Debutantes: In Love

by Cora Harrison

  Charles was modest, mentioning a well-known film, but hastily adding that he was only one of the many young rajahs in it, but by the time that Baz and Poppy slid out of the taxi outside the British Museum he and Sir Guy seemed to be talking in a very friendly fashion. Daisy giggled a little as she saw Poppy forcibly drag Baz inside the black iron railings that surrounded the museum. He looked to be protesting vigorously.

  Boys! she thought, and then hastily asked, ‘What did you say, Sir Guy?’

  ‘I was thinking that I could get Tom to do a screen test on Charles when we get there. Nothing elaborate: just a bit of acting. Would that be all right, Charles? Match you up with a blonde, perhaps. That would contrast nicely. ’

  Daisy could see that Charles looked thrilled and wished that she could warn him that Sir Guy had forty projects a day and only carried out about ten in the year. The chances of him using Charles as a star were small, but then, thought Daisy, on my films I can do my own choosing and, who knows, I might make us both famous.

  Chapter Twelve

  Thursday 3 April 1924

  Although Sir Guy was enraptured by the idea of Daisy’s chicken version of Jane Eyre and immediately got on the phone to various cinema owners, the film test for Charles did not look as though it was going to be a success. Daisy’s heart ached. Poor boy, she thought, and longed to comfort him as Charles began to get a stricken look in his eyes. It had been all right in the beginning when they took a few shots of him, full face and then of his left and right profile. But Charles had become increasingly wooden as Tom tried to film him in various poses with studio crew – obviously they were considering him as a romantic hero; on his knees presenting a bunch of paper roses to an embarrassed Fred, kissing Harry’s chemical-stained hand, and, worst of all, ordering him to throw his arms around James’s neck.

  That was the moment when Sir Guy took charge.

  ‘C’mon, Daisy,’ he grunted. ‘Let her do it, Tom. It’s no good filming him with James. James is too tall. At least with someone the size of Daisy you can get a good profile shot.’

  His voice was impatient and Daisy’s heart sank. Sir Guy, she thought, was not seeing any potential in Charles. He had wonderful looks, but that seemed to be the total sum of his assets. She stepped forward eagerly. She was surprised at herself, but she felt so sorry for Charles that she was not even conscious of any feelings of embarrassment.

  At least, unlike the lanky James, she was smaller than Charles, and Tom would be able to film his profile over the top of her head. She moved close to him. The top of her head came close to his chin.

  ‘Put your arms around her, man,’ said Sir Guy wearily.

  Charles obeyed. For a moment his arms felt stiff, but then they gathered her in, close to his chest. He looked down and smiled, that wonderful smile of his, and without meaning to, she moved in even more closely. Now she could feel his warmth, could smell the soap that he had used, could feel the pressure of his hand on her shoulder blades.

  Once she was securely held by him she felt her legs trembling and her whole being melting and dissolving into his. She looked up at him and found her lips had parted. Without any instructions from Sir Guy, Charles bent his head. His lips found hers. For a moment she felt a shock of embarrassment and then, as they pressed gently and firmly, she forgot where she was, forgot the film-studio boys standing around, forgot her godfather, her father’s friend, standing looking at her.

  I’m just making the kiss last for the sake of the camera, she tried to tell herself, but deep down she knew the truth. This was her first real kiss and she wanted it to go on forever. When they broke apart to breathe, she reached up and touched her lips to his again. This time she put her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe so that he did not have to bend down. She reached out with one hand and stroked his hair. It was as she had dreamed – as glossy as thick satin.

  ‘And cut,’ said Sir Guy.

  It took another second before Charles released her. He had a startled look on his face, but his beautiful dark eyes glowed. Daisy stepped back from him. She was conscious that her cheeks were on fire as she reached for her camera and lifted it. After a moment she realized her hands were shaking too much to get a clear shot, so placed her camera on a tripod and began to film him at the same time as Tom did. Charles’s slightly wooden air was back again and she wanted to distract him quickly.

