Page 6 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane, Part #4
Minelli showed no reaction to the glowing praise.
He continued to regard Fraser. ‘All of that might be true, but at the heart of it, I’m a storyteller like you.
It’s an ancient instinct. Those who could weave a tale around the fire have always been revered, and with good reason – it’s the most powerful magic we have.
Which means that for all the awards, we’re chasing the same thing, you and I, even if our chosen vehicle is a little different – to make the audience feel . ’
Fraser sat in silence for a moment. He’d told himself on the way up that Minelli was only human but he hadn’t expected him to exude so much warmth and, well, humanity.
No one could deny the gulf in status between the two of them but Minelli had taken the trouble to establish them as equals.
‘There’s nothing quite like that moment of connection,’ he agreed.
The director continued to regard him. ‘How about you do that now?’
Every one of Fraser’s senses jolted at the same time. He fought the panic, striving to appear calm and relaxed, as though Hollywood directors made this kind of demand every day. ‘Sorry, I’m not sure I follow.’
‘Tell me a story,’ he said. ‘Make me feel something – laughter, sadness, whatever you like. Anything goes except nothing.’
Fraser swallowed. ‘What kind of story?’
‘How about one of your ghost tour tales?’ Minelli suggested. ‘And don’t worry, it’s not an audition. I decided I wanted you for my next movie long before I met you today.’
Sam had said as much, Fraser recalled, but it still didn’t make any sense.
There had been plenty of television roles throughout his career – he was quite proud of some – but he still had no idea how any of them had come to the attention of Marco Minelli.
Was it simply that he fitted the physical characteristics of the part the director had in mind?
Nick Borrowdale had read the script and observed Fraser would be perfect for the role – could that be all it was?
However it had happened, he was here now, sitting opposite the most well-connected and influential man he was ever likely to meet. And he wanted to hear a story.
Raising his head, he set himself to address both Minelli and Krystal, and took refuge in familiarity.
‘If you’ve ever been to Edinburgh, you’ll know the city has a long and bloody history.
So perhaps it isn’t a surprise there’s no shortage of graveyards tucked within its walls.
The dead need somewhere to rest, after all, and the living somewhere to mourn.
And for the most part, those departed souls lie undisturbed.
’ Nerves settling a fraction, Fraser allowed his gaze to flick between them as he let the pause stretch.
‘For the most part. Until the body snatchers began their grisly trade.
‘No recently buried corpse was safe. Grieving relatives did their best to watch over the graveyards but medical science paid well for fresh bodies and didn’t ask too many questions about where they came from.
That made the Resurrection Men cunning and resourceful – they hunted on moonless nights to fill their sacks with the dead.
And when they were denied their prize by a determined mob, their thoughts turned to how else they might earn the money.
Who among their community might not be missed?
Who would be easy to murder? Enter William Burke and William Hare – the most infamous body snatchers of them all… ’
He described how the pair had discovered the body of Old Donald, a lodger in Hare’s house on Tanners Close behind Grassmarket.
Donald had died of natural causes but he had owed Hare rent, so they settled on selling his body to the eminent city doctor, Robert Knox.
The payment more than covered the debt but Burke and Hare were not satisfied with the profit.
Another lodger was unwell and it wasn’t long before his body was delivered to Dr Knox.
Greed took control of the men, who began to lure beggars and prostitutes to Tanners Close, plying them with whisky before smothering them as they slept.
‘They murdered seventeen people before suspicions were finally raised and they were caught,’ he went on solemnly.
‘Hare begged for immunity, turning on Burke and accusing him of killing the victims. It worked – Burke was executed for their crimes, while Hare escaped to London. A change in the law in 1832 meant bodies could no longer be bought for cash, and both the living and the dead could rest a little easier.’
Minelli’s expression was unreadable but Krystal was leaning forward. Wide-eyed and rapt, she seemed to have followed the entire tale without breathing.
‘But Edinburgh’s streets have a long memory and, as Lord Macbeth observed when confronted by the ghost of a murdered friend, “blood will have blood”.
