A Legacy of Secrets - By Carol Marinelli Page 0,33

would like to get this organised as soon as possible, so if you could let me know when you’re available, I’ll try to sort things out with him.’

‘I’ll arrange my own transport,’ Marianna said. ‘You can reimburse.’ Ella held on to her breath. Really, she felt rather more as if she were the one being interviewed, as if she was Marianna’s assistant. She tried to remember that this was the sort of person best for the job—someone brash and confident, someone who would be able to reschedule a ship at five minutes’ notice and deal with all the drama Santo generated. There was certainly no off-the-record chats with Marianna. In fact, she wanted to speak only with the man himself.

‘I will look in my diary and see when I am available. Perhaps if I speak directly with Santo...’

‘Santo is busy with filming at the moment,’ Ella said. ‘I arrange his diary.’ And she heard the note of possession in her own voice and tried to stifle it. ‘If we can organise a mutual time that would be great, but there are several applicants and Santo is very busy.’

‘I’ll be in touch.’ It was Marianna who rang off.

Still, it was a minor triviality and not one she would worry Santo with, because the filming was going from bad to worse and, as the days progressed and the filming didn’t, his mood darkened. The crew were putting in incredibly long hours but it was seemingly all going backwards. Still, Ella had more on her mind than Santo. It was the day she had been dreading for weeks—her mother’s birthday—and later she needed to ring her.

And say what?

Ella tried not to think about it. Instead she responded to a couple of texts from Santo, who was already on set, and then sorted out some of his overnight correspondence.

The second it was 9:00 a.m., she started on the endless phone calls to sort out the extras and ship, and then it was time to head for the set.

She could feel the tension on set as she approached.

Santo had been right to reschedule the ship scene. There was no way they would have been ready otherwise.

‘Where’s Vince?’ someone called.

‘Sulking in his trailer.’ Santo scowled back.

She looked to where Rafaele was placing all the actors, and then glanced over to Santo. There was a muscle jumping in his cheek as he watched the placement. ‘What the hell is he doing?’

Ella said nothing—it wasn’t her place to—but how she would have loved to get in and change things. Rafaele had Vince walking along the docklands where he would come across Taylor crying and stand watching her for a long moment before making his way over.

It didn’t work.

The characters weren’t supposed to even like each other and it just made Vince look opportunistic, especially when Rafaele asked him to put more purpose in his stride.

‘Yep...’ Santo gritted. ‘March over there, why don’t you...’ He turned his head to Ella. ‘Is Rafaele reading the same script as you and me?’ Ella said nothing, just watched in silence as, yet again, the make-up team were called on to touch up Taylor’s make-up.

‘This is a disaster,’ hissed Santo.

Again Ella said nothing.

But absolutely he was right.

Over and over they watched as Taylor cried on cue, and then, over and over, Rafaele called for her to do it again.

‘It’s too much,’ Santo said, and Ella stayed silent, knowing Santo wasn’t stressing about the pressure on Taylor. It was that there was far too much going on in the scene that was the problem. This particular scene was to be combined with a flashback of her receiving the news that her lover had died. It was supposed to portray the devastated heroine staring out to sea and breaking down as she realised her lover would never return.

‘Action,’ Rafaele called, and Ella watched as again Taylor broke down. Vince was being filmed too, from the rear first, watching her from a distance, then walking across the docklands towards her. It was at the end of this scene their grief and passion would ignite.

‘First her face—’ Santo was incensed ‘—then the beach, then back to her face, and now Vince.’

Santo was right. Vince was just bombarding the scene. Ella could see what was needed, could actually see it before her eyes. Taylor was acting beautifully. It was an Italian shot that was needed—an extreme close-up of her eyes with the ocean reflected in them and then turning as Vince joined her side.

God, she could see it.

‘It’s