Elise, walking over to the Queen Anne chest, asked, “Would you prefer lemonade, Vicki? I made some earlier and it’s very refreshing.” Glasses, wine, liquor, and the lemonade stood on a silver tray.
“Thanks, I’d prefer that. I’ll have a glass of wine with dinner.” She watched Elise, thinking how beautiful she was in her red dress, with her dark wavy hair, dark brown eyes, and perfect complexion. She was slender, petite, but her posture was so good she appeared taller than she really was.
Victoria knew men found Elise beguiling, and she had a sexual allure, and yet she hadn’t settled down with any of those men she had dated. She was very particular.
Returning to the seating area near the windows, Elise put down the glasses of lemonade and took the chair opposite her friend. After a sip of the lemonade she fixed her attention on Victoria, and asked, “First of all, was Declan flirting with me, do you think?”
“Yes, he was. I’m sure he wants to see you again.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
“Not that I know of, Elise, and he’s a very nice person. He’s always been helpful to me, especially when I first moved in, hanging my photographs, that sort of thing.”
“He seems to work a lot. I’ve seen him in a few movies—small parts, of course. He’s from Dublin, isn’t he?”
Victoria nodded, and then laughed. “And he’s as Irish as Paddy’s pig. But listen, go out on a date with him, have some fun. He’s charming.”
“If you say so,” Elise responded, and changed the subject. “And what about you, Vicki? Have you met anyone lately … anyone who interests you?”
“No, I haven’t. Too much work, actually.” She suddenly smiled. “Too involved with a camera and what I see through it to notice a man.”
Elise laughed, and the two of them then began to discuss the flat that Elise had found nearby in Margaretta Terrace. And what her move would mean to Greta. Elise was worried her sister would be lonely without her.
Twelve
“It takes a lot of courage to be brave,” Alicia said, staring across the table at Constance Lambert. She shook her head, and muttered, “Oh, sorry. That does sound ridiculous, doesn’t it?” Her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears.
Constance reached out, took hold of Alicia’s hand. “I know exactly what you mean. It takes a great deal of strength to be brave in this kind of situation, darling.”
“It was just so unexpected and he was, well, brutal, really, in the way he told me, so blunt, unfeeling.” Alicia rummaged around in her bag for a handkerchief, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“So it seems,” Constance murmured, her voice sympathetic, gentle. “And you’re not the first woman to weep over a man. Or the last. Women have been doing that for centuries.”
Constance looked off into the distance, as if recalling something, her face contemplative. Then she said in a low voice, “Men can be real sods at times.”
Alicia wiped her cheeks, blew her nose, and attempted to smile at Constance, but it faltered almost at once. Once again, Constance took hold of the younger woman’s hand, held it comfortingly.
The two of them were sitting in the lounge area of Brown’s Hotel, having afternoon tea. They were very close; Constance and Felix had been Alicia’s theatrical agents since the beginning of her career in British films. She had not become a big star, but she was extremely well known, an actress of some standing. Beloved by the public, she worked on a regular basis and always in good movies. They had established a successful career for her, and looked after her interests scrupulously. And she relied on them, trusted them implicitly. However, it was Constance she had turned to in her upset over Bryan Mellor, knowing how well Constance understood her on an emotional level.
Constance broke the silence, when she said in a slightly puzzled tone, “There’s one thing I do find strange, and that is Bryan’s decision to do Victor Chapman’s Shakespearean tour of Australia. That’s certainly not going to embellish his career in any way at all. In fact, it’s a bit of a comedown, in my opinion. And by the way, Felix agrees.”
Leaning forward, Alicia confided, “I’m glad you said that, because that was exactly what I felt. On the other hand, he is a bit odd, sort of quirky, and he’s stubborn, wants to do his own thing.”
“He’s a man, what do you expect?” Constance remarked, a bleak smile flashing. Then she added, “But let’s look at it in another way, Alicia. Bryan could have just broken it off, walked away. He didn’t have to put thousands of miles between the two of you—” Constance cut her sentence short, looking thoughtful yet again. “Unless he did it to prevent himself from coming back to you … been tempted to reconcile, knowing he was unable to resist you.”
