-•✦--✦--✦•-
Friday, April 28th, 1999 — Thoresby Hall, Newark, UK
The high of nailing a difficult scene on the first take was invigorating. My emotions were all over the place from being so unsettled by Dorothea's words that I couldn't even perform to then suddenly diving so deep into the character that I'd transformed into them. Upcoming scenes would generally be my favourite ones to film because I loved movement of a wide shot as opposed to dialogue-driven scenes. But even the high or the favourite scene could make me forget.
I took notes from the director as he blocked our movements while the crew fine-tuned the camera's. Wide shots played out and I performed them beat for beat, each repetition driving the memory deeper — the one I'd been refusing to acknowledge. Cameras captured Pip chasing after Dorothea, who kept slipping around corners and appearing somewhere new. One moment she wasn't there, the next she materialised with that smirk, dangling the keys to the gate just out of reach.
Pip was trapped in the maze of the courtyard. Faded green paint clung to every wooden plank, door and shingle. Moss smothered the stone walls, lichen spread across the cobbled paths. Roofs half torn down for renovation only reinforced the truth: this place was rotten, forgotten by time, a home for ghosts unaware they were dead.
The wind picked up, blowing my newly lengthened hair across my face and tossing the scattered red leaves into wild, swirling patterns. The set had been built and dressed with care — but the wind was entirely accidental. It made the moment feel alive. It might have been the most cinematic shot we'd taken so far.
And her — she cut through it all. Hair black as a raven's wing, dress white as fresh snow. Monochrome against a world bursting with colour. Lacking her own colours, yet somehow containing all of them.
She jangled the keys one final time, letting me finally catch up to her.
"Why don't you start crying again." Estella poked,
"Because I don't want to." Pip said defensively,
"Yes, you do." Estella said knowingly,
That whole scene and our dialogue. The symbolism of a child chasing after a ghost. I had to confront the truth for refusing to was a ticket to madness. Dorothea Offerman was a more talented actor than any child actor I'd met so far. My fellow Tommy Stubbins boys, background actors, featured roles, principal ones for Children of the New Forest. Great mates, sure, but they were among the worst actors I'd had the pleasure of working with.
Child actors were young, inexperienced and only at the beginning of a demanding career that they'd fallen into because the had a passing fancy for it. Acting was tough and unrewarding, children preferred quick rewards, oil didn't mix with water.
I'd had the opportunity of working with three women who would all become Dames for their achievement in acting, I knew a good actor from a bad one. Additionally, I'd been to plays and musicals all over London in my quest to learn and enrich myself. On that path, I'd seen child actors perform at the highest levels to the most audience members. And Henry — how could I forget Henry? A wolf among sheep, his talent obvious the moment he stepped onstage. I'd never seen such a gap in ability between cast members ever since that school musical we'd done.
None of those talented or seasoned West End child actors came close to touching Dorothea's ankles. I was born with a natural talent in music and revelations granted me knowledge far beyond my years. That knowledge made me live for the future, towards opportunities of being part of history. Those visions of the future pushed me forward, shaped my drive, sharpened my ambition, forced me to think outside of the box. I recognised these qualities in others too. Nathalie loved the industry but lacked the ambition. Henry had the talent but not the desire.
Dorothea, however, dangled the key — jangling her prodigious talent for me to see. Her smile mocked me for lacking the gifts that came to her so naturally. If I wanted that key, I would have to fight her for it.
Estella's role felt designed for her. Their personalities mirrored each other. Circumstance had given her the perfect part, so of course she excelled. Yet every new scene with her surprised me. A full year of training, countless hours of work, the humiliation of bad performances, the thick skin required to bare my emotions on command — all of it had led me to confront someone far better than me.
Was it only her talent then that led to her trumping over me? Ten years old, she was already a veteran actor with thirteen credits to her name. TV series, films, and theatre. She'd done it all. Where I was musically inclined, she was born an actor. More importantly, while I stressed over every scene, she spent her time speaking with producers, cast and crew. She collected knowledge, connections, techniques. She was constantly adding strings to her bow. She was confident in her acting — the same way I was at music.
Then there was the way she spoke, lexicon she used. What ten-year-old spoke like that? Only me, I thought.
