Marcus Devlin marched into the office with purpose, a look of determination on his handsome face. He was late and the rest of the production team were all sitting round the table waiting. They had worked with him before and knew exactly what to expect. His tardiness was the least of their problems. He threw down his clipboard with force, making Jamie, the young runner, jump. He then plonked himself down. There was no pre-amble, no cosy introduction with Marcus, just straight down to business.
‘Right, I’ve managed to secure the funding for this documentary.’ There was slight applause and a round of congratulations from the assembled team, which Marcus cut short. ‘Now we have to decide locations, schedules and the budget.’ Silence fell. He glared at the woman sitting on his right. ‘Viola, what you got for me?’ he asked directly, in his southern Irish lilt.
She answered with ease, refusing to be intimidated by him.
‘As the documentary is exploring quaint, English traditions and customs, I suggest we call it Green and Pleasant Land.’ This was greeted with nods and murmurs of agreement.
Marcus didn’t give away any opinion. On the face of it, this documentary didn’t appear his usual, gritty style. He did, however, have every intention of adding his own harsh, stark mix, blowing away any image of ‘a chocolate-box village’.
‘Go on,’ he ordered.
Viola shuffled in her chair and cleared her throat. ‘Regarding the location, for me, this would work best in the heart of some quintessential countryside, steeped in folklore in the olde worlde villages.’ Again, mumblings of encouragement echoed from all the team except the producer.
‘Where?’ interrupted Marcus.
‘I’ve done some research. The Cotswolds.’ This finally seemed to evoke a reaction from Marcus. For the first time since stomping through the door, his face relaxed a little.
‘And?’ he asked.
‘I’ve come up with two villages. Bellebrook and Treweham.’
Now he was interested. He stared straight into Viola’s face intently. ‘Continue.’
‘Both have good stories to tell, with colourful characters. They have history, aristocracy and well-known faces. Both villages have hit the headlines for various reasons, from arson to flash, celebrity weddings. Heard of Christian Burgoyne?’
‘He’s a barrister, isn’t he?’ Marcus raised his eyebrow.
‘That’s him: a top-class barrister who defended a young, single mother accused of harming her child.’
‘I remember that!’ butted in Jamie. ‘The baby had brittle-bone disease.’
Viola nodded and continued, ‘What about Tobias Cavendish-Blake?’
Marcus’ eyes narrowed and there was an awkward pause. ‘That’s the wild child, Lord Cavendish-Blake, recently married,’ he replied flatly.
‘His brother is Sebastian Cavendish-Blake, rising star at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre,’ gushed Jamie, his eyes shining with admiration.
‘Also,’ Viola carried on, ‘there are two country inns oozing with rustic charm. The Bluebell at Bellebrook and—’
‘The Templar,’ finished Marcus.
Viola’s brow furrowed: how did he know that? Typical, always one step ahead.
For Marcus it was a no-brainer. After staying at The Templar a week ago and acquainting himself with the landlord’s daughter, a redhead with porcelain skin, who could have been hand-picked from his home town of Roscommon, his mind was made up.
‘Treweham. We’ll go for Treweham,’ he said decisively.
‘Ri-ght…’ Viola answered, a little perplexed. Normally she would have had to pitch things much harder to Marcus for him to decide and she had been prepared to do so. He’d quite taken the wind from her sails. She knew damn well that being his assistant producer would be taxing. She was originally a researcher, but had wanted to gain further experience and relished the opportunity when Marcus had offered her the position of his assistant on his last documentary. He had done so again, expecting her to act as assistant producer and researcher, thus saving money on a very tight budget.
‘Now, let’s talk schedules. We’ll want to interview the villagers. We need to home in on any eccentrics, recluses, country bumpkins, people that will entertain, or provoke. Viola, you mentioned folklore. I like that, but take it further, exploit it, think… think…’ he narrowed his eyes again, ‘The Wicker Man.’
There was a stunned silence. Libby, the editor, a quiet, middle-aged lady, who had worked several times with Marcus, coughed slightly. ‘Is that really the angle we’re going for, Marcus?’
He looked surprised by her question. ‘Yes. Why?’
‘I thought it was more quaint English country tradition we were interested in?’ added Len, the cameraman.
‘We are,’ replied Marcus, ‘but that alone isn’t going to make this a good documentary. We’ll need that twist to give it dimension.’
After consideration, the team began to see his point. Marcus Devlin wasn’t an award-winning documentary producer for no reason. He was going to examine a small, country village and, besides depicting its charm, was going to expose all its idiosyncrasies, even if that meant uncovering its darker side too. He’d seen too many programmes focusing on the idealism of country life. It was boring, repetitive and in his opinion, unrealistic. As if anybody lived the good life to the extent that had often been portrayed! And so smugly, too. It prickled him the way the green-welly brigade lorded over their organic way of life and looked down their snooty noses at those who could only afford everyday supermarket specials. To him, the country set had double standards, wanting a greener, healthier environment, yet they all drove unnecessarily gas-guzzling four-by-fours to take their children to school. He wanted to kick their sorry, tweed-clad arses into the real world, where some poor families were living off food banks. Poverty was on the up. Homelessness was rising. Meanwhile the rich were flourishing in their country estates. Statistics proved this and Marcus wanted his documentary to be the catalyst that highlighted the glaring inequalities.
‘I’ll arrange an interview with Tobias Cavendish-Blake,’ Viola said.
‘You’ll be lucky; he hates the media,’ chipped in Jamie.
‘Leave it with me,’ Viola smiled sweetly.
‘I’ll shoot Treweham Hall, if he agrees,’ added Len.
‘Don’t see why not. He just opened it up to the public,’ replied Marcus.
Again, Viola noticed how he seemed already to know a bit about Treweham village.
‘What about interviewing his brother?’ Jamie asked, his face alight with excitement. ‘He’s currently staring as Richard III at Stratford.’
Viola’s lips twitched: it was obvious Jamie’s latest crush was Sebastian Cavendish-Blake. Why not give him a break and include him? ‘Good idea, Jamie.’ She gave a supportive smile.
‘Hmm,’ replied Marcus, quite liking the Richard III spin they could utilise. ‘Why not? If it doesn’t work, it’ll just end up on Libby’s cutting-room floor.’
‘I’m sure it won’t,’ soothed Libby, who could see Jamie’s face beginning to fall.
‘What about the locals? The landlord of the…’ Viola looked back at her notes.
‘The Templar,’ interrupted Marcus. ‘Leave that with me.’
Viola frowned. She was desperate to ask why he was going to take this on himself, but knew better than to do so.
‘When do we start filming?’ Len asked.
‘A week’s time,’ Marcus answered, as always enjoying making people drop everything for him at short notice.
‘A week?’ they all cried.
Marcus rolled his eyes. What was it with these people? Did they want to make a documentary or not?