Agent of the Reich Read online

This last comment seemed to galvanize him. “Studios?” he said animatedly. “Who needs studios? The whole world is our studio, Miss Walker. Is that not what Shakespeare meant when he wrote ‘All the world’s a stage’? Great films are made here,” DaSilva said pointing to his head, “not in a studio.”

  Lucy was taken aback and stared at him wide-eyed.

  “You say you are interested, but interest is not enough. We need excitement, we need passion, we need total commitment. Although I don’t detect these characteristics on the surface, you may have hidden depths, Miss Walker; these qualities may be lying dormant within you. We will find this out in the afternoon, when you have your screen test.”

  He went on to ask her about her favourite films and then proceeded to denigrate each of them in turn: this one was trite, that one insipid, another formulaic, the next derivative. He got to his feet and began to pace up and down the room. Holding his cigar in one hand and gesticulating with the other as he spoke, he launched into a monologue expounding his own theories of movie making. As far as Lucy could make out, he seemed to be going on about the need for realism in cinema, and how his objective was to blur the boundary between fantasy and reality. She tried to understand what he was saying, but much of it was incomprehensible to her. From time to time, when he looked towards her, she nodded agreement, but she was no longer paying attention to the words: she was thinking mainly about him and what a strange, scary little man he was. She was glad when Elliott arrived to take her to lunch, which had been set up in his office across the corridor.

  #

  There were just the two of them for lunch, Lucy and Elliott. A tablecloth had been laid over Elliott’s desk and covered with a selection of cold dishes laid out attractively, no doubt by Miss Wilks. Elliott apologised for the fact that there was nothing hot, as cooking facilities had not been set up yet. But Lucy didn’t mind; it had been a long time since she had seen such a spread – in fact, not since she’d had a job as a waitress, a year before the war started. There was a choice of smoked salmon, paté or gazpacho to start with, followed by a cold collation with a selection of sliced ham, beef, or chicken. A delicious-looking quiche was also available, together with bowls of potato salad, eggs in mayonnaise, and salad vegetables. For dessert there was gateau, fresh fruit salad or a meringue and strawberry creation, all with fresh cream.

  Lucy was surprised to see some of the fare on the menu, for things like eggs and fresh fruit had been in short supply since the start of the war, but she did not like to ask where they had come from. They had white wine to drink with the meal and to end with, coffee and Belgian chocolates, brought in by Miss Wilks.

  For Lucy, the rest of the day seemed to go by very quickly. Just before two o’clock, as they were finishing their coffee, Miss Wilks came back into the office with a large tray and began to clear away. Barely had she disappeared out of the door with the last of the dishes when a tall, blonde-haired man in his thirties sauntered in, smiling. He was smartly but casually dressed, wearing a light-brown sports jacket, white shirt, and a cravat, rather than a tie. It turned out that this was Bob Mitchell, come to do the reading with her. Lucy was struck by his good looks and sophisticated air. He also seemed familiar to her, and she thought she must have seen one of his films, but could not remember any details of it.

  After making the introductions, Elliott went over to one of the filing cabinets along the back wall of the office and took out two copies of a script.

  “OK Lucy,” he said, handing one copy to her and the other to Mitchell, “now, I’m afraid, the work begins. This is the script for the scene that you’re going to do for your screen test. It’s an important scene in the film: it’s the one where the two main characters first meet and fall for each other, so there are just the two of you involved. What I want you to do is to go through the script with Bob, reading out loud your respective lines. This will enable you to learn your part and get the delivery right. Bob will advise you on expression, diction, that sort of thing. Once you’ve mastered the lines, you’ll then need to act out the scene a few times until you feel you’re all set to do it in front of the camera. Bob will take you along to the set when you’re ready.” With that, he went out of the office, leaving them alone to get on with the reading.

  Mitchell took the chair from behind the desk and placed it next to Lucy’s. “I suppose we’d better start then,” he said, smiling at her, “I get the impression we’re working against the clock today. Let’s take it from the top.”