The final scene of the day ended with that signature smirk she gave to Pip — He'd been tasked by his sister to get a favour. Pip had failed, and Pip would lie to his sister to avoid a beating. Wilfred couldn't lie to himself.
Like Pip, Estella had a mission but from Lady Havisham. One of seducing and breaking Pip's heart, she was practising her womanly wiles even as a child. She was learning these arts to exact revenge that Lady Havisham desired so much on the world. Her pain to be felt by more people. Broken people broke others; Estella was her instrument.
Wilfred knew Dorothea had her own mission — not one born from spite of an old lady but from an ambition purely of her own. Her gaze reached beyond today's work, far into the future. She was learning things she planned to use one day, things that only a director or a producer needed to know.
My cheeks burned in embarrassment. I'd looked down on her for gossiping with the crew. I'd assumed ego. She had one — but she'd earned the right to own it. I had misjudged her completely.
"Cut! We're printing that one," Julian announced, then wandered over to me. "Your big surprise is tomorrow, eh? Old chap?"
The "surprise" — some specially dressed room — no longer held any weight for me. Not after clocking how Dorothea worked. Still, I managed a polite smile for the director.
"Ah, our actors must be tired. He's lost his voice. Kayla, let's see them off, shall we?"
"Can I stay on a bit longer?" Dorothea asked sweetly.
"'Course you can, but stick to the schedule. I don't want your chaperone tearing strips off me again about mandated work hours. As far as I'm concerned, you're wrapped for the day." Julian strolled away, pleased with himself.
"You win. This time," I conceded.
"'Course I'd win, boy." She referenced the scene we did, but her expression softened as she remembered her prize. "How about you come with me? A lady needs a gentleman to show her round the place."
"Oh, shall I offer you a hand to hold?" I extended my elbow,
"Don't be absurd… though I suppose we're meant to have a chaperone. Unmarried ladies and all that."
"Why do you talk like that?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Talk like what?" she said, face full of innocence.
"Like that." I pointed at her vaguely.
She scoffed. "Queen's English. You might've heard of it?" She walked away in haste.
I sighed and followed her to the H&M trailer to get out of costume. An idea buzzed in my head — a chance to get over the false impression I'd had of her. There was a show I used to watch before moving to London. Famous Five — a gang of cousins and one very loyal dog going off on adventures, unearthing treasures or solving small-time mysteries. Their method was simple, and I hoped it'd work for me. Find clues and look at them with curious eyes. Retrace my steps and I'd see where I'd misjudged her. From there, I could see her for who she really was — the actual shape of Dorothea.
My real aim, though, was to understand her better. Something didn't sit right. I just couldn't pin down what.
"Estella, dear! You were wonderful," Maria said, coming in to hug her daughter, who was already out of costume and having her makeup taken off.
Dorothea smiled kindly — actually sweet — and returned the embrace.
"Thank you, Maria," she said as they stepped apart.
My ears pricked up. That line. How strange for Dorothea to call her own mother Maria. It wasn't even the first time; thinking back, she always called her mother Maria. A detective had to stay curious and gather clues until the case cracked open.
I watched them both. They looked so alike that, were they not mother and daughter, they'd have passed for sisters. So I doubted stepmother. Their conversation stayed light — work, the day's scenes, the usual set talk. But in trying to keep my mind open, I noticed something more important: what wasn't said. Nothing personal. No pet names. No references to family, friends, home, hobbies — nothing beyond the shoot.
Odd. What was the riddle of Dorothea Offermann?
"Maria. Pip will be joining us today on our walk. Would you chaperone us?"
"'Course, dear. I shall," Maria smiled.
I called my grandparents to let them know I'd be hanging around and that they could fetch me in two hours. The three of us then wandered the set, careful not to step on anyone's toes or disrupt the work. The adult actors were filming, but crew came and went around them. And with every person we passed, Dorothea greeted them by name and asked about their job or whatever tricky procedures they were handling.
"How do you light the whole set if the camera has to move around?" "What's this chalked ground mean?" "What do these numbers on the tape for?"
