The Honey Trap. Mary Baker Jayne

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      Great, thanks Steve. So now she was supply film critic and supply showbiz editor. Did no one else do any work on this paper?

      ‘Looks like I’m reviewing for the arts section as well as the summary for the showbiz supplement.’ She showed Leo Steve’s text. ‘Cal’s off sick or something. Typical. Come on, let’s get round the back and try to get some decent seats.’

      Leo’s eyes saucered with surprise. ‘Bloody hell, that’s huge, Ginge! I’m impressed: from intern to film critic in well under a year. That’s some jump, you know.’ He gave the elbow he was holding a swift squeeze. ‘Steve must think you’re the dog’s wotsits or something. At this rate you’ll be deputy editor by this time next week. Listen, you will remember the little people who put you there, won’t you, and make sure my name’s in the hat for director of photography?’

      She linked his arm as they joined the end of the queue snaking down towards the cinema’s rear entrance. ‘No worries, little person. Shame there isn’t any extra money in my rapid rise to the top, though, instead of just twice the work for the same salary. I’m about one taffeta ballgown from the breadline at the moment.’

      Ten minutes of very British queueing later, a beefy security guard eyeballed them as they arrived at the entrance and flashed their press passes.

      ‘Paper, mag, blog?’

      ‘The Investigator,’ Leo said. ‘Angel Blackthorne and Leo Courtenay.’

      The guard glared at them with lowered brows. It didn’t take a big stretch of the imagination for Angel to figure out why.

      ‘That stunt you pulled was a new low, even by your rag’s rock-bottom standards,’ he growled. ‘I don’t know how you hacks have got the balls to show your faces here. Really top couple, the Wilchesters. I’ve worked with them for years.’

      Angel examined her feet carefully, feeling the tips of her ears starting to burn. ‘Look, we just work there,’ she mumbled. ‘The editor decides what we run…’

      Oh yes, the old ‘just obeying orders’ defence. Always a winner.

      But the guard was just getting warmed up. ‘A real lady, Mrs Beaumont, and she’s looked just about ready to break her heart these last few months. I mean, ‘mystery girl’? Come on! One of your hired whores, more like. You know as well as I do the whole thing was a set-up. Otherwise how would you have known to plant the bloody cameras in the first place? Your white-van-men punters might have a reading age of six but even they can’t be that thick.’

      Behind them, the impatient queue started to rumble at the hold-up. Angel felt nauseatingly conspicuous, her cheeks blazing with shame and embarrassment.

      ‘Listen, mate,’ Leo said to the security guard, his mouth setting into a firm line. ‘You’ll have to take any complaint up with our editor. I’m more than happy to give you his email address. Christ, you can even have his private mobile if you want. By all means ring him, any hour of the day or night for all I care. The man’s a first-class prick and you’d have my blessing. But me and this lady have got a job to do, and if your boss wants to promote his film in the country’s biggest daily then you’d better tick your little box and let us in. Or you can explain to him why ours is the only paper not carrying a review, and he doesn’t look like a man you’d want to cross.’

      The guard’s brow lowered like thunder but Leo’s words did the trick. With muttered oaths and imprecations, he looked the pair up on his guest list and waved them through the barrier.

      ‘God, Leo, how long is this thing going to haunt me? I feel awful. I deserve to feel awful,’ Angel murmured when she was slumped into the uncomfortable vinyl upholstery of a cinema seat.

      ‘Well, don’t. Feel awful, I mean,’ he whispered back. ‘That guy was bang out of order. There’s nothing wrong with exposing a cheater for being a cheater. It’s not like you made Wilchester do anything he didn’t want to, and in the end the only person responsible for Carole Beaumont’s bleeding heart is her husband. He’s the one who promised to love and snuggle her till death do they part or whatever, not you. You don’t even know the woman.’

      ‘Yeah, maybe, but…’

      ‘Anyway, they were both of them brought up in the public eye,’ Leo continued, warming to his subject. ‘They know how the game’s played, the extra caution you have to take when you’re a celebrity. You’d almost think from his willingness to give it up he wanted to get caught – or at least that he didn’t care if he was.’

      ‘That doesn’t change the fact I set him up and then humiliated his wife by spending the night with him when I was never supposed to take it that far. You can’t tell me you think that’s okay because we both know it bloody well isn’t, and if I wasn’t your best mate you’d admit it in a heartbeat. Anyway, it’s not a ‘game’ I ever want to play again, Leo, not with people’s lives…’

      But Leo shushed her as the lights dimmed and the curtain came up. ‘We’ll talk more after, okay?’ He gave her shoulder a firm, reassuring squeeze. Between him and Emily, she felt like ‘reassuring squeeze’ was likely to be listed on an autopsy certificate under ‘Angel Blackthorne: Cause of Death’ any day now.

      As the opening credits started scrolling across the screen, Angel fished the notebook and pen from her handbag and began scribbling away in shorthand, listing the names of the principal actors, the setting for the opening scene, some brief notes on the performances. But half an hour later the same pen hovered motionless over the page as she stared, open-mouthed, at the screen.

      Steve, Savannah, everyone had been right. Wilchester was brilliant. Perhaps even a genius. The writing, the direction, the casting: it was all spot on.

      The plot was original and yet somehow quintessentially British: a bored, ditzy 1970s housewife, Beaumont, seduces the local milkman and then convinces him to carry out a hit on her philandering businessman husband. Seb’s script was the perfect combination of farce and thriller, with the audience laughing, gasping, and on one occasion, screaming on cue in all the right places. Angel couldn’t tear her fascinated eyes away, watching the plot twist and turn with dizzying speed, keeping her guessing until the very end.

      And Carole Beaumont! Who could have predicted the icy, regal blonde would have such perfect comic timing, delivering one sparkling line after another, or such a talent for physical comedy? She might have the looks of a Grace Kelly but her performance reminded Angel of Lucille Ball in her prime.

      As the end credits rolled Angel heard a round of applause start to ripple through the press area, becoming a standing ovation as those around her rose to their feet. Angel and Leo joined them, clapping wildly with the rest.

      ‘Does that happen a lot?’ she whispered to Leo, sinking into her seat again.

      Leo shook his head. ‘First time I’ve seen it. First time it’s ever been earned. He’s a talented bastard, I’ll say that for him. I was doubtful when he announced the next Tigerblaze film would be a comedy, but it seems like everything that pair touches turns to gold.’

      Angel nodded her enthusiastic agreement. ‘God, it was unbelievable. Like Ealing in its glory days, but with a dark modern edge that really gave it bite. If Carole Beaumont hasn’t got a best-actress BAFTA heading her way next year I’ll be amazed.’

      ‘You were certainly paying attention.’ Leo looked impressed by her insight. СКАЧАТЬ