by Susan Lewis
Anna pulled her into an embrace, holding her tight and wishing she knew how to ease the pain.
After a while Rachel turned away. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to be brave, but …’ She bit her lip in an effort to stop herself crying again. ‘I miss him so much. It’s as though that’s all there is in my life, missing him and wanting him, and talking to him as if he’s here. I think I might be driving myself mad.’
Anna’s eyes were full of sympathy as she said, ‘How have things been with the baby today?’
In spite of the terrible sadness in her heart Rachel felt a small glow of relief trying to steal its way through all the layers of bleakness. ‘No throwing up and no bleeding,’ she reported.
Anna smiled. ‘That’s good. But you still need to rest more.’
Rachel’s laugh had no humour. ‘That’s all I can do,’ she answered. ‘I’ve just got no energy. Were you like this when you were pregnant?’
‘Definitely in the early stages,’ Anna answered. ‘And I wasn’t having to deal with everything that you are, either.’
Rachel’s eyes drifted as she tried to stop herself resenting the world and everyone in it. She and Tim should be in the Caribbean now, wallowing in the sunshine, counting the stars, making love on a moonlit beach, and talking about names for the baby. Then realizing how hard she was making this for Anna, she turned back and reached for her hand. ‘Did you go to the set today?’ she asked.
Anna nodded.
‘So how was it?’
‘OK. They’re still behind, but not disastrously so.’ Her eyelids dropped to disguise how concerned she really was. Then attempting to make light of it, she said, ‘Robert’s having a bit of a confidence crisis. It’s not serious. He just doesn’t seem to know how to handle a couple of the actors. Well, actually, one in particular.’
‘Which one?’
‘Her name’s Stacey Greene. She was in the stage play, if you saw it.’
‘Yes, we saw it,’ Rachel told her, squeezing her hand. ‘I wish we’d seen it with you though.’
Anna smiled. ‘Robert’ll be pleased you went.’
‘So which one was Stacey Greene?’ Rachel said.
‘She played the part of Anita Cairn. Beautiful, redheaded. It’s one of the leads.’
‘Yes, I remember. She was very good. So what’s the problem, is she being a bit of a prima donna?’
‘No, not really. In fact, if anything, she’s quite amenable, which you’d think would make life easy. But you know Robert, he’s always been self-conscious around beautiful women, particularly when they exude the kind of sensuality Stacey does. It’ll settle down, I’m sure.’
‘What was he like with her during the theatre run?’ Rachel asked.
‘Shy, I suppose, and yes, awkward, though not quite to this extent. But I was directing then, so he wasn’t quite so hands on. Anyway, he often goes through these phases of self-doubt, even when he’s not directing, as you know.’
Rachel nodded, and squeezed Anna’s hands again as she thought of how incredibly strong and capable her sister was in the way she handled Robert’s phases, or crises, or artistic dilemmas as she sometimes called them. It made Rachel wonder what he, or indeed any of them, would do without her, for they all leaned on her so heavily, and sitting up to hug her, she said, ‘You’ve got so much on your plate right now. I’m sorry I’m adding to it when you need to be concentrating on your film, and your family.’
‘You are my family,’ Anna reminded her firmly.
‘But you’re so torn between us all. Even now, you’re here, taking care of me, when really you ought to be at home with the girls, or watching rushes with Robert.’
Looking into her face, Anna said, ‘You matter every bit as much as Robert, and the girls, you know that. I’m just afraid that I’m going to let you down in some way.’
‘No don’t,’ Rachel protested. ‘You’ve got to stop trying to be all things to all people.’
‘Then so have you,’ Anna stated.
Rachel looked confused. ‘Me?’
‘Yes. You. I want you to let Laurie Forbes sort out all this mess with Katherine, and whatever’s been going on, while you do what’s right for you and the baby.’
Rachel smiled with affection. ‘Why do I get the feeling that you’re about to tell me what’s right?’ she said.
