The Secret Five and the Stunt Nun Legacy (17 page)

Whatshisname looked up. The others were staring at him. Maybe it was the collar. Best make a move. Ears dragging on the ground, he skulked out of the restaurant to join them, putting on his extra-special apologetic and depressed look, thinking Sartre thoughts, not yet realising the imminent danger he was in from a vengeful backlash. But just then, thankfully, before they could do any permanent damage to their faithful dog (such as ripping out his heart and liver and feeding it to him as an extra-special treat), Daniel had a great idea.

‘Oh, yes, right, well, here’s my great idea,’ Daniel said. ‘Erm, what if we just walk in and ask Bartle to step outside for a moment and then kidnap him?’

‘And
that’s
your great idea?’ Betty asked, rather nastily.

‘Well, to be honest,’ Daniel said, ‘I didn’t think it was that great, but, well, you know.’ He pointed his finger up at the sky.

‘Ah, I know what you mean,’ said Betty, rather less nastily.

Just then, yet another featureless one-dimensional character appeared on the scene, to ruin what, apparently, was a less-than-great idea.

‘Hi again, Ricky!’ said the yet another featureless one-dimensional character as he approached. ‘I’m the kindly man who is making a movie, but probably known to you Limeys as a film. Bor-ing! Anyway, the
moo-vie
is about nuns – gee, kid, that outfit does suit you.’

Ricky greeted the man cheerily. ‘Why, hello again,’ he said politely. ‘At this stage, I should really ask if we can be of any help. Can we?’

‘Well,’ said the man, taking a big breath for what would be quite a long sentence, ‘if you remember, when we last met I said to you that you’d be perfect for a little part as an extra in the sentimental yet artful crowd-pleaser of a magical movie that we’re making here in Salzburg so I came to find you to ask you if you are ready to start filming right now not far from here.’

‘Gosh, yes!’ said Ricky, quite eagerly for a boy of his extremely common blood group.

The others were intrigued. ‘I’m intrigued,’ Betty confirmed. ‘And so are the others. Tell us, please do, sir!’

‘Sir? Well, for a start,’ the man said, ‘you can call me Bob.’

‘Sir Bob?’ said Amy.

‘No, just Bob,’ said the man. ‘It’s short for . . . hmmm, I’ve forgotten. Never mind.’ He stood looking at them one by one. ‘Ricky’s job will be as a stunt double for one of the children in the film, but I’ve just had an idea! Would you
all
be interested in being stunt doubles? You’ll have to hang from some trees for a minute. We can’t risk the nice actor children getting hurt, you see. They’re too precious. Whereas you . . .’

‘No way!’ said Betty. ‘We are on a very important mission, and the future well-being of mankind relies on us! We are too busy adventuring, sorry.’

‘It’s good rates of pay,’ said Ricky.

‘We’ll do it!’ yelled Daniel, eager to garnish his funds for a Ninstation Y-Box Pii 4, which, of course, hadn’t even been invented in 1964.

‘Woof woof woof,’ said Whatshisname, hardly pausing in his frantic effort to scratch off his fluffy pink collar.

‘Daniel!’ scolded Betty. ‘Shush. Be still.’ Then she turned to Bob. ‘Don’t listen to him, Mr Bob. It’s his spectacles, they’re having an effect on his judgment. Our secret mission is far too important to appear in a film. And there’s still three hundred and thirty five . . . no, three hundred and thirty seven exclamation marks to go!! So, there’s no way we can do it. For one thing, I suppose that we would all have to wear clothes made from that rather interesting curtain material, just like Ricky is wearing?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Bob.

‘Then we’ll do it,’ said Betty. ‘Where do you want us? This is my best side.’ She tapped her left cheek.

‘Excuse me, can I respectfully suggest,’ Amy respectfully suggested to Betty, ‘that you propose a Secret Five meeting about all this?’

‘Hey!’ said Bob. ‘Now you mention it, can
I
join The Secret Five? I spoke to several of your affiliated members of your provisional European wing about it and they’re all quite excited about all the privileges, despite looking very foreign and swarthy. And I have heard all about your very secret mission. Do you know, one day I’m gonna have to make a movie about you all.’

‘That’ll be nice,’ said Amy.

‘Yeah,’ said Bob. ‘The Secret Five is one of the known unknowns, greatly respected worldwide.’

‘Known unknowns?’ Betty said, frowning quite a big frown for someone with her taste in cheeses.

Bob nodded. ‘Yeah, as opposed to unknown knowns which, frankly, we know little about compared to the known knowns.’

