Free My Week with Marilyn by Colin Clark

What could I do? After this, how could I go back to working on the film as third assistant director? All the normal, everyday rules seemed to have been chucked out of the window. Roger was the only sensible person in Marilyn’s whole entourage, and now he seemed to be in on some sort of plot. I could probably be sued for breach of contract, or alienation of affection, or something. Maybe the studio would have me bumped off. I was responsible, they would say, for the abduction of their million-dollar film star, the most famous woman in the world. What if we crashed and she was killed?
    â€˜Stop the car, Roger,’ I said. ‘Let ’s get out and think. There’s no one around. Let’s have a little stroll in the fresh air.’
    Roger drew in to the side of the road and Marilyn and I got out. She still had hold of my arm, I noticed.
    â€˜I’ll stay here on guard,’ said Roger. ‘Why don’t you two walk down to that little stream and cool off?’
    â€˜Great idea,’ said Marilyn, releasing her grip and bending down to pull off her shoes. She was wearing a short white wool dress instead of her usual trousers, and she presented, as she must well have been aware, an extremely attractive rear end.

    â€˜Come on, Colin.’ She swayed off down the slope, her bare feet crinkling the grass. ‘Don’t be stuffy. Take your shoes off. It’s great.’
    By the time we reached the stream, we were out of breath and very hot, and it seemed a good idea to wade straight in. ‘I think this is the most lovely thing I’ve ever felt in my life,’ said Marilyn, serious at last. ‘What do you think, Colin? Can’t you feel it?’ She held out both her hands and grasped mine. ‘I feel so alive. For the first time I feel like I was part of nature. Can’t you feel it, Colin? I’m sure you can feel it too.’
    Frankly, I felt as if I was going to drown, although the water was only two inches deep.
    â€˜I can feel it, Marilyn,’ I mumbled.
    But she wasn’t listening to me.
    â€˜Why do I take all those pills? Why do I worry about what all those men think? Why do I let myself get pushed around? This is how I ought to feel, every day of my life. This is the real me . . . isn’t it, Colin?’
    My feet had grown cold by now, and I led her to the bank and sat down.
    â€˜No, Marilyn. Alas, it’s not the real you. It’s just a beautiful, beautiful illusion. You are a star. A great star.’ I was beginning to sound like Paula Strasberg, but it was true. ‘You can’t escape that. You have to perform. Millions of people love you and admire you. You can’t ignore them. You can’t run away. Let’s just have a super fun day, a day that we will never forget, and then we must go back to real life.’
    â€˜Only one day?’
    â€˜Well . . . perhaps a weekend?’
    â€˜Or a week?’
    â€˜We’ll see.’
    Marilyn brightened. ‘OK. So how shall we spend our day?’
    â€˜Let’s go to Windsor Castle. Her Majesty might be in. Then we could go across to my old school, Eton College. There’s a little tea shop where they give you the most scrumptious food. Then maybe we could have a swim in the river before we go home.’

    â€˜That sounds great. Let’s go. Do you think Roger will mind if we treat him like a chauffeur?’
    I gazed into her eyes. ‘He’d do anything for you, Marilyn, as you know.’
    Roger obviously knew the road to Windsor Castle well. ‘I used to work here,’ he said. ‘Looking after the Family.’
    He parked on the slope leading to the main gate and marched up to the guardhouse, with Marilyn and me a few steps behind. He was obviously glad to be back in charge.
    There were two large uniformed policemen blocking the archway, and although they did not know Roger personally, it was quite clear that like recognised like at about twenty