The Widening Stream

by Rachel Lindsay

  When breakfast was over Loris left the children with the family, for today was Timothy's day and he was the boss, but after lunch she got them ready for the expedition Mr. Loftus had arranged to one of the film studios. This had long been one of Timothy's dreams, and his grandfather had obtained a special pass to allow them to enter the hallowed precincts. The children were so wild with excitement that even Loris was infected by their enthusiasm and looked forward to the trip with almost as much eagerness as they did.

  She had been glad, however, of the morning's respite, for she found it tiring to keep Timothy and Gillian amused all day. Unlike their English counterparts, they seemed uninterested in picture books or reading and were continually on the go, bombarding her, when lack of breath forced them to sit still, with questions about everything that came into their heads, particularly questions about England and her home. She often had to rack her brains to find the right answers, and almost forgotten facts about English history and geography came to light in her efforts to satisfy them.

  In the past few weeks Loris had grown thinner and faint hollows had appeared below her cheek bones. Although careful to have a ready smile and hide her unhappy thoughts whenever she was with the family, there were times when her mask of composure fell and this did not go as unnoticed as she hoped.

  For the afternoon's excursion she put on a cool white dress and tightening the narrow red belt around her waist, ran lightly down the stairs to join the children, who were waiting for her impatiently in their grandfather's car. The drive ahead was a long one, for most of the studios were situated either in Culver City, some twenty miles from Los Angeles, or in the San Fernando valley, where many of the stars owned ranches. The long gleaming white highway stretched straight as a ribbon for miles, and on either side the dusty grey hills merged into undulating plains that seemed to disappear into eternity.

  The children were well behaved at first, but by the time the car nosed its way past the policeman at the gates of the wire enclosure surrounding Lion Studios they were showing signs of restlessness. They drove on past enormous hangar-like buildings until the car drew up at the entrance to the main office. Loris and the children stepped out to be met by a short, thin man with crinkly grey hair who had obviously been waiting for them.

  "Are you with Mr. Loftus's grandchildren?" he asked Loris. And when she nodded, went on: "Good. My name's Al Belland, and I've been designated to show you around." He looked down at the children with a genial smile. "Well, kids, where shall we start? There's a picture on the floor at the moment which has a Christmas scene on schedule, so if we go along there we might get to see the tree all lit up. Then there's the studio canteen, where you're sure to see some of the stars, and the make-up room and wardrobe room, and lots more besides. Which shall it be first?"

  Timothy and Gillian seemed taken aback by the offer of such liberality. After much whispered consultation they decided to see the canteen first and leave the film until the end, in the manner of children the world over who leave the tit-bit till last.

  Loris had not realized that a studio could be so vast, and after a while found herself wishing they had the car to take them from one building to another, for it was tiring to walk along the hot concrete paths. Their way to the canteen took them through several empty lots, and they came upon a Gold Rush town complete in every detail from a gaudy saloon bar to the tethering-posts for the cowboys' horses. It lay gathering dust, exposed to the glare of the sun in one corner of the huge acreage covered by the studio, the streets and houses looking so real that it was uncanny to step behind them and discover they were merely plaster fronts supported by wooden posts. Farther along they came to an enormous empty tank, which Al explained was used for making scenes at sea, and beyond that, Eros stood in the middle of a replica of Piccadilly. It was strange to see the heart of London tucked away among the jumble of exotic sets, and Loris felt a pang of homesickness as she looked up at the plaster cast of the little god of Love.

  When they reached the studio canteen Timothy recognized one of his favourite cowboy heroes, and Gillian, at the sight of a group of film extras in the clothes of a bridal party, amused everybody by piping up: "Why are they here, Loris—why don't they go to church?"

  After they had rested and had some refreshment Al led them into the hot sunshine again and across to a large, squat building with a placard on the door which bore the warning: 'Silence'.

  Al stuck his head round tentatively and then turned and beckoned to Loris and the children. "It's O.K. They're not shooting, so we can go in."

  "Are they going to kill somebody?" Gillian asked earnestly.

  "Not on your sweet life, little lady! That just means they're going to film a scene for the picture."

  As quietly as they could they entered the huge, barn-like building, with its concrete walls and corrugated iron roof. Over to one side a series of cubicles served as dressing-rooms for the stars, and in front of one of them a girl sat before a lighted mirror, while a make-up man bent over her repairing the ravages to her make-up caused by the heat of the lights.

  They walked across the floor, which was strewn with electric cables and coils of rope, and made their way to the far end, where they saw a set resembling a house. As they approached it, it proved to be only a painted front like the Gold Rush town had been, and Al led them round the back of it and showed them the rooms that had been built behind. There was a small kitchen leading into a lounge, and in it a young man and woman stood staring motionlessly at each other with expressionless faces, while a technician ran round them holding up a little gadget which Al explained was for measuring the amount of light needed for the cameras to make the next shot.

  Suddenly the young man and woman walked off, to be replaced by the two stars for whom they had been acting as stand-ins. A stentorian voice yelled for silence, and instantly there was a magic quiet. Arc lights and spot lights glowed into life and the scene was lit by a fierce white glare. Loris and the children watched fascinated as the actors proceeded to rehearse the scene. Time after time they were stopped by the director, who explained how he wanted certain gestures and movements made, and Loris was amazed by the effort and patience needed to get the scene right. Eventually he seemed satisfied and. gave orders for the shooting to begin. More lights went on, the microphones were lowered from the ceiling, and the cameras moved in and started to turn.