‘Erm, do you
all
talk like this in America?’ Betty asked.

‘I reckon so,’ Bob said, ‘as far as I know, anyway. Who knows. That’s one of the unknown unknowns. Now, about this membership.’

Ricky was about to start a serious discussion on the subject of membership privileges, but Betty interrupted him before he could speak, so it hardly counts as an interruption, does it now?

‘Here’s a great idea,’ she whispered to the others. ‘Gather round in a huddle so that I can tell you all about it.’

‘Is this a meeting?’ asked Bob. ‘Hey, I could be the guest speaker!’

‘Sorry, Mr Bob,’ Betty said. ‘Rules dictate that this has to be a very private meeting.’

Bob nodded his head and stepped back respectfully so that the very private meeting could take place. The children and Whatshisname gathered round in a huddle.

‘This had better be a
proper
great idea and worth a huddle,’ whispered Amy. ‘To be honest, I was rather disappointed with the last great idea.’

‘This one is guaranteed to be great,’ Betty whispered. ‘It’s this – what if we agree to do this stunting for Bob, but first ask him to go and get Clarissa the stunt nun from the restaurant, so she can come with us, on her own! Then we’d be taking her away from Bartle!’

‘Wow! That is one great idea!’ said Daniel. ‘Simple. But great.’

‘Thank you, Daniel,’ said Betty. ‘Ricky, you go and ask him.’

‘Why me?’ moaned Ricky.

‘Again, why must we always have this
why me
argument?’ chided Betty. ‘Other children’s secret clubs don’t continually argue about who does what and when, do they? Now, go and sidle over to him and ask!’

Ricky was aghast and, to be brutally frank, slightly agog. He’d never been chided before. ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘Chiding I can take, but the last time I sidled – accidentally, it must be said – you
all jolly well lampooned me for it! So why should I sidle now? Hmmm?’

‘He’s right,’ said Amy. ‘We were a bit harsh on his involuntary sidling.’

‘I don’t recall any lampooning, though,’ added Daniel.

‘Okay,’ said Betty. ‘No sidling. Just edge up to him and ask.’

Edging seemed to be perfectly acceptable to Ricky, so he did. ‘Please, Mr Bob,’ Ricky said, after he had edged just far enough. ‘In that restaurant is a lady called Clarissa. She’s a stunt nun in your film. If you persuade her to come with us, and away from danger, then we’ll all do this job for you.’

The man smiled quite a big smile for his size of mouth, then nodded his head. ‘Of course. Anything to assist your pathetic little adventure. And then she can help you do your stunting. Just wait here.’

They resumed their crouching position outside the restaurant and watched through the window as Bob went inside. Within barely the amount of time that light takes to cross a rather busy road during rush hour in Cheadle, Bob and Clarissa were heading out of the restaurant, but not before Clarissa had kissed Uncle Quagmire full on the lips for a full three and a half seconds.

‘Did you see that?’ gasped Amy, unable to believe what she had seen with her very own eyes.

‘I did,’ said Ricky. ‘I’ve never seen Aunt Trinny kiss him like that! Have you?’

‘Well,’ said Amy, ‘I did catch them holding hands once. Remember?’

‘Yes, of course!’ said Ricky. ‘That was when she fell down that unexpected well in that field and Uncle Quagmire rescued her. That was so exciting!’

Amy nodded her head knowingly, yet unknowingly. Before they could enter into a discussion about the finer detail of inter-parental fondness, Bob and Clarissa approached the children at regular walking pace.

‘This is Clarissa,’ said Bob. ‘She’s stunting for me in scenes which are considered too dangerous for many highly paid actresses.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Clarissa the stunt nun, shaking their hands one by one. She even shook Whatshisname’s paw! The dog’s tail wagged and wagged just over eighteen to the dozen. ‘Nice pink collar, doggy! Good girl,’ she said to Whatshisname. She turned to the children, leaving Whatshisname to growl quietly and frantically tear again at his fluffy pink collar.

‘I’ve heard such a lot about you from your Uncle Quagmire,’ Clarissa said. ‘What a lovely handsome fellow he is.’ She sighed a big sigh and the children frowned a big frown. ‘And that Bartle de Lylow! Such a nice man. Very handsome indeed, for an American.’ She glanced back into the restaurant, where Uncle Quagmire was busy arguing with Old Hag. Bartle looked very perplexed by all these comings and goings, especially the goings. Clarissa caught his eye and waved. She was really good at all the waving.

The children panicked! They had to fend off a plot reversal, and fast!

