Maddy found it was the same all the way through the trip. Whenever she had just done something important for the first time she had to go back and do it again for the film camera to take, which made everything seem rather an anticlimax.
After they had taken shots of Maddy and Sunny descending the gangway, they had to go into the airport building and go through the passport checking and the Customs again.
‘Rien à déclarer?’ shouted a fierce little man with an equally fierce moustache, right in Maddy’s face.
‘Eh, what?’ she spluttered.
‘Rien!’ Morgan Evans replied for her with great energy.
‘Oh, I see,’ said Maddy. ‘Anything to declare.’
It was all so bewildering, because everybody talked so fast and waved their arms about so much. Instead of the orderly queue that there had been for the Customs when they left England, everyone was pushing and jostling, and doing their best to get attention before everyone else.
‘Now, when we get into Paris.’ Morgan Evans told them, ‘Maddy and Sunny and I will go by taxi to the Lefèvres’. Everyone else will go to the hotel, dump their baggage, get some lunch, and then come over to the Lefèvres’. Guy’s got the address. Now don’t for heaven’s sake get lost, or we shall waste the whole afternoon.’
Going into Paris from Orly in the airport bus Maddy was terribly excited to see all the advertisements printed in French.
‘What does that mean? What does that mean?’ she kept clamouring, and her triumph knew no bounds when she recognised a word or a phrase.
When they got off the bus at the air terminal they stood in an untidy group trying to hail a taxi. The traffic swooped round them.
‘All on the wrong side of the road,’ said Maddy.
Morgan Evans found a taxi at last and bundled Maddy and Sunny into it. He gave the Lefèvres’ address to the driver, who protested that he had never heard of it until he saw it written down, and then drove off at a fantastic speed. Maddy and Sunny clung together squealing, as the taxi raced round corners on two wheels and the driver leaned out of the window to shout at other drivers.
It seemed a very long ride to the suburb where the Lefèvres lived and Sunny kept worrying about the way the meter was ticking up.
‘Don’t worry,’ Morgan Evans told her. ‘The firm’s paying.’
At last the streets of shops and cafés gave place to rows of houses with gardens in front, and eventually the cab stopped in front of a neat-looking house behind a high hedge.
At the windows it had shutters painted a cheerful pink.
‘What a lovely little house,’ cried Maddy. ‘Is this where we’re going to stay?’
‘Yes,’ Morgan Evans told her. ‘Hop out. We’re late already.’
The front door opened and out came a man and woman with a girl and a boy in their teens. They advanced with welcoming smiles, and all shook hands with Morgan Evans, who talked to them in French, and then introduced Maddy and Sunny. Instantly the family switched from speaking French to speaking English, and the girl and boy shook hands and greeted them.
The mother, who was very small and neat, with dark hair and shining eyes, urged them to come inside, as lunch was ready.
Morgan Evans passed over a number of grubby notes to the driver, and asked him to return at three o’clock to take them into Paris again.
Inside the house, which was light and airy and neat as a new pin, Madame Lefèvre showed Maddy and Sunny to their rooms, which were obviously the best, and had modern handbasins.
Maddy washed, changed into her new print dress and went downstairs, where the most delicious meal was awaiting them in the dining-room. First came soup in an enormous tureen. This was so delicious that Maddy had two helpings, then regretted it when she realised how much more there was to follow. Next were tiny fish cooked in batter as a course by themselves, then succulent steak with very thin chips, and, as another separate course, green beans with butter on top. By this time Maddy had surreptitiously loosened her belt and hoped that no one had noticed.
She could not do justice to the selection of cheeses and fruit that followed, but just nibbled at them and, almost for the first time, took stock of the Lefèvre girl and boy.
Jacqueline was very like her mother, only rather thin, and Pierre looked grown-up for fifteen. The father was large and jovial and laughed a lot, and patted people on the shoulder and slapped them on the back.
Sunny was a great success. They loved her American accent and her fruity laugh.
Before they knew where they were there was a ringing at the door, and the rest of the unit had arrived, and it was time to start filming.