Despite the light-heartedness Anna was concerned, for she didn’t want to appear controlling, or bossy, when it had caused such problems between them in the past. ‘Why don’t you go down to the house in Cornwall?’ she said gently. ‘Get away from London, if only for a few weeks, so that you can get past these early stages and recharge. Lucy and I can take care of anything that comes up here, and Beanie will be right next door to take care of you. She calls every day to find out how you are …’
Rachel’s eyes were closed. Beanie. Wonderful, adorable, precious Beanie, with her fluffy grey curly hair, mischievous blue eyes and unfailing ability to make the world a better place, no matter how bad it really was. ‘But I can’t be that far away,’ she said brokenly. ‘I need to help Laurie Forbes …’
‘There are phones and email, and besides, I just told you, you should be letting her do it all. In fact, she’ll probably be quite relieved to know you’re not going to be in her hair every minute of the day.’
The thought of the exquisite old cottage that Tim had inherited from his grandfather, sitting high above a picturesque fishing cove that was so full of people she knew and loved, sank so painfully, yet nostalgically, into her heart that more tears started from her eyes. There was a very good chance that the baby she was carrying had been conceived in that cottage, for they’d stolen a quick weekend there just over three months ago, before the real hoopla of the election had got under way. Could she bear to be there without him now, when they’d shared so much love and laughter under that quaintly thatched roof, and with the local fishermen and their families?
‘I could drive you down there myself on Sunday,’ Anna said, ‘and stay a couple of days. I’ve talked it over with Robert, and we’ve got the children covered.’
Though she didn’t want to say no, particularly when it would make life so much easier for Anna to have one less person to worry about, for some reason Rachel still couldn’t quite bring herself to say yes.
‘We could go Saturday,’ Anna said, ‘but Robert’s invited Ernesto Gomez, you know, the artist, for dinner that night. You’d be welcome to join us, if you felt up to it.’
Rachel shook her head. Cornwall and having to deal with her memories was one thing; making social chitchat with someone she’d never met, and pretending her husband hadn’t just been murdered, was another altogether. Forcing a smile, she said, ‘Ernesto Gomez. That’s quite a coup.’
Anna rolled her eyes, but it was plain to see that she was pleased. ‘Robert wants to try to talk him into using the poems from the play, now film, as some kind of inspiration for a joint exhibition.’
‘Sounds a wonderful idea,’ Rachel commented, guessing it had probably been Anna’s, for she was always devising new ways to promote Robert’s talent. Then the thought of how much she and Tim would have enjoyed such an evening told her quite brutally that she really wasn’t up to facing it without him.
‘So what do you say?’ Anna pressed. ‘Shall I call Beanie and ask her to get the cottage ready for Sunday?’
Once again Rachel’s throat closed with emotion, but the peace and comfort Beanie and the cottage offered was too tempting to resist. ‘OK,’ she said finally. ‘Yes. I should go. But I’ll need to talk to Laurie Forbes first.’
‘Why not invite her down to Cornwall?’ Anna suggested. ‘I know it’s a long way, but looking at it from her point of view, it’s certainly a story worth travelling for. And I’ll try to stay long enough to be there too when she comes.’
‘Thank you,’ Rachel whispered.
Anna hugged her, and carried on hugging her as she swallowed the guilt of not telling her that Robert had insisted she should
stay in Cornwall as long as Rachel needed her. Of course it was what she wanted, to be there for her sister, but the oddness of Robert’s behaviour lately, coupled with his nervousness around Stacey Greene, was making her afraid that the generosity of the gesture had rather more to do with getting rid of her than with a concern for Rachel.
Chapter 6
STACEY GREENE HAD ceased to exist. Everything that made up the entirety of her being had been taken over by the hauntingly seductive persona of Anita Cairn. Anita’s beauty was golden and earthy; her eyes glittered like vivid blue jewels, while her troubled spirit seemed to shroud her in a vaporous light. Her reflected image in the mirror was slowly fading into shadow; the room around her appeared to undulate in the floating clouds of a soft grey mist.
No one spoke or moved. The moment was as spellbinding for the crew as for the three performers enacting the scene. As yet only Anita was visible, a still, yet potent, figure in the midst of a fantasy turning to nightmare.