‘Please,’ urged Betty, grabbing Clarissa’s arm. ‘Quickly! We all need to go with Bob to do our stunting!’

‘Yes,’ Bob said, beckoning them with a free arm. ‘Let’s go, and get these children filmed hanging from trees, and then they can get on with their adventure. I’m so excited at being a member of The Secret Five! I’m so happy! The only thing that might upset me now is a chapt . . .’

In which the author gets a little peeved; Old Hag gets tripped up by a posh nun; our pals sit on a grassy hillside and almost sing a bit; Ricky tries yet again to complain about the treatment of their characters; he’s walking a fine line; the kangaroo, unseen, peeks around a corner.

‘Gee, what a bummer, was that really necessary?’ moaned an irritated Bob as they all boarded a little private bus that was to take them to the filming location. ‘There’s always someone who likes to spoil things, ain’t there?’

‘We’re used to it by now,’ said Betty. ‘But tell us what we have to do, Mr Bob, please do.’

And so, on their way to the film location, Bob patiently explained all about their task, which was for them to change into some green swirly curtain-material clothes and then hang upside down from trees over a lakeside lane.

‘But we knew all that already,’ moaned Daniel. ‘What a waste!’

‘Ah,’ said Bob, ‘but wait, there’s something else. You also have to wave and yell at an old car as it goes by, under the trees.’

The children were pathetically easy to please, and excitedly told him that they were quite good at yelling and waving at old cars, and were extremely excited and eager to change into their curtain costumes to perform their rather daring stunt over the lakeside lane, and for it to be enthusiastically described in precise detail, covering several pages, to show exactly what brave stunt children they were.

But all too soon, before we know it, in the space of an ellipsis . . . the children had done their silly stunting, changed out of their sillier costumes, and had then been paid handsomely for their
efforts. Very handsomely indeed. In comparison, more erudite and hard-working creative people often go unpaid for their efforts. Efforts which are probably far more important, artistically and literally, and far more skilful. As a result, it means that it is not really possible for the children’s stunt work to be described here in detail, which is a shame but hey, that’s life.

‘Well!’ mumbled Betty to the others. ‘What a miserable . . .’

‘Ssshhhh! I wouldn’t say anything,’ whispered Daniel. ‘You know that
he
can be a bit touchy and sometimes seek revenge.’

‘Who?’ asked Amy, as she counted her money.

‘Never mind,’ said Daniel, squirreling the wad of notes into his pocket, not realising that the Austrian Schilling of 1964 would be delightfully obsolete by the time they got themselves back to the twenty-first century. Shame.

‘They can always watch our bit on the DVD!’ whispered Betty. ‘That’ll show him! If they look carefully, they’ll see Whatshisname up a tree as well!’

‘Please, who’s
him
?’ pleaded Amy. ‘And what’s a VDV?’

Whatshisname stood there and wondered what Pavlov’s dog would have made of this lot. How would he have dealt with their mental meanderings? Salivated over them, probably. He must try that some time. Whatshisname was having second thoughts about his Dog Created Man theory. Surely not. Unless Dog had the blueprint the wrong way up. That might explain it. He uttered an involuntary sigh, released an eggcupful of hell-gas and sank down on the grass for a jolly good nap.

Betty suddenly gasped quite a good gasp. ‘Bother!’ she said. ‘Over there, coming this way! It’s Old Hag, and she’s with Mr Bartle!’

‘Crikey, what are they doing here?’ said Ricky.

Old Hag looked very pleased with herself, in an old hag way. ‘Aha!’ she aharred as she approached them, dragging Mr Bartle by the hand. ‘I saw you silly well-paid children hanging from those trees and waving at that old car.’

‘Good,’ Daniel said, glancing skywards. ‘I’m glad someone did.’

‘Indeed, ha!’ Old Hag cackled, pointing a random finger in their direction. ‘You were all rubbish. Couldn’t hang from trees for toffee. It’ll be cut out, as sure as eggs is . . . erm . . .’

‘Eggs?’ offered Betty.

‘Yes, eggs,’ agreed Old Hag. ‘Now, I have to tell you this, as I
do
love to tell secrets. All this is part of my very own secret mission, which is a secret, so there! Enough said. Now, where’s Clarissa the stunt nun? Eh? This handsome bald American gentleman would like to see her.’

Bartle stood there and, understandably, looked confused by it all.

‘Ricky, tell her we don’t know where Clarissa is,’ whispered Betty.

‘Why can’t you tell her yourself?’ moaned Ricky. ‘Here we go again, expecting me to do all sorts of stuff, like opening doors, or telling people things. I could easily leave again, you know!’