‘First of all,’ said Morgan Evans, ‘I want Maddy and Sunny getting out of the taxi, and being greeted by Pierre and Jacqueline.’
And so they had to enact the whole arrival again, with the camera whirring and it needed four ‘takes’ before it was correct.
Then they took some shots of the house and Maddy and Sunny being shown round, featuring the dovecot in the back garden where the Lefèvres kept pet doves.
About half past four, when the other taxi had arrived and had been waiting over an hour, they were able to set off for some sightseeing in the centre of Paris. The unit filled two taxis, and the Lefèvres followed in their ancient little Citroen.
By this time Maddy was quite sleepy after such an early start and enormous lunch. Morgan Evans, seeing her drowsing in the corner of the taxi said, ‘Wake up, Maddy. We’ve only just started work. We’ll have to get a move on before the light goes. Thank heavens the evenings are pretty long.’
The excitement of seeing the Arc de Triomphe at the end of the long avenue of the Champs-Élysées roused her a bit, and they all tumbled out of the taxis to get shots of Maddy and Sunny being shown it by Pierre and Jacqueline.
‘It’s just like our Marble Arch,’ said Maddy, surprised.
‘Yes,’ agreed Morgan Evans, ‘but shown off to better advantage.’
Quite a crowd gathered to watch the filming, and Guy and the secretary, and even Miss Tibbs, were kept busy trying to keep passers-by from walking in front of the cameras. Miss Tibbs gabbled away at them in very good French, waving the shooting stick that she had brought with her.
Maddy soon wished that she too had brought a shooting stick, for her legs ached with standing about between shots. Morgan Evans was frantically trying to hurry everyone up, but the cameraman and his assistant could not be hurried. Every shot had to be just right, and they checked and rechecked the amount of light and the distance of the people from the camera.
At last they moved on to the gardens of the Bois de Boulogne, where they all had glasses of lemonade, and took shots of Maddy, Sunny and the Lefèvre children drinking. Then they drove to the Louvre, and took shots of them walking up the steps.
‘Can’t we go in and look round?’ asked Maddy. ‘I want to see that Venus with no arms. She is here, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Jacqueline proudly, almost as though she had put her there herself.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ said Morgan Evans firmly. ‘There just isn’t time. We’ve got so much to get through, and only the rest of today and tomorrow to do it in. Now we must get down to the Quais…’
Maddy was enthralled by the Seine. She could have stood by the parapet and looked down at the water, with the barges and the motorboats going by, for the rest of the evening, but they could only take a few shots before it was time to hurry off to the cathedral of Notre-Dame. Here Maddy remembered that she had not sent a postcard to her mother, so she bought one for her and one for Zillah, and wrote them while they were lining up the shots.
‘I’m here. It’s wonderful. I’m seeing absolutely everything, and eating loads. Love to all, Maddy.’
While they were packing up the equipment, Maddy and Sunny managed to slip inside the cathedral, and tiptoed round in awe, trying not to disturb an evening service that was in progress.
It was so soothing and so dim after the bright sunlight outside that it seemed like a different world.
When they came out Morgan Evans was champing at the bit to be off.
‘Quick,’ he urged them. The light’s going—the light’s going.’
‘Where are we off to now?’ asked Maddy. ‘The Eiffel Tower? We haven’t been there yet.’
‘No—we’re doing the Eiffel Tower tomorrow,’ he told them. ‘But we must get shots of the Sacré-Coeur before we finish.’
‘What’s the Sacré-Coeur?’ demanded Maddy, as they tumbled into the taxis.
‘It is a—basilique,’ said Jacqueline. ‘I do not know how else to call it.’
‘It’s a church with a dome on top—we call it a basilica—right on top of Montmartre,’ explained Morgan Evans.
They had to leave the cars at the bottom of one of the steep hills up to Montmartre, and climb up steep flights of steps, with a handrail to cling to, in order to reach the church of the Sacred Heart. The sun was beginning to set, throwing pink rays on to the gleaming white dome.
They toiled up the steps, stopping every few minutes to admire the building in front of them. The Lefèvre family seemed as proud of it as they had been of all the other famous places in their city. Exhausted, the visitors leaned on the railings at the top of the steps and looked out over Paris, while the cameramen unpacked the equipment once more.
