‘This is all the money I could get together. I hope it’s enough.’
As Zal was reaching for the handle of the twisted door a chair scraped sharply, and a man said, ‘What’s that?’
And Kitty: ‘Oh, shit—’
Zal pushed open the door and stepped inside. And, Emma noticed, dodged quickly to the right …
One man had half-risen from the rustic table that was all that could be seen of the room in the yellow glow of a hurricane lamp that had been set on it. Emma had an impression of burly strength, like an overweight bear, and a long-chinned, slightly crooked face behind horn-rimmed glasses. Across the table from him stood Kitty, next to probably the most beautiful young man Emma had ever seen.
Between them on the table was Kitty’s small, suede handbag, a paper sack, and a couple of crumpled packets of bills.
Kitty squeaked, ‘Zal!’ and caught the wrist of the beautiful young man as he would have made a move to dash back into the shadows of the broken room. ‘It’s all right,’ she added to the young man. ‘Zal’s all right—’
‘You’re sure?’ Panic showed in the gleam of white, all around those dark pupils. ‘He’s had me followed—’
‘Oh, utterly, Eliot! I’ve known Zal for just years … Emma!’ she exclaimed, catching sight of her sister-in-law, still in the doorway. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Trying to learn what you’re doing here,’ Emma replied. ‘I take it,’ she added, looking across at Kitty’s companion, ‘that this is the gentleman with whom you actually spent the time when you were supposedly murdering Mr Festraw?’
‘I didn’t!’ Kitty almost stamped her foot in vexation, and Zal stepped closer to the table, and held out his hand.
‘Jordan,’ he said to the young man. ‘I’m Zal Rokatansky, one of the cameramen at Foremost. I think we worked together on The Devil’s Wedding.’
After a moment’s hesitation, Eliot Jordan came around the table and accepted his grip. In the lantern-light Emma read even more clearly the fear in that exquisitely-boned, painfully youthful face; the desperation that stiffened the Greek god shoulders. The burly man moved to stand beside the young actor, with a protectiveness that chimed in Emma’s mind like a bell.
‘Eliot was just telling me,’ said Kitty, ‘that he never sent me that note! And I waited for him in the filmstock room for nearly two hours—’
‘Was that where you were?’ asked Emma.
Kitty nodded. ‘I have a key. Pretty much everybody on the lot has keys.’
Including Taffy the Bootlegger, I suppose …
‘I never sent a note, Mrs Blackstone.’ Jordan’s voice was a youthful, rather scratchy tenor. No older than some of the boys she’d taken to hospital from the train station, she thought. He should still be in school!
‘I was just telling Kitty. And I wouldn’t have done it anyway. I know better than to go anywhere near Foremost these days. Mr Jesperson would have my head. He’s got me under a personal services contract …’
‘But I got a note from Eliot – or supposedly from Eliot,’ Kitty amended, ‘Wednesday morning, saying he just had to see me, that it was urgent. Well, we’d talked about him leaving Hollywood – why he has to leave Hollywood – and I thought it was about that. I hoped I was mistaken,’ she added, with a sidelong glance of mischief at the youth’s face in the lantern-light, ‘and that he’d been suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to make passionate love to me …’
Eliot ducked his head and laughed as if in spite of himself, and his bulky companion’s grimness melted, suddenly, into a swift, disarmed – and surprisingly beautiful – grin.
‘But I thought it was just about money.’
‘It’s all these movie stars ever want,’ sighed the burly man, shaking his head. He held out his hand to Zal, said, ‘Ricky Lyman.’ He had a baritone as comforting as the scent of well-made coffee. ‘I work in the accounting department at Enterprise.’ He shook hands with Zal, then clasped Emma’s fingers in a light, courtly grip, almost as if he’d bend to kiss them.
‘This money?’ Zal nodded at the bills on the table.
Eliot Jordan raised his chin a little, said, ‘Kitty agreed to help us – me,’ he corrected himself quickly. ‘Help me. I have to get out of Hollywood – get out of California. I haven’t done anything – anything evil,’ he added. ‘But I can’t … Mr Jesperson, the owner of Enterprise, has … threatened me. And threatened me with legal action if I try to quit the studio. It’s … not something I can take to court.’
