'I think I'd have given up long ago and just become a vegetable if it hadn't been for Gina,' he confided. 'She told me I would improve gradually, if I worked at it. She said, "You've got to keep saying to yourself, one day I'll walk again, even if it takes years. I won't let the damned thing lick me". Though,' he looked slyly under his stubby eyelashes at Gina and her heart melted, 'she said "bloody".'
'Extremely suitable,' Tod commented gravely.
Gina thought how very nice he could be when it suited him. Rusty needed a man to talk to sometimes, other than those on the hospital staff. He hadn't known his own father for very long.
'Gina was there the day when I first moved my right hand.' In between talking Rusty was demonstrating, very thoroughly, his ability to use it as he shovelled food into his mouth. 'I absolutely shrieked, didn't I, Gina? I said, "Did you see it? Did you see it?" And do you know what?' Rusty's voice was filled with puzzlement. 'She did the darnedest thing. She started to cry. Aren't women odd?'
'I've been convinced of that for a long time,' Tod concurred and for a brief instant his large hand came out and covered Gina's where it lay on the table, his eyes meeting hers in warm understanding.
'So I can write and eat. I hated being fed, like a great baby. I can even stand a bit now, on crutches. I'm going to walk one day, just like Gina said.'
Tod nodded emphatically. 'That you will!'
Gina was glad she and Tod must return home in separate cars. It meant she would not be subjected immediately to his cross-questioning. She was well aware that there were areas of Rusty's story which left room for speculation.
As the Mini, followed by the Rolls, swept into the parking area behind the house, Marcha appeared, moving at a brisker pace than was usual for her indolent nature. The older girl stood, impatiently tapping a foot, until both Tod and Gina had emerged from their respective vehicles.
'Where the hell have you been all day?' Her usual veneer of charm where Tod was concerned had slipped badly. 'Have you been with her?'
Gina didn't want to be involved in an emotional scene and she turned to go, but as she walked towards the rear entrance of the house she heard Tod say,
'Yes. We've been to Stoke Mandeville, to visit a very interesting and courageous young man.'
Oh Lord! Gina's stride faltered. That'd torn it. Now Marcha would think ... The tap of high heels pursuing her over the uneven surface confirmed her conjecture. Marcha's hand on her shoulder arrested her progress and the older girl swung Gina round to face her.
Marcha's face was almost unrecognisable in its fury. Careful of her blandly smooth complexion, she usually avoided all strong expressions, the lines they brought in their wake. Now the lovely features were contorted with hatred ... and fear.
'You took him to see Rusty? Why, for God's sake?' she hissed. 'I suppose you've told him everything. I've seen through you, Gina. You want Tod for yourself. Don't think I can't recognise the signs, you ... you scheming little bitch. You stepped into my shoes once, but only because I let you, because I didn't want the rotten job any more. But you needn't think you're going to repeat the performance here. This film is mine and Tod is mine.'
'Marcha! For heaven's sake, calm down. I didn't tell Tod anything. He knows about Rusty's accident, but not who he is. Please don't credit me with having the same underhand methods as you! If the positions had been reversed, you'd have made damned sure Tod heard all the sordid details.'
Marcha's face flushed an unbecoming brick red.
'OK,' she said grudgingly, 'so you didn't tell him. See you don't, and keep him away from Rusty in future or it's bound to come out. That little brat's always had it in for me. I don't know why you bother with him. He's only half related to us.'
'I bother with him because he's a nice kid, because your stepmother was a nice woman, and, since she and your father were killed, we're all the family Rusty's got.'
'Count me out,' Marcha disclaimed. 'I don't want my career hampered by having to tow a crippled brat around with me. I never want to see him again and, remember, Tod's not to either.'
'He's not likely to,' Gina snapped, turning on her heel, unable to bear another second of her cousin's company, to listen to her unfeeling remarks.
But neither girl could control destiny, nor predict the actions of a man who was a law unto himself.
CHAPTER EIGHT
There seemed to be no logic in this film-making business. The story wasn't taken in chronological order. Later scenes were filmed before earlier ones and not until they were put together as a whole would it be possible to follow the plot in correct sequence.