Robert Maxton’s breath was shallow, his chest tight with suppressed emotion, as the power of the transition reverberated through him in profound, physical tremors.
Anita’s eyes moved upwards as a man stepped in behind her, his face appearing above hers in the thick, silvery haze. Her lips parted, but not to speak, only to breathe. The two watched each other’s reflection, bound by the torment that raged in their eyes.
‘Save me,’ she whispered finally. ‘Don’t let me go.’
He no longer seemed to be seeing her, was somehow detaching from the invisible bonds that held them. When he spoke, it was to an absent listener, or to the sadness in his heart. ‘“All her bright golden hair, Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair, Fallen to dust.”’
‘You speak the words of Oscar Wilde,’ she said, ‘but your own are more honest, more pure.’
‘It’s too late,’ he responded. ‘Your flattery has lost its power.’
The dull, rosy lights dimmed around them. ‘Without me you’ll be nothing,’ she warned, her voice threaded with emotion.
‘But with you I am a madman.’
‘Do you really believe it can be this easy?’
The mist thickened around him, swallowing him into its amorphous heart.
Anita’s gaze returned to her reflection and saw that it was no longer her own face staring back. Her features had changed beyond all recognition; her hair was short and blonde, her eyes a glowing emerald green and her mouth a small, quizzical line of fear mingled with contempt.
‘Is this who I am now?’ she murmured.
‘You are no one now,’ the reflection told her. ‘It’s over. You have ceased to exist.’
‘Then how am I still here?’
‘You sit in front of a mirror, but is this your reflection you see?’
‘Are you his wife?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you saw how he loved me. Doesn’t it make you wish to be me?’
‘Are you really such a fool? It was the fantasy he loved, not you.’
The reflection stood. So did Anita. A breath of wind blew through the mist that shrouded their bodies. Their nudity had no real definition, for the detail was blurred by the skin-toned mesh that encased them.
‘Come here,’ said the reflection.
Anita stepped forward, in through the mirror as though through an open door. The reflection received her, arms open wide. As their bodies met the mist returned, swirling around them, shrouding them in its dense grey breath.
‘Look,’ the reflection said.
Anita turned to look back at the place she had left.
‘You see, you don’t exist any more,’ the reflection whispered. ‘You are me now, and I you.’
Long moments ticked by. The mist continued to eddy gently around the set, while the lights slowly faded to black.
More seconds passed, until finally Robert said, ‘Cut,’ and the working lights came on to reveal the dozens of crew, crouched in amongst the equipment, and hidden in the wings of the stage.
‘Wow,’ Stacey breathed, half laughing, half trembling.
Gloria, who was playing the wife, or the reflection, appeared equally moved. ‘Where’s Bryn?’ she said, looking round for the actor who was playing her husband.
‘Over here,’ he answered, wiping his neck with a towel. ‘I’m scared,’ he suddenly shivered. ‘I know what’s coming next. You’ve got to let go, woman,’ he said to Stacey. ‘You’re not real. OK? Got it? You don’t exist, lovey.’
The others laughed, which helped break some of the tension that had repeatedly built up during the three takes they’d already done of this scene.
As he joined them Robert was talking to the cinematographer. ‘The effect’s really working,’ he was saying. ‘No actual mirror in the frame was the answer, and keeping Gloria in shadow at the beginning meant we had no idea it wasn’t Anita’s reflection we were seeing. We just need to turn it all around now, to focus on Anita’s face. We need her in big close-up so we don’t run into any problems with the smoke. I think the others are clear for the day.’
‘No, hang on,’ the first assistant jumped in. ‘Before we go for the reverse, don’t we need a shot of Gloria, standing full length, looking out of the mirror?’
Robert frowned, trying to think why.
‘It’s the last shot of the scene,’ his assistant reminded him, ‘when we see that Anita has melded totally into Alma, so that there is only one woman.’
‘And then we go in on Alma’s eyes and see that they’re actually Anita’s,’ Robert finished. ‘Of course. You’re right. OK, everyone, stay where you are. We’ve got more to do from this angle.’
