Death Actually Page 17

  And still that damned woman kept giving interviews. If he saw one more coy, misleading headline on the cover of another woman’s magazine, he would scream. It had been one night, and she was acting as if he was leaving his wife and running away to New Zealand to live with her and make her an honest woman. What was wrong with her? Couldn’t she tell he’d been acting? He had to admit, he was a good actor, and she would had to have been very astute indeed to realise she was only a one-night stand. Maybe it was time to cut down on the whisky.

  Tim made a mental note to get Matt to call her again and explain the facts of life, and if that and a big bunch of flowers didn’t work, he might just have to pay her to shut the fuck up.

  The only good thing about the week had been Jenny’s professional attitude, at home in LA. His wife understood how the system worked and knew her role in keeping his image on the front pages. She’d driven out of the gates of their home, slowing down in the middle of the pack of voracious paps, top down on the car so they could get a good shot of her, head covered, large dark glasses partially obscuring her face, looking sad but furious, before speeding off in a cloud of cheated wife. She’d looked magnificent, and the papers had lapped it up.

  And it wasn’t just the magazines who were interested. One of the NY broadsheets had run an opinion piece saying he was only interested in other women because Jenny took her mothering too seriously, and wouldn’t leave her baby to travel on location with her sexually charged husband. The article had linked his latest escapade to dominant male chimpanzees, with quotes from primatologists and psychologists excusing his behaviour as evolutionary rather than just plain irresponsible. Jenny was cast in the role of alpha mother, tending her child until she could return to his side and again fend off the predations of the women who saw no barrier in the wedding band on Tim’s finger. She played her part beautifully, and he’d told her so when he’d Skyped the night before.

  One of the characteristics he admired most in his wife, even if it cost him an arm and leg, was her intuitive understanding of what she could do to hurt him most. This woman really “got” him, which only made her more attractive. After ditching the paps at the front gate, she’d driven straight to Tiffany’s for some serious compensation shopping. Waving the heavy gold and diamond bracelet at him on screen last night, he had to smile and admire her taste, albeit through gritted teeth.

  Even smarter, she’d worn the bracelet in public. She’d been photographed through the window of the most expensive restaurant in town, looking meaningfully at it as she showed it to her friends, knowing Tiffany’s wouldn’t take it back now. He would have to chalk that one up to New Zealand, but then it occurred to him – it could also serve as his baby gift to her. No cloud without a silver lining after all.

  “Tim, good to see you back. You look good, considering,” said Mike, walking towards him across the stones, hand outstretched. Jimmy was by his side and looked tired, the strain of the accident and the last few days of budget-shattering delay etched on his face.

  “You too, Mike,” said Tim, shaking his hand and surprising himself with how genuinely he meant it. “This time I promise I’ll listen a little harder. Don’t want any more delays, do we, Jimmy?”

  The two men exchanged relieved glances. “We’ve finished the chopper scenes we could with a stand in, so I’m hoping we can wrap up today and tomorrow, Tim,” said Jimmy. “Today Mike’s going to take you over the route you’ll need to follow. Then we’ll do a quick run through, get the drones and the chase choppers into place and we should be good to go first thing in the morning. Any questions? No? Righto. Mike, I’ll leave Tim in your capable hands. Pete the sound guy is going to get your mic sorted and then you can head off.”

  For the next twenty minutes, Mike explained everything to Tim – everything – and was gratified that the guy had dropped the know-it-all act and was finally listening. This time Tim was asking smart questions rather than making smart-arse comments. Mike showed him where the choppers would be coming from, and explained how he would be flying one of them and reporting straight into Tim’s ear about the river conditions up ahead. He’d been here since dawn, mapping the exact channels Tim would take down the river, and had set up a system of marker sticks, stone cairns and tracks amongst the gravel, invisible from the air, to act as a back-up guide should anything go wrong.

  “First, though, I’m going to take you up and show you the route from the air, and later you’re going to drive it a couple of times so you can get used to the boat again.”

  “This is a Robbi or an R22,” explained Mike over his headphones once they were in the air. “They were used to get wild deer out of the hills when the price of venison went through the roof. Very manoeuvrable, but also light and fast in tight spaces. Been in one before?”

  “Not with both doors off,” yelled Tim, trying not to look concerned.

  Mike was a skilled pilot, judging by the way he was tossing the machine sideways towards the hills before swooping down to follow the ribbons of grey river below. Tim hung on tightly as the R22 broached a ridge, riding the updraft for a few seconds as the land disappeared from under them, lurching down towards the tussock-pocked snow falling away precipitously underneath. A few seconds later, a lichen-infested rocky ridge came from nowhere to meet them, too close, too visible, but was soon left behind.

  Reaching the start point, Mike slowed and put the machine down on a flat expanse of gravel bordered on both sides by dark bush-clad hills. Around them towered snow-covered peaks, and ribbons of white water tumbled down sheer cliffs, fed by lakes high above. The regular whump whump of the roto blade echoed back at them. Sitting in the cockpit, Mike pointed out the small pile of stones he had made that indicated where the boat would be tethered, and showed Tim his marks. Tim studied each one, committing it to memory. When he gave the thumbs up, the chopper rose again and they headed back to location headquarters nearer the Lake.