So Gina discovered, when Tod told her they would now film the beginning of the story, at a point where hero and heroine were at odds, vying to outdo each other in their feats of daring, the heroine coming to grips with villainous men.
'I'll be needed then?' Gina asked.
'You certainly will!' Marcha told her, before Tod could answer. 'There's a lot of rough stuff involved and I'm not going to be slapped about,'—one slender hand caressed her own cheek—'I can't afford to have any bruises.' Gina was reminded of Marcha, in childhood, singing at a talent contest, 'My face is my fortune, sir, she said'. 'In fact,' Marcha concluded with an arch look at Tod which made Gina wince, 'apart from a couple of steamy love scenes, my work is finished.'
'Thinking of taking another holiday then?' the tall blonde Stephanie asked. 'Will it be Italy again? La Spezia, perhaps?'
'No!' Marcha snapped. 'And how many times do you need telling? It wasn't Italy. It was France ... Nice.'
Gina had found herself a little disappointed in Tod lately. It was over a week since her visit to Rusty and, despite his promises, he hadn't once suggested that she take another day off to visit the boy. And when she had introduced the subject into conversation, he had adroitly changed its direction. He had seemed particularly remote and unapproachable for several days, not just to Gina, but to the whole of his workforce. The unit had seen very little of him; supervision of the shooting had been left to his assistant. Tod merely approved each day's rushes. Marcha had been showing distinct signs of petulance over his absences and Gina wondered if, like her, her cousin believed him to be seeing another woman, though Gina kept telling herself he would hardly neglect his work to do so.
But the early scenes he had mentioned required his presence. The script called for one of the gangsters to slap the heroine around, to actually connect with a punch, so that she was 'knocked out'. No wonder Marcha was only too pleased to let Gina do the scene. Tod, in his guise as the hero, would come to the heroine's rescue, defeating her opponent, assistance for which he would receive no thanks from the still prickly, independent heroine.
The scene was an indoor one, the confrontation taking place at the top of a wide sweeping, semicircle of stairs. After the blow, Gina must fall backwards and down the staircase.
'I don't envy you this one," Stephanie told Gina, as they stood waiting for the action to commence. 'I've done something similar once or twice and the thought of it still scares me.'
'I must admit I don't feel too happy,' Gina confessed, 'but that's what I'm paid for!' She was aware of a smirking Marcha near at hand, waiting to see her fall, and she was determined not to let her cousin witness any reluctance on her part.
The fight scene went without a hitch, but just as the action reached the point where Gina must receive the knock-out blow, Tod called for a 'cut'.
Puzzled, Gina and her opposite number leant over the balustrade, watching, as Tod and his assistant went into a huddle. There seemed to be some disagreement between them, but finally the assistant director spread his hands in a gesture of defeat, nodded his head, then took the stairs two at a time to where Gina stood.
'The boss isn't keen about you doing this stunt. He says it's too risky for a novice. He's going to tell one of the men to put on a wig and ...' He didn't get any further with his explanation, as Gina brushed him aside.
'Oh, no he's not!' she exploded. Her former nervousness for
gotten in indignation, she ran down the stairs to where Tod stood, faced him, arms akimbo, green eyes flashing. 'If you're not satisfied with my work, at least have the decency to tell me so yourself. I've practised for this and I'm going to do it.'
'Not if I say you don't.'
They stood, almost toe to toe, glaring at each other, while an interested crew and cast waited for the outcome of the duel. Knowing their boss, most of them reckoned it was no contest. His word was law. He might have a weakness for a pretty face, a seductive body, but he was no woman's 'yes man'.
'You once accused me of cowardice,' Gina said, her voice low but fierce.
'Oh! That/' Tod said wearily. 'God God, girl, don't you know you've proved to me over and over again just what you're made of. I know you have the courage of a lioness, but you don't have to kill or maim yourself to . . .' As he spoke, his firm tones wavered. 'Do you want to end up like Rusty?' he demanded in a savage undertone.
