on the beach, his official photographer pass already strung around his neck, his camera at the ready.
‘You settled in all right at your sister’s place?’ Marcus asked after they’d greeted each other.
Daisy nodded. ‘Yes, thanks. Where do I go to register?’
Marcus pointed to a door in the Palais. ‘Through there. You’ll be ages – French paperwork and chaotic bureaucracy is at its best in there. I’ll wait for you in the UK Film Centre Pavilion over in the Village International,’ he said, gesturing in the direction of the large marquee and other tents that had been set up along the embankment. ‘We’ll go for a coffee afterwards and try to map out a plan of campaign.’
‘Plan of campaign?’
‘As well as a daily report and photos, Bill wants us to try to unearth some unusual stories – a scandal would be good, he says,’ Marcus shrugged. ‘You know what editors are like – always wanting a scoop.’
Daisy was thoughtful as she made her way to register in the Palais office. Fingers crossed that she could do a good job and get her byline in the paper noticed. If she was made redundant her future freelancing career could depend on her CV showing how good a journalist she was.
Marcus was right. It was nearly two hours before Daisy escaped from the Accreditation Centre, her press pass finally around her neck and clutching a mountain of booklets and other assorted festival papers. When she eventually tracked Marcus down in the Film Centre marquee, he was with a group of men – all photographers, Daisy guessed from the amount of camera paraphernalia surrounding them.
‘Hi guys, this is Daisy, my new partner in crime for the festival. I’ll see you lot later. Daisy and I have to talk.’
Marcus picked up his large canvas bag and Daisy followed him across the road to a pavement café in front of Square Brougham, where they managed to grab a vacant corner table.
‘Deux café au lait, s’il vous plaît,’ Marcus ordered, raising his voice to be heard above the noise of a group of vocal Italians at the next table, some Russians who’d clearly been there for some time sampling the house rosé and a nearby crowd of Americans who seemed intent on taking over the place. A Japanese tourist was busy videoing the scene.
‘Hope he’s got his sound switched on,’ Daisy said. ‘I’ve never heard so many languages all at once.’
‘Heard the news about Philippe Cambone?’ Marcus asked, as the waiter put their coffees on the table.
Daisy shook her head. ‘The big-shot film director? What’s happened?’
‘Died of a heart attack in Los Angeles. There’s going to be some sort of tribute later in the week – the powers that be haven’t decided what yet. Do you know anything about Cambone?’
‘Only that he was French, was one of the top directors, wasn’t married…’ she glanced at Marcus. ‘Wasn’t gay, was he?’
Marcus shrugged. ‘If he was, it was a well kept secret. Had a reputation of loving women but wouldn’t commit to one. Anyway, I expect they’ve got all the info they need back at the office but maybe you could do a couple of paragraphs about how the news has been received down here? Cannes was his home town. Maybe interview a few people who knew him? You know the score – find a human-interest angle: the school he went to; name of his first love, et cetera.’ Marcus drained his coffee and pushed the cup and saucer away before asking, ‘You got a press conference tomorrow?’
‘Not tomorrow. I’m hoping to get to a screening in the morning and then I’m having lunch with a friend of Poppy’s who works for Chanel. She’s promised to give me the lowdown on some of the accessories and clothes they’ll be lending the stars. So I should have a spare hour in the morning to try to see if I can find someone to talk about Philippe Cambone. Then, in the afternoon, I’ll file my first daily report.’
‘Don’t forget to keep your ears open for any juicy gossip,’ Marcus said. ‘It’s what this place is good for – and, like I said, Bill is keen to hear some of it.’
‘As you’re an old hand at this lark, where’s the best place to hang out to catch the gossip? See people?’ Daisy asked. Marcus might have a reputation as being a bit of a wild boy and overly fond of leather trousers but he was a brilliant photographer and had ‘done’ the festival for several years now.
‘Any of the cafés and bars in town. This place is good,’ Marcus said, glancing around. ‘Occasionally some of the up-and-coming stars like to come down here and hang out with the boules players over there. Too much security these days for the famous ones to do that, unfortunately. Mind you, if Jack Nicholson is in town, he’s known to like an early morning stroll along the Croisette by himself.’
Marcus stood up. ‘Right, I’m off. Want to come to a party tomorrow night? Bernard Audibert, who’s a big name down here and knows anybody worth knowing, is having his usual opening party bash and I’ve got two tickets. It should be a good starting place for gossip. Meet me after the evening screening and we’ll go together. Ten thirty outside the Palais. Party’s being held in rue Victor Cousin.’
‘Sounds fun.’
‘He was a mate of Cambone’s too, so that could be useful for your feature,’ Marcus added.
‘I’ll definitely try to be there then.’ Daisy hesitated. She really did want to spend the evening with Poppy having a good catch-up but felt she ought to at least make the offer for Marcus to join them. ‘Are you doing anything tonight? Poppy and I are planning a girlie evening, but if you’d like to come to supper? I warn you, you’re likely to get the third degree from my big sister.’
Marcus shook his head. ‘Thanks, but I’ve arranged to meet the guys for a quick drink and then a reasonably early night. Doubt that I’ll see bed much before 3 or 4 a.m. most days while the festival is on. Expect you’ll find the same once you get into the swing of things.’ Unexpectedly, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘When in France and all that,’ he said. He picked up his camera gear. ‘If you need me urgently, you’ve got my mobile number and you’ll invariably find me in the paparazzi scrum at the side of the red carpet. We’ve got a definite dinner date one evening before the festival ends – either the Carlton Terrace or the Palm Beach. You choose. Bill can pick up the tab! See you tomorrow night. Ciao,’ and he sauntered off in the direction of Palm Beach.
Thoughtfully, Daisy watched him go. Well, that was definitely the most unromantic dinner date invite she’d ever had, but dinner at the Carlton would be an experience.
Daisy gathered up her things and headed off in the opposite direction to Marcus. Passing the busy pizza restaurant on the corner brought back memories of the last time she’d eaten in there seven months ago. The four of them – Poppy, Dan, Ben and herself – had been out for the evening at the end of their holiday. She’d been so happy that night. She and Ben had even talked about the possibility of moving to France or finding themselves a small cottage to do up and use as a holiday home. A first step on the property ladder together. It seemed like a logical next step to Daisy. They’d been a couple then for over a year – nearly eighteen months in fact, although they still both rented their own places, despite Ben spending more and more time with her. When Daisy suggested he moved in with her as her flat was bigger than his and they could save money for buying their own place, he said he’d think about it.
They’d
