The Stone Wife

12

The steamship Great Britain stands proud in dry dock in Bristol harbour. Built originally in the city by the engineering genius Brunel and launched by Prince Albert in 1843, she was one of the first great ocean-going liners, making voyages to America and Australia packed with emigrants and fortune-hunters in the days of the gold rush. But the world’s largest vessel had difficulty navigating the Avon and only ever made one start from Bristol. Her home port became Liverpool. Bristol had to wait a century and a quarter to reclaim the ship as its own. In 1970 the rusting hulk was towed eight thousand miles from where it had languished in the Falklands as an oversized coal bunker for over eighty years. Vast numbers of Bristolians lined every viewpoint along the Gorge one Sunday morning to welcome the old lady home. She was sited in dry dock exactly where she had been built. The renovation may not have left much of the original superstructure, but the refitting was faithfully done and created a visitor attraction that won the Gulbenkian Prize for museum of the year.

This symbol of Bristol’s maritime history was where Ingeborg came with a flask of coffee and her press card at a few minutes before midnight. Nobody was there to challenge her, so she got aboard with some of the film crew as they were unloading lighting equipment from a large van on the dockside.

Nervous minutes. Not a good idea to introduce herself to anyone, she decided. She found a back-rest on deck against a raised skylight and settled to watch the show unfold. Enough lighting was in place to reveal what was going on while she remained in shadow.

The crew switched on more lamps and soon the full length of the deck, about a hundred metres with as many as six masts and a funnel, was visible, much of it covered in cables. On the starboard side a mobile camera was being given a trial run along a stretch of dolly track. Voices could be heard from the darkness above the floodlights and Ingeborg assumed there were TV crewmen perched on the yardarms. They had to be as surefooted as the sailors of old. It was all very workmanlike and professional.

A woman with earphones who had to be the floor manager patrolled the deck checking progress. Ingeborg squeezed further into the shadow. She was close enough to hear a bad-tempered answer to a query from one of the cameramen.

‘Of course she isn’t here yet. What do you expect? She’s a fucking diva. She’ll be at least an hour late. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us go slow. It’s got to work without a hitch when we get under way.’

The floor manager was right. For Lee Li it would be playing to her image to keep everyone waiting. The legendary lateness of pop stars hadn’t clicked with Ingeborg until now. She’d been too focused on her own part in the arrangement. Only a raw beginner would turn up at the appointed time. Then it would be all systems go to get the filming done before morning.

She resigned herself to a long, uncomfortable wait. The words ‘it’s got to work without a hitch’ were troubling. This tightly controlled exercise might run into a problem when she stepped out of the darkness and spoke to the star performer. Still, the invitation to do it this way had come from Lee Li herself and she was in a position to dictate terms.

A more disquieting thought had already crossed Ingeborg’s mind: what if Nathan Hazael decided to attend the shoot and show support? She’d need to be ready to front it out with the man. She’d much prefer to meet him later, after she’d got to know Lee. Please God he’s in bed and asleep, she told herself. He’d have to be keen to put in an appearance at this hour.

Twenty more minutes passed and there were signs that the preparations were almost complete and the real business of the night could begin — when the star finally deigned to turn up. Several of the floodlights were dimmed. At the aft end of the deck a group had gathered around someone who certainly wasn’t the star. Ingeborg guessed he must be the director. They were in a huddle under the only lamp on full power and there was a definite air of anticipation.

Closer to Ingeborg one of the grips spoke up in a distinctively camp voice. ‘Has anyone phoned to see if madam is on her way, do you think?’

‘She’ll say she is, even if she’s in some nightclub. And when she gets here, don’t hold your breath. She’ll be in make-up for ages.’

‘Where are they doing that?’

‘Down below. The first class ladies’ boudoir.’

‘Nice if you can get it.’

‘Eat your heart out.’

Ingeborg was increasingly uncomfortable squatting where she was. She decided to take a walk along the port side, which was mainly in shadow and not being used, except for lengths of cable. If anyone challenged her, she’d tough it out.

She’d reached as far as the ship’s enormous black funnel when a car horn sounded below. She looked over the rail at the various vehicles parked on the dockside.

A white limousine had just arrived. Someone stepped forward and opened the door and a slight, dark-haired figure stepped out and looked around as if she had all the time in the world.

Attendants moved towards her. A camera flashed repeatedly. This was definitely Lee Li. She posed for shots before strolling towards the steps up to the gangway. The minders followed at a respectful distance.

It was a relief to Ingeborg that they didn’t include anyone with the body language of a gangster lover.

She checked her watch. 12:55 A.M. That earlier estimate of her late arrival had not been far out.

Would it be a good move to approach Lee Li while she was being dressed and made up? Probably not. Between takes, Sylvie had said. Cool as she appeared, the singer was no doubt nervous about the video shoot.

So it was a matter of more waiting, more self-discipline.

More promenading.

Perhaps forty minutes went by before there was another stirring of interest on the main deck. Ingeborg glanced towards the stern and spotted a cluster of people under a floodlight switched to full power. She couldn’t see the queen bee for all the drones. They spent more time fussing over her.

