by ILIL ARBEL
“I do wish I had seen them,” said Miss Merriman truthfully. Because strangely enough, Miss Merriman, despite her education, reserve, tact, and breeding, dearly loved science fiction and detective stories in the form of books and films, though unfortunately her busy life had allowed little time for the cinema.
“They may be re-released, I am told” said Glamora. “And I do hope you will come with us to the premieres in London.”
“How kind of you, Miss Tudor,” said Miss Merriman, surprised to see the actress behaving so pleasantly. But then Miss Tudor was really a simple London girl at heart, and when men were not present and she had no need to vamp anyone, or an opportunity for self-advertising did not present itself, she could be quite human. Which Miss Merriman had begun to understand.
“Am I correct that you plan to leave us tomorrow, Miss Tudor?”
“Yes, tomorrow morning, I am afraid.”
“Everyone will miss you, we have enjoyed having you so much,” said Miss Merriman.
“Thank you, Miss Merriman. I will miss all of you too, I had such a charming time. But I do hope to return in the not too far-off future,” said Glamora, “now that I have made such nice new friends here. Lord Pomfret mentioned that the Countess would love to meet me. I certainly am sorry she was in Italy while I visited.”
“What about Mr. Keith? Is he going to London with you?”
“No, he suddenly decided to spend some time with his relations, the Mertons,” said Glamora. “Later he will join me for the promotions. The studio is expecting to draw large crowds, I hear, and Fever in Peru should do very well, I hope. I do wish I could employ him in a second film, Miss Merriman. With Hank’s talent and his good looks, I think he could be a great success, but the studios object to any of my leading men starring in more than one film with me. You can’t imagine how tiring it is, getting used to a new co-star every time.” She sounded genuinely sad and suddenly Miss Merriman wondered if Glamora was more deeply fond of the younger man than anyone suspected. If so, she felt very sorry for the famous actress, remembering a far-off night when she had cried after hearing that young Gillie Foster, of whom she had grown very fond, had become engaged to the eminently suitable Miss Wicklow, the sister of the estate agent. Yes, Glamora’s fame and beauty could not change the fact that she was middle-aged and Edmond was young enough to be her son. But such things pass, as Miss Merriman reminded herself, and she quickly regained her composure.
“Where is Hank, by the way?” asked Glamora.
“He went with Miss Lover for a walk,” said Miss Merriman.
“Oh,” said Glamora thoughtfully. “Yes, of course. He seems to like her very much.”
Miss Merriman’s kind heart was filled with pity. She now knew her suspicions were correct. “She is a child, Miss Tudor,” she said. “I doubt that a sophisticated young man, with such opportunities as you have given him, would take a real interest in a schoolgirl, no matter how charming.”
“I hope you are right,” said Glamora with an almost inaudible sigh, and added quickly, perhaps too quickly, “I wouldn’t want him to attach himself so early and lose his bright future. I take a great interest in his career.”
“You are quite right,” said Miss Merriman. “I completely agree that becoming attached too early in life is quite detrimental to a young man’s career. Well, I had better go and ascertain everything is properly packed for you, Miss Tudor. Would you like to sit in the garden?” Glamora agreed and was comfortably installed in a deck chair and supplied with the latest detective book by Lisa Bedale, called The Moonlit Corpse, and although the book was enthralling, Glamora soon succumbed to the warm day and went to sleep just as Gerry Marston, the famous detective, was about to enter, alone and unarmed, the utterly deserted and horribly quiet carnival grounds where the murderer was sure to lurk during that fateful night.
In the meantime, Emma and Edmond walked briskly over the beautiful countryside. All sorts of flowers and birds, quite appropriate to the pleasant warm August day, enhanced the beauty of the land, and although both Emma and Edmond were completely ignorant about botany or zoology, they tried to recognize the bird calls, without much success.
“I will be staying with Lydia and Noel, starting tomorrow,” said Edmond. “Could you persuade Miss Dean to drive you there and have tea on your way to London?”
Emma’s heart beat faster when Noel’s name was mentioned, but she was very careful not to show it. “I’ll ask Cousin Jessica,” she said. “I am not sure what her plans are, exactly, but I would love to come to tea and see Lady Merton. She is really wonderful.”