'No, of course not, but I've trained for this,' she argued. 'Rusty hadn't, and besides, his injuries were an accident.'
'Were they? Or were they the result of callous indifference to safety measures?' There was a note of challenging enquiry in his voice. 'The way I hear it, it was the gross conceit and selfish unconcern of Fantasy Woman that was responsible.' He watched her intently. What would her response be?
Gina was aware of the tension in him. It puzzled her. What was he expecting her to say? Just what had he learnt about that accident and from whom?'
'Who ... who told you that?' she whispered. 'Rusty?' No, there'd been no opportunity.
'Marcha told me!' His tone was abrupt.
'Marcha?' Gina was taken aback. Was it possible she'd misjudged her cousin? Had Marcha found the moral fibre to confess her fault to Tod? Had they discussed Rusty during one of their intimate moments? Would they be bringing him to live at Mallions after they were married? If so, Gina should be rejoicing for the sake of the lovable teenager. But it wasn't joy that brought her heart sickeningly into her throat.
'Don't forget,' Tod was continuing, 'it was Marcha who told me her cousin was the famous Fantasy Woman when I suggested you as her double, because of your likeness to each other.'
'Marcha told you I was to blame?'
'Yes!' He was still watching her reactions closely.
'I see!' Cheeks flaming, eyes blazing, Gina hissed her retort at him. 'If that's what you believe, then there's all the more reason for me to perform this stunt. If it does go wrong and I do end up by crippling myself, it would only be justice in your eyes.' Before he could make any reply or further protest, she strode for the stairs, calling over her shoulder for the benefit of the waiting, wondering watchers. 'I'm not standing down for this stunt. I've worked for this and I'll damned well do it!'
'Right then!' Tod roared, his own temper obviously at flashpoint. 'Get on with it then, get it over, damn your eyes!'
God, but she was stubborn, he thought with reluctant admiration. His fingernails made deep impressions in the palms of his clenched hands. His anger with her stemmed from fear for her safety. He knew that. The possibility of Gina injured stirred primitive urges within him, even while he tried to tell himself he would feel equal concern for anyone performing so risky a stunt.
Gina mounted the stairs with every appearance of determination, hoping her legs didn't look as tremulous as they felt. It wasn't fear of the fall she was about to make that weakened her legs, but the awful despairing knowledge she had just gained. Tod didn't know Marcha had been Gina's predecessor in the role of Fantasy Woman. Marcha knew Gina too well, knew the younger girl would never stoop to defend herself by revealing Marcha's culpability. It was with almost a sense of fatalism that she launched herself into the fight scene once more.
As the contest moved towards its destined climax, Gina tried to think coolly and calmly of all the advice she had received during training. She must let herself go as fast as possible, yet remain relaxed and detached from the job. A pity, she thought wryly, that she couldn't approach her task in the boneless condition of intoxication. Falling drunks rarely harmed themselves.
The blow slammed home. It was a 'pulled' punch, but even so it carried enough impact to be painful. But there was no time to dwell on pain. She was falling, rolling, toppling. It was a horrible sensation, one to which she felt she would never become accustomed, never be able to approach with real sang-froid. But this was what she had wanted, worked for: personal involvement, even though she would still remain an anonymous figure. There would be no star billing for her, not even a credit. Everyone, except a few professionals, seeing the finished product would think Marcha had done all her own stuntwork, as Mary Pickford and Helen Gibson had done in the early days of filming.
'Gina?' Tod was bending over her, holding out a hand to pull her to her feet. 'You OK?' And, as she nodded rather shakily, 'Sure? If you're in any doubt, any pain whatsoever, we'll have the doc check you over right away.'
Tod always made a point of having a doctor present during the filming of dangerous scenes and his concern, she reminded herself, would have been just as great for any other member of his team.
'Surely you're not satisfied with that take?' Marcha drawled. 'I thought it an extremely clumsy effort. It ought to be done again.' For heaven's sake! Did Marcha want her to break her neck, Gina wondered groggily! 'After all,' her cousin was continuing, 'it is my image that's at stake.'