  Sitting side by side, they began reading out their parts. After a while, it became clear to Lucy that Mitchell was having to give her a fair bit of coaching, but he had a pleasant and easy-going manner, unlike Mr DaSilva, and Lucy didn’t mind his numerous interruptions to give advice or correct her.

  “Now Lucy,” he said light-heartedly at the end of the first read-through, “you’re saying the lines as if you were reading out a shopping list. You need to put more expression into what you’re saying. At the moment, you’re treating your lines as words written by someone else, words that you are just reading out; you need to feel they are your words. You are this character and these are the words you have chosen to say.”

  It was a romantic scene they were doing, and Lucy tried to put herself in the mood. It wasn’t too difficult, sitting close to this agreeable and good-looking man. They went through it again, and this time Mitchell seemed better pleased with the attempt.

  “That was a big improvement, Lucy. I think you have a natural talent for this.”

  They read it through several more times, until Lucy could say the lines without looking at the script, and then they got up and started to rehearse the performance.

  The scene they were doing ended with the two characters embracing. Lucy felt embarrassed about this initially, but, once again, Mitchell’s relaxed and jovial attitude helped her to overcome her awkwardness. Despite his laid-back approach, he seemed determined to coax the best possible performance out of her and continued with his tips and instructions on how she should be acting out the scene. She was impressed by how professional he was and how much he seemed to know about directing. It was only a two minute scene, but they must have gone through it a dozen times before he declared he was satisfied with their rendition. At the end, Lucy herself felt that she was making a good job of it. Although she would be reluctant to admit it, she was rather attracted to Bob Mitchell and some of the amorous feelings she was expressing were not entirely acted.

  They had been together for over an hour doing the reading and rehearsing the scene, so it was almost 3.15 when Mitchell took her back to the storeroom where the make-shift sound stage had been set up. It was time for her screen test. Everyone was there: Elliott; the four crew members she had seen in the morning; DaSilva, still smoking a cigar; and even Miss Wilks. Lucy started to feel nervous. Her mouth dried up, and she began licking her lips in an attempt to keep them moist. She could feel her face burning and was aware that she had started to perspire.

  DaSilva, seated in a canvas folding chair, gave her and Mitchell a few instructions on how he wanted the scene played and then told them: “OK, we’ll rehearse the scene a couple of times before we start filming.” Glaring at Lucy, he added, “And remember: passion, enthusiasm, commitment.”

  She and Mitchell took up their positions on the set. In the heat of the stage lighting she began to perspire even more and felt the sweat begin to trickle down from her armpits. She started to worry that damp patches would be appearing on her dress. Falteringly, she began saying her lines, speaking in a barely audible monotone; everything that Mitchell had taught her seemed to have gone from her mind. DaSilva said nothing at the end, apart from asking them to run through it again.

  Her second attempt at it was even worse, as she forgot her lines at one point; her mind went completely blank, and Miss Wilks had to come on to the set to show her the script. At the end of this second effort, DaSilva again made no comment on her performance. He announced to the crew that they were going to s
hoot the next run-through, and then addressed Lucy: “As you may be aware, Miss Walker, because of the war, film stock is in short supply. We don’t have a lot to spare, so there will only be one take.”

  As she heard him shout “Camera! Action!” a wave of panic overwhelmed her. If anything, the take was worse than the two dry-runs that preceded it: she stumbled through her lines, was incoherent in places and at one stage she spoke on top of Mitchell’s line. To crown it all, at a crucial point in the dialogue, her right foot caught the leg of a chair that was part of the set and she lurched awkwardly towards Mitchell.

  “And cut!” DaSilva balled out at the end of the scene. Lucy felt it had been a disaster. She wanted to ask for another take, but she knew her request would fall on deaf ears.

