“Tarquin, can I ask you a question?” says Luke. His mouth is twitching and he looks highly amused at something. “I know you have a few media interests among your investments. Has Pucky ever backed any films for you?”
“Oh!” Tarquin’s expression clears. “Ahm. Well. As a matter of fact, yes, he has. Perhaps that’s the connection.”
“Films?” Suze stares at him. “You never told me!”
“This is your investor,” says Luke to Ken Kerrow, and jerks a thumb at Tarquin. “Lord Cleath-Stuart.”
“Please,” says Tarkie, flushing red. “Tarquin.”
Ken Kerrow looks as though he’s choked on his fillet steak. “That’s you?”
“Lord?” Sage looks up from her phone for the first time.
“Lord Cleath-Stuart.” Ken Kerrow is gesticulating at his wife. “This is the Brit backer. You backed Fiddler’s Game,” he adds to Tarquin, in sudden realization. “Didn’t you?”
“Ahm … yes.” Tarquin looks a little hunted. “That sounds right.”
“It made thirty million dollars its opening weekend. You picked a winner.”
“Well, it was Pucky,” says Tarkie modestly. “I mean, I wouldn’t know one film from another.”
“Excuse me,” says Ken Kerrow. “I’m going to find my co-producer. I’d love for you to meet him.” He leaps up and practically sprints to a nearby table, where I can see him whispering frantically to another guy in a tux.
“Tarkie!” exclaims Suze, and bangs the table. “Since when do we invest in films? You should have told me!”
“But, darling,” says Tarkie anxiously, “you said you weren’t interested in our investments.”
“I meant boring things like stocks and shares! Not films—” Suze breaks off and fixes Tarkie with an accusing gaze. “Tell me the truth. Have we been invited to premieres?”
“Ahm …” Tarkie’s eyes slide around nervously. “You’d have to ask Pucky. I probably told him we weren’t interested.”
“Weren’t interested?” Suze’s voice rises to a screech.
“Your lordship!” Ken Kerrow is back at the table. “It is my honor to present my co-producer, Alvie Hill.”
A broad man pumps Tarkie’s hand with a meaty handshake. “Your lordship. What a pleasure to welcome you to Los Angeles. If there is anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant …”
He continues talking for about five minutes, complimenting Tarkie, complimenting Suze, suggesting restaurants, and offering to drive them out to the canyons for a hike.
“Ahm, thank you.” Tarkie gives him an embarrassed smile. “You’re very kind. I’m so sorry,” he says to the table, as Alvie finally leaves. “What a fuss. Let’s get back to our dinner.”
But that’s just the beginning. An hour later, it seems as if every single person in the room has dropped by our table to be introduced to Tarkie. Several have pitched movies, several have invited him to screenings, several have tried to set up meetings, and one has suggested flying the whole family to his ranch in Texas. Tarkie is totally an L.A. player. I can’t quite believe it.
In fact, no one can believe it. Luke has been bursting into laughter a lot—especially when some studio executive asked Tarkie what was his view of the American Pie franchise and Tarkie said, gosh, he wasn’t sure—was it similar to Starbucks? Meanwhile, Tarkie himself looks rather shell-shocked again. I feel a bit sorry for him, actually. He came here to get away from everything, not to be besieged by people after his money.
I can understand why he spends so much time wandering around moors on his own. At least the deer don’t keep running up, saying they’ve got a fabulous concept they’d love to share with him over breakfast. Now some guy in a gray shiny suit is asking Tarkie if he wants to visit a film set.
“We’re shooting this great drama; it’s set on the high seas. Bring your kids—they’ll love it.”
“You’re very kind.” Tarkie is starting to sound robotic. “But I’m here for a holiday—”
“I’ll come!” Suze interrupts.
“Terrific!” The gray-suited guy smiles at her. “We’d be delighted to welcome you, give you the tour; you can watch some scenes being shot—”
“Can I be an extra?” Suze says boldly.
The gray-suited man stares at her, apparently baffled.
“You want to—”
“Be an extra in the film. And so does my friend Bex.” She grabs my arm. “Don’t you?”
“Yes! Definitely!”
I have always wanted to be an extra on a film! I beam delightedly at Suze and she grins back.
“Your ladyship.” The gray-suited man seems totally perplexed. “You won’t be comfortable being an extra. The day is long, it’s tiring, the scenes are shot again and again. Why don’t you watch the scene, and then you can meet the cast; we’ll have lunch someplace nice.…”
“I want to be an extra,” says Suze obstinately. “And so does Bex.”
“But—”
“We don’t want to watch it, we want to be in it.”
“We want to be in it,” I echo emphatically.
“Well.” The man seems to admit defeat. “OK. No problem at all. My people will fix it up for you.”
“Bex, we’re going to be extras!” Suze clutches me in excitement.