  When they were back on solid ground, Jimmy met them at the coffee truck. Hot food was waiting on a table in the shelter of another truck. They collected their meals and found a seat in the warmth of the sun, ready to go through everything again.

  “The R22 carrying the bad guys will rise straight up from behind the ridge Mike showed you, and then hover for a moment. You’ll hear a couple of shots fired from one of the guy’s rifles – you react, run as fast as you can to the boat. We’re laying the charges today, ready for tomorrow so they’ll be going off around you. Follow the path between the stone marks and you’ll be fine.

  “The chopper will drop the load of deer carcasses hanging underneath it. They’ll be as bloody as hell and should land behind you – you get to the boat and fire it up. The chopper will rear back after losing the carcass weight, and then it’s all on. Their focus is you, and that’s your cue. I’ve got three drone cameras on each side of you, just above your eye-line, plus one above you, so all you need to do is drive the boat the way Mike shows you today, looking back when you can.

  “Follow Mike’s route exactly, and listen to him. He’s good, and he knows this river. After we’ve done the big shots, I’ll need to shoot the close-ups and then you’re done, mate. The weather’s supposed to be great but it’s going to be an early start – we’ll need every bit of daylight.”

  Tim had finished his meal and sat with his head down, fiddling with the brim of his cap.

  “I’m sorry if this is like teaching a man of your experience to suck the proverbial,” said Jimmy. “What you’re doing tomorrow is going to look amazing, but only because it’s bloody dangerous, so we all need to be on the same page. Questions, comments, suggestions?”

  Tim appreciated the amount of extra planning that had gone on while he’d been away. Casual as these Kiwis came across, they were professionals. They actually had it nailed. “Nahh, good to go, Jimmy. Respect, mate. Isn’t that what you Kiwis say when they see a job well done?”

  Jimmy smiled.

  “OK. Mike’s going to take you down the river a couple more times
. We don’t want another accident, so take things slowly until you feel confident. And Tim, guys take weeks to get the hang of driving this river, so take as much time as you need.”

  “I’m good. Always done my own stunts so I can’t stop now.”

  Jimmy’s phone rang and he walked away to take the call.

  “You need to remember two things,” said Mike when they were in the boat again.

  Tim bridled inwardly – he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t used to being told what to do and had almost had his fill. But remembering he’d promised to listen, he breathed deeply and resigned himself to the impending lecture.

  Tim and Mike spent the rest of the day rehearsing the route Tim would take tomorrow, slowly at first, gradually increasing speed as Tim’s confidence driving the jet returned. There were worse ways to spend a day, Tim reflected, than speeding down a glacier-fed river in the sun.

  The boat was fast and responsive once Tim properly got the hang of it. It was thrilling to bank steeply round corners in impossibly shallow channels, then to put the throttle down and skim along the surface. He’d been a speed freak his whole life, and his unadulterated joy in the jet was infectious. As Tim relaxed, his relationship with Mike gradually morphed into something positive. By late afternoon the banter was genuine and they made plans to have a drink together after filming wrapped.

  Jimmy made a couple of drone practice runs beside them. Looking at the playbacks at the end of the day, Tim had to admit it was going to be one hell of an action sequence. He could relax and enjoy making another fantastic movie.

  Mike volunteered to chopper Tim back to the Lodge at the end of the day. Skimming the machine low and fast – and definitely illegally – just above the surface of the Lake, Mike halted under the brow of the promontory on which the Lodge sat before rising from nowhere directly in front of the windows of the main building, surprising the other guests – a manoeuvre that appealed immensely to both men’s immature senses of humour.

  In the cockpit, the pair high-fived the success of their mission before Tim jumped out, ducking under the blades, to run inside, adrenalin discharged and happy for the first time in the weeks.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Elka returned to Maggie’s in the early afternoon, unable to find fault with the way Kate was managing her restaurant. Just knowing the place was in capable hands meant she could relax. Kate was doing a marvellous job. Bookings were up, the staff liked her, the suppliers were on time and the catering for the film crew was going smoothly.

  Damn it, she thought. It would have been nice to find a few mistakes.Maybe I’m notneeded after all.I’veworked ten years withonly the occasionalday off, and because of what?Pride? A delusion that I’m indispensable and that thecustomers won’tcome ifI’m not thereto cook for them?

  That’s all it was. A delusion.

  Do I need them more than they need me? Maybe that ’ s it , and I ’ ve been too caught up, too busy to see it.

  Or maybe it ’ s just that Kate ’ s very good at her job, just like me. Maybe it ’ s that we cook with the same love, the same respect , and that ’ s what makes Elka ’ s the best restaurant in New Zealand, three years running.

  Last year’s Auckland usurper didn’t count, she reasoned. The judges had felt guilty, giving her the award four years in a row. We need to give the others a chance, one of them had whispered afterwards.