I'd had the same questions when I'd been in the theatre but it'd taken ages for me to show some initiative. The crew member answered every question Dorothea had, the tape and chalk was for the camera dolly start and end points. While the numbers stood for camera aperture settings — these were not at all what I concerned myself with while on set. Those were the sort of things that you left to the director and his crew.
Actor didn't need to know these things. Apparently, that was exactly what Dorothea wanted to know. Was her goal in the future really in those jobs? Did she have a creative talent in writing as well as acting? How fearsome would that combination be? Questions, questions. So many questions to the riddle that she was.
A red-haired woman hailed us down and immediately fussed over Dorothea. She looked late thirties, maybe early forties, and even I, as dense as I'd been about the set, knew she was the costume designer.
"Estella! I've got your black dress ready, and you're going to love the red silk robe we've done. You'll look a proper gothic lady."
"Thank you, Odile. I've always had such trouble with my seamstresses. You're a treasure," Estella chimed.
Seamstresses? What seamstresses? Were we suddenly in the 1800s, or was Estella simply an odd girl who liked playing at old-fashioned speech? I filed that away for my case files.
"You have a seamstress?" I asked once we'd moved on from the costume trailer.
"Indeed. Quite a few, in fact," Dorothea nodded primly.
"Fine, you don't have to answer," I muttered, shaking my head. "Where do you live?"
Her eyes sparkled. "Fetch us tea, Pip. Off you go."
"Chloe, can you get us some tea?" I asked our very patient, very quiet chaperone.
"Oh no, you'll have to get it yourself, Pip. Remember our wager," Dorothea reminded.
Unable to argue, I trudged off — initially in the wrong direction — and had to circle back past them to reach the tea station. Embarrassing moment after embarrassing moment whenever she got under my skin. Chloe followed after me, quoting child-licensing rules and safety regulations like scripture.
When I came back with the drinks, Dorothea spent a good minute belittling my tea-making. I didn't have the heart to tell her Chloe had ended up brewing them while giving a lecture about hot liquids and set safety. Some of her stories sounded fake but if they were real, I wouldn't be caught making tea again on set.
We spent the next hour making rounds or watching the adult actors rehearse and shoot their scenes. Ioan was noticeably stronger than everyone except Charlotte Rampling. I took note of his choices, though I didn't learn much else from the sidelines.
Nain arrived to fetch me back to the hotel, and Dorothea seized the moment.
"You're a much better companion when you're not sighing constantly or being rude to me. We'll do our dance duel tomorrow after the scenes, so you can start calling me Estella."
"I can't," I said. "I'll be going to New York."
"New York? Whatever for?"
"Audition. A big one."
"Oh, my girl's also got—"
"Maria! Please." Dorothea snapped, shushing her mother.
This girl was so odd. Also, did I hear that she had an audition in America?
"Right, sorry, dear. I mean — Estella," Maria said, flustered.
Dorothea paused, thinking, then something clearly clicked in that mind of hers.
"You will attend your tutoring session after class?"
"Yes… Chloe said the council needs the hours signed or production would lose their license. I've even had to get new tickets," I grumbled.
"Brilliant. We'll fit it in that slot, then," Dorothea declared.
"But we've got to be, you know… tutored," I reminded her.
"Oh, Pip. Don't you fret your pretty little head about that," Dorothea said breezily, and walked off without so much as a farewell.
And somehow, I found myself believing she could pull it off. Chloe wouldn't budge even if the director demanded it — but Dorothea had a way of making the entire crew bend for her. She'd get what she wanted.
"Worry about losing," Dorothea called over her shoulder.
My teeth clenched again on instinct.
She seemed to have a way with me too — the way of winding me up with ease.
That night, I went to bed thinking over everything I'd gathered about Dorothea. Oddly, the riddle of my co–young-lead had only grown larger. I had to recall back to when I'd first met her: the table read where she'd needled me without pause, which I now figured was her true personality. She'd told me her real name and fired off questions — where I lived, what my accent was, what films I'd done. The only concrete things she'd volunteered were how many productions she'd appeared in and, later on, when giving me a lesson she'd bragged about being in a show called All Quiet on Preston Front. Apparently she danced as well. That was the grand sum of what I truly knew about her.
