In part one Lynne Mathiesson is hired by the actress, Fatima to teach her daughter how to ride a horse in preparation for a role in Fatima's new movie. When Fatima discovers Lynne's sexual orientation she asks Lynne to help with Petra's character development to help prepare her for the role of a lesbian in World War Two Britain. Tonight Lynne has been invited to dinner and spend time with Petra alone, to talk about her attraction to women.
I've lived in Balloch for just over five years and in that time I have come to know the place intimately, the people, the town, the history but because of the nature of my work the landscape has had an abiding influence on me. I supervise trail rides along the side of Loch Lomond and into the hills, I can read the weather like a book and know when to push on and when to turn back. I'm familiar with the country homes dotted throughout the region, thanks to the Rambling law that permits us to go almost anywhere. But one house was still out of bounds. The McLeod house, owned by a wealthy American businessman who visits his Scottish estate once a year.
To call it an estate is laughable, we call it the big hoose, because it truly is just a big house with a large garden. Perhaps John McLeod was conscious of the disparity between truth and fantasy when he nailed up the sign declaring it to be McLeod Estate. There was a motion put forward by certain people to force him to rename the property but it never went anywhere, especially not here. Most of the locals couldn't really care what he called it as long as he didn't cause any trouble.
The house is shuttered most of the year but a cleaning company does come through once a month to dust and clean. I was going out with a woman employed by the company once and she said it was the most beautiful waste of space she'd seen in years.
"He's gone the full monty inside," Sharon informed me, "but it always smells of mould."
I had that image in mind when I knocked at the door that night. Because the wind was blowing hard across the loch, I'd donned a light jacket over the blue prom dress. The place was well lit but very quiet, I suppose I was expecting a tumult of noise emanating from inside. Instead there was the dry click of a door latch and I found myself looking at a blonde woman in black trousers and a white shirt. She had long blonde hair and her features suggested she might be northern European. Her accented English more or less confirmed that as she greeted me a moment later.
"Hey, you must be Lynne."
It was a question as much as a statement and I nodded.
"Please, come in, welcome," she opened the door wider and stepped aside, "I am Anke, Fatima's personal assistant."
When I stepped inside I smelled the aroma of cooking meat and spices and Anke led me through to the kitchen. McLeod must have had some kind of obsession with medieval weaponry and heraldry because he had swords, halberds, spears and shields hanging from the walls and at the very end of the corridor a suit of armour on a plinth. The last time I saw this much weaponry was at Edinburgh castle.
The kitchen had an arched ceiling and a massive open fire that must have been used as a cooking fire back in the day but modernisation was also clearly evident in the island bench, wall-mounted ovens and the large hob that must have been six feet long. The lighting came from electric candelabras and I came to a halt when Fatima turned around, she had a wooden spoon in one hand and a phone in the other.
"Yes, we're further forward on that as well. I have a woman taking care of that and with that I have to love you and leave you, darling. My guest has just arrived... no problem, I'll call you tomorrow, enjoy the show, ciao," she ended the call and ran an eye over me, "you look nice tonight, I like the dress," her eyes travelled down to my shoes, "Kurt Geiger as well, nicely chosen."
"They're the only decent heels I own."
Fatima burst out laughing and swept her hair over her ear.
"You know what I like most about you?"
"I don't know."
"Your honesty," she went on, "it's so refreshing. My ex husband is a serial liar, both in Parliament and when he was shackled to me, so when I encounter real honesty I'm always drawn to it," she rounded the bench and came to a stop in front of me.
"Can you tell Petra dinner is almost ready, Anke?"
"Sure," Anke left the room.
When we were alone she reached out and ran her fingers through my hair, my pulse quickened ever so slightly, there was a slight suggestiveness to her gesture as she nudged my face to one side. I had no idea what to expect. Was she actually checking me out? She was wearing a cream-coloured blouse tucked into designer jeans complete with designer holes in the knees. The scent of Chanel No. 5 tantalised my nostrils. I felt frozen to the spot. The woman I had fantasized about in my youth was actually checking me out, if she'd unzipped my dress I don't think I could have resisted and who would resist her?
"You have a nice profile and an honest face. You're not so much a classic beauty as an earthy beauty. Have you ever had any acting experience?"
"Me? No, just a school play once."
"What play?"
"A nativity play, I was one of the shepherds, I was only seven years old."
"How'd you like to come on board as an extra?"