‘Oh, I’ve sure got “Paris Foot”,’ moaned Sunny, slipping off one high-heeled shoe after the other. ‘Mr Evans, do you mind a barefooted Southern gal in these shots?’
‘This is the last lap, everyone,’ Morgan Evans urged them on. ‘The sun will only last a few more minutes. Ready, Bill?’
The cameramen had stopped on the terrace below the uppermost one, and were setting up the camera ready to take a shot of Maddy and Sunny walking up the last flight of steps.
‘Oh, gee, I can’t,’ moaned Sunny, but she did.
Happily they got this shot in one take, and then were able to have a short rest while they took shots of the church from several angles.
‘Quickly, quickly,’ urged Morgan Evans. The sun’s nearly gone. Can you manage one more, Bill?’
‘Well, it’s pretty bad,’ said the cameraman gloomily, ‘but we’ll have a go.’
‘The four of them going in through the door—I know of some stock shots of the interior that we can hire from a film library in London.’
They managed to get a last shot before the sun went.
‘Right,’ cried Morgan Evans with satisfaction. ‘We can break now. Thank you, everyone. Do what you like for the rest of the evening, but don’t be too late—however tempting it is. I want to start at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.’
Nobody had the energy to do anything but flop on to a seat on the steep grassy slopes, and ease their shoes off.
‘I should like to put my feet into a bath of ice-cream,’ said Maddy dreamily.
‘You would like to bath yourself?’ inquired Madame Lefèvre anxiously. ‘You wish to return to the home—and rest?’
‘Oh, no, no,’ cried Maddy, ‘not really. I was just joking. I don’t want to miss a moment of this glorious evening. Paris must be the most beautiful place in the world.’
After they had sat there for a time they all felt thirsty, and so they descended the steep steps to a little café at the foot, and sat outside on the pavement under stripey awnings and drank their own particular favourite liquids. The Englishmen of the party drank beer, the entire Lefèvre family drank wine; Maddy remembered what her mother had said, and she and Sunny had lemonade made of real lemons squeezed at the table. The secretary and Miss Tibbs had crème-de-menthe, which made them even thirstier, and they washed it down with vast quantities of water. The camera crew, the secretary, Guy and Miss Tibbs then went back to the hotel to change and have dinner, but Morgan Evans remained with Maddy and Sunny and the Lefèvres.
‘I should be most pleased if you would dine with us, Monsieur Evans,’ said Monsieur Lefèvre.
‘On the contrary,’ said Morgan Evans, ‘you and your family must dine with us.’
‘How can they?’ asked Maddy. ‘We don’t live here.’
‘At a restaurant, of course,’ said Morgan Evans. ‘Perhaps you could recommend somewhere, Monsieur.’
‘Yes, indeed. There is a most amusing one behind the basilique,’ said Monsieur Lefèvre. ‘The little ones would enjoy themselves well. But it is not cheap.’
‘It’s all on the firm,’ said Morgan Evans. ‘We are so grateful to you for co-operating with us like this.’
‘I wish,’ said Jacqueline wistfully, ‘that it was possible I might see these films, when they are finished.’
‘Yes, it’s a pity that you cannot see our television. But we will send you some stills—some photographs from them,’ promised Morgan Evans.
‘You are rested?’ asked Monsieur Lefèvre. ‘Then it is necessary to mount the steps again. I am so sorry.’
By this time it was cooler and becoming dusk, and the climb did not seem so much of a hardship.
Behind the Sacré-Coeur was a mass of little streets, full of restaurants and bars and cafés, bookshops, picture shops, handicraft shops—all still open, with lights and music blaring out. Crowds of tourists and Parisians thronged the narrow streets, and cars crawled at snail pace over the cobbles. Maddy walked as though in a dream. This was what she had always imagined Paris to be like.
The restaurant to which Monsieur Lefèvre led them was decorated to look like a gypsies’ hideout, and there were female gypsies serving the food, and male gypsies playing violins. They came close up to the table and played ‘right bang in your ear’, as Maddy put it.