Meanwhile, any question I'd asked had been sidestepped or ignored, and I'd been too distracted by her constant mocking to notice. Realising that made a cold sweat prickle down my back. Dorothea was a mystery — and she'd hidden it with such smoothness that I'd never noticed how neatly she'd danced around everything personal. Even today, she'd done it when she asked me to fetch tea. Any personal questions were met with a stone wall.
An idea so unbelievable came to my mind as I'd been drifting off to sleep. In my dreams that seed of an idea grew, warped, stretched — and twisted into a nightmare. By the time I woke the next morning, the ridiculous thought I'd entertained the night before suddenly felt… possible.
Dorothea Offermann, actor extraordinaire. A girl so talented the revelations seemingly knew nothing about. Ten years old, yet speaking with more poise and maturity than most adults on set. Drive and ambition that matched my own, stride for stride.
Could she be someone born with the same revelations ability I'd been blessed with?
—✦—
Saturday, April 28th, 1999 — Thoresby Hall, Newark, UK
Large number of crew were present today. Well, they were always present somewhere on location. But they'd all gathered to watch me be surprised by the "surprise" set they'd prepared. I'd just left a rehearsal hall that had been taped with measurements in the style of theatre rehearsal halls. Floors marked where the props would be and the walk I'd have to perform. Julian spent a precious hour of his to hammer in the whole scene to me and Charlotte.
Money was certainly riding in this particular set dressing because Penny, who I was introduced by Dorothea, informed me that she'd spent three weeks making the props. Weirdly, Penny's eyes kept twinkling whenever she said props and her lips curled when I asked about what her process was like.
"I don't kiss and tell." Penny had said,
Camera stood behind me and in front of me, Vince the steadicam guy was in my face. My head turned to see the massive crowd behind me. Everyone was excited but I could feel the dark energy off them. They didn't have good intentions. There was something bad on this set. I just knew it!
I spotted Dorothea, who gave me a smirk. Gulping, I eyed the massive double doors again. Idea of her having revelations scared me and the fact she'd kept dodging my questions. It made me overthink things even more sinister. What if she knew about me and was keeping me at bay?
"As we rehearsed, Wilfred. Estella, on your mark. And you lot, get back." Julian shooed the crowd,
Everyone grumbled but went to one side where they wouldn't block the lighting or be seen by the cameras.
"Quiet on set, don't ruin this shot!" Julian warned seriously,
I went to stand on my mark behind Dorothea.
"Sound, speed,"
"ACTION!"
Dorothea walked in front, she held a candle holder shaped like a miniature brazier.
"You are to come this way, today." she said as she walked in prim and proper gait. "You are to go in there."
She came to a stop near an open doorway that led to the hall containing the real room. Turning, she warned:
"Don't open the doors that are down the corridor."
Her turn didn't falter as she pivoted on her heels to leave. Pip tried to mimic Estella's cold detachment.
"You ask a favour of me?" I accused,
Her footsteps echoed, one after another, each slower than the last. Then she stopped, frozen, pivoting lightly on the balls of her feet. Even in boots, she moved like a ballerina on pointe. Soon, we would dance, duel for proving our supremacy. Her effortless grace unnerved me. Men of science often relied on historical data; Only data I had said one thing. Dorothea excelled at everything she attempted. Studies aside, I just knew she could be a brilliant dancer too.
Those eyes curled as a fox's would. Though the face held an unimpressed expression.
"It is an instruction." she said, and stormed off.
Wilfred, summoned to the fore by Dorothea's presence, receded. Pip returned, inhabiting my skin again. No Dorothea. Only the room I'd dreaded. Tudor-era double-panel doors loomed before me — vertical rectangles, horizontal panels, intersecting lines — their recesses giving them weight, authority. The set was silent; even my boots clacked sharply against the floor, the echoes filling the empty hall.
Nerves coiled tight, sweat forming on my brow. I licked dry lips and stood before the doors — or perhaps the camera. I drew a deep breath to summon courage.
"Hold for Camera C."
I froze, waiting for the camera to roll along the track behind me, while the one in front slid aside. The Steadicam waited, poised. Silence held its breath with me.
"Slate up. Action!"