  Getting up from his director’s chair, DaSilva continued drily: “Right, Miss Walker, thank you. We will be in touch in a few days to let you know the outcome. Mr Elliott will see you off the premises.”

  Before leaving the set, she shook hands with Mitchell and thanked him for his help.

  “Don’t worry too much, Lucy,” he said, winking at her, “it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.”

  She smiled wanly at DaSilva and the others as she walked from the set, escorted by Elliott. “Pretty awful, wasn’t I?” she said, when they started along the corridor back to his office.

  “Not at all Lucy, I think you showed great potential. The important thing is what you look like on film – if the camera likes you, you’re in. We won’t know until we’ve seen the rushes of course, but I’m very hopeful, actually.”

  They collected her coat from his office, and he saw her to the main entrance. “We can’t make a final decision until we’ve seen the last of the applicants, which will be Wednesday. If you phone my office on Thursday afternoon around one o’clock I should be able to tell you if you’ve got the part. Don’t be despondent, Lucy. I have a good feeling about this. And remember, if you are chosen, we start filming on Friday, so make sure you’re going to be available then.”

  Lucy hesitated before responding. “There could be a problem with that. Well, not a problem, really – I’ll definitely be available if I get the part. It’s just that I’ll have to leave Pickering’s Bookshop without giving any notice. I feel bad about that. I haven’t told Mr Pickering that I’m considering going into acting.”

  “What did you tell him about the audition today?”

  Lucy grinned self-consciously. “On my way here this morning, I phoned him to say I wasn’t feeling well and would have to take the day off.”

  Elliott smiled and looked at her thoughtfully. “Do you have any holidays due?”

  “Yes, I’m due a week.”

  “You know, it’s maybe just as well that you haven’t mentioned any of this to Mr Pickering. If you get the part, I’m sure you’ll enjoy working with us, but just in case you find film work is not your cup of tea, you might want to keep your options open. What I suggest is that you tell Mr Pickering that you’re taking your week’s holiday as from this Friday. If you get the part and you find after a few days of filming that you like the work, you can phone him and say you won’t be coming back. That way, at least he’ll have two or three days to find a replacement.”

  “Yes, you’re right. That would be better than nothing.”

  “But if you decide that film work is not for you, you can quit and return to the bookshop at the end of your week off.”

  “Can I quit from the film so easily?”

  “Assuming you get the part, obviously we will want you to stay on for the duration of filming – if you quit, it will set the production schedule back, and as I said earlier, time is money in this business. But we appreciate that as a newcomer you might find that you’ve made the wrong career choice, so we’re prepared to be accommodating. We’ll give you a grace period to decide whether acting is for you – let’s say one week. You can pull out any time during that period and there’ll be no penalty, but after that you’ll be bound by the terms of your contract. Does that sound fair?”

  “Yes, you’re being very considerate.”

  “And if for some reason you don’t get the part, you can use your week’s holiday to have a nice vacation somewhere to cheer yourself up.”

  “I don’t know about that – my aunt doesn’t approve of going away on holiday. She says it’s frivolous.”

  “What does your Aunt feel about you taking up a career in acting?”

  Lucy laughed nervously. “I haven’t said anything to her about it yet. I was hoping to keep it secret for as long as possible, but I’ll have to tell her if I’m going to be working on Saturdays. She knows the bookshop is closed then.”

  “If you get the part, I suggest that you tell her a little white lie about this Saturday – tell her you’re going into town shopping or something. Then, if you decide after a few days that you don’t like film work after all and want to quit, you can go back to working at the bookshop and she’ll be none-the-wiser.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea.” Lucy felt a burden had been taken off her.

  “Well, goodbye Lucy. Hopefully I’ll have some good news for you on Thursday.”

  “I know I’ll like this work, Mr Elliott, and I know I’ll get better at it. I won’t let you down. I’m certain I won’t be returning to Pickering’s Bookshop if I get the part.”

  “Yes, Lucy, I have a feeling you’re right.”

