OVER THE MOON

Small-town girl Valerie is off for an interview at Dogwood Studios – it’s 1966 and who knows how far this opportunity will take her!

Valerie slammed the front door and hurried down the path of her neat little terraced house. As she left the gate, she could feel her mother’s eyes watching her from behind the net curtains – and doubtless the eyes of several neighbours, too.

Well, she wasn’t going to look back, and she wasn’t going to feel guilty, either. She wished that for once her mother could be happy for her. But, oh, what was the point?

In the distance, she heard the shriek of a steam whistle. “And now I’m late!” Cursing the stupid argument with her mother, Valerie trotted as fast as she could in the pencil skirt of her navy blue suit. She made it to the station as the train thundered over the bridge above her head, showering her with smoke and cinders as it slowed.

Heart hammering, she drummed her fingers on the counter while the elderly clerk slowly took a ticket from his wooden rack.

The moment her ticket touched the counter, she snatched it away and turned on her heel.

“Wait up, Miss, your change – !” the clerk called. But Valerie was already running breathlessly up the sloping tunnel to the platform.

She slammed the carriage door behind her as the train jerked forward.

Relieved, she flopped into a spongy seat and watched the parade of back gardens that passed her window as the train gathered speed.

Her head full of songs by the Kinks and the Rolling Stones, Valerie couldn’t wait to leave behind a provincial town that hadn’t moved on since the war. She wanted to feel the energy of Carnaby Street and the King’s Road, where life was swinging.

As she stepped onto the concourse of King’s Cross station, however, with its rushing city gents, swooping pigeons and deafening echoes, she was daunted by London’s size and busyness.

She was taken aback by how many girls were sporting knee-high boots, mini-skirts and straightened hair. She’d thought her suit and seamed stockings were sophisticated, but suddenly wondered if she should have chosen something trendier.

At nineteen years old in 1966, it was hard to know what to wear.

“Where to, miss?” The driver of the rattling black taxi threw a folded newspaper onto the seat beside him and tapped his cigarette ash out the window as Valerie climbed into the back. “Dogwood Studios, please.” A few minutes later, they were speeding past Trafalgar Square, with Valerie craning her neck for her first glimpse of Nelson’s Tower and its surrounding lions.

“You an actress, then?” the cabby asked cheerfully.

“Me?” Valerie wondered if her new suit and freshly permed chestnut hair made her look more glamorous than she’d imagined.

“Dogwood’s where they make the TV shows, ain’t it?” said the cabby. “Like MoonBase.”

“Ah, yes.” Valerie smiled. “But I’m only going there for an interview. As a secretary.”

“I thought you might have done the voice for that Dr Jones,” the driver grinned in his mirror. “Never miss an episode, me.”

“I haven’t really watched it,” Valerie confessed.

“It’s not just for kids,” the cabby assured her. “Me and the missus are glued every week. You almost forget they’re only puppets.”

Valerie was grateful just to get an interview in London. That the job was in television felt like a miracle.

As the taxi chugged up the long, curving drive of Dogwood House, however, she began to wonder if the chance was too good to be true. Set in emerald lawns with a backdrop of woodland, the huge stately home, draped in dark ivy, looked almost as grand as Buckingham Palace, which they’d passed on the way.

On the gravel by the front door Valerie gawped at a parked Rolls Royce, flanked by a scarlet E-type Jaguar.

“Good luck with the interview,” the cabby called cheerily.

She PEERED into an empty office. BEHIND her came a HUGE KA-BOOM

“Thanks,” answered Valerie, and murmured, “I’m going to need it.”

As the cab turned and drove away, leaving her dwarfed by the mansion’s pillared entrance, Valerie suddenly felt very small, alone and out of place.

She hadn’t come all this way to lose her nerve, though.

The red front door stood open, so she took a deep breath, straightened her back and strode up the steps.

She found herself in an airy hall, with a sweeping staircase and a vast chandelier. To one side was a long reception desk, like they had in hotels, but no one was manning it.