I breathed deeply just as I did a minute before. Continuity was not important for this action, but I wanted to capture the exact same emotions again. Stepping forward I pulled open the panel doors, both at the same time. A perfectly centred composition stood before me — or at least it felt like it at a glance. Taking off my hat, I gazed directly ahead. Julian's direction of me not being spoiled by the set was for me to look anywhere that was not the table.
"Steadicam."
Fixing my gaze into the least distracting thing, I stared to the spot while appearing as uncomfortable as I could to the camera.
"Clear out! Return on the mark. Slate again for this, we might need a lot of cuts. Action!"
I let the Steadicam clear, then walked forward slowly. My hat rested in both hands, clutched nervously, unsure of how to move. The room buzzed with distractions, yet I held my gaze on nothing. Once I reached my mark, I stopped and froze again.
I was adding new powers to my method of acting. Great Expectations was letting me experiment, push boundaries. The technique I'd dubbed Snapshot tied memories to scenes, allowing me to summon a character frozen within that moment. Seven-year-old Pip was not the same as twelve-year-old Pip. This screenplay squeezed the story into spanning a month or two, but my method could summon different Pips for different sequences.
The technique I was using now, I called the Freeze. It let me stop thinking and remain fully in character, suspended in a specific moment of a scene. Its usefulness was endless. I'd developed it from meditation methods I'd been experimenting with to manage my frustration with Dorothea. Who would have thought that coping with her could help me stay fully in character while the camera crew set up?
"Go!"
My eyes finally dropped to the table — a banquet table set for a noble wedding, fully decorated with ornate splendour. Fancy wine glasses with gold accents, gold salt shakers, silver utensils, crystal candelabras, pristine porcelain plates, flower bouquets and a five‑course meal. Two decades ago it might have been magnificent. Now it was nothing but ruin.
The stench hit me and I wrinkled my nose, lifting my hat to mute it. The Steadicam stayed with me as I took everything in. Plates held only dust. Smudged glasses sat empty. The pretence of luxury had passed decades ago.
A fancy vase held nothing but dried, decayed flowers. The wedding cake had cracked into something that looked like cement. I almost gasped when I saw a rat burying its head inside it; when I passed, it tilted its head at me. Leaves littered the once‑white tablecloth, now yellowed.
I stopped when I saw the food. An elaborate metal bowl with lion‑head designs held what had once been bread, now moulded into bricks. And atop it lay the true source of the smell — hundreds, perhaps thousands, of maggots crawling over the slop. I gagged, feeling the blood drain from my face.
Miss Havisham was mad! This room hadn't moved past eight forty, stuck in time like the clocks on the walls — but even she couldn't stop nature from reclaiming everything. She slept in the next room. She still wore the wedding dress from twenty years ago. What was I even doing here? What favour of hers could possibly help me? My feet stopped entirely; I was ready to bolt.
"You saw my relatives downstairs?" Miss Havisham asked suddenly,
I gasped and turned. I triggered my revelations ability, promising for a split second to tell her everything. Blood drained from my face as the drop took over my body — and just as quickly, I rejected the thought of telling her all. Revelations were mine. None would hear my secrets. The blood rushed back to my face, my body in my own control again. The fear on my face was more genuine than anyone could ever display.
Pausing at the sight of her, I forced myself to steady. I tried to make my face appear normal again, nodding awkwardly. Once. Twice. Thrice. My voice returned, but instead of speaking, I drew a breath and gave a firmer, more decisive nod.
"Today is my birthday." she remarked,
I had to act! Miss Havisham was mad. Kids in town spoke ill of her, they'd said that boys who came here never returned. If I couldn't help it, that would be my fate as well. The only way out was to be in her favour, just as Sister wanted.
"Many happy returns—"
"—I don't suffer it to be spoken of!" she harshly rebuked, "Come."
"Cut!"
I employed the freeze technique again. My mind suddenly blank of much thoughts. Only listening for two words. One would affirm that I was on the right path, while the other meant that I had a long road full of detours awaiting me.
Time felt a foreign concept in the freeze. I'd failed all methods of meditation but one. Even if I never acted again, this one would be my most used technique.
"Print!"
The words were music to my ears. First-take miracle, once again. I'd felt I'd done a good job but with so many cameras, a shot could be ruined by an equipment showing up on frame. Even though we'd not rehearsed on this specific set, we'd nailed it on the first try. My happiness felt muted, almost underwater. The freeze almost came unravelling with the happy emotions. But the next words reminded me why I was still in freeze.
