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New releases are like buses...
Jul. 25th, 2019 01:12 pm... they all come along at once. Not only did Love in Every Season come out on Monday, but now An Act of Detection is let loose on the world from Williams & Whiting.
“Hello sailor!” Toby Bowe’s cheery tones came down the telephone line.
Alasdair Hamilton groaned. “I knew you were going to say that. Sir Ian’s been in touch with your agent, then?”
“Of course he has. Contract’s signed, sealed and delivered. I don’t know why they bother to keep up the pretence of talking to our agents individually rather than saving both time and effort and nabbing us both together.”
“You know exactly why they do that. More important to save scandal than save time.”
What would the British cinema-going public say if it knew its favourite leading men—the pride of Sir Ian Sheringham and his studio, Landseer—continued their love scenes in the privacy of their own homes? And without the participation of Fiona Marsden, who’d been their perennial leading lady.
Hamilton, Bowe and Marsden. The British public adored the special chemistry the trio displayed on screen, one that made every scene appear real rather than acted. Although given the true situation, then Toby and Alasdair’s acting skills surely surpassed those of even Olivier and Gielgud, so convincingly did they both display their adoration of Fiona on celluloid. Still, hadn’t many an actor or actress being doing exactly the same thing over the years? Alasdair and Toby weren’t unique in finding their own sex more attractive than the opposite one.
“Are you looking forward to lunch?” Toby asked.
Alasdair snorted. “The food, yes. Not necessarily the rest of it.”
“Landseer always does put out a good nosebag. I wonder if they’ll be supplying us with faux girlfriends to add to the illusion?”
“Not today, I’d guess.” And thank God for that. Part of the smokescreen that helped maintain the actors’ reputation was their being seen in public with beautiful young women. Rarely the same ones twice, though, because Landseer didn’t want the young ladies becoming suspicious about why their charms appeared to be having no effect.
“I suppose that when Fiona’s about they like her to shine like a diamond on a coal heap. No other lovelies to risk detracting attention.” Toby chuckled. “They could give us plain starlets to squire on these occasions. No, belay that. They’d not let us be seen with anyone too mousey.”
“I don’t suppose it would go with the image. The studio powers that be think the public would expect only the most attractive women to be draped on our arms.”
“Hm. I bet it’s more subtle than that. A beautiful woman, and a different one each time, implies a series of flirtations. Were she homely it might suggest we’d found true love. And what would your adoring fans say if they believed you were at risk of being taken out of the marriage market permanently?”
“Less of the adoring fans nonsense, you cheeky bugger.” Alasdair snorted. “And the same would apply to you. Just as well we held those negotiations directly with Sir Ian.”
At the point they’d become the hottest properties in British cinema, rather than holding out for everything in terms of film deals or size and luxuriousness of dressing room, they’d made it plain to the boss that while they’d wine and dine whichever young lady Landseer felt needed a leg up on the ladder to stardom, they would draw a line at even the suggestion of undergoing sham marriages. That both maintained their reputation as playboys and enhanced their standing as being easy to work with and highly professional.
“And what’s all this belay rubbish you were spouting earlier?” Alasdair added.
“Got to get in character for the new role, Admiral. Splice the main brace, twelve at the grating and whatnot.”
Stars of the silver screen Alasdair Hamilton and Toby Bowe wow the post WWII audiences with their performances. But when they depict Holmes and Watson life starts to imitate art. They get asked in by a friend to investigate a mysterious disappearance only to find a series of threatening letters—and an unwanted suitor—make real life very different from the movies.Then there's an unpleasant co-star who's found murdered during an opening night. Surely detection can’t be that hard?
Excerpt:
“Hello sailor!” Toby Bowe’s cheery tones came down the telephone line.
Alasdair Hamilton groaned. “I knew you were going to say that. Sir Ian’s been in touch with your agent, then?”
“Of course he has. Contract’s signed, sealed and delivered. I don’t know why they bother to keep up the pretence of talking to our agents individually rather than saving both time and effort and nabbing us both together.”
“You know exactly why they do that. More important to save scandal than save time.”
What would the British cinema-going public say if it knew its favourite leading men—the pride of Sir Ian Sheringham and his studio, Landseer—continued their love scenes in the privacy of their own homes? And without the participation of Fiona Marsden, who’d been their perennial leading lady.
Hamilton, Bowe and Marsden. The British public adored the special chemistry the trio displayed on screen, one that made every scene appear real rather than acted. Although given the true situation, then Toby and Alasdair’s acting skills surely surpassed those of even Olivier and Gielgud, so convincingly did they both display their adoration of Fiona on celluloid. Still, hadn’t many an actor or actress being doing exactly the same thing over the years? Alasdair and Toby weren’t unique in finding their own sex more attractive than the opposite one.
“Are you looking forward to lunch?” Toby asked.
Alasdair snorted. “The food, yes. Not necessarily the rest of it.”
“Landseer always does put out a good nosebag. I wonder if they’ll be supplying us with faux girlfriends to add to the illusion?”
“Not today, I’d guess.” And thank God for that. Part of the smokescreen that helped maintain the actors’ reputation was their being seen in public with beautiful young women. Rarely the same ones twice, though, because Landseer didn’t want the young ladies becoming suspicious about why their charms appeared to be having no effect.
“I suppose that when Fiona’s about they like her to shine like a diamond on a coal heap. No other lovelies to risk detracting attention.” Toby chuckled. “They could give us plain starlets to squire on these occasions. No, belay that. They’d not let us be seen with anyone too mousey.”
“I don’t suppose it would go with the image. The studio powers that be think the public would expect only the most attractive women to be draped on our arms.”
“Hm. I bet it’s more subtle than that. A beautiful woman, and a different one each time, implies a series of flirtations. Were she homely it might suggest we’d found true love. And what would your adoring fans say if they believed you were at risk of being taken out of the marriage market permanently?”
“Less of the adoring fans nonsense, you cheeky bugger.” Alasdair snorted. “And the same would apply to you. Just as well we held those negotiations directly with Sir Ian.”
At the point they’d become the hottest properties in British cinema, rather than holding out for everything in terms of film deals or size and luxuriousness of dressing room, they’d made it plain to the boss that while they’d wine and dine whichever young lady Landseer felt needed a leg up on the ladder to stardom, they would draw a line at even the suggestion of undergoing sham marriages. That both maintained their reputation as playboys and enhanced their standing as being easy to work with and highly professional.
“And what’s all this belay rubbish you were spouting earlier?” Alasdair added.
“Got to get in character for the new role, Admiral. Splice the main brace, twelve at the grating and whatnot.”