Maddy and Sunny had used so much energy since lunch time that now they were ravenous again, and ate enormously despite the violins. On the rough wood tables candles stuck in bottles threw mysterious shadows over everybody’s face.
‘Don’t we all look much nicer by candlelight?’ Maddy observed.
Towards the end of the meal she began to look back over the day and came to the conclusion that it had been the longest she had ever lived through. The plane flight of the morning seemed weeks ago.
Madame Lefèvre noticed Maddy nodding, and tried to hurry the other grown-ups over the liqueurs they were drinking with their coffee.
There was still one more journey down the steep steps to the road where the Lefèvres’ car was parked. By this time the Sacré-Coeur was floodlit, and looking more than ever like something out of the Arabian Nights. When they reached the car Morgan Evans said goodnight, and after reminding them of the rendezvous at the Eiffel Tower next morning he caught a taxi back to the hotel.
It was such a squash in the car that Maddy got terrible giggles, and then Jacqueline and Pierre taught her and Sunny some French songs with loud choruses that they sang at the tops of their voices.
‘It’s a pity,’ said Maddy thoughtfully, just before they reached the Lefèvres’ house, ‘that the World of Youth viewers can’t see the real things that happen—I mean the Eiffel Tower doesn’t really make anyone feel any friendlier towards anyone else, does it? But if they could see us in this car, it would.’
This was too complicated for the Lefèvres to understand, but Sunny knew what she meant.
When they reached the house Madame Lefèvre insisted that they have baths, as there would not be time in the morning.
‘And I know how you English love your baths.’
‘Do we?’ said Maddy, surprised. ‘We don’t at Mrs Bosham’s.’
The bathroom, all in primrose and green, with a shower over the bath, was very different from that at ‘The Boshery’.
Maddy experimented with the shower and got her hair soaking wet. She was too tired to bother about drying it before she went to bed, and Madame Lefèvre was quite perturbed to see how wet it was when she came to see if Maddy was all right.
‘You will catch a rheum,’ she cried, and insisted on rubbing her hair with a towel. ‘So blonde,’ she observed, as she did so, ‘a real Angel-Saxon.’
‘She’s no angel,’ laughed Sunny, who had also come in to say goodnight.
Maddy was asleep almost before they were out of the room.
The very next minute, or so it seemed, Jacqueline was standing by the bed in broad daylight, holding out a cup of what looked like hot water, with a little bag floating in it.
‘What on earth…?’ inquired Maddy sleepily.
‘It is the English tea. I made it for you especially.’
‘How kind,’ said Maddy, astounded at the look of it. ‘Is this what you drink at breakfast?’
‘Oh, no. We drink café au lait. But you may have more tea if you like.’
‘No, no,’ cried Maddy hastily after tasting the liquid. ‘I’ll have coffee too, thank you. And I’m sure Sunny will—she’s American, you know.’
Maddy got dressed quickly and threw the tea down the washbasin. The most delicious smell of coffee was pervading the house.
In the dining-room the family were sitting in front of large handleless bowls of coffee, into which they were dipping croissant rolls. There was no butter, no plates or knives.
As soon as Maddy came in Pierre and Monsieur Lefèvre rose, and bowed and held out their hands. Maddy had to shake hands all round the table, and so did Sunny when she entered.
Maddy found such good manners rather a strain at half past six in the morning.
The coffee was delicious and so were the rolls. They were so crisp and rich that Maddy soon found they did not need butter or marmalade, and after a while she plucked up courage to dip hers into the coffee too, and found it very good indeed.
They had to hurry off, in order to reach the Eiffel Tower at the correct time, and then they got caught in the early-morning traffic jam, which seemed nearly as bad as in London.
They were a little late and the rest of the party were waiting for them, Bill and his assistant with the camera all ready to start, but the Lefèvres insisted on shaking hands all round.
‘Maddy,’ cried Morgan Evans in dismay. ‘You’re wearing a different dress from the one you wore yesterday.’
‘Yes,’ said Maddy innocently. ‘My new one’s looking a bit grubby, after yesterday, so I thought I’d put on my old one.’