Emma’s glance went from the young actor’s face to that of the overweight, bespectacled young accountant who stood at his elbow, who watched him with such anxious caring, the whole of his heart in his eyes. ‘Eliot’s most recent picture made three hundred thousand at the box office in three months,’ Lyman said after a moment. ‘If you’ve met Mr Jesperson, Mrs Blackstone – I know you have, Zal – I think you’ll understand why Eliot would want to leave the studio. I’ve tried to talk him out of it – our employer may be the reincarnation of a rabid hyena but he’s right when he says that Eliot will be the next Valentino. I don’t think that’s something he should throw away—’
Eliot said softly, ‘I can’t.’ He moved his hand back, without turning his head to look, and grasped Lyman’s hand. The reassuring strength with which the pressure was returned confirmed Emma’s conviction of what was going on – between these two young men, and the studio head who wanted to shape the publicity for Eliot Jordan’s career. She wanted to ask, Did he order you to marry one of his female stars? but knew that wasn’t a thing that could be spoken of.
What existed between these two men was against the law. Lou Jesperson going to the police with it would not only end his new leading man’s career, it could easily result in both men being jailed.
Jordan said, ‘We’re going to Oregon. Ricky and I. I have some land up near Eugene, in the mountains …’ He moved his hand, to silence something Lyman would have said. ‘It was my grandpa’s. But Jesperson’s had a PI on my tail for a week now, ever since we finished shooting Who’s Her Man? He’s vindictive. He gave me an ultimatum.’ He shook his head.
‘And I got this note on Wednesday morning,’ put in Kitty. ‘Saying Eliot had to see me, right away, that it was urgent, and to meet him in the filmstock storeroom at two. I took Buttercreme with me because I knew Madge would give birth to a litter of kittens if I just disappeared. I waited nearly two hours, and when I tried to phone Eliot Thursday he couldn’t answer. So I couldn’t very well say anything, really, because it would all come out in the fan magazines, you know, and Jesperson, the old pig, would hear of it. I can’t imagine how Peggy manages to sleep with him!’
‘Kitty,’ admonished Lyman gently, ‘that’s really a very unkind thing to say about pigs.’
‘Do you have the note?’ asked Emma.
‘Oh, gosh, no! I tore it up and flushed it down the toilet behind the extras’ dressing room. You never know who’s lurking around in that studio. That’s the kind of thing Thelma Turnbit, the nasty old shrew, would love to get her hands on, or that tattletale who writes the column in Photo Play. And I mean, if bootleggers or one of Rex’s other ex-wives or Gloria Swanson or someone—’
‘Gloria Swanson?’ said Lyman, startled.
‘If one of them could manage to sneak onto the lot and kill Rex in my dressing room, they’d for sure steal a love note from Eliot.’
‘Why would Gloria Swanson want to murder your ex-husband, Kitty?’
‘Did it look like his handwriting?’ asked Zal.
Kitty frowned. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your handwriting, Eliot. It was on Enterprise Studios notepaper. But anyway,’ she went on, ‘Eliot met me at the Café Montmartre Thursday night when I was there with Frank – that was when I saw Gloria come in wearing those gorgeous earrings … Eliot slipped me a note by one of the waiters, and we met by the telephones at the back just for a second, and he said, he and Ricky had to leave, soon, tonight, and could I help them? B
ecause he knows Jesperson is going to sue him and have him prosecuted for breach of contract if he leaves, so he can’t really touch his bank account. But they have to get away before Mr Jesperson makes him marry that awful bitch Desiree Darrow … And I said I’d help them. And Jesperson’s going to have a stroke,’ she finished triumphantly, ‘when he hears Eliot is gone. I’ll clip out the obituary and send it to you,’ she promised, with a dazzling smile.
Eliot smiled down at her – the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. ‘Kitty, if you could cook,’ he said softly, ‘I’d marry you.’
Ricky Lyman took her hand, and pressed his lips to her fingers. ‘And I’d marry you, too.’
‘Don’t even talk to me,’ wailed Kitty, ‘about marrying anyone—’
‘It would solve your problem with Jesperson,’ pointed out Zal, and Emma poked him in the ribs.