A startled look flickered in Alicia’s blue eyes, and she exclaimed, “Why would he want to have me back? I just told you how … harsh he was. Here’s the thing, Connie, I believe he had been planning to break up with me for a while. Just consider how sneaky he was about his clothes, saying he was taking them to the cleaners. He was probably packing his suitcases.”
“True enough. Look, if he left anything behind, be it a tie, a book, anything at all, just get rid of it. Send it back, or better still, throw it away. Reminders of a man can be bothersome.”
“Thank you for thinking of that. There are a few bits and pieces. I’ll mail the stuff to his flat.”
“Don’t waste the postage, he’s gone, sailed away. Throw the things in the dustbin. Get him out of your life. You’ve got to move on. Now. At once.”
“I’ve decided to go to Cavendon, get out of the flat … too much of the Brin there at the moment.”
“Good idea. And stay there for the next ten days. Now that the picture has been postponed for two weeks, for those important rewrites, you can relax, go over your lines, although knowing you, they’re already committed to memory.”
Alicia smiled for the first time that day. “Yes, they are.”
“You must now think of the future,” Constance announced, her voice suddenly firmer, more decisive. “I know Felix told you that the associate producer is a big fan of yours. He’s hinted to Felix that he might want you for his next production. There’s a lot to look forward to, darling. And you mustn’t moon over Bryan Mellor. He’s a lost cause.”
* * *
At the other side of London, at PhotoElite on Fulham Road, Victoria stood in the office of Michael Sutton, owner and head of the agency, listening to him carefully.
When he had finished, she exclaimed, “I don’t like what you’re saying, Mike. You’re actually suggesting I’m living with a man, that you’re troubled by this because you promised Paloma Swann you’d keep an eye on me. That’s it, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “I also promised your aunt the same thing, and these rumors I’ve been hearing are worrisome. I do feel a certain sense of responsibility, you know.”
“You can stop at once. Aunt Alice and Paloma have Charlie Stanton and Greta Chalmers keeping an eye on me, and that’s already too many people.” Throwing him a cold, hard stare, she added, “I am disappointed in you, I thought you knew what kind of girl I am, having been brought up by the Swanns. Someone’s spreading bad things about me, things which are not true.”
Michael went bright red, the flush starting in his neck and flooding up into his face, and he looked chagrined. “I ought to know better, shouldn’t listen to a bit of odd office gossip,” he muttered, feeling like an idiot.
“The man I was seen with, well over a week ago now, was Declan O’Sullivan, the actor. He happens to live in the flat above me. The other Saturday he and I were leaving at the same time and he gave me a lift, since we were both going to Chelsea.”
Michael knew she was extremely angry and he didn’t blame her. He’d been foolish to listen to a disgruntled member of the staff, never mind bringing it up to her. Taking a deep breath, he said contritely, “I’m very sorry, Victoria. I made a mistake. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
“Yes, I will,” she answered at once, not want
ing any problems to linger with her boss. She wondered if she should tell him about Phil Dayton watching her building at times, and decided against it. For the moment.
Michael said, “I have an assignment for you which I know you’re going to like. That was the real reason I wanted to see you today.”
“Oh.” She paused, giving him a quizzical look. “What is it?”
“Photographing Alicia Stanton for Elegance Magazine. They’ve requested you.”
A smile settled on Victoria’s face. “When? I know she’s about to start a new film.”
“Apparently shooting starts a bit later now. I’ve been told there’s some rewriting on the script to be done. Shall I accept? Will you do it?”
“Of course I will … I’ve known her since I was a little girl.”
He grinned, glad that her anger had subsided. She was his favorite. Everybody’s favorite, in fact. How could he have been so dumb? Listening to pettifogging gossip of no accord. “I’m stupid,” he added under his breath. “Plain bloody stupid.”