"Slate again. Camera B on the dolly. Check continuity. Action!"
Charlotte urged me forward, getting a hand over my shoulder as we rounded the table. A genuine tree was growing in the room, but it had died sometime ago, just like everything in this room. Dead leaves painted the floor and as we walked they crunched under my boots. Her tattered dress had a long tail that trailed on the ground, the only broom that these halls had seen in decades.
Miss Havisham told me her tale and Pip gave the best acting performance he'd ever given in his life. Even Sister would've been fooled by it.
When we wrapped the scene ten minutes later, I let Pip slip away again. This time it felt far less jarring than the angry performance from yesterday. It had been easier, though my head still throbbed. Each passing moment eased the migraine until I was fully myself again.
"Simply amazing, Wilfred! That was incredible — you've saved me days of work I was dreading. Emotion in your eyes, the subtle body language… How have you done it, boy? Ha! Brilliant, that! BRILLIANT!" Julian chuckled, laughing heartily.
He hugged the ADs and recounted the story over and over, exaggerating as though none of them had been in the room filming it with him.
"Dorothea is a natural-born actor as well! So much talent on a set with child actors. Haha! Maureen and Gail are the best casting directors I've worked with — or perhaps we've received the gift of God!" Julian boasted.
Kayla jabbed him sharply with her elbow. "Call her Estella! You know the deal we signed."
Julian stammered an apology, only to launch straight back into boasting, retelling the tale again. My eyes widened.
"Excuse me. Excuse me!" I called, louder this time when he didn't pause.
"Uh, yes? Wilfred?" Julian's smile was the warmest I'd ever seen.
The director who'd cut days of shooting was now the happiest person on earth.
My words sounded foreign as I asked the question my mind couldn't let go.
"What was it that you just said?"
"You mean about Doro — I mean, Estella? She is amazing, isn't she?"
"No, before that."
Julian's eyes dimmed slightly as he recalled. "Maureen and Gail are the best casting directors. They're a gift from God, and I'm blessed to have it," he said.
The riddle of Dorothea Offermann seemed to disintegrate before me — the mystery whose shape I hadn't quite recognised unravelled before me in one fell swoop. I didn't need to solve the riddle that was her. Sometimes, the answer just dropped on your lap. Julian had told it to me directly.
Back in Florence, Franco had handed me a gift and spoke of the three wise men — three gifts for a child destined for greatness. Unlike Jesus, I wasn't a god, and I didn't believe in one, but still the shape of the story lingered, threading itself through my thoughts. Patterns emerging, a tapestry formed.
The first gift was Franco giving me the gift of a man — offering me the opening sequence of the film and the chance to sing on screen for the world. There was no spotlight larger than that he could grant to me.
The second gift, I'd thought, was Nathalie: Young Nala, the girl whose very name meant gift. I convinced myself she was what I'd been searching for, the gift I'd wanted more than anything. But as sweet as Nathalie was, she couldn't provide the spice of a challenge.
I'd been blind to the signs — to everything that had been staring me in the eyes, from the moment I'd met Dorothea. Her rightful pride I called egomania. Her drive and ambition I labelled laziness. Her relentless push to improve I dismissed as bad habits.
The reason every word from her hit a nerve.
The reason I'd begun to hate her.
Threads of understanding weaved into a single truth.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw Dorothea in the reflection. Everything I was. Everything I could be. The person I was. All the qualities I prized to be my best, the reflection twisted them into flaws. My own unforgiving gaze could only magnify the blemishes on the uncut gem.
Those three gifts I'd imagined receiving from three different sources — one would be from man, for gold represented an instant benefit. Such was Franco giving me the stage.
Second would remain a mystery until I realised the truth in me.
But the third, I knew to be from God — for what other fortune could let our paths cross? I'd been looking in all the wrong places. The third had been standing right in front of me and I was too blind to see it.
Dorothea Offermann was God's gift to me.
My Salieri — or I was hers.
My Michelangelo — or my Da Vinci.
I had found my rival at last — and the future seemed suddenly, so much brighter.