‘Brute! I’m sorry,’ she added, turning to the two lovers. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude on your personal affairs, but it’s Kitty’s refusal to say anything about where she was last Wednesday afternoon that has gotten her into trouble. I felt … Well, I’m afraid I felt that we had to at least find out a bit more of who she was screening, and why – though of course everything that has been said here tonight will go no farther.’
‘Kitty,’ began Eliot, reaching for her hand, and Emma shook her head.
‘What you’ve told me tonight,’ she said, ‘has helped us, really. I mean, the police won’t believe the faked note no matter who it was supposed to be from. But the fact that someone faked it tells us that … Well, that someone is going to a great deal of trouble to have Kitty accused of the murder, but that they’re going about it very stupidly. Too stupidly for it to be a serious attempt.’
Eliot said, ‘Hunh?’ and Ricky Lyman nodded.
‘You mean someone wants her accused real good, but not convicted.’
‘Yes,’ said Emma softly.
Zal cocked his head to one side. ‘You mean it’s a publicity stunt.’
‘I …’ She hesitated. ‘To do murder – to kill a man—’
‘We don’t know,’ pointed out Zal, ‘whether Festraw hit up Pugh for money before Festraw even got onto the lot. We don’t know what, exactly, Festraw had on Kitty.’
‘I don’t know what he could have had,’ protested Kitty. ‘Well, other than my birthdate …’
‘Festraw might not even have been telling the truth,’ said Zal. ‘And if you don’t think Frank Pugh is capable of murder … Think again.’
‘And Darlene was just trying to make what she could of the situation last night,’ said Kitty slowly. ‘But … Frank doesn’t know about me and Eliot. I mean, about me being passionately in love with Eliot—’
‘Are you sure about that?’ asked Emma thoughtfully. ‘Might rumors of it have surfaced somewhere, like that Photo Play story about you and Mr Crain? Might this be an effort to punish you, for instance? And Miss Golden is certainly doing what she can to exacerbate his jealousy. Jealousy is the only thing I can think of, that would cause him to do something this stupid.’
There was silence, during which the silvery clucking of the stream outside sounded very loud.
‘And it is stupid,’ agreed Zal after a moment. ‘It’s always stupid, to bring the cops into anything, especially in LA. It’s always stupid to bring anything to trial. Particularly now, with the Hays Office snorting brimstone all around the town and people like the Pettingers hollerin’ about Sodom and Gomorrah. Roscoe Arbuckle was acquitted – acquitted – of raping that girl in San Francisco, and these days he can’t even get work as an extra in this town. The fans may think you being accused of a crime of passion is glamorous and romantic, but any DA – any judge – in LA would just love to make headlines for convicting a movie star of anything, much less something spectacular like murdering her husband. Frank’s too smart not to know that once something goes to trial, things can turn on a dime. He may think Kitty deserves a scare for making goo-goo eyes at you, Eliot … but I don’t think he’s stupid enough to risk a picture, or a big-name star, on it.’
‘That just shows you’ve never talked to some of the men I’ve dated,’ remarked Kitty. ‘They get jealous, they start thinking with their little brain, not their big one. If they have a big one.’
She turned, and held out her hands to Eliot and his friend. ‘Send me a letter when you get to Oregon,’ she said, her smile sudden and dazzling. ‘I’ll write to you when we find out who’s really behind this, though I’ll just bet it’s Frank … Or at least, I’m so terrible at writing, it’ll probably be Emma who’ll write first, but I will really write, too. Ricky …’
She stepped close, and the big man gathered her up in his arms, hugging her with such affection as to lift her off her feet. When he set her down she turned to Eliot, who asked her softly, ‘Would you like a mad, passionate kiss, or a real one?’
Kitty’s smile was suddenly soft. ‘A real one,’ she said.
He framed her face in gentle hands, and kissed her forehead. ‘You’re a good friend,’ he said. ‘Thank you. More than I can say.’
THIRTEEN
‘You want to be careful getting out of here,’ said Zal quietly, as they descended the steps and picked their way across the narrow stream. ‘I thought a couple of times there might have been somebody following us.’
‘Why would they follow you?’ asked Ricky. ‘I could understand Jesperson’s dogs following us … How would they even know about you?’
‘I don’t know who knows what about who,’ said Zal. ‘I just … and I may be completely wrong. Depends on if this really is a publicity stunt. Or what Lou Jesperson might be up to.’
