Her voice was low when she said, “Touch me, Will. I want you to touch me everywhere; I need to feel your hands on me, learning me.”
He did as she asked, stroking and caressing her, and a sense of joy ran through him. Miss Untouchable was his. To touch. To love. To make his own. He was thrilled when she smoothed her hands over his stomach and down between his legs. He let her continue for a few seconds, but stopped her suddenly, placing one hand over hers. He stilled her fingers. She was fueling his excitement, his raging desire for her, and instantly he knew it was right for both of them to be joined. It must be now.
Slipping onto her, he put his hands under her buttocks and brought her closer, slid into her so swiftly, and almost roughly. She cried out in surprise. Her long legs went around his back, and he was filled with ecstasy, just as he knew that she was, because she was begging him not to stop. He didn’t.
As they moved in rhythmic unison, William felt as though he were suddenly pitching over a precipice, falling into space. She cried out in pleasure, repeated his name over and over. He let go of his control, and gave himself to her as she did to him.
It took him a while to recover. He lay on top of her without stirring. Eventually he spoke. “My God, oh my God, what happened to me?” he mumbled, holding on to her tightly.
“You made love to me, and I made love to you back,” Diedre said. “And wasn’t it wonderful?”
* * *
He wrapped his arms around her, and they lay together enjoying their newfound intimacy and closeness. Diedre liked the feel of his skin against hers, the strength of his body, the joy of being together like this. She knew him well in so many ways, had long understood certain aspects of him. But now she appreciated him for the man he was in his private life—who he really was as a human being.
As for Will, he could not believe that he now had his perfect woman. She belonged to him. He belonged to her. She had been worth the wait. He hoped she felt the same about him. At last he broke the long silence between them.
“Will you marry me, Diedre?”
“Yes, I want nothing less.”
He felt her smile against his chest as she said this. “Can we do it soon? I want you as my wife.”
“Yes. As soon as possible, Will. There’s just one thing. I would like all my sisters to be present at our wedding. I know Dulcie and James will be back by December. She told me that James is completing negotiations about his contract with MGM. They’re literally on their way home.”
“That’s something to look forward to in these dour times we’re living in. A Christmas wedding.”
“Do you really have to go to Czechoslovakia?”
“I should. But I’ll send Gareth Jones. I’ll pull him out of Paris for a week.”
“You could send Tony,” she suggested somewhat tentatively.
“He’s not ready. Not quite experienced enough. You guessed correctly when you said it could be dangerous.”
“What are we going to do about the office, Will?”
“I don’t follow you.” He appeared puzzled.
“I mean we are now having a love affair and we work together. Isn’t that problematic?”
He couldn’t help laughing out loud. “Don’t be silly. That doesn’t matter. I’m your superior, you know. The boss of the unit, as you keep calling me. I have no one to answer to, except the prime minister, of course.”
She laughed with him, and it was the lighthearted laugh he had not heard for a very long time. “I don’t think Neville Chamberlain will be interested in your love life,” she said.
“Agreed. Nor anyone else for that matter.”
“Do you think my father sent us to Vanessa’s house so that we could make love?”
William began to laugh again. “I don’t know for certain. But he did say I should take you to a private place to sort out the mess we’d made. And that was the way he actually put it.”
“I know he loves me very much, Will, as he loves all of his children and grandchildren. Perhaps he felt an intervention was necessary.”
“It was. You know that. Haven’t we been a couple of fools?”
“Yes, and we’ve wasted a lot of time. Oh, the train! What about your train back to London? I don’t want you to leave.”
“I’m not leaving. Your father invited me to stay tonight, for as long as I wanted. And when I said I was out of clean shirts, he told me that he was quite sure his shirts would fit me.”
“Goodness me, you are obviously well liked by him. Just imagine, Will. You came, you saw, you conquered.”
“Just so long as I conquered you, that’s all that matters to me.”
“I was the easiest conquest you ever had,” she shot back, turning her head, looking up at him.
“That’s not true, and you know it. Anyway, there haven’t been that many conquests in my life.”
She gave him a long, studied look but remained silent.
He said, “The past is dead and gone. We’re starting a new life together. You and I and Robin. How is he going to feel? Will he accept me, Diedre?”
“Absolutely, I’ve no doubt at all about that. He has his uncles and my father, but I know that deep down he would love to have a man who was his own, a man to call father.”
“And I shall be a good father to him, Diedre. I promise. And a good husband.” He grinned a bit wolfishly, added, “And lover.”
She smiled at him again, simply nodded.
William’s face changed slightly, became sober. “Difficult times are coming, as you well know. A war will soon be upon us, and Hitler will attempt to invade us. I just want you to know that I’m happy and relieved we’re together, Diedre. So that I can look after you and Robin. Protect you and keep you safe through the bad years that lie ahead.”
NO GOOD-BYE
There are two days in the week upon which and about which I never worry. Two carefree days, kept sacredly free from fear and apprehension. One of these days is Yesterday … And the other day I do not worry about is Tomorrow.