  She set off down Riga Street feeling tired, drained and a little disappointed, but nevertheless hopeful in view of Elliott’s parting words.

  2.

  Tuesday, 3rd September, 1940: London

  In his rushed departure from Bramlington village hall the previous week, Barton had left in such haste that he had not been able to ask Grace Harrison for her address or phone number. He discovered afterwards, however, that there was only one Harrison with a Bramlington number listed in the local telephone directory, so the next day he had been able to call her. It turned out that she was planning to come up to London the following Tuesday to go shopping in Oxford Street, so he suggested they should meet up and go to the lunchtime concert at the National Gallery. She seemed pleased to hear from him and accepted his invitation straightaway. As Barton had several days leave due, he was able to get a 24-hour pass for Tuesday without any trouble.

  They had arranged to meet at noon in the Lyons Corner House on the Strand, just off Trafalgar Square. Since the concert started at 1 o’clock, this would give them time to grab a bite to eat before wandering across the square to the National Gallery. Arriving a few minutes early, he went in and sat down at a table to wait. As he whiled away the time, he wondered how he should confess to her that he was not actually a pilot. Rather than wear his uniform, he had put on his civvies to meet her – otherwise she might have realised as soon as she saw him. That would have been too abrupt, and he wanted to break the news to her gently. It would be best, he thought, if he could make a bit of a joke of it, play it down. He saw them looking back fondly on it in years to come: “Oh, how we laughed,” they would say in retrospect.

  He was running over this in his mind while fiddling with the saltcellar on the table, when he became aware that someone had stopped next to him. Looking up he saw it was Grace, standing with her bag of shopping, smiling down at him. She was punctual – another virtue to add to the list he was compiling.

  It was a warm, sunny day and Grace was looking very summery in a white dress patterned with small red and yellow flowers. She seemed to bring in with her the fresh air from outside. Over lunch they talked about the usual trivia: what was on the radio; films they’d seen recently; the latest swing bands. Grace described her morning at the shops, complaining how difficult it was becoming to find even mundane items like needles or writing paper these days. She had spent most of the morning standing in queues and had little to show for it.

  Having recounted the details of her unsuccessful shopping trip, Grace immediately felt guilty that she had been moaning about such inconveniences, which, she r
eflected, were trivial compared with the trials that Barton must be facing. It then occurred to her that it might be therapeutic for him if she got him to talk about his combat experiences, but this turned out to be difficult: she noticed that whenever she brought up anything to do with the war, particularly the air war, Barton was quick to change the subject. She remembered that he had been the same way when they had met at the village hall, and she supposed that when away from active service he did not like to be reminded of what he did.

  The hour passed quickly and soon it was time to leave for the recital. The lunchtime concerts at the National Gallery had been running since October of the previous year and had been organised by the Jewish pianist Myra Hess, partly to boost morale in the city but also to fill the cultural void that had developed in the capital since the start of the war, for many of London’s museums, galleries, concert halls and theatres had been shut down since the outbreak of hostilities.

  The concerts were held in a large room with marble pillars and an ornately decorated ceiling, but no paintings – all the Gallery’s works of art had been removed to a safer location for the duration of the war. The concerts were very popular, and when Barton and Grace arrived they found the room was packed. They were lucky enough to get the last two seats; everyone who came in after them had to stand along the walls or sit on the floor. There were all sorts in the audience: office workers, nurses, men and women in all types of military uniform, housewives, the young and the old.

  Though Barton and Grace were right at the back, the acoustics in the room were surprisingly good, given that it had not been designed as a concert venue. They both found the music immensely enjoyable. Today, Myra Hess herself was playing the piano, a Steinway grand set up on a low stage. At one point she played Brahms’ ‘Waltz in A flat Major’, which was one of Barton’s favourite pieces. Part of the way through it, he turned and looked at Grace’s profile beside him. She was aware of his movement and turned towards him and smiled. It was a moment he would always remember.