‘But these shots are supposed to match up,’ moaned Morgan Evans. ‘They’re all supposed to be taken on one day.’
‘But we’d never have had time to get all those shots in one day,’ Maddy objected.
‘The viewers won’t know that. They’ll think they were just taken—just like that—while you were actually arriving at places. Now, come on, where’s your other dress?’
‘In my case, in the car.’
‘Then change into it.’
‘You mean here?’
There were not many people about yet, so Miss Tibbs, Jacqueline and Madame Lefèvre, and Sunny stood against the windows of the Citroën whilst Maddy changed inside. She emerged with her hair tousled and her buttons wrongly done up, but Morgan Evans heaved a sigh of relief.
‘Have we actually got to go up it?’ demanded Maddy, looking rather doubtfully at the tower which appeared to be swaying in the morning breeze.
‘No,’ said Morgan Evans, ‘not really. We’ll have a shot of you starting up the steps, then we’ve got some still photos of the view from the top.’
‘What a pity,’ said Maddy.
‘I sure am glad,’ declared Sunny. ‘My feet haven’t recovered from climbing them steps yesterday.’
After they had finished the Eiffel Tower shots they went into the smartest shopping streets, and took some shots of Jacqueline, Sunny and Maddy window gazing. Their gestures of delight at what they saw were quite sincere, and unrehearsed. Morgan Evans was adamant that there was no time for going inside shops, but they did manage to slip inside the Galeries Lafayette for a moment while Morgan Evans was busy getting a shot of Pierre, walking along fed up with shopping, reading a newspaper.
The morning seemed to rush by; there was no time for a coffee break, and it began to get hotter and hotter. The children bought ice-creams and licked at them between takes, but they melted in the hands of the kind people they were parked with when their owners were required in front of the camera.
By one o’clock they were hungry and thirsty and very tired.
‘I must have some shots of the Luxembourg Gardens,’ cried Morgan Evans, ‘and the plane goes at five—there’s no time for lunch.’
But it was impossible for them to go on without refreshment.
‘Why, we had breakfast just after six,’ wailed Maddy.
With the heat and the thought of no break for food tempers began to fray, and eventually Miss Tibbs and Madame Lefèvre were dispatched to buy a picnic lunch. They returned with miniature loaves of crusty bread, butter, cheese, fruit, beer in funny little tin cans for the men, and a bottle of wine for the women, and some very strange mineral water for Maddy. They made their way to the Luxembourg Gardens by car and taxi, and there they relaxed luxuriously in the shade under a tree. At least everyone did except Bill and Charles, and they kept interrupting their lunch to take shots of people eating. But Morgan Evans was tireless; as soon as the last crumb was finished he insisted that they must press on.
‘We can get some terrific shots with these pieces of statuary and the lovely long avenue to the Palace. It’s a pity it’s not in colour—the flowers are so wonderful.’
Before they had taken all the shots that presented themselves it was time to make for the air terminal, but there was luggage to be collected from the hotel where the unit stayed.
‘We’re cutting it very fine,’ said Morgan Evans. ‘If we miss the airway bus we’ll have to race to Orly by taxi.’
They had already spent a small fortune on taxis that day. The Lefèvres came to the airport to see them off, and while they were going through the passport and Customs sheds they went out on to the airfield to look at the plane.
This time Maddy knew what ‘Rien à déclarer?’ meant and announced, ‘Rien, pas de temps,’ which rather puzzled the Customs officer.
When they said goodbye to the Lefèvres Maddy made them promise to come to Fenchester and stay with her if they ever came to England.
‘Then we shall have more time to talk,’ she said. ‘This has all been such a rush.’
Morgan Evans thanked them formally for all the trouble they had taken, and told them that the firm would reimburse them.
‘No, no, no,’ objected Madame Lefèvre. ‘All we should wish is to see some photos of the little ones.’
‘Of course you shall,’ Morgan Evans assured her. ‘And now, goodbye.’
The Lefèvres stood waving, and as they boarded the plane Maddy felt quite sad at having to wave goodbye.