—Robert Jones Burdette Two Golden Days
Forty-one
Hollywood, California, USA. He loved it, and yet he was often perturbed and troubled by it. He wanted to stay. He wanted to leave. There was a certain dichotomy in him, an ambivalence of sorts. And yet deep inside he knew what he must do. He had no choice, really.
What James Brentwood disliked about Hollywood were the manifestly obvious things. The gossip, the backbiting, the boasting, the spite, the virulent envy. The fan magazines full of lies, innuendo, and wild assumptions. The titans of the industry who ran things the way they wanted in what was essentially a factory town. Men who could ruin a career, make or break a life with a snap of their fingers. And so many other things that bordered on the cheap, the sleazy, and the shoddy. And yet it was the most extraordinary place in the entire world, unique unto itself. Very simply, there was nowhere else like it.
What James Brentwood loved about Hollywood was the work; his fellow actors and actresses, those devoted folk who loved their profession, enthusiastically toiled with him every day, gave their all. He loved the talented screenwriters who put words in their mouths and without whom there would be no films, the brilliant directors who brought out the best in them, the producers who made it possible, the cinematographers who miraculously captured everything on film.
And then there were the makeup artists, the hairdressers, the costume and scenic designers, the film editors, the composers of the music that underscored the action. And countless technicians who made up a dedicated crew, pulled together to make everything work, to run smoothly without a hitch. The real pros, he called them.
Another thing he loved about Hollywood were those great empty spaces, the vast cavernous sound stages where filming took place. Klieg lights, cameras, sound recorders, the director and actors. All joined up to create a very special kind of magic which was captured on celluloid for all the world to see. Drama. Mystery. Romance. And musicals, a speciality of Hollywood.
James smiled to himself as he walked across the back lot of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer in Culver City, heading in the direction of one of those sound stages now. He wanted to take one last look at his favorite stage before he left.
Nineteen thirty-nine had just begun and, a week from now, he and Dulcie, and their little family, would be en route to New York where they would take a ship back to England. He would be leaving Hollywood, and there was much he would miss, not to mention the weather. But he was glad they were going to be in London soon. He worried about the war and all it would mean.
James glanced up into a clear blue sky filled with sunlight, and though there was a coolness in the air this morning it didn’t matter, especially since the air was fragrant with the smell of the orange groves and the orchards that filled this area.
Felix Lambert had come back to Los Angeles last week, after his sojourn in August, to finally close the deal he had negotiated for him with Louis B. Mayer, the head of MGM. It was, finally, a compatible deal, one which L.B. liked. And so did they.
The final retakes of his current film were in the can. But it would not be his last Hollywood movie. He was once again under contract to MGM, and now owed Mr. Mayer four more to be produced in the future. Two could be made in England, but L.B. wanted him back here for the other two films. When the war was over. Mr. Mayer agreed to that. Whenever that would be. Nobody really knew the answer.
The war. There had been no declaration. Yet. James knew it was inevitable. It was whirling toward them like a tornado and would suck them into its vortex. That was why he could not stay here making movies. He had to go home to serve his country in its time of need. It was an imperative. He was far too patriotic to stay away.
As he drew closer to the sound stage he saw Patrick Kelly, the guard, who was always on duty here. A tall, genial man, unusually helpful at all times, he was a second-generation Irish-American who had migrated to Los Angeles from New York, where his father and brothers were all cops. “It’s safer here,” he had once told James.
Pat waved to him, gave him a cheery smile when he drew to a standstill. “Good morning, Sir James.”
“Top of the morning to you,” James answered, returning Pat’s smile. “And what a beautiful day it is. Pat, I’d like to go in to take a last look at my favorite set, if I may?”
The guard nodded, unlocked the door, and ushered James inside. Pat flipped the switches in an electrical control box set in the wall, and instantly the giant sound stage was filled with brilliant light.
“What a wonderful sight that is,” James murmured, walking forward, turning around, viewing the gargantuan space, a happy look on his face. “I shall miss this set, Pat, I really will.”
“And I’ll miss you, Sir James, all of us will. You’re a real gent, if you don’t mind my saying so. One of only a fine few who have passed through here recently. You, and Mr. Gable, of course.”
“Thanks for those kind words. And I’ll miss you too, and all my pals here. But I have to go home now. To fight a war, you know.”
“It’s really coming, then?” Pat asked, sounding suddenly worried.
“I’m afraid so,” James answered, his voice solemn, his heart heavy. “And it will be worse than the last, a war like we’ve never seen before in the history of mankind, Pat. Take my word for it.”
* * *
James drove out of the gates of MGM Studios, filled with good memories, and headed in the direction of Beverly Hills. He was meeting Felix at Chasen’s for lunch, which would be another kind of farewell, in a way. Chasen’s, once a chili place, was now a full-fledged restaurant, and the favorite spot in town. It was more like a club, in a sense, because all of the customers were friends of Dave Chasen’s, the owner.
Frank Capra, the director, had put up money, and so had Harold Ross of The New Yorker magazine, who often came in from New York. It was Ross who had suggested Dave buy the lot behind the chili joint in order to expand. “And so I did as I was told,” Dave had once confided when he was recounting the history of the place.