“Yes, Lydia is my favorite cousin,” said Edmond, “and Noel is very nice, too. And best of all, I won’t see Miss Tudor for at least two weeks. After that, I only need to meet her for the promotional appearances, and then I am a free man. We must meet in London, Emma, and remember, you promised to introduce me to Mr. Clover. I can’t wait to meet him.”
“I thought you enjoyed Miss Tudor’s company very much,” said Emma. “After all, she is such a beautiful woman, and so elegant.”
“And old enough to be my mother,” said Edmond without a trace of chivalry. “I have nothing to say to her, and yet she keeps wanting to be admired. It’s a strain.”
“Age means nothing,” said Emma, thinking about Noel, who was certainly old enough to be her father. “When you really like someone, you don’t think about such a trivial thing.”
“Perhaps,” said Edmond, “but Miss Tudor can be difficult. She is always… I sometimes wonder if… it’s possible that… ah, well, never mind. In a few weeks all that will not matter, and hopefully she will focus her attentions on her next leading man, whoever the poor fellow may be.”
Miss Tudor came down early to tea, and found Mrs. Rivers already in the garden. “Shall we take a little walk while we are waiting, Miss Tudor?”
“Yes, certainly,” said Glamora. “I do love the country. Such flowers.”
“I must tell you, Miss Tudor,” said Mrs. Rivers pleasantly as they started strolling up the Green River, for once exhibiting the natural charm that so rarely showed among her literary airs and pretensions. “Even though you refuse to do the film from my current novel, I am still grateful to you. Last night I suddenly had an Inspiration, and it’s all thanks to you.”
“Really?” said Miss Tudor with a bored look. “What was the inspiration?”
“I am going to write a novel about a great film actress, who had had an illustrious career for over twenty-five years. She acted with many co-stars, all of them talented and good looking. She is secretly married to a great theater producer of the London Stage, and she won’t let anyone know about it because she wishes to maintain her status of a romantic lead. They are often separated, so they sadly drift apart…”
Glamora looked at her with a blank expression. “Go on,” she said.
“Well,” said Mrs. Rivers enthusiastically, “even though she still loves her husband, she feels neglected. He is always in the theater, always working. Then she meets a young actor, who appeals to her so much that she feels he is her true soul mate. The young man is of course madly in love with her, how could he help it? They carry on a lovely romance, meeting secretly at various beautiful spots, walking in the moonlight, sometimes holding hands, but of course always chaste. She almost succumbs to his entreaties to elope with him and start a new life in some remote country. However, at the last moment the actress realizes how wrong it would be to go on with this relationship. Yes, she loves the actor, but he is too young, and the relationship could not last with happiness for both. Besides, she is really faithful to her husband at heart. She heroically gives up the film she was going to do with the young actor, a film that could have been the crowning glory of her career, and selflessly appoints a young ingénue of great beauty, purity and kindness as his co-star; she knows that the young actress truly loves the actor and such an alliance would be most suitable for both. The scene of renunciation, when the great actress nobly tells her soul mate to t
ry to love the young actress and be good to her forever, should be quite dramatic. Alone, the actress goes on a bittersweet cruise to Tahiti, there to reunite with her husband, who is waiting to have a second honeymoon with the wife he never really stopped loving, all the while her thoughts lingering on her lost love…”
“Mrs. Rivers, I had never really refused to work on your book,” Glamora interrupted, her face so utterly white that the red-orange lipstick stood out quite horribly, and two patches of rouge showed right under the perfect cheekbones. “As a matter of fact, I have just decided to do it. Why not send the book to my agent? And tell him I am extremely interested in filming it?”
“Why Miss Tudor, thank you!” exclaimed Mrs. Rivers. “I am more than delighted and very grateful for your change of mind, but what is the matter? You suddenly look very pale! Are you feeling faint? It must be the heat. Come and sit down.”