My eyes widened and she took a half step back and smiled crookedly.
"It'd most likely be a walk on walk off part, but it pays. A few hundred pounds a day."
"I'll think about it," I finally managed, "I'd need to know more though."
"We'll talk over dinner," she glanced up at the ceiling, "Petra wants some one on one time with you, so I've set up two cameras in an upstairs room. I just wanted to warn you in case you freak out over the cameras and lights."
"I'll be fine, I'm sure."
"I'm sure you will, let's consider this your unofficial audition, although the part I have in mind for you doesn't have any dialogue but I'm up for anything you can bring," she took a step back and hooked a thumb over the buckle of her belt.
Footfalls and voices broke the silence between us and Petra stepped into the room followed by Anke. She was wearing a white shirt tucked into a black leather mini skirt with a zip all the way up the front, her leather boots were also black and stopped a few inches above her knee.
"Hello again," she smiled at me, "wow, the swan has spread her wings, you look beautiful."
"So do you," I replied.
"How about you two go to the lounge room, I'll call you when dinner is served," Fatima nodded at the door.
"I'll show you my sword skills," Petra stepped forward and grabbed my hand.
"Watch it with the swords," her mother warned her, "they don't come with the house."
"I'll be careful, mum, cross my heart and hope to die."
"What's she mean by that?" I asked her a few minutes later as she lifted a sword from a rack on the wall, she turned and squinted down the blade.
"She's put in an offer to buy the place, but that's a secret, well sort of," she motioned to me, "take a seat and I'll show you what I learned from my instructor," she took up her stance.
"Vampire Queen," she glanced at me, "I was one of the vampire warriors and we had to shoot this scene in an old chalet," she stepped forward and slashed at thin air, "it took three days of solid training for five minutes of battle. By the end of the three days I could barely raise a fork to my mouth," she spun around and speared an imaginary foe.
"We have the basic movements, advance, retreat, fade, empty fade, diagonal, which is obvious and about turn or pirouette," she reeled off the terms and proceeded to demonstrate them. It struck me as I watched her move that if she could spend three days perfecting these movements for so little work, how much time would she need for a starring role that required her to become a believable lesbian for a discerning audience? And how was someone like me expected to give her more than the most basic pointers?
It was something that had been nagging at me ever since the verbal agreement between Fatima and I a week ago. What was I supposed to do? Wave a magic wand? Give her a blow by blow description of lesbians? That alone would take countless hours, we're all basically human, we come in all shapes, types and mindsets. The clue was dropped by Fatima over a dinner of Beef Stroganoff a little later when I blandly asked what it was like being an actress.
"Acting in its purest form is empathy," she put her wine down.
"When I was a few years older than Petra I was asked to play the role of a murderer. My character kills convicted rapists after they're released from prison, but later on she gets to like it and goes after men who she thinks might become rapists. It was a totally alien role for me and I was freaking out," she swallowed a mouth full of stew.
"Fortunately for all of us, the director had assigned each of us research projects. I was taken into prisons to spend time with murderers and it was a real eye opener in more ways than one. The prisoners were all pre selected but it was my job to sit down and ask questions. Why did they do it? What motivated them? Would they have made the same choices again? Only two men and one woman were actually serial killers but I came out of that not so much with sympathy for them. They were killers, some were unrepentant but I understood what it would take for my character to perform these murders. In order to play a part convincingly you need to understand the mindset of your character. Do your research and you play a convincing role, but fall back on stereotypes and you'll be slated for it."
She took another sip of wine.
"Petra's job is to play an upper class woman with lesbian tendencies and to do that right she needs to know how you think. She'll take something out of what you've been through and add it to the witch's brew she's concocting inside that head of hers and hopefully come out with something that translates well to film."
It was good advice, I took it to heart later on as we made our way upstairs to a room set aside for interviews. It had two cameras perpendicular to each other, a rack of lights and two wide L-shaped couches with a long coffee table in the middle. I took a seat while she turned on the cameras.
"This is interview one with Lynne Mathiesson, the fourth of March, two thousand and sixteen," she fluffed out her hair.
"An interview is just a conversation between two people. No one but my mother and I will see this interview so anything you say is in strictest confidence," she nodded at the carafe of wine and two wineglasses on the table.
"So, let's begin with the basics," she smiled.
"When were you born?"
"I was born in 1987."
"Here or elsewhere?"
"Stirling Royal Infirmary," I replied.
"Was your father present at the birth?"