Ricky and Eliot stationed themselves on the rocks above the narrow stream, Eliot holding the hurricane-lantern high. By its light Zal backed his Ford around where the stream widened and shallowed below the old nightclub, and into a flat spot which Emma guessed had been used for a carpark in the building’s livelier days. ‘The thing we do not need,’ he said, easing the little vehicle backwards up the gentle slope, ‘is a puncture. I’m amazed we didn’t get one on the way here, the way Kitty was driving—’
Under Ricky’s guidance, Kitty maneuvered the Packard down through the stream after them, turning more sharply and pointing its long nose back down the canyon road to the highway, dimly glimpsed in the moonlight beyond. ‘You want to ride with me back to Kitty’s?’ asked Zal, glasses flashing in the reflected headlamps as he cut the wheels around.
‘If you live in Venice,’ protested Emma, ‘you can get home from the highway—’
‘It’s no bother,’ he said.
He has to be on the set at six tomorrow morning … THIS morning …
He came only to help me. To help Kitty.
‘Are you all right?’ He waved to Kitty, and the Packard roared away like the proverbial bat out of hell. ‘I keep asking you that.’
As Zal, much more sedately, guided the Ford back onto the road Emma looked back, and saw Ricky put an arm around Eliot’s shoulders as the two men walked into the shadows to Eliot’s car.
A long drive in the sinking moonlight, she thought, along that black-sapphire sea. North to Oregon, hundreds of miles, endless …
‘I have some land up near Eugene …’
She said, ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Anything I can help with? “No, I’d rather not talk about it”, is a perfectly acceptable answer.’
‘I don’t think it’s anything you can help with,’ she said after a time. ‘I got a letter Wednesday from my Aunt Estelle, the only one of my family to have survived the influenza. She’ll be coming through Los Angeles on the thirtieth, on her way back from India – her husband is a senior clerk at the consulate in Delhi. Was, I should say. He’s gotten a posting in England, and they’re returning to Oxford. She’s offered to take me back with them, and give me a home there.’
He was a dark shape in the dark car, the headlights two slanted cones on the pavement ahead. A silver glint on the corner of his glas
ses. ‘You going to take her up on it?’
‘I don’t know.’ It was enormous relief only to say it. To say it to him.
After a long time he said in a quieter voice, ‘I know you miss it.’
‘I miss the life I led there, yes,’ she agreed softly. ‘I miss the quiet …’
But this place – this stillness, driving along the moon-fringed sea – was quiet, a silence different, but just as deep as the mists on the Cherwell. Just as heart-healing.
She went on, a little hesitantly, ‘I miss working at something I love. Having … a purpose in life, beyond looking after Kitty’s dogs. Being around people who understand why I’d even want such a thing. People who understand the hunt for what really happened, the piecing-together of puzzles from manuscripts and old poems and bits of pots and tombs.’
Zal said, ‘I know. I worked for three years in a paint factory, after my dad died, just so my mom and sister would have a roof over their heads. The whole time I felt like – I don’t know, like I’d been shut into an iron maiden. Or like I’d been transported to another planet, where nobody understood about light, and texture, and how things look …’ He shook his head, his eyes on the road unspooling before them. ‘The worst of it was not knowing if I’d ever be able to get out. I used to have nightmares about that. About waking up old, and still being there.’
Stillness for a time, and the whisper of the tires on asphalt. The blue-black infinity of the sea.
She asked softly, ‘Are you happy now?’
‘I am.’ She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Happy now in 1924, and happy now this minute.’ And, quieter: ‘Will you be able to go back to your studies there?’
‘I think so. In Oxford, at least. I’d wanted to study in Paris, but Father needed me. So I read History at Somerville, which I could walk to from home. I loved the work, but … I did feel as if I’d been trapped. It was one reason I’d wanted to go to Paris. But of course it was for the best, because of the War. A lot of people had a hard time getting out, the Germans invaded so suddenly. And it was my father, who was training me to be an archaeologist. So when I married Jim I felt … Oh, like I was running away with the gypsies. He said we’d live in the United States – he’d been offered a job with an architect’s firm in New York, so that’s where we’d be living. He loved New York. I felt terrible, as if I were betraying my father, but Father said, “You must go, of course. Whatever will make you happy.”’
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