Glamora followed her, saying nothing, and sat down on the lawn chair, her eyes closed. Mrs. Rivers was puzzled, even mystified, and for once sincerely worried about the actress’s sudden illness, so much so that she did not concentrate on her own unexpected and inexplicable good luck in landing her for the film. She was about to walk to the house and get a glass of water, when luckily the housemaid started bringing the tea and she could quickly pour a reviving cup for Glamora. The actress drank it gratefully, the colour slowly returning to her face, and said, “I imagine you would be willing to work on the script with our regular script writers? It’s important that the dialogue should sound just like the book, for mutual promotion.”
“Oh, yes, of course, Miss Tudor. I would love to.”
“But won’t it take you away from your regular writing, Mrs. Rivers?” asked Glamora.
Surprised at the actress’s sudden concern and interest, Mrs. Rivers was truly gratified. “My Other Work will wait, Miss Tudor, while we work on Our New Project. It is going to be A Very Important Film, I believe.”
“So you won’t have time to concentrate on the new novel you have mentioned, I really don’t quite remember now what it was about after being so dizzy suddenly…” said Glamora, eyeing the authoress with what seemed to Mrs. Rivers like suspicion, though she simply could not imagine what was the matter .
“Oh, the one about the great actress and her young soul mate. It will have to wait,” said Mrs. Rivers. “Believe me, I will devote all my time to Our New Project, Send Me No Lilies. I will enjoy collaborating with you so much.”
“We will need to find a new co-star,” said Miss Tudor pensively.
“Why not try to have Mr. Keith again?” asked Mrs. Rivers. “He is just right. Nestor Chardonay is about twenty-eight in the book, but I am sure the make-up department can give Mr. Keith these extra few years. The heroine, Lady Fitz-Gardner, is about forty-five and extremely attractive, and of course she does not look her age at all. No one would take her to be forty-five.”
Glamora stood up, fury in her face, and was about to say some terrible words when she suddenly seemed to think better of it and sat meekly down again, gazing at her finger nails. Mrs. Rivers, immersed in happy anticipation of the perfect film and the huge box office success, noticed absolutely nothing.
“Perhaps you are right,” said Miss Tudor suddenly. “Why should I not have what I want, for a change? I always give in to the studios, but not this time, I am so tired of these endless changes. Yes, I will have Hank in this film, Mrs. Rivers. On your recommendation.” At that moment the rest of the party came to the tea table.
“Hank, darling,” said Glamora, looking her perfect self again. “I have marvelous news for you. I have consented to turn Mrs. Rivers’s book into a film, and I will insist that you play the part of Nestor Chardonay.”
Edmond looked at her, horror-stricken, tried to say something, but could not, and just opened and closed his mouth. Emma expected him to protest, to refuse, to talk about his own plans, but Edmond said nothing at all.
“He is overwhelmed with joy,” said Glamora complacently. “That is all right, Hank. You don’t have to thank me. We had such a good time together filming Fever in Peru that I simply can’t part from you quite yet.” She smiled at him sweetly. Emma looked at Jessica, who continued drinking her tea peacefully. Jessica felt she had fulfilled her obligations to Lord Pomfret admirably. The two ladies did not kill each other. Glamora even consented to act in Mrs. Rivers’ film version of Send Me No Lilies. Jessica did not understand why, though she began to have a vague suspicion that Glamora liked the young actor just a little bit too much and somehow thought he would fit in with this particular project. But there was no harm in such a little platonic affair, really. As for Edmond, what was so bad about getting plenty of money for a second film? And how the whole affair was like one of Mrs. Rivers perpetual themes, the middle-aged actress falling for the young actor, life imitating art… she wondered if Mrs. Rivers would ever write a book about Glamora and Edmond. Probably after Send Me No Lilies was completed. Jessica decided she would read it and see how close to life Mrs. Rivers would write. She looked at Emma and winked at her, not knowing that Emma felt completely betrayed.
Chapter Four
“Thank you so much for coming and bringing Edmond,” said Lydia as Jessica, Emma and Edmond were let in by Palmer who, for a change, rather approved of the visitors. But then she liked Edmond, whom she considered one of the family even if he did live in foreign parts, and she had heard so much about Jessica even though she herself never stooped so low as to attend a play. As for Emma, such a sweetly pretty young lady, it stood to reason that there would be opportunities to watch a little romance, dearly loved by Palmer despite her crusty exterior.