“Hello?” Valerie peered across the desk into an empty office.

From behind her came a ka-BOOM! that nearly scared her out of her skin.

She turned with a yelp to see a huge cloud of smoke mushrooming from a doorway. Along with it came three men – just shadows in the pall – coughing, staggering and fanning the air.

“Now that, Chris, is how you blow up a flying saucer!” As the owner of the upper crust accent stepped from the gradually thinning smoke, brushing down his suit as he came, Valerie saw he was a tall, handsome man with swept back wavy brown hair. She put him in his late twenties. He coughed and thumped his chest, then caught sight of his visitor.

Valerie was amazed by how quickly his manner transformed. “Are you being looked after, miss?” As he strode towards her, an easy smile on his face, his limbs loose and relaxed, no one would have guessed he’d emerged from an explosion just seconds before.

“I’m here for an appointment with Mr Crondell,” she said, her throat dry.

“Call me Harry,” he grinned. “And you are?”

“I…” Transfixed by his open smile and the confidence of his steady gaze, Valerie’s brain went blank. Eventually, she realised her mouth was hanging open.

“Valerie Maddox.” She pulled herself together. “I’m here for the secretarial job.”

“Of course!” Harry punched his temple with the heel of his hand. “I completely forgot!”

He offered his hand to shake, then pulled it back as he realised it was black with soot. He tugged a handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe his palm.

“There’s a bit up there, too,” Valerie pointed. She tapped her temple to indicate where he’d left a smudge of soot on his face. He rubbed it with his hanky. “Gone?” He raised his eyebrows with such boyish innocence that Valerie couldn’t help grinning goofily as she nodded in reply.

“Well, as you can see, it’s a bit of a madhouse around here. You’d better come up to my office.”

Valerie stared at his back as he strode on long legs towards the sweeping staircase. Shaking her head to clear it, she trotted after him, pausing only to glance back at the two figures still choking and wiping their eyes on the far side of the hall.

“Don’t want to risk another damp squib like last week, do we!” one of them lisped camply.

Valerie followed Harry into an office full of more paper than she had ever seen. Precarious piles towered everywhere. “Take a seat,” said Harry. “What on?” she blurted.

“Allow me!” Harry lifted aside a stack of box files to reveal a chair.

Valerie sat gratefully in front of a large desk on which piles of paper stood like battlements around an electric typewriter and several phones.

On the windowsill behind the desk, she found herself facing three string puppets, each about two feet tall, with disproportionately large heads. One was a ruggedly handsome middle-aged man with an enormous swirl of iron-grey hair, who was wearing a golden spaceship uniform. Beside him was a similarly dressed young man with the outsize blond quiff of a teen idol. The group was completed by a smoky-eyed, pouting-lipped woman with glossy red hair, who was wearing a lab coat.

“The stars of MoonBase!” Harry introduced the marionettes. “Saving the world at six pm every Saturday. But can they save our bacon? That’s the question!”

Harry slung himself into a leather recliner chair and propped his highly polished brogues on the corner of his desk. He swept a small packet off the jotter and took out a white stick.

“Have a cigarette!” He stuck the stick between his lips and flicked the pack through the air with his thumb.

“I don’t smoke!” Valerie caught the box reflexively, then realised it was a pack of sweet cigarettes with a Moon Base logo and a puppet face on the front. She popped one of the sugary sticks between her lips to mirror Harry.

She was amazed how at ease it put her. She thought of the Rolls and E-type outside, the huge house they were in, Harry’s elegant suit and public school accent. She was a world away from the life she knew. But sharing a sweet cigarette with him seemed to make all those differences disappear – as if they were both on the same level.

Harry broke the moment by swinging his shoes off the desk and leaning forward, intensely.

“These are critical times for Moon Base! We have MoonBase action figures in the shops; the MoonBase Lunar Explorer pedal car in production; MoonBase Moon Rock breakfast cereal launching next week. Everything’s riding on our continued success. But if the ratings slip…!” Harry stabbed the air with his finger. “It all rests on the quality of the script, Valerie! That’s where you come in.” “You want me to write the scripts?” Nothing would actually have surprised her at that point.

