Bron-59 of 59 - Final Chapter

Continued from Chapter 58: Bron-58 | ABCtales

The reviews of Lieutenant Hinds had been pretty good, all things considered. The Times had praised the gutsy conviction that Grace Jones had brought to the role, ‘a trailblazer for women in hitherto male-dominated worlds’. Stage and Screen liked the ‘masterly’ camerawork, redolent of Bunuel at the height of his powers. The Daily Telegraph praised the ‘courageous’ effort to rekindle an often forgotten aspect of the Second World War. A few critics had been a bit sniffy about the home made sets and odd costuming, but then you couldn’t have everything. Almost everybody enthused about the ‘hundred percent realistic’ (as the Daily Express put if) of Ms Bronwyn Jones’ stunt double act in the opening scene. Quite a number mentioned the boiling coffee scene in glowing terms, too.

“Well, the Satzuki seems to have recovered well from the kicking Bron gave it,” said Mike. “Remember that?”

“How can I ever forget it,” Chris nodded, half closing his eyes. They were on the lawn of Mr Learson’s house in Westbourne Grove, clutching gently warming glasses of Chardonnay. The swimming pool had been emptied in case of accidents or over-exuberance.

“What happened exactly?” said Grace, patting down her renascent afro with her left hand.

“Bastards tried to give me hypothermia,” said Bron.

“It was a seminal episode,” said Geoff. “Best bit; that and the coffee scene.”

“Will you ever forgive us, Bron?” said Mike.

“Ask me again in ten years’ time. Maybe I’ll have forgotten about it – a bit.”

“Rum do about Mary Hinds,” wasn’t it?” said Chris. “Opened that letter from the White House saying they were going to open the enquiry and then just dropped off her perch.”

“Yeah,” said Mike. “Almost as if she was waiting for that moment so she could shuffle off the mortal coil.”

“Like her life’s work was done. Oh well, at least one good thing came out of the film, if nothing else,” Chris said.

“So, how’s life playing with trains, Bron?”

“O, dim un ddrwg, Mike, not bad. Started my traction apprenticeship.”

“Sounds like something to do with physio.”

“Means I’ll be a train driver one day.”

“She drives me mad, learning her rules e evening.”

“Sure we can’t tempt you back into the film world, Bron? We’ve got a part for a cook in Deathtrap. She could be Welsh, no need to learn an accent.”

“I’ll give it serious thought, Chris, but I’m pretty busy with Megan on my days off. Got a waiting list of jobs a mile long….You’re the spooky witch-woman in that, aren’t you Grace?”

“Yeah! It’s great. I get to grow my afro back.”

“Never liked you in that black bob. One’s enough in any relationship.”

“Oh shit, look! Georgetta’s on the diving board! Does she know it’s empty?”

“She’s pissed enough not to…”

The two women dashed across the lawn to the pool, their colleagues trailing in their wake.

“Georgetta! There’s no water! You’ll do brain yourself!”

“Only kidding, my sweets! Only kidding!”

“Come down from there - now!”

As Georgetta was persuaded to wobble down the diving board steps, Geoff came sidling up, swinging his simian over-long arms. Grace turned round, sharply: “You still owe us that last royalties cheque, Geoff. Forty eight pounds, sixty three pee.”

“I’ll post it tomorrow…I say, girls, Temptress of Africa sold pretty well, in the end. I couldn’t possibly interest you in a sequel…”

“No you fuckin’ well couldn’t Geoff Adams! Disgustin’ pervy…”

“Er, well, I’d do it, if you can find a Bron-substitute. I mean, we wouldn’t actually have to DO it, would we?”

“Oh no, that could all be stimulated - that’s how most of these films are done anyway. I could ask my sister…”

“Oh, Geoff, that’s so gross! Mam was right about the filthy Saes…”

“Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, Bron.”

“You do it, if you want to, Grace. Just make sure you take a long, hot shower afterwards…”

THE END (At least for now)