2. Meet the Mentors

Emma flew out of the hotel main entrance, nearly slipping on the icy flagstones, frost early this year, just as the limo pulled away and headed back down the drive.

"Oops, nearly went head over heels!" she said to the two men and a woman she saw standing by a stack of suitcases. "What a welcome that would have been!"

She grinned at the arrivals then realised in an instant that they were in no mood to grin back.

"Frankly," said the woman, ominously dressed head to toe in black, matching her hair, cut super short, "any welcome at all would have been better than nothing. Stuck out here, freezing our-"

"So sorry!" said Emma, now taking in the three mentors and guessing from her accent that this woman was the famous American producer running the workshop. "It's Barbara, isn't it?"

"Mrs Wade, if you don't mind," said the woman. "And what are you? The bellhop?"

Emma froze, grappling for a way to deal with this icy first meeting. She'd heard through the grapevine that Barbara Wade could be a little tricky . but this?

Then she saw the younger of the two men step forward.

"Hey, ignore my grumpy producer friend here," he said. "Her bark's way worse than her bite, I promise."

"I'd keep your character notes to yourself if I were you, Jez," said Mrs Wade. "You've experienced neither my full-on bark nor my bite. Yet."

"Ouch!" said Jez with a smile and a little comic wink to Emma. "Looks like that's the end of another beautiful relationship."

So, this is Jez Cody, the "rogue" up-and-coming director, Emma realised.

"You'll be Emma, yes?" said Jez, ignoring Mrs Wade and shaking Emma's hand. "Running this show?"

"That's right. Emma Clarke. I'm admin for Global ."

"Well, obviously," said Mrs Wade. "No Celine? Really?"

"She had an accident. Skiing."

A shake of the producer's head. "Typical."

Silence. Emma gulped. This was not going at all how she'd hoped.

"I saw the email that said you were going to be looking after all of us," said Jez, stepping closer. "Great to have you aboard the good ship Global."

"Thank you," said Emma, so grateful to have someone treat her just normally. "Sorry about this, I thought the train was later, I'll get reception to look after your bags."

"Oh, we can manage that, can't we, Jez?" said the other man, who she now figured must be the writer, Julian Travers. "Don't you worry your pretty head about that."

Emma was too surprised by Julian's words to react. A quick glance to Jez and she saw him roll his eyes in sympathy.

"Gotta say, I'm looking forward to the next three days," he said. "I'm sure we'll have lots of fun."

"Fun?" said Mrs Wade, frowning. "Heaven's sake, Jez. This isn't about fun. It's about finding the next big hit for Global."

Then she turned to Emma. "Okay, I assume you have our morning schedule? Arranged things appropriately?"

"Yes," said Emma, trying to sound as efficient as she could. "Planning meeting at ten in the mentors' room, then a quick coffee break to brief our two actors who are due at any minute-"

"No. Jez and Julian will handle that," said Mrs Wade. "Last thing I want to do is sit around drinking coffee with actors."

"Okay ." said Emma. "Anyway, um, one o'clock the writers you will mentor arrive for lunch in the barn and then I believe you, um, take over for the first session. That right, Mrs Wade?"

"Cor-rect," said Mrs Wade. "Now, I assume my room is ready?"

"Yes," said Emma.

"Well then - what on earth are we waiting for?" said Mrs Wade, turning and strolling imperiously away into the hotel.

"Shall we just leave Her Majesty's bag here?" said Jez, nodding to the producer's enormous case.

Emma couldn't help laughing.

"You trying to get me fired on my first day running this?" she said.

Then she strode over to Mrs Wade's bag, took hold of the handle and tugged the thing to get it rolling.

What the heck's in here? she thought. A body?

And then, as she watched Jez and Julian pull their own suitcases into the Bell Hotel, she also thought:

"Watch your pretty head"? What century is that Julian Travers living in?

*

Emma quickly scanned the side-table buffet, checking that nothing on the lunch menu had been forgotten: vegetarian, vegan, pescetarian, gluten-free - yes, all there and all clearly labelled.

Phew!