  She remembered nodding sympathetically, knowing she’d win it again this year. But first I have to get better. Thankgoodness I can relax, knowing Kate is doing as well as can be expected in the circumstances. Yes, she’s good,but now I think about itthe chocolate mousse looked a little flabby,and I would have sent the butterfish back. It wasn’t as fresh as I would have liked, but I suppose it will do.

  Elka had been surprised at how tired she was after the surgery. It had taken more out of her than she’d expected, and she’d spent the days at Maggie’s doing nothing but sleep. Today was the first day she’d felt able to get dressed and make the short trip to the restaurant, and it had knocked her more than she’d thought possible.

  She made herself a cup of green tea and, taking advantage of the quiet house, walked upstairs one step at a time and lay down on her bed. The magazine she started reading slid to the floor and she started snoring quietly.

  Her phone rang. It was Sally Robertson, the surgeon from Dunedin.

  “Hello, Doctor … Yes, I can talk. I’m sorry I didn’t wait to see you before I left. I wanted to thank you again and tell you how safe I felt with you. The next time you’re in Queenstown, please come to the restaurant, as my guest.”

  “You have the results? … Fantastic … I understand. I feel so well … Are you sure? There’s no mistake? … Thank you, that’s the news I was waiting for … Yes, I will see Dr Goodman in a couple of days. And when do you say I will need to come back to see you again? Just to make sure I understand. Ten days?

  “Sorry, someone else is calling me and I have to go. I can’t make an appointment now, but I promise I’ll call back … I know that, and as I said, I’m feeling fine. I’ve already been back to work. You did a great job. Goodbye.”

  Elka curled up on the bed, pulled the quilt up over her head, shut her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Nick, please, please, please. There’s no one else. I know you have your deliveries, but someone else can do them, can’t they? Bill’s sick and there’s no one else I can trust to know what to do.”

  Nick leaned against the door as Kate packed tomorrow’s supplies for the film crew into large, air-tight plastic containers, ready to be loaded into the truck early the next morning.

  “The containers are numbered and the numbers are recorded against content on the inventory, so you’ll know exactly what you have and where to find it.”

  “I haven’t said I’ll do it yet,” said Nick, knowing he had little choice.

  It had been like this since they were children. Kate told him what to do, and he, no matter how reluctantly and at times inadvisably (according to their mother), eventually did as he was told.

  He could hear the exhaustion and desperation in her voice. The containers piling up in front of him were testimony to a huge amount of organisation and planning. He relented, but only because he knew there would be ninety crew starving the next day if he didn’t. Nothing resembled a crazed mob more than a film crew without access to good coffee and food between takes. And the food better be good, because this was one of the few perks of the job left, now production budgets were so tight and producers were looking to screw every last cent of value from every dollar spent. One complaint about the food or service, and Kate and Nick knew that would signal a quick and dirty end to any future catering work. He didn’t want to be the one Elka came looking for, should that happen.

  “Got it,” he said, when Kate had finished explaining the system to him. “Looks good. You’ve done well – even better than Elka could have done. I’m impressed.”

  “Thanks, baby brother, but what would you know? You’ve never been interested in food, other than the quantity.”

  “I’ll have you know,” he said drawing himself up to tower over her, “while you were away poncing about in London with Eric, I was here working with Elka every holidays and some weekends. And this is, in fact, my fourth film job.”

  Kate smiled smugly. “I knew that. Brian told me. Why else do you think I asked you to help? Little brother, you have brains, but more importantly you have initiative, a rare quality in this world!”

  “You’re less than two years older than me. I don’t think you get to be the grown-up patting me on the head just yet, Kate. But I will take a hug.” And before Kate could duck to the side, Nick wrapped his older but shorter sister in his arms.

  Kate struggled pointlessly until Nick released her.

  “Interesting,” he said, his head cocked to one side.

  Kate turned away and made a show of counting out the containers and marking them off on the inv
entory. That might have worked if she hadn’t already done it.

  “Kate, you’re blushing. I’ve only ever seen you blush once in your life and that was after that date when Mum caught you sneaking in at four in the morning.” Nick looked into his sister’s face. “Anything you want to tell me? I promise I won’t tell.”

  “Nothing you need to know,” she said firmly. “And if you ever do need to know anything, I will tell you.”

  “Nothing to do with that guy with the Brit accent who keeps ringing when you’re at work, is it?”

  Kate looked surprised. “What guy?”

  “The one who phoned yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. I left messages and his number under the coffee for you. He wants you to call him. Sounded desperate the last time I spoke to him.”

  Nick examined Kate. For someone so used to being in control, she looked decidedly off balance and very unhappy.

  “You did get those messages I left for you, didn’t you? I figured as the acknowledged coffee addict in the family you couldn’t miss any messages if I left them there.”

  Kate shook her head.

  “Is that bastard hassling you?”

  “No, he’s a friend, if it’s who I think it is. Look, next time he calls, tell him I’ve gone away – gone travelling – would you? He wants me to go back and work in the UK. He’s nice, but that life is over. I want to be here now, with you, Mum and Elka. I don’t want to be dragged back to that life, it’s too surreal. Do your best and fob him off, and whatever you do, don’t tell Mum!”