Chapter One
The Final-Cut Wife
The Interview That Does Not Happen
Peter Haldane's son arrives without Peter Haldane.
I look past Stephen into the hall. Nobody.
“Please tell me he's parking.”
“He isn't coming, Frances.”
Oh, for fuck's sake.
Behind me, our camera operator lowers her headphones. Everyone has finished checking the equipment, then checking it again because there isn't anything else to do while we wait. Now they're looking at me.
Stephen steps inside, his broad shoulders taking up a good deal of the doorway. He's a big man with gray in his short beard and dark-framed glasses sitting too low on his nose. He pushes them up and stops near the door. I go to him before we can have this conversation in front of the entire crew.
“Is he all right?”
“Yes. I've spoken to him.”
“Today?”
“Yes. He's safe. He's gone away because he wants to be away.”
Thank God. Peter is seventy-six, and he hasn't been answering his phone. I'd started worrying about him.
Now I can be annoyed. Some of us have turned up where we're supposed to be.
“Where?”
“I can't give you the address.”
I wait for the rest. Stephen just looks at me.
That's the rest.
Through the open door, Peter's chair sits under the light we adjusted so he wouldn't have to squint. We've been very thoughtful about his comfort. He's spared considerably less thought for ours.
“You know where he is?”
“I do. He hasn't given me permission to tell you.”
“I'm not proposing to turn up with a camera.”
“I understand.”
Does he? I have a crew waiting and a film to finish. I haven't asked to drag Peter back here against his will.
The camera operator starts over. I lift a finger to ask for another moment, and she stops. I feel awful. Her next move depends on mine.
“Will you ask him to call me?”
“Yes.”
“Can he still come today?”
“No.”
At least that one's clear.
I glance into the room. It isn't as though we haven't filmed Peter. We have him talking about the grocery business, and we have him at public events, accepting people's thanks without the slightest embarrassment. There's good footage. Really good footage, some of it. What there isn't is an ending that belongs to the film we're supposed to be making.
Adrian remains cheerful about that. He's the producer, I'm the director, and I can't point a camera at his confidence and call it a finished film. Eventually he has to give me something I can use.
This interview was supposed to get us closer.
Stephen moves aside so I can go back in. He stays near the door while I walk over to the camera.
“We're wrapping,” I say. “Peter won't be here today.”
The operator removes her headphones. Next to her, the sound recordist starts disconnecting his equipment.
“All right. Are we holding another day?”
“I can't ask you to hold one yet.”
She nods and starts packing.
I'd almost welcome a complaint. Then I could apologize for something someone has actually said.
I shift Peter's unused chair out of their path. For a moment the light warms my face; then someone switches it off, and the marks on the wall behind the chair become obvious. Our working rooms need good lighting.
I gather my interview notes. Peter's name is at the top, followed by the questions I still need him to answer. He won't enjoy all of them. I didn't intend to ambush him, but I'm not here to spend an interview keeping him happy, either.
Stephen is still waiting by the door.
“Has he said when he'll come back?” I ask.
“Not to me.”
I set the notes down.
“I need him to understand that we can't keep everybody available until he feels ready.”
“I'll make that clear.”
“And I need to speak to him myself.”
“I'll ask him to call you.”
He hasn't promised a date he doesn't have or made up an explanation to get me off his back. I appreciate that.
I'd appreciate an interview more.
The sound recordist comes toward us with a case. I step out of the doorway, and Stephen backs up too, leaving the two of us against the wall while somebody who actually came here to work carries his equipment out.
“I'm sorry about the wasted day,” Stephen says.
“Me too.”
I can't make that sound nicer. He lets it pass.
After the crew leaves, I check the room. We haven't recorded a thing. Everyone still has to be paid.
Stephen leaves without giving me his father's address.
I stay with the bill for an interview I haven't had.
* * *
By the time Adrian comes into the workroom, everyone else has gone. He shuts the door, then checks the latch, which gets my attention. We have the place to ourselves. How private does this need to be?
“Did you hear from Peter?” I ask.
“No. We need to talk.”
“I know. We can't schedule him again until he agrees to come.”
“About us, Frances.”
My hands stop over the loose pages I'm gathering on the table.
Adrian takes off his jacket. His shirt is smooth over his chest, his dark-blond hair neatly parted. He looks ready for an important meeting. I look ready to pay for a cancelled interview, with a crease in my sleeve from leaning on the table.
“What's happened?”
He drapes his jacket over a chair and sits down.