It was only lunchtime and already she felt exhausted. All morning she'd been dashing about, servicing the mentors' demands: everything from special teas to sample scripts needing printing, asap. And, oh, the moans about the rooms, complaints about the heating, disagreements about the schedule that required re-writing three times.

She heard the barn doors open and looked up: there were the two recently arrived actors, Ben and Samantha, deep in conversation.

At least they'd been lovely! So chatty and just, well . just like normal people! She'd recognised Ben from a soap she loved, where he played a handsome young nurse. Samantha - 'oh just call me Sam, babe' - was American and seemed so chill.

Emma didn't think she had seen any of her TV shows, but, as Sam said, that wasn't surprising at all, as so many of the best US shows never even made it to Britain.

She gave the actors a friendly wave. But then she saw them coming straight for the buffet.

"Oh, sorry!" she said. "Afraid we're not supposed to start lunch until everybody's here. Sorry again! But do grab a drink while you wait."

"No problem," said Sam, reaching for one of the water jugs.

"Hey, look!" said Ben, and Emma saw him pluck an unopened bottle of wine from one of the cases that had been hidden under the table. "Gewürztraminer! My fave!"

"Oh, um, sorry again. I've been, er, told that there's a no-alcohol rule at lunch," said Emma, not sure how to handle this. "That's for this evening's party."

"Haha, what are we, kids on summer camp?" said Ben, twisting open the screw top on the bottle and pouring himself a big glass. He raised it to her: "Cheers!"

Emma waited for the two actors to move away across the barn to the sofa corner, then swiftly put the bottle back in the case, got down on her knees and shoved it out of sight under the table.

"Need a hand?" came a male voice, and she backed out, banging her head.

"What?" she said, rubbing her head. She stood up and saw a guy in aviator shades, leather bag over shoulder.

"You in charge of drinks?" said the guy.

"I'm Emma," she said. "From Global."

What's wrong with everybody today? she thought.

"Oh yes. Saw the email about you running things, last minute, right?" said the guy, then he took off his shades and held out his fist. "Craig Tanner. TV writer."

Emma took a moment to realise he actually wanted a fist-bump not a handshake, then responded rather gingerly likewise.

"Cool," he said.

She took him in. Mid-forties maybe? Double denim. Cowboy boots poking out from under the jeans. That thick neck that comes from too many hours in the gym. And with what she guessed was a thick Manchester accent - all quite the combination.

From her notes she remembered his project: hardcore thriller.

"Are the other writers with you?" said Emma, looking over his shoulder.

"Dunno. They decided to walk from the station. I took a cab. Got here first so I could pick out the best room. Gotta stay ahead of the game? Know what I mean?"

"Oh yes, totally," she said, not knowing at all. The guy stared at her, as if sizing her up. An awkward silence - then a babble of voices at the door made her look over.

Two women - one maybe in her thirties and the other barely out of her teens - and another man, clearly older, a full beard, tortoiseshell glasses. The other three writers, she guessed. She walked over.

"I'm Emma, from Global, here to represent the company and look after you," she said, hoping to make her role clear from the start.

"Cassie Blythe," said the older woman, giving Emma a cursory nod.

Ah, right, thought Emma. The sit-com about a group of political activists.

"When do our mentors get here?" said Cassie.

"Oh, um, we'll all be having lunch together in just a few minutes," said Emma.

"Okay," said Cassie, appraising the long table laid for lunch. "Where's the producer and director sitting?"

"Um, I think it's a kind of free-for-all."

She saw Cassie nod, not pleased, then peel away to stand by the table. Emma turned to look at the remaining two writers, and smiled at the young woman.

"You . must be Kylie," said Emma, noting her arms covered in richly coloured tattoos of surreal vegetation and even stranger creatures. "Wow, love those!"

Kylie mumbled a response that Emma couldn't quite hear, then took out her phone and shuffled off to the corner of the room.

"She's a sweet kid," said the final writer, reaching out and shaking Emma's hand. "But painfully shy. Sat next to her on the train. Barely said a word, at first."

"She's the fantasy-meets-aliens writer,...