After parking his car, James walked into Chasen’s, realizing he was early. But Felix was already seated and waiting for him.
“So, how did it feel, Jamie? Saying good-bye?” Felix asked after greeting him.
James laughed as he sat down on the red leather banquette next to Felix. “I didn’t say good-bye. Because I know I’ll be back one day, Felix.”
“That you will, my lad. I can guarantee it. The contract’s in the bag. And by the way, they’ll never let you go and fight, you know, the British army. You’ll get a desk job, or be induced to make publicity films for them.”
“Don’t say that!” James exclaimed sharply, and stared hard at his best friend, agent, and manager, frowning. “I want to join up.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this. But you’re too old to be on the front line. You’re forty-five, James, let’s not forget that. It’s the eighteen-year-olds they want in the trenches, not the likes of you, or me, for that matter.”
James let out a sigh. “I know, I know. What you say is true. But Dulcie told me the other day that Cecily’s worried Miles will get his papers, and perhaps even Harry. She’s concerned on various levels. If the earl has to run the estate she thinks it might be too big a job for him.”
Felix pursed his lips, nodded. “I can quite understand her feelings, Jamie. But somehow the Cavendon girls always seem to cope, don’t they? The Inghams have not only been known for the loveliness of their women over the years, but for the fortitude of those women, who have apparently always stood up to be counted.”
A small knowing smile slipped onto James’s face. “I won’t argue with you there, Felix. My Dulcie is the living proof … beautiful, strong, inventive, loving. And formidable. Just like her sisters and her sister-in-law.”
“Only too true, and by the way, you haven’t mentioned Cecily’s brother since I arrived. I’m assuming all is well with the newlyweds, and that they’re properly ensconced at Cavendon by now?”
“More or less. Paloma, despite being very pregnant, is in the midst of redecorating Charlotte’s House, as everyone still calls it. Seemingly she’s clever, a good designer. The Swanns are delighted, very happy those two met, married, and are about to produce the much-longed-for child Harry has craved for years.”
“What is Dulcie going to do about the gallery in London? Constance seems to have the idea she intends to close it down. Is that true?” Felix wondered out loud.
“I don’t think she has any choice in a war, Felix. The paintings would be in danger. From bombing raids. Dulcie mentioned that Hanson has saved a large vault for her in the basement of Cavendon, where everything from the gallery can be stored for the duration.”
Their conversation instantly stopped when Dave Chasen strolled over to greet them. A warm, affable man, he was the perfect host. Since he knew everyone present the atmosphere was what James termed “old home week all the time.” After exchanging pleasantries, Dave moved on to speak to Nigel Bruce and Ronald Colman, two of the English contingent, who were lunching at the other end of the dining room with David Niven, another Englishman soon leaving for home, to serve his country.
“Shall we order? I know I’m going to have one of those juicy steaks while I still have the chance.”
“So will I,” James said, and beckoned to a waiter.
Forty-two
Felix settled himself comfortably in the passenger seat, relaxing after an excellent lunch at Chasen’s. As James drove them through Beverly Hills, heading for Bel Air, he glanced out of the car window.
He liked this place. It had a country-village feeling to it, set among orange groves, orchards, and pepper trees. The neat, tree-lined streets with lovely houses and well-tended gardens added to the special flavor of bucolic living at its best. And yet it was a factory town. And its product was much in demand the world over: Movies. With a capital M. The public couldn’t get enough of them these days, were addicted to films. And they turned many actors into stars overn
ight, those devoted and often frenetic fans who adored their favorites.
Felix was fully aware that the business was now booming. He knew it would continue. Nothing would hold it back. The amazing thing was that the industry had been created by only a handful of young Jewish émigrés from Europe. Some had been brought to America at the beginning of the twentieth century by their parents, when they were small children. Or they had immigrated on their own when they were in their teens and twenties.
Felix suddenly thought of Louis B. Mayer, head of MGM, today the biggest and most powerful of all the tycoons. He had arrived with his parents from Russia at the age of three. These émigré Jews had started in the picture business mostly as owners of movie houses or as distributors of movies. Although Mayer had operated a movie emporium, as he called it, in New York, he soon began to realize it would be more profitable if he made his own movies. He set his sights on film production and headed to Hollywood.
Over the years this handful of brilliant young Jewish men created an empire of their own. They built the studios, controlled everyone and everything, and were the moguls of an industry which belonged entirely to them: MGM, Paramount, Universal, and Warner Brothers to name several.
Funny how life works, Felix thought, glancing at James. Thirty years ago he and Constance had gone to a children’s theater performance and discovered a fifteen-year-old boy called Jimmy Wood, the son of a docker from the East End. But on that stage, in a concert put on by Madame Adelia Foster’s Drama School for Children, they had witnessed pure genius at work.
Little Jimmy Wood was not only loaded with talent, he had unique good looks and charisma, even at that tender age. Jimmy had become, under their tutelage and care, and that of his three sisters, James Brentwood, one of the greatest actors on the English-speaking stage today. He was Sir James now, having been knighted by the king, and also a world-famous movie star.
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