Harry chuckled. “No, I want you to take all this paperwork off my hands so I can write them!”

With an expansive gesture, he knocked a tower of paper at the side of his desk. Valerie leaped forward, caught it and straightened it just in time.

“Quick reactions.” Harry nodded approvingly. “That’s what we need around here.”

He pulled her resumé from the top of another pile and quickly perused it.

“Grisley Grammar School, Bessie Bloomer’s Secretarial College… well, you’re qualified. What say we give you a week’s trial, starting now?” “Now?” Valerie gawped at him. At that moment the door opened and an attractive thirty-ish woman with stylishly cut red hair leaned into the office. Valerie wondered where she’d seen her face before.

“Sorry, Harry,” the visitor said with silky assurance. “There’s a gentleman downstairs to see you about a comic.”

“The new MoonBaseWeekly!” Harry punched his temple with the heel of his hand. “Of course! I completely forgot! This is why I need a secretary, Valerie! “You better show him up, Sabrina.” Valerie leaped to her feet.

“Shouldn’t I do that? I’ll make tea for you both, if you’d like.”

“Wonderful, Valerie. Sabrina will show you where the kitchen is.”

“Because I’m obviously not supposed to be rehearsing…” Sabrina muttered.

“Oh, but before your meeting –” Valerie whipped out her make-up compact. “Do you think you ought to clean yourself up?”

Harry peered into the proffered mirror at the fresh smudge of soot on his temple.

“Good point! I can see you’re going to be worth your weight in gold!”

It’s a bit of a rabbit warren,” Sabrina purred as she sashayed down the corridor in a slinky black pullover and matching slacks. “But you’ll soon find your way around.” “What do you do?” Valerie asked. Sabrina struck a pose and said breathily, “I play sexy Dr Jones.”

“Of course!” Valerie clapped her hands excitedly. “You look just like your puppet! Sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound so rude…”

Sabrina laughed off the faux pas. “Oh, it’s a kind of fame, I suppose. Now, here – ah, sorry to interrupt, Lady Crondell.”

Following Sabrina into the kitchen, Valerie saw a tall, willowy woman with greying brown hair perched on a stool in a silk kimono and fur-trimmed mules. With a daintily held silver fork, she was eating pilchards from a tin.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Lady Crondell said in a cut-glass accent as dry as the Sahara. “Once we had a cook and maids. Now we have a canteen that closes at two and leaves those of us who live here to fend for ourselves.”

“This is Lady Crondell, Harry’s mother –” Sabrina began.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake call me Petunia. I’m eating pilchards in my nightgown.”

“– and this is Valerie. Harry’s new secretary.”

Valerie had never met a Lady and wondered if she was supposed to curtsey. Her apprehension wasn’t eased by the long, appraising look Petunia gave her.

She CAUGHT the box REFLEXIVELY. It was a pack of SWEET CIGARETTES

“I hope you last longer than the last two,” the aristocrat said at last. “Though I don’t blame them for leaving.”

“You must be very proud of Har – I mean, Mr Crondell,” Valerie ventured.

“For turning the family home into a puppet studio?” Petunia said coldly. “I think the word is ecstatic.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Valerie made a dash for the kettle.

“What Harry needs is a wife.” Petunia sniffed. “Not to be chasing silly girls around his office all night.”

Don’t mind Lady P,” said Sabrina, as Valerie carried a tray of tea away from the kitchen. “Her bark’s worse than her bite.”

“I’m sure she’s lovely.” Valerie glanced nervously over her shoulder.

She could see where Harry got his stunning looks and elegant posture. But where he got his charm she had no idea. And what had her ladyship meant about Harry chasing girls around his office?

“I don’t think she’s ever got over losing Harry’s father,” Sabrina went on.

