Page 27 of Mistaken Impression

It’s at times like this I’m grateful for my acting experience, and I take a deep breath, trying not to shift my body at all, but puffing myself up and glaring down the camera lens.

“That’s perfect.” He snaps away. “How long have you lived over here?” he asks, making conversation, which I guess is to help me relax.

“A couple of years.”

He nods his head, coming back to me and taking away the rolling pin, only to replace it with a large whisk. I glance at him and he shrugs his shoulders, smiling. “Just doing as I’m told.”

“Fine…”

Once he’s happy with the way I’m standing, he moves away again. “Can you just tilt your head slightly to your left?” I do as he says. “So, how did you end up working on the show?” he asks.

“I was with a theatre company, playing the part of an alcoholic chef, and unbeknownst to me, someone from the studio must have been in the audience. The next thing I knew, I got a call from my agent, telling me to come here for an audition… and the rest, as they say, is history.”

He stands, looking over the top of his camera. “So, you’re an actor?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not a chef?”

“You sound almost as surprised as the woman I’ve just started working with.”

He smiles. “Didn’t she know?”

“No. She was hired as the culinary consultant, and it seems no-one mentioned to her that she’d be working with a total amateur.”

“How did she take it?”

“Not well. Although I can’t blame her, really.”

He looks back through the view-finder and then stands up straight again. “What happened to that masterful look?”

“Oh… sorry.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “Can I guess that the dreamy expression on your face has something to do with the culinary consultant?”

“It might do.”

“So, she doesn’t blame you, either?”

“I don’t know. I think she might. She seems to be pretty angry with me most of the time, and all we’ve done so far is argue. But that doesn’t mean I’m not in danger of falling for her.”

“It’s incredible when it happens, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never fallen for anyone before.”

“Neither had I, but when I did…” He stops talking, his brow furrowing.

“Can I assume it didn’t end well?”

“You can.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I’ll get over it,” he says, although there’s absolutely no conviction in his voice, and I wonder if he believes a word of what he’s saying. “We’d better get on with this.”

I nod my head and do my best to put that ‘masterful’ expression back on my face, while he gets on with taking more photographs, changing the whisk for a long-handled ladle, which makes me smile. He does too, although he’s shaking his head.

“Don’t blame me for the props. Kennedy supplied them. I guess this is the image she’s going for.”

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