  ‘If only we were out in India where the sun was blazing down and the light was really good,’ she said, wildly grasping to make conversation, but at the same time visualizing how the glossy black wing of his hair would perhaps show deep tints of chestnut under the fierce Indian sunlight.

  ‘Tell me about the place; what are the colours that come into your mind when you think of India?’ Now her pulse had slowed and her mind was concentrated on the lens of her camera. He had replied, but she didn’t listen. His eyes were on her. They travelled around her face and Daisy imagined that they were focusing on her lips. What a hit he would be in the cinema if he looked at the camera like that! She glanced hastily at Sir Guy, and when he turned to speak to James she touched her fingers to her lips and blew Charles a quick kiss and he blew one back to her, the beautiful mouth widening into a smile, the perfect teeth flashing white under the studio lights.

  ‘At the lens, at the lens; it’s the camera that you should be focusing on, not Daisy,’ growled Sir Guy, and Charles obeyed, but the result was not good.

  ‘Go on, Tom, you carry on filming,’ said Daisy impatiently. She abandoned her camera, took Charles by the hand and drew him over to stand in front of the backdrop of a sparkling waterfall that Fred had just finished painting. Tom had lifted his camera again, although she noted that he sent an uncertain glance in the direction of Sir Guy.

  ‘I dream of India,’ she lied, frantically searching her mind for extracts from Rudyard Kipling that Rose had read aloud to her. ‘Tell me what it’s like in the early morning – when you get up – when you step outside your bungalow.’

  He wasn’t good with words – Rose would not have been happy with the few halting descriptions that he gave – but Daisy, watching with a cameraman’s eye, could see how effective were the deprecating smile, the glowing eyes, his gestures when he told her how impossible it was to describe a sunrise over the River Ganges at the moment when water and sky turn pale pink and flocks of birds dip down to drink from its surface. His hand was warm in hers. His dark head was bent down towards her and she longed to return into his arms.

  ‘And cut,’ said Sir Guy. ‘Good, good.’ He nodded. ‘Fred, take Charles out for a walk around our domain while Tom gets these shots ready. Daisy, I want to show you something in my office.’

  Daisy watched Charles go out – he did move well, she thought, wondering whether she would tell Poppy about what had occurred today. Did Poppy, she thought, feel like this about Baz?

  ‘I agree with you,’ she said, making a great effort to breathe naturally and to slow down her thumping pulse as soon as she had closed the door between Sir Guy’s office and the studio. ‘He isn’t a natural actor. He would have to be handled carefully. Needs a talented director like you,’ she added.

  Sir Guy grunted. ‘Don’t try to soft-soap me, young lady. What were you up to – kissing that young chap like that?’

  ‘You told Charles to put his arms around me,’ countered Daisy, although she had to admit that Sir Guy probably had not anticipated it would result in a passionate kiss.

  Sir Guy waved a hand. ‘You didn’t need to put your heart and soul into it,’ he said severely. ‘If your father had seen you in there, in front of all the lads too, well, he would have had a fit of apoplexy.’

  ‘And he would have had a fit if he saw that film you were shooting the last time I was here. All that walking around in underwear! That glamorous lady! I don’t know what you were thinking of, Sir Guy,’ said Daisy severely.

  He chuckled. ‘You should have seen some bits of that film Witchcraft through the Ages – came out last year. Now that . . . ! But
this is all beside the point. I’m talking about my goddaughter, the daughter of my great friend Michael Derrington, who is not one of your Bright Young People, but is a man who was born in the reign of Queen Victoria and stays firmly planted there. If he knew that I allowed you to kiss a young man in my presence – for the sake of a screen test, no less – he would be after me with a horsewhip.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Daisy gave a light laugh. ‘It worked, didn’t it? You can see now what he is capable of. I was just getting the best out of a star.’

  ‘As long as he can do it with any actress.’ Sir Guy sounded wary. ‘Nothing between you two, is there?’ He gave her a shrewd look.