So take care when wandering the narrow wynds and closes that twist away from the Royal Mile.
On a dark and starless night, you might just run into the murderous spirit of William Burke, whisky bottle in one hand and a blood-stained cushion in the other.
It’s said he sang to his victims as he smothered them.
I suggest, if you hear a mournful crooning, you run and don’t look back. ’
He finished by slamming one of the scatter cushions into his hand, and had the immense satisfaction of seeing both Minelli and his assistant jump. Krystal squeaked, covering her mouth in shock, while Minelli’s expression simply split into a wide grin.
‘Now that is what I’m talking about.’
‘I’m not sure I’m ever going back to Edinburgh,’ Krystal said weakly.
Parched, Fraser reached for his now cool coffee, amused to notice his hand was steady as he lifted the cup and saucer. ‘Just keep to the main streets and you’ll be fine,’ he said, then paused to recall the tale of the ghostly piper who played beneath the Royal Mile. ‘Mostly fine, at least.’
The assistant jumped to her feet. ‘I think we could all use some fresh coffee.’
Minelli nodded. ‘Thanks, Krystal.’ As she left the room, he eyed Fraser with renewed interest. ‘My position hasn’t changed – I’d like you to consider a major part in my next film.
But today isn’t meant to be a hard sell.
Why don’t I send over the script and you can see what you think?
If you’re interested, we can meet again and talk details. ’
The buzz of performance was starting to ebb away as Fraser weighed up the offer.
He couldn’t deny that he’d warmed to what he’d seen of Minelli so far, and the opportunity to work with someone of his calibre was something he’d given up on a long time ago.
Maura’s words echoed in his head. You should go for it.
How many people get to live their dream?
He still wasn’t sure she was right, but her resolve lent him strength.
Was there any harm in looking at the script?
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’d like to see the script. But I do have one question.’
Eyebrows raised, Minelli seemed amused. ‘Only one?’
Fraser took a breath. It was a risk, but he had to know the answer. ‘How do you – a directing genius – even know who I am?’ The words tumbled out too fast and Fraser resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. If he mentioned Louis the Chicken, he thought he might die.
The other man grinned. ‘Ah. Well, it’s kind of a funny story but you don’t seem like the kind of man who’s driven by his ego, so I’ll be honest.’
Fraser wanted to groan. It was the adverts. It had to be the adverts.
‘My mother is a big murder mystery fan. She loves Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers and all those Golden Age detectives – the quainter, the better.’ He shook his head.
‘She even tried to get me to cast Angela Lansbury in a movie once, but it didn’t work out.
Anyway, she got really into an English TV series called Death in Dorset .
You probably know where I’m going with this. ’
He did, Fraser realised with horrified certainty, although he really wished he didn’t. Not trusting himself to speak, he waved the director on.
‘She made me watch a few episodes when I was staying with her and of course I saw your glorious death at the hands of the brilliant Penelope Keith.’
Fraser took refuge in a swig of cold coffee. Death in Dorset had been years ago – he’d played much more fulsome roles than that since, although none that had ended with him face down in a bowl of soup. ‘And that made you want to work with me?’ he said incredulously.
Minelli laughed. ‘Let’s just say you got my attention. And then I looked up some other stuff you’d done and I liked what I saw. So when I agreed to this new project and saw it needed a Scottish actor who could really nail character, I thought of you.’
‘Really?’ Fraser said, unable to believe what he was hearing. ‘It was Death in Dorset that brought me here?’
The director nodded. ‘Absolutely. The best death in the entire show, bar none. What was it, vegetable soup?’
‘Broccoli and Stilton,’ he corrected, then winced. ‘I think the props department thought it would be funny. It took days to get the green bits out of my nostrils.’
Krystal came back into the room then, bearing two fresh coffees.
Minelli grinned again. ‘First rule of acting – make friends with the props team.’ He took one of the saucers from his assistant and lifted the cup as though in a toast. ‘Here’s to Death in Dorset, anyway.’
Fraser managed what felt like the world’s least convincing smile as he raised his own cup, still not entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming. ‘And here’s to broccoli and Stilton soup.’