with unlimited store credit sounds like fun.

“What else is there?” I ask, staring out of the window as more buildings pass by. We turn and pass a parking lot filled with every kind of vintage and prestige car you could think of. For use in movies, I assume.

“There’s a restaurant,” says James, “in case you get bored of the food on set, and a bar. And some good-sized gardens which are nice to walk in when they’re not being used for filming. I might take you there one evening,” he adds, throwing me a mischievous glance. I realise he’s not thinking about walking, and I turn away, blushing.

“There is also a ballroom,” he says. “You could show me the Spanish dancing which your mother tells me you are so talented at.”

I couldn’t have him see that side of me. Not all that pain and sadness.

“It’s more of a private thing,” I say, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

He raises an eyebrow in question. “It won you a place at the best drama college in the country,” he says. “It must be quite some ability you have.”

“I just dance for myself nowadays,” I say. “I was a kid when I won my audition. It feels too self-conscious to dance like that in front of other people now. All that emotion.” I force a little laugh.

James looks like he’s understood more from this than I want him to. But he doesn’t press the subject.

“We also have a small movie theatre where you can request films,” he says. “And a stable of horses for filming, which some of the actors like to ride recreationally.”

“Anything else?” I ask mockingly. “Is there somewhere for actors to fly their private jets? Or a pampering parlour for their lapdogs?”

“We do have a small helipad,” says James, his mouth twitching. “And actors could request facilities for their pets, although it’s never been required.”

He thinks for a moment.

I shake my head at him, laughing. “Is this
normal
for a studio?”

He gives that little mouth twitch again. “That depends on what you mean by normal,” he says. “Certainly, my studios are well appointed compared to most.”

“Most?”

“All,” he admits. “It’s one of the ways in which I get the best from my actors. I take good care of them.”

He swings the car around a corner, and a complex of small chalets comes into view. I count around twenty – all set on a grass bank next to a gravel drive, a little like a village street.

“This is where you’ll be staying with the other actors,” he says.

“Here? They’re lovely.”

The chalets remind me of the fairy tale house in Hansel and Gretel, though they’re made of wood rather than cakes and candies.

I peer out of the window. “I thought actors had to stay in trailers.”

“Not in my studios,” says Berkeley with a touch of pride. “I won’t have anyone staying where I wouldn’t stay myself. And I’m not a fan of trailers.”

The BMW crunches onto the gravel drive leading to the chalets, and then slows and stops.

We’ve pulled up outside what I would judge to be the nicest of all the accommodation. It’s slightly larger than the rest and has a wooden balcony along the front.

James exits from his side of the car and walks around to open the door for me.

“Thank you,” I say
, as he guides me out.

“This is where you’ll be staying for the duration of the movie,” he says, gesturing to the lovely wooden chalet. I gaze at it wonderingly.

“You’re in the chalet which used to be mine,” he adds.

Oh.
That feels very intimate somehow.

I’m s
taying in James’s chalet.

“Where do you stay now?” I ask, feeling discomforted.

“Over there.” James points to a verge in the distance. I can make out an enormous apartment with a sweeping glass frontage. It’s uber-modern, with pristine white walls, wood-panelled sections, and a dramatic sweeping roof.

“I found it was better to be a little way from the actors,” he says, taking my hand. “Here, I’ll show you inside.”

It must be lonely
, I think, taking a final glance at his apartment before turning my attention to the wooden chalet.