Noel was still in London, which temporarily made Emma very unhappy, but not for very long. She enjoyed the excellent tea Lydia provided, ate a great deal of cake, and made plans with Edmond about meeting in London and introducing him to Aubrey as soon as he came back from America.
Edmond enjoyed his two weeks of freedom and once removed from Glamora’s demands, felt as happy as a mouse that had gotten away from a very lovely cobra. He called Emma two or three times, just to make sure that indeed she would remember to mention him to Aubrey. No other reason to call, really, he thought, certainly no need to bother Emma who was probably very busy in London, visiting all the places, whatever they were, where she could see interesting clothes. However, one must be absolutely certain about meeting the important playwright. Why would such a quick business matter give rise to a conversation that lasted twenty minutes each time, we cannot say. Or for that matter, why Edmond didn’t ask Emma what he really wanted to know, namely, if she had seen Noel in London, is another question that merits clarification, but we cannot fathom it.
About two days before the end of Edmond’s visit, Jessica called Lydia with fresh and exciting news. Apparently, everything was moving very fast, Hollywood style. Aubrey had arrived, accompanied by the great Mr. Goldwasser, and the plans began to unfold.
“Can you imagine, Lydia, Mr. Goldwasser consented to film Send Me No Lilies; apparently he loves the book, and he plans to film it in England!”
“Why?” asked Lydia. “I thought they always filmed in studios and things, unless they went to some exotic location.”
“The new trend is to film in natural environments, and Mr. Goldwasser knows that our lovely gardens will bring authenticity, since the story takes place in England and Vienna. The conservatories should look English, and unlike American greenhouses, he said. Besides, filming in England will save him a great deal of money; I am not sure why, but he is convinced of that.”
“This is indeed very exciting,” said Lydia. “Do you know which part of England he means to use?”
Jessica burst out laughing. “You will never believe what I am going to tell you; it’s too divine for words. He has already made arrangements with Lady Norton!”
“Mr. Goldwasser knows Lady Norton?” asked Lydia, utterly bewildered. “Where could he possibly have met her?”
“He has never met her. But w
hen Mrs. Rivers heard about his plans to film in England, she immediately recommended her dear friend, who owns gardens and conservatories that would be just perfect, and now Mr. Goldwasser wants to meet her.”
“I say,” said Lydia, her powerful mind sorting all these bits and pieces of information. “I have a wonderful idea. When you are ready to pick up Edmond for the promotions, come here for lunch, bring Mr. Goldwasser and Miss Tudor, and I’ll arrange with Mrs. Rivers and Lady Norton to meet you here. If you come to lunch, Lady Norton can show you her property while it’s still light. And you should bring Aubrey and Emma, of course, just for fun. Noel would love to see everyone.”
“My angel!” said Jessica. “What a glorious plan. We shall do exactly that, and bless you! Let me talk to everyone and we will arrange the exact day with you later. And don’t bother to call Lady Norton and Mrs. Rivers, my love. Mr. Goldwasser’s secretary, whom he has brought with him from America, will take care of all that.”
As the day was dark and the cold rain kept falling, Lydia decided to have lunch in the regular dining room instead of the pleasant garden room which she would have used in warm weather, due to its beautiful French window and easy access to the garden. This decision created a pleasant atmosphere, because every time the garden room was used, the war with Palmer, which had started with the late Mrs. Keith so many years ago, had to be resumed. Palmer resented the garden room and held the opinion that it was not the parlour maid’s legitimate province, and this opinion had not changed over the years, despite all the attempts to pacify her, including a service hatch from the kitchen passage and a large and excellent tea trolley with rubber wheels and ball bearings. These were supplied by the late Mrs. Keith, and ignored by Palmer, who had continued to carry heavy trays with the air of a Christian martyr in Ancient Rome, carrying his own cross to the place of execution. Lydia had tried to provide a modern tea trolley with a glass top, but the object only succeeded in drawing a disdainful look, and a comment about how difficult it was to keep glass clean. Therefore, having the lunch in the dining room, and expecting guests that met Palmer’s high standards, elevated her mood to such an extent that she had almost smiled, but of course not quite. One knows one’s place.