Bill and Charles were being very nippy, getting shots of the Lefèvres and of Maddy and Sunny, all waving.
‘Come on,’ called Morgan Evans at last, ‘or you’ll miss the plane.’
‘Wish we could,’ cried Bill, as they came up the gangway, which was immediately wheeled away almost from under their very feet.
‘Bon voyage,’ shouted the Lefèvres.
‘Au revoir,’ shouted Maddy.
And then the plane door was shut and it was very difficult to see out of the windows.
As soon as they had taken off, tea or coffee and cakes were served, and when these were disposed of the entire unit fell fast asleep, and did not wake until they landed.
Maddy was so tired she could scarcely keep awake to go through the Customs. Morgan Evans took her back to Fitzherbert Street in a taxi, quite alarmed that he had tired her out to such a degree.
‘You’re sure you’ll be all right for rehearsal tomorrow?’ he asked.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Maddy. ‘I’m going straight to bed.’
She could not even be bothered to tell Mrs Bosham all her adventures, but just fell into bed and slept the clock round. She was wakened by Mrs Bosham shaking her shoulder and saying, ‘Wake up, do; I’ve been calling you this last hour. You’ll be late for rehearsal if you don’t look out. Here’s your breakfast—I think it’s cruel to make you rehearse today. What are you going to rehearse anyway, if it was all filmed?’
Maddy couldn’t tell her, for she herself didn’t know. This week’s rehearsal turned out to be very strange indeed. That day, which was only Wednesday, although they seemed to have been away for weeks—they merely discussed the script with Miss Tibbs. The following day they went into a tiny projection theatre, just like a miniature cinema, and saw the rushes of the film that had just been taken. They seemed very jumbly and did not make much sense. By the following day they saw the cut version, which was all pieced together properly and did make sense, and Maddy practised reading the commentary that Miss Tibbs had been busy writing.
‘We’re not going to dub it on the film,’ said Morgan Evans. ‘It will sound more natural if you do it in the studio as you watch the film on the monitor.’
To time the words perfectly to the pictures was more difficult than Maddy had imagined it would be.
Saturday arrived in a flash. It had been arranged for Sunny to be interviewed after the Paris film. And for some reason this interview always reduced both of them to helpless giggles.
‘It’s no good,’ said Maddy. ‘I’ll never be able to ask her the usual questions without giggling. Can’t we just talk?’
‘Well,’ said Morgan Evans cautiously, ‘yes, but for goodness’ sake be careful what you say.’
‘You can’t suspend me this time,’ said Maddy wickedly, ‘because it’s the last one anyhow.’
‘I can pull your pigtails, though,’ said Morgan Evans, and did so sharply.
There was quite a feeling of disappointment in the studio that the series was finishing. Even one of the property men came up to Maddy and said, ‘Pity this is coming off. It’s a good little show. One of the best we’ve got. Still, there’s a rumour it’s coming back in the spring.’
Maddy’s heart lifted. If the prop men had heard that, then it must be true.
‘Don’t do any worse than you’ve done up till now, and we shall be seeing more of you, Miss Fayne,’ said Morgan Evans just before the transmission.
Maddy got through the commentary very well. It was lovely seeing all the shots of Paris, and occasionally she put in an aside and a giggle, when she remembered anything funny that had happened.
The musical interlude was a respite for her, and after that she had to interview a young Javanese girl who was on the staff of The World of Youth.
By then the worst was over, and the last few minutes were just a little chat with Sunny, in which they recalled some of the amusing things that had happened during the run of the series. At the end of it, to Maddy’s surprise, Sunny kissed her warmly on both cheeks saying, ‘Well, goodbye, honey, I wouldn’t have missed it for all the world. And so long, all you other young ’uns,’ she said to the camera.
Maddy was left to make the final announcement, and she felt quite choky as she did so. Then the transmission lights on the cameras faded, and Maddy had a strange feeling that she too was fading away.
But then she pulled herself together and remembered that all this had just been pretence—shadows on a screen—and on Monday she would be returning to home and real life, in Fenchester.
FADE SOUND AND VISION