Whitby Vampyrrhic Read Online Free PDF Page B

gave you a hard time.’ He strode towards the twin doors.
    â€˜Wait. Get help first. There were a whole bunch of—’ The rest of her words trailed away.
    Beyond the doors, there it was. In all its glory . . . well, what would be glorious once the set was lit and dressed correctly for the camera. Beth followed Alec Reed into a decidedly modest studio. A better description than ‘modest’, however, would be ‘pokey’. The room had little in it other than a flimsy wall of hardboard, painted to look like brick. A mat of dark material had been laid out, which should pass for a road. A horse-drawn cart (without the horse) stood before the ‘wall’.
    â€˜But the set for Whitby was amazing. Really, really good. So authentic.’ Beth shook her head. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I’d walked into the real town.’
    â€˜There’s only this set, Miss Layne. And this is for a dramatization of a Charles Dickens’ story being filmed here this week.’
    â€˜There must be a door to the other set.’
    â€˜There is no other set, Miss Layne. That’s why we’re filming on location in Whitby. I fought tooth and claw to do that, otherwise we’d have ended up with piffling cardboard cut-out houses, that are as authentic as this so-called London street.’
    â€˜I’ve gone mad,’ Beth said with absolute clarity. ‘Mad as the March hare, because there were streets here, and cottages. Even smoke came out of the chimneys – inhale: you can still catch some of it.’
    â€˜That smells like pipe tobacco to me, Miss Layne. It’s wafting in from the executives’ boardroom next door.’ His single good eye focused on her face. ‘Even though I don’t believe in your manifestation of Whitby in this very building, I do believe you’ve had a nasty experience. Your elbow looks quite sore, you know.’
    â€˜I had noticed, thank you.’
    â€˜You really have worked with Cary Grant?’
    â€˜I served him a dry Martini in a movie. Now I wish it had needed a dozen takes. We did it in one. But I have my five seconds on-screen with the great man himself. He even smells as good as he looks. Acqua di Parma; an aftershave; it—’
    â€˜You’re trembling.’
    â€˜I’m also babbling about Cary Grant, aren’t I?’
    The anger left him now. ‘Come on, we’ll go somewhere quiet for a coffee.’
    â€˜If you’re firing me, do it here.’
    â€˜Firing you?’
    â€˜For suggesting you’re a raging liquor lover.’
    â€˜No. I’ve a proposition. One, I trust, that you will find as irresistible as it is fascinating.’
    He held open one of the swing doors for her. In the back of her neck blew a cold, damp breeze.
What if I turn round and I can see Whitby again? If I can, that proves I’m mad, doesn’t it?
Salty ocean scents, laced with odours of raw fish, crawled up her nostrils. She could almost hear the distant whisper of surf. At that moment, she knew Whitby’s Church Street would be there waiting, as cold as a tomb, if she glanced over her shoulder. Clenching her fist, and resisting the urge for that last backward look, she walked out into the corridor. She only allowed herself to breathe again when the door closed firmly behind her.

Three
    Alec Reed ushered her into an office so flamboyantly untidy she wanted to describe it as sexy. A pair of typewriters faced each other across a large table, as if eager to fight a duel. Scripts were piled on shelves. One wall was devoted to large sheets of paper on which had been drawn the storyboard of the script. And above that, a banner proclaimed
This Midnight Realm
. On the table: empty cups, beer bottles, ashtrays crammed full of cigar butts. Tellingly, a bottle of gin, half empty, stood by a typewriter. Beth could still smell that particularly distinctive spirit on Alec’s breath.
    Alec