Gina was not the only one taken aback by the sudden savage fury in Tod's face and voice as he turned on Marcha,
'I'm totally satisfied!' he snapped. 'Gina knows her job. You should consider yourself fortunate I didn't insist on you doing your own stuntwork.'
The stunned expression on Marcha's face should have been funny, and indeed there was no doubt that the film crew found it so. Marcha was not popular and there were subdued and not so subdued titters of laughter, at which Marcha flounced angrily away to the edge of the crowd. But Gina knew the incident had only increased Marcha's enmity towards her; while the cousins had never been friends, at least until Tod had brought them together there had existed an unarmed hostility, an unspoken agreement to differ.
The fight sequence completed, Gina's work on the film was finished. Over the preceding weeks she hadn't wanted to look ahead to the end of this period in her life. While it had not been exactly happy, her emotions were too torn for that, it had been eventful, stimulating. She had enjoyed knowing and being known by a large group of people. To her surprise, she found she had no desire to return to the peaceful isolation of her flat and now she realised that she had no idea what was to happen next. Would she be retained for further stuntwork, or was this it, a one-off? Was she expected to leave now, go back to television? Unfortunately, in view of her reluctance to confront Tod, there was only one way to find out: to ask him. And that involved choosing just the right moment since she didn't want to raise the subject before the rest of the team. But on the other hand she was reluctant to seek Tod out on his own.
In the event, the decision of when to tackle him was taken out of her hands by Tod himself.
That same evening she had been sitting with Melanie again, while Sally kept what had now become a regular date with one of the cameramen. Much of Gina's time had been spent in brooding on the uncertainty of her future, even more on the hopelessness of her love for Tod. Feeling somewhat depressed, she emerged from the nursery suite to find him waiting for her.
'After the day you've had, you shouldn't be sitting up so late,' he growled, taking her arm in a fierce grip, which, while it hurt, sent a thrill of ecstasy, far more agonising, darting throughout her entire being.
'There'll be plenty of time for rest, now the film's over,' Gina told him. But her voice was shaky and she felt stupid tears blur her eyes. She wished she did not have to encounter Tod right now. It was fatigue of course. In the morning she would be better able to face the knowledge that the time had come for her to leave Mallions. She wasn't needed here any more, not in any capacity.
Tod was
drawing her along a passageway into a wing of the house she had not yet seen, but which she knew housed his private quarters.
'That's what I want us to talk about,' he told her.
'Your future plans. We may as well discuss them in comfort, over a drink.'
A heavy door opened into a sitting-room, whose occupancy was so obviously male that it seemed an extension of Tod's personality. Comfortable, but purely functional, it had none of the little personal touches a woman would have added. If there had been any reminders that once Maria had shared these rooms, they had been removed.
'Do they really concern you?' Gina asked wearily as she refused the drink. 'I thought my agreement with you was only for the duration of this film. If your "star" needs a double in your next production, count me out.'
'You're contracted to TLM Enterprises,' he reminded her, as he indicated by gesture that she should be seated, 'and, technically, I now am TLM Enterprises.'
Which was clear enough for anyone to understand. She was bound to him. Of course she could ask to be released from her contract. She told him so.
His answering smile was hawkish, making her uneasy, an unease which proved to be valid.
'You should have read the small print more closely. Our agreement binds you to me for three years and, while I could release you if I felt so inclined, I must warn you, I don't intend to do so.'
'I could break the contract, just walk out!' she said, a touch of her normal spirit in her tone.
'In which case I could sue you. But if you prove difficult, there's a much easier way. Remember the security precautions? They can keep people in as well as out.'
She stared at him, green eyes wide with disbelief. This was pure melodrama.
'You mean you'd actually go so far as to ... to ...'
'Yes,' he said simply.
She was still near to tears. He couldn't do it, could he? It was illegal, immoral. She was entitled to personal freedom even if she were tightly bound by her contract to work for him. And what about her visits to Rusty? Suppose she were immured here indefinitely, unable to see him, the boy would think she, too, had abandoned him.
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