  ‘Nothing whatsoever; only met him yesterday.’ Daisy smiled sweetly at her godfather and wondered whether she too could be an actor. Listening critically, there was no betraying tremor in her tone. ‘Don’t say this to anyone, but I gather he failed his examinations for the Indian Police once too often,’ she went on, lowering her voice. ‘Jack is feeling guilty about him and would like him to pick up some work here in London; Elaine told me that last night. Jack is having a word with a few people that he knows to see if he can get him a position as a private secretary or something so that he can go off back to India with a clear conscience in a couple of months’ time. But the trouble is that Charles just wants to make a career acting in films.’ Daisy made her voice brisk and matter-of-fact. It didn’t matter, she thought, telling this to Sir Guy, when Charles himself had said that he had failed his examinations.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Sir Guy was always an easy man to convince. His mind was already focusing on a possible new star. ‘He’s certainly a very good-looking young fellow. We definitely need a blonde to go with him,’ he mused. ‘You two looked very good together. Now let’s go and have a look at this screen test and see how the pictures turned out.’

  This time Daisy took care to sit beside Sir Guy and keep her eyes away from Charles. All of the time while the pictures were being shown one half of her mind was registering how well the ones taken with her had turned out, in comparison to the earlier efforts, while the other half was busy thinking of the taxi ride back to Grosvenor Square. Sir Guy, she knew, was extremely busy; he would be expecting her to stay at the studios until five or six o’clock as she had done the last time that she was in London. And she did need to perfect the work on the hens film.

  However, she plotted, if she left soon she could share a cab – and the cosy back seat – with Charles. Another day would do for working on her film.

  Once the screen tests had been shown, Sir Guy’s crew, as she had expected, obviously wanted to discuss them and were wishing that they could tell Charles to make his exit; she looked at her watch and gave a slight scream.

  ‘Look at the time!’ she exclaimed. ‘And Elaine wants to go shopping to get ideas for our dresses for the ball. Charles, could I share a taxi with you?’

  ‘James will get one for you; go on, James, find one and tell him Grosvenor Square and he can keep the change.’ Sir Guy threw a coin at James and Daisy gave him a kiss.

  ‘What a charming godfather you are,’ she cooed. Elaine had given her spending money, but it was lovely to have taxis ordered for her, and paid for.

  ‘Tell me about yourself,’ Daisy had said as soon as she and Charles got into the taxi. ‘Tell me all about those films that you starred in when you were in India. I’d love to find out what stars think about while they are being filmed. I’ve only worked with members of my family and friends – and the hens, of course. You are the professional.’

  ‘Tell me about you,’ he said putting an arm around her. ‘I’m not interesting, but you are. What a wonderful thing it is for girl like you, with all that you have, to be so in earnest about making a career. Most girls just spend all their time thinking of parties and clothes.’

  ‘I’m really in earnest about being a film director. I can do everything now,’ she said seriously. ‘I can film, I can develop the films, I can make up a story – though my little sister, Rose, is much better than I am at that, but one day I hope that I can just be the one who takes a story and sees how it might work out in pictures, the one who plans the film and decides on the stars and – and with a sort of vision in my mind about how it will turn out.’

  ‘And is your father willing to set you up in your film studio? Or is he like all fathers and just wants you to be happily married to a nice man who will take care of you and of your children?’ His arm pressed a little more closely and she nestled into him and in the dimness of the taxi cab smiled a little at the thought of her father affording the cost of setting her up to make films. Still, it was nice to talk about her ambitions for a change. At home no one listened to them.

  ‘I want to be different,’ she went on. ‘I don’t want to be like my mother and girls like that – I want to be responsible for my own future.’

  And then she wondered whether she should have said that and looked at him uncertainly.

  ‘I feel the same,’ he said. ‘I want to be independent. I’m very modern. I wouldn’t mind my wife working.’