“Ah – I see.” Valerie knew what bereavement felt like. For the first time since arriving in London, she thought of her mother and the stupid row they’d had that morning. She knew that behind it all her mum missed Dad – as she did. She felt guilty for leaving her behind in a house full of silence and memories. Still, what was she supposed to do? Never leave home or have a life of her own?

“They used to be as rich as Rockefeller.” Sabrina’s silky voice brought Valerie back to Dogwood. “Look at this place! I don’t think Lady P understands why Harry had to turn it into a studio. But between you and me…” Sabrina flashed Valerie a grin. “I happen to know she’s a secret Moon Base fan. Never misses an episode!”

They arrived in the entrance hall as a freshly groomed Harry Crondell came downstairs to meet the comic publisher.

“Ah, Valerie, right on time.” He gave her the easy smile and level gaze he’d given her when they first met. The look that made her feel she was the only thing in the world he was aware of – and made her brain cut out. She wondered if many girls would object to him chasing them round an office. She quickly pushed the thought from her mind.

“Would you like me to minute your meeting?” she offered.

“No, no. Just bring the tea up, then Sabrina can show you your room. The agency did tell you it’s a live-in position?” “That’s why I applied!” Valerie grinned. “I suppose this would have been the servants’ quarters,” she observed, as she followed Sabrina up a much narrower stairway to the top floor.

“Still is, the way the way the Crondells treat us!” Sabrina laughed. “This is your room, just down the corridor from me.”

Unlike the towering rooms downstairs, the attic bedroom was as small and cosy as the one she grew up in. Valerie pirouetted with joy.

“Your first time away from home?” Sabrina looked wistful. “How I wish I was your age again.”

Valerie was unsure how to respond. Sabrina had a worldly style she could only envy, and a glimpse of insecurity in the actress’ face came as a surprise.

Valerie gazed out across the lawn. They were on a hill and beyond the wall and big Victorian houses across the road, the view seemed to stretch across the whole of London. It felt like a view of her life, stretching ahead of her.

“At least I’ll never be late for work,” she grinned. “Just nip downstairs!”

“I hope you feel the same in a couple of weeks,” said Sabrina. “Harry will have you on your toes around the clock.”

“You do mean just for work?” Valerie asked worriedly. “Not what Lady P said?”

Sabrina laughed. “Well, he’s never made a pass at me – worse luck! George L‘Amore’s who you have to watch. Plays Captain Stormy, thinks he’s God’s gift.

“Of course, the delicious Tony who plays Bobby Joe is the real star. But keep your mitts off him, ‘cos he’s mine!”

“It must be wonderful to be on television,” said Valerie.

“Has its moments.” Sabrina shrugged. “Speaking of which, I’m supposed to be rehearsing. But if you want to come to the pub later, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

“I wish I could.” Valerie sat deflated on the bed. “I have to go home to pick up my things. If I’d known I was starting today, I’d have brought a case.”

“You’re about my size,” Sabrina said breezily. “I’ll lend you some things to tide you over to the weekend, if you like.”

“Really? That would be great.”

Valerie pushed coins into the phone. “Sorry it’s late!” she yelled above the background chatter and laughter. “I’ve been so busy, no time to call.”

“Where on earth are you?” her mother demanded. “In the pub –” “A pub! Do you know how worried I’ve been?”

“I’m just calling to say I won’t be home until Saturday. I got the job and –”

“Saturday? Do you know what your father would say if he was alive?”

Before Valerie knew it, they were back in the same row they’d had that morning. She hung up, trembling. “Everything all right?” Valerie turned, startled. Harry had slid into the pub’s small lobby. She hadn’t realised he’d be joining them.

“Just told Mum my good news,” Valerie said, weakly.

“Mothers!” Harry chuckled. “I’d better get you a drink…”

Next week: Will Harry start to appreciate Valerie’s finer points? Or is she destined to be just another puppet on a string?

“You REALISE Harry will have you ON YOUR TOES around the CLOCK?”