‘I take it you were happy with that,’ Stacey said, sauntering up behind him and putting a hand on his arm.
‘Yes, it worked well,’ he told her. ‘You can stand down for a few minutes while we do this next shot. Then we’ve only got the close-up and you’ll be finished for the day.’
Despite his brusqueness she smiled. ‘I’m in no hurry,’ she said, her voice soft and throaty.
Keeping his eyes averted he sought out the designer, who was helping props with the dry ice. ‘Ken,’ he said, going towards him, ‘I want to do a wide shot that has only dry ice. We’ll do it last. And is there any way you can put the mirror back in the frame? I need another shot with it in, but only after we’ve done this one of Alma.’
‘No problem,’ Ken replied. ‘We’ll be ready when you are.’
Robert moved on to the costume and make-up teams, talked with them about the coloured contact lenses Stacey and Gloria were wearing, then to the electricians who, because he was the director, didn’t tell him to get out of the way, though they’d have liked to, and finally to the camera operator, who would have preferred him to wait to look through the viewfinder until the focus was actually set. He then joined the unit publicist who was sitting in the fifth row of the stalls, explaining to her new assistant what the film was actually about.
Feeling sufficiently distanced from the stage, and confident that Stacey would have at least put on a wrap by now, he dared to look back at the set. As it should be, it was overrun by technicians getting everything ready for the next shot with, mercifully, no sign of Stacey, dressed or undressed.
Breathing more easily, he allowed himself to relax for a moment, and vaguely tuned in to the publicist as she continued her précis.
‘So basically it’s the story of Arnie and Alma Geddon,’ she was saying, ‘he’s a poet and she’s his wife, as well as his muse; then there’s Anita Cairn, who’s the mistress. The whole thing’s a parody really, a kind of marital version of Armageddon, hence their names, Arnie and Alma Geddon, with Anita being the Antichrist who seduces them both, then tries to turn herself into Alma to destroy her and Arnie’s lives. Alma resists, but Arnie isn’t quite so strong, and we see, mainly through his poems, how obsessed he becomes with Anita, while Alma battles on, trying to save her marriage, and her husband from his own weakness and passion. The scene we just saw happens qui
te near the end of the film, where Alma finally starts to win the struggle.’
‘Not bad,’ Robert commented when she finished.
The publicist glowed.
He left her to it then, to take himself off to a darker corner of the audience seating where he could see what was happening on stage, but hopefully not be interrupted while he attempted to psych himself for the remaining shots of the day. Just thank God that the rushes so far showed no indication of his inner disquiet, nor had anyone on the set cast so much as a glance of curiosity or concern his way. If anything, even at this early stage, spirits seemed high, and the camaraderie was settling in with all the ease of an expected warm front. So he really had to try to keep things in perspective, find a way to detach himself from this unnaturally morbid dread he had that everything was going to go horribly wrong. If he didn’t he’d end up passing the feeling on to the cast and crew, and then disaster really would start to loom.
Feeling himself starting to perspire, he used the script to fan himself, while silently thanking God for the invisibility of his thoughts. It was crazy, what was really going on in his head. If it weren’t happening to him, he’d swear someone was making it up, because the sheer weirdness of what he was experiencing made him even stranger than the damned characters he’d created. It was like being some kind of freakish divinity whose own little cosmos was turning into the stomping ground for all manner of delusional ravings, not to mention perversions.
But no, it wasn’t as bad as that. He had to be careful not to overstate this. He just had to think it through rationally, work out exactly where fantasy was overlapping with reality, and make sure it stopped. After all, the poet he had created for the play, and now film, was just that: a creation. He wasn’t any more real than Anita Cairn. So there was no parallel obsession going on here, Arnie and Anita, him and Stacey, just an unusually close bonding between writer, actor and character. And of course director, which, ironically, was where it had all started to lose focus, for he hadn’t felt this unnerved by Stacey during the stage run, maybe because Anna had been in charge then. He felt so much more comfortable when she came to the set.