  He reached down and squeezed her hand. And then he tilted his head towards hers and the kiss was so much better than it had been at the film studio. Eventually she broke away, feeling breathless and a little shy.

  ‘Do you think that I will make a good film director?’ she asked, trying to cover up her rush of emotions.

  ‘Of course you will. And you’ll fall in love, get married and have lots of lovely little blond babies,’ he said softly.

  Or dark-haired little boys, with wonderful brown eyes, she thought to herself and quickly his lips found hers again. He was very, very good at kissing, she thought, almost feeling slightly dizzy. Eventually she had to break away and gulp for air and then felt embarrassed. Surely there was a better way of managing. In films people seemed to kiss for a very long time and when they came apart it was a slow, graceful procedure as they gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes. Perhaps she should practise more.

  ‘Thank you for a wonderful day,’ he said politely when he got out of the taxi. To her disappointment he did not invite her into his mother’s house, nor did he accompany her up the steps, but just waved in a friendly fashion and went off briskly.

  Morgan was washing the car in the mews and she wandered down there.

  She wanted to talk to him about Charles, but didn’t know where to start. Morgan was looking at her, waiting for her to say something. She smiled a bit as she remembered Joan being lyrical about his lovely eyes. They were rather intriguing, she thought. They seemed to change in different lights. Now in the gleam of the sunlight they were the colour of a chestnut newly peeled from its shell.

  ‘Do you like London, Morgan?’ she asked.

  He shrugged. ‘I enjoy it for a break, but I’m a countryman at heart.’

  ‘Were you brought up in the country?’ she asked. It seemed funny that she knew so little about him.

  He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m a Londoner, in truth, but my mother was from Kent. She died when I was young, but I have memories of her telling me about Kent and about bluebells in the woods. That’s why I applied for the job when your father advertised it. I liked the name of the place, Beech Grove Manor, and after the war I wanted to get away from London – hated the place. Still, the big money is up here in town. Young Baz could make a thing of this jazz-club,’ he went on, ‘but he’s a bit under the influence of that sister of his, and she is in with a very wild crowd. I thought of having a talk with him this morning, but then I thought I would leave it until later.’

  ‘So what did you do this morning?’ asked Daisy.

  He hesitated for a long time and then said, ‘Well, when Lady Elaine said that she would not need the car this morning I walked down to the Strand and went into Somerset House.’

  Daisy felt the colour drain from her face and she stared at him. She remembered the time when she and Poppy had gone there the year before and had found that only one bab
y, a little girl named Poppy, had been born to the Lady Mary Derrington on 11 October 1906. Had he guessed her secret?

  ‘I thought about Maud finding out about herself there,’ he went on, hardly seeming to notice her expression, ‘and I thought I should like to find out about my parents – I never knew my father, but I just about remember my mother – actually it was that silly business yesterday with Lady Joan calling me St Clair that made me think about her.’

  ‘She, your mother – she told you that your middle name was St Clair?’ Daisy’s voice was soft. Poor fellow; he must have grown up feeling very lonely in the orphanage. She was much luckier. She had grown up with the conviction that she had three sisters, a mother and a father. She said nothing however. It was not her secret to tell; Elaine would have to be happy for her to reveal the truth before she could share her history with her friends.

  The chauffeur frowned. ‘That’s the strange thing about it,’ he said. ‘My mother told me that my middle name was St Clair, and another thing she told me was that I was born in June – “Born in June, silver spoon”; she used to sing a little song about that.’

  ‘And did you find your birth certificate?’

  ‘Well, yes, but on there it was noted, “Thought to be born in December 1900” and Robert St Clair wasn’t my name – it said Edward Robert Morgan, son of Annie Morgan. And that’s odd too, because the name “Annie” meant nothing to me. Still, I was only a little fellow when she died.’

  ‘She didn’t register you?’

  He smiled. ‘Apparently not. It’s the old, old story, I suppose. I perhaps never had a father, or at least he didn’t stick around to see me born.’

  ‘Who registered your birth then?’ asked Daisy.