I know this pause. I've watched him prepare to give people bad news, taking such care over it that they end up feeling lucky to have heard it from him.
Usually I'm pleased he can do that.
“I'm leaving,” he says.
The company? Before I can ask, he goes on.
“I'm with Nina.”
I put the pages down. One juts out and catches my wrist. I leave it.
Nina Venn. Our junior producer.
I see her in my head immediately, dark curls pulled back, smiling that quick smile whenever Adrian joins the conversation. I've watched her do it. I've smiled back.
God. My face is burning.
“Are you sleeping with her?”
“Yes.”
Just yes. I feel humiliated, and he can't even manage to look ashamed.
He does look unhappy. I wish I didn't know him well enough to tell the difference.
I pull out the opposite chair and sit. My knees aren't doing a particularly good job of keeping me upright, and I'd rather he didn't get to watch that too.
“How long?”
“I don't think going through dates will help either of us.”
“Did you think I was asking for help?”
“Frances.”
So patient. He's sleeping with our junior producer, and somehow I'm the person who needs handling.
He reaches for my hand across the table. I move it before he can touch me. He takes his hand back slowly.
He'll be able to remember that he tried.
I look at the door. There's nobody on the other side. I can raise my voice if I want to. I don't have to face the crew afterward and arrange my face into something pleasant.
For some reason, that's what nearly makes me cry.
“This has been happening while we've been working together.”
“Yes.”
“While I've been working with her.”
“I should have told you sooner.”
Sooner. We both agree there was a period before I knew, then.
I try to draw a proper breath, but it catches a little. He looks so tidy. I want his shirt to be creased. I want to look at him and see that preparing to do this to me has cost him something, even if it's only a miserable morning.
He folds his hands on the table.
“There is a sensible way to handle this.”
A laugh comes out of me. Just one, and it sounds terrible.
“Is there?”
“Longford is still interested in the company.”
I stare at him. Longford Media Group?
For a second I almost follow him there. Company business. Something we can discuss without my having to picture Nina. Maybe we can work out what to do about Peter and I can stop feeling this awful.
“You're talking about selling?”
“I'm talking about an arrangement that would let you move on with something substantial. Your interest has value.”
“My interest?”
“Your share of the company.”
I understand the words. I'm having trouble with the part where he can tell me about Nina and then start discussing the value of my shares.
Rook Ellery Films. His name and mine, on work I'm proud of. We've made good films. I've defended his decisions in rooms he wasn't even in, because I believed in what we were doing.
I still think the work is good.
That hurts too.
“Where would I go?” I ask.
“You'd be free to decide.”
He sounds warm, almost generous.
“And the films I'm already making?”
“We'd work out a transition.”
“With Nina.”
“She's ready for more responsibility.”
I press my palms into my legs beneath the table. My skirt feels rough against them. I didn't notice that when I got dressed.
Adrian has the larger share of the company. I've never confused that with him owning my work, or me.
“You want her to take over my film.”
“I want us to look at what's workable.”
“I'm directing it.”
“Yes, and right now we don't have our subject.”
“You think Peter will turn up for Nina?”
“I think we have to consider the production without making every decision personal.”
I look down at my hands. They're steady now. I'm angry enough now that I could get up, walk out, and leave him to explain his sensible arrangements to an empty room.
I want to. He knows where he intends to sleep tonight, and I haven't even let myself think about going home.
But this is my work. Why am I the one thinking about leaving?
I put my hands back on the table.
“Have you told Longford I've agreed to leave?”
“We've talked about possibilities.”
“Have you?”
“Nothing is final. That's why I'm talking to you now.”
Now that he's with Nina. Now that he's discussed his possibilities.
I'm not asking him to choose me. Even thinking about asking makes me feel worse, and I can't bear the idea of sitting here while he answers.
He leans toward me.
“We can keep this decent. You don't have to lose everything we've built.”
I look at his jacket draped over the chair. He's settled in for this. He has somewhere to put his things.
“What would you like me to say, Adrian?”
“That you'll consider it.”
“The sale, or Nina doing my job?”
“They're connected.”
A moment ago I was being too personal about the production. When he wants me to leave, the company and his affair fit together beautifully.
He waits. He's good at that too.
I pull the interview pages toward me. I'll need these questions, even if I don't know when I'll get to ask them or whether Peter will answer.
I haven't finished directing this film.
“No,” I say.
“Take some time.”
“I'll speak to the people you're making these arrangements with.”
His hands separate on the table.
“Let me handle those conversations.”
“They'll hear from me.”