* * *
It was seven when Victoria left the agency. She glanced up at the sky as she went out onto Fulham Road, saw that it was heavy with dark clouds; rain threatened. She was tired after developing negatives for several hours and hailed a cab. Sitting back, she gave the cabbie her address, relaxed, and turned her thoughts to photographing Alicia. She was aware it would be a wonderful project, that she could get some unique shots because she knew Cavendon and its secret places so well.
Her thoughts were still on the new assignment when the taxi finally pulled up at her building in Belsize Park Gardens. She jumped out and was paying the cabbie when she stiffened. There it was again. Phil Dayton’s gray Vauxhall parked a little farther up the street.
Immediately caution kicked in. She opened the cab door and jumped back in. “I’ve just realized I should be somewhere else right now,” she exclaimed to the driver.
“No bovver, miss,” the Cockney said. “Where to then?”
“Phene Street,” she answered. “The far end.” Then she sat back, crouching down a bit as they passed the gray car.
She was not only infuriated but a little bit afraid. Phil Dayton’s obsession with her, for that was what it was, was abnormal. And now tonight it had become troubling. She didn’t relish the idea of being in her flat knowing he was sitting out there. It was too creepy.
As a child she had not only learned caution and wariness, but learned to anticipate trouble, and therefore to be on guard, always prepared. These traits were now ingrained in her.
Thirteen
Greta Chalmers sat staring at the bottle of white wine she had just taken out of the refrigerator, and put the corkscrew down on the table. She had been about to open it, so that she and Elise could have a celebratory drink together, and then realized that Elise was at the paper, working tonight.
And even if she had been off, would she have been here? Of course not. She lived in her new flat in Margaretta Terrace. It was just around the corner, and she would have rushed over immediately, if Greta invited her … Greta shook her head, and a sad little smile slid onto her face. She lived alone here now.
At twenty-eight, Elise had wanted to stretch her legs, move on, feel more grown-up, live her own life, in her own place. Greta understood that. Nonetheless, she already missed her sister. The house felt empty, strange without her.
For eleven years this had been a family home, once her father and her half siblings had arrived from Germany. It had been the most perfect family home, and truly served them well. Once they had finally arrived in 1938, Greta had been able to find a real sense of peace, eventually managed to put aside her sorrow about Roy’s untimely death in 1933. Her family had given her a fresh start.
Greta sat up straighter in the chair, her thoughts rushing back to the conversation she had had earlier with Cecily. And the end result of their long phone call. This was a fresh start.
That thought grabbed her, wiped the sadness from her face. It’s a new beginning, she told herself, I can forge ahead, do so much more, fill my life with new activities. I might even meet a nice man.
As Greta sat back in the chair, her thoughts ran on as she pondered about Life with a capital L, and what surprises it held. The unexpected was never far away. Sometimes Life rose up and bashed you in the face, almost destroyed you, but occasionally it gave you a bit of happiness, a sense of joy, however fleeting.
The trilling of the doorbell brought Greta to her feet, and she hurried down the corridor, wondering who was there. When she opened the front door a look of total surprise filled her face.
“Victoria! Hello!” For a split second Greta stood gaping at the young woman who was smiling at her, still taken aback at Victoria’s unexpected arrival.
“Can I come in, please, Greta?” Victoria asked quietly.
“Of course you can, Victoria. How stupid I am.” As she spoke Greta ushered her inside and closed the door behind them. “I was startled for a moment.”
As they walked down the corridor to the kitchen, Greta went on, “I’m always glad to see you. But Elise is at the paper.”
“I know. It was you I came to see, Greta. I realize I should have phoned first, but I was in the street and I just made a snap decision and jumped into a cab. You see, I want your advice. I need to tell you about something strange. In confidence.”
“I’m always here for you, and oddly enough, I have something I’d like to confide in you, Victoria.” Greta studied Victoria’s face for a moment, after they were both seated at the kitchen table, and said, “You said ‘strange,’ and you look a trifle worried. My story is more celebratory, I think. So shall I go first?”