Even the crewmen nearest to Ingeborg were mystified. ‘What’s the hold-up now?’ one of them said.

‘It’s not easy,’ a woman’s voice said. ‘They’ve got to fit the harness.’

‘And then what? Is she going for a technical run-through first?’

‘Not much point. They might as well go for a take.’

And shortly after, this was confirmed. The floor manager said, ‘Stand by, everybody. This is take one.’

Recorded music came over the loudspeakers, a strong, clear voice soaring above a drum beat, Lee belting out the number they were creating in visual form. At the far end, the floodlit support group stepped away like the mechanics at a pit stop, leaving one slight figure alone under the light. She had dark hair to below her shoulders and was wrapped in a glittery white cloak.

Suddenly she was in motion, sprinting along the deck, her hair fanning behind her. The cloak opened and rippled into a twenty-foot train of flimsy material designed to float on the air. She was in a sequinned jumpsuit. The camera dolly moved in parallel, powered by two of the grips at full stretch to keep up.

She’d need to be fit to run the length of the deck at this rate, Ingeborg was thinking.

But then came the eye-opener. Lee Li spread her arms like wings and was airborne, lifted by unseen wires. A spotlight caught her swift movement upward between the ship’s masts, a stunt made possible with wires worked by lift operators hidden high up in the darkness. Their skill, the costume designer’s brilliance and Lee’s grace of movement made the flying effect stunningly realistic. She swooped upwards in a great arc, poised for a split second at the limit of the movement, bunched her legs, stretched and somehow got her feet on one of the mainmast yardarms and came to perch there like a gull. The music stopped.

The crew applauded. Someone even gave a yelp of appreciation.

‘Nice one,’ the floor manager said. ‘Let her down gently and tell her we need at least one more take.’

The descent was less graceful. The lengths of muslin had wrapped themselves around the performer and she was more like an insect trapped on a web than a bird. But to her credit it was definitely Lee Li herself who had performed and not a double. On the deck, people were waiting to disentangle her and unstrap the harness from her chest and thighs. She shook off the last pieces of loose fabric and began walking back to where she had started.

Setting it up again would take twenty minutes or more. Ingeborg’s moment had arrived. She stepped out of the shadows.

‘Miss Li.’

The star glanced over her shoulder.

‘I won’t hold you up,’ Ingeborg said, hurrying to draw level. ‘Ingeborg Smith. Sylvie May told me to introduce myself between takes.’

‘The writer?’

Ingeborg nodded. ‘You were sensational.’

‘Do you mean the track?’ Lee had her priorities right. Commercially, the quality of the music mattered more than the aerial acrobatics.

‘Loved it. I can’t wait to hear more.’

‘It’s a change of direction for me. I’m trying out new things. Variety is the spice of life.’

‘Obviously. But I mustn’t interrupt.’

‘You can stay and talk while they fix my hair. I have to do the flying at least once more.’

‘You’re so cool about it.’

‘We’ve been here all week. They rehearsed me Sunday night, six times, I think. You feel ridiculous when you get it wrong and start spinning. With all the practice we should be able to get it right each time.’

Ingeborg remembered reading about the aerial accidents that once plagued the Broadway production of Spider-Man — a thought she would keep to herself.

They’d returned to the start point. A chair was produced for Lee so that the people from make-up and wardrobe could get busy. The director, a tall, bearded man with an air of importance, said, ‘That was spot on, Lee. We may get away with two more takes to get the extra angles we need.’ He turned to Ingeborg. ‘And who are you, if I may ask?’

Lee said, ‘It’s okay, Marcus. I invited her. Ingeborg is doing a photo feature about me for a colour magazine.’

‘Does she have permission to be on set? If so, I wasn’t told,’ Marcus said.

‘She has my permission.’

‘I don’t see any camera.’

‘With my phone,’ Ingeborg said, tapping her pocket and wishing she sounded more believable.

Lee came to her aid. ‘It’s the latest thing, a record of a day in my life, meant to look up-close and personal. A picture is worth a thousand words. Isn’t that right, Ingeborg?’

‘Well, yes. The photography won’t be anything special, but it’s the look that matters. It’s supposed to bring more integrity, like hand-held camerawork.’

‘Which has been done to death,’ Marcus said, turning away with a sniff. ‘Listen to me, people. You may be thinking we have all night, but I felt a spot of rain just now. Can we go again on the hour?’

‘Why don’t you get some shots with your phone right now?’ Lee said to Ingeborg when Marcus was far enough away. ‘Opportunity seldom knocks twice.’ Sylvie May had got it right. At some stage in her education, Lee had swallowed the Oxford Dictionary of Proverbs.

‘You don’t mind?’ Ingeborg said. ‘I was thinking of leaving now we’ve met. I didn’t want to start without your agreement.’

‘You mean a contract? There’s no need for that, is there? I assume it’s the usual understanding. I get to see what you plan to publish and right of refusal. My manager would insist on that.’

‘No problem. Who is your manager?’

‘He’s also my partner, Nathan Hazael. United we stand, divided we fall. He’ll be along shortly. You’ve got to meet him.’