Victoria nodded. “Mine is a bit complicated. So yes, do that. I think you’re going to tell me something happy, aren’t you?”
“I am indeed, and we must have a glass of wine.” Standing up, Greta opened the bottle of white wine, took two glasses from a cupboard, and poured.
Sitting down again, passing wine to Victoria, Greta leaned across the table, a wide smile on her face when she announced, “I became Cecily’s partner in Swann today … she agreed I could invest in the company, and I’m thrilled.”
“How wonderful! Congratulations.” Victoria picked up her glass, touched it to Greta’s before taking a sip of the wine.
“Thank you, darling. It’s sort of … well, given me a new lease on life, it’s like a fresh start in a way. Before you arrived I was sitting here wondering who I could share my good news with … so thank you for showing up right on time.”
Victoria couldn’t help laughing; Greta had a wonderful sense of humor. She had always admired her, the way she had looked after the professor, Kurt, and Elise. There was something fine about her, and she had integrity and was trustworthy.
Aunt Alice always said that Ceci had been lucky to find her, that Greta was honest, reliable, and had backbone. The latter was most important to Alice Swann. Backbone counted. Victoria thought Ceci and Greta were somewhat alike in certain ways; they were both born in the first week of May, although Cecily was six years older than Greta, who was about forty-two now.
After swallowing some of the wine, Greta said in a more serious voice, “Ceci and I made a verbal deal over the phone today, Victoria, so what I’ve told you is very confidential. No one else knows about the partnership yet.”
“I won’t say a word, I promise. Aunt Alice told me years ago I must keep things to myself, never gossip.”
Greta nodded. “Now, explain why you need my advice.”
“It is a bit complicated, as you’d guessed.” Slowly, speaking in a steady voice, Victoria told Greta all about Phil Dayton, from the evening he had given her and another girl from PhotoElite a lift home in a thunderstorm, to his pestering her for a date, and lately parking near her flat. “Seeing that gray Vauxhall tonight was just one time too many.”
“I would say three times too many!” Greta exclaimed, looking appalled at what she had just heard. “You did the right thi
ng, coming here. And you’re going to spend the night here.”
“But I—”
“No buts. He might well have seen you arrive in Belsize Park Gardens, and then jump back into the cab and ride off. He could still be parked there, you know. He might get out of the car, try to accost you, or speak to you anyway, when you got home.”
“Yes, you’re right, he could. I have this dilemma, Greta. I want to confront him, tell him off. I also want to report his behavior to Michael Sutton. I think I even might want to leave the agency. That strange man makes me feel uneasy.”
“I feel the same way about him. But tackling this Phil Dayton would be the worst thing to do, in my opinion. A weird man, which he really is, I think, might take umbrage, get angry. My advice is to keep your mouth shut and do your own thing, which is to leave the agency, and as soon as possible. Put yourself out of reach.”
“Michael Sutton told me tonight that Elegance Magazine would like me to photograph Alicia, and I accepted the assignment. I do want to do it.”
“You’ll still be in proximity to Dayton.”
Victoria shook her head. “Mike told me the magazine has suggested I should photograph her at Cavendon, so I wouldn’t be in London.”
“I see. Melinda Johns, the editor in chief of Elegance Magazine, is a friend of mine, a close friend, as I think you know, Victoria. She’s been wanting to steal you away from PhotoElite for months. You won’t have trouble finding a job. You already have one, in fact. I’ll speak to Melinda whenever you wish. It’s up to you, just say the word.”
“Thank you, Greta, for listening, and for your advice. Please don’t tell Ceci about Dayton, because she’ll tell Aunt Alice, who’ll be worrying about me all the time.”
“I won’t tell a single soul, I promise,” Greta replied, and sat back in the chair, sipped her wine. After a moment, she ventured, “I’ve often wondered why Alice and you chose that flat. It’s cozy and nicely appointed, but Belsize Park Gardens is really not for you. It’s too far north. Everyone you know lives and works either in Mayfair or around here in Chelsea, and you’re miles away from us all.”
Secrets of Cavendon Page 9