  "Cut!" At last the scene was 'in the can' and the noise broke out again as the cameras swung back and the microphones vanished into the ceiling.

  "Mind, darling, you might get in the way." Loris caught Gillian by the hand and as she pulled her back bumped into a man standing behind them.

  "I beg your pardon, I didn't…" The words died away as she looked up and saw it was Brett.

  "Good afternoon," he said stiffly. "I didn't expect to see you here."

  "I—it's Timothy's birthday and Mr. Loftus arranged this visit as a treat for him. What are you doing here?" The words were out before she could stop them.

  "I have an interest in these studios," he said briefly.

  At that moment, Timothy, who had been inspecting one of the cameras, caught sight of Brett and came running over, and Brett bent and solemnly wished him a happy birthday. "Are you enjoying yourself, Timmy?"

  "Gee, yes—but of course we've walked around an awful lot and it's very tiring for the girls." The little boy looked deprecatingly at Loris and his sister.

  Brett hid a smile. "What are you going to do now?"

  Loris interrupted, "We're just going home."

  "Oh, Loris," Timothy complained, "you promised we could have an ice-cream before we left."

  "I'll buy you one," Brett said, then turned inquiringly to Loris. "That is, if you'll let me."

  Loris nodded, and Brett turned back to the children. "Come along, then, I'll take you somewhere special and you can have the biggest ice-cream they've got."

  "But we've got our own car," Loris protested.

  "That's all right," he said easily. "I'll
send it home and take you back in mine."

  They left the studio together and walked over to the car park where Brett's shining drophead Studebaker was standing. The children piled into the back excitedly and Loris had no option but to sit in front next to Brett. They drove past the studio policeman again, the man tipping his cap respectfully as he recognized the driver, turned right and then left the Wilshire Boulevard and on in the direction of Los Angeles.

  "Where are we going, Uncle Brett?" Timothy shouted.

  "How would you like to have your ice-cream at the Ambassadors Hotel? They have a fine snack-bar there."

  "That'll be swell!" the little boy said eagerly. "We went there once with Granddad. You'll like it, Loris."

  "Haven't you been there?" Brett asked her casually.

  She turned to look at him, the wind blowing her soft, dark hair about her face. "No. I haven't been out very much since I've been here."

  She looked so young and innocent sitting next to him that Brett had a sudden, unaccountable desire to show her all the lovely places he knew so well. The simple white dress she wore made him wish he had the right to buy her expensive, beautiful clothes, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel as he shot the car forward.

  Loris was surprised to find that the ground floor of the hotel consisted entirely of an elaborate arcade of shops. And what magnificent shops they were! Exquisite shoes, hats, blouses and flowers were there for the asking—or the buying—and there was a large drug store and an even larger music counter.

  Brett led the way along the marble-floored corridor through the rows of shops to a restaurant set with small tables, at one end of which was a long counter with high stools. Without waiting to be asked the children clambered manfully up on them, and Loris found herself sitting next to Brett again while Timothy and Gillian ordered what they wanted.

  "What will you have?" Brett asked her. "Shall it be a pineapple sundae like the birthday boy or a double ice-cream soda like Gillian and me?"

  "Neither, thank you. I'll just have some coffee."

  "Nonsense, have some ice-cream! It'll do you good." His eyes travelled over her figure. "You're thinner, Loris," he added abruptly. "Aren't you well?"

  "I'm all right, thank you. It's probably because I'm not used to the heat." She turned away and busied herself with the children, not wishing to say any more, for the sight of Brett's strong, brown hands resting on the counter filled her with so great a longing to be in his arms that she could hardly bear his proximity. Oh, Brett, her heart cried, 'how could you forget so easily? How could you pretend at love when you knew how much every gesture, every word, meant to me? How could you believe I was only playing a game?

  "Loris, I've been talking to you and you haven't been listening to a word," Gillian said plaintively.

  Loris forced her attention back to the little girl. "I'm sorry, darling. What is it?"

  "I want to know if I can have another sundae."

  "I think you've had enough already, dear."

  "Well, let me have half, then," the little girl pleaded.

  "All right," Loris relented. "But only half. Give the rest of it to Timothy."

  "Oh, goody!" Timothy shrilled, his mouth full. "Wish I had a birthday every day. Think of all the food and presents I'd get!"

  Brett laughed. "Talking of presents, young man, you haven't been over to collect your puppy. You can come over and take him whenever you like, you know."

  "Gee, thanks, Uncle Brett! Can we go tomorrow, Loris?"

  "I don't know about tomorrow, dear," she said guardedly, "but we'll go as soon as we can."

  Satisfied, the little boy resumed his inroads on the ice-cream.

  "How's Melanie?" Brett asked casually, in an effort to make conversation.

  "She's very well," Loris replied briefly. But she wished with all her heart that she could confide in him; tell him all her fears about the girl and how much she disliked the young man with whom Melanie was spending so much of her time. But pride forbade her and she changed the subject by asking him questions about the film studio.

  It was with a feeling of relief that she saw the children had finished their ice-cream and, before they could demand anything else, said they must go. Timothy and Gillian clambered down regretfully, casting longing glances at the cream cakes arrayed enticingly along the counter, but about to offer them some, Brett intercepted a glance from Loris and said nothing while she bundled them unceremoniously out of the restaurant.

  They drove back in silence, the children replete with food and exhausted by the exertions of the afternoon, while Loris herself was too tired and depressed to make small talk.

  It was not until they were nearly home that she spoke to the man by her side. "You needn't drive us to the door. It won't do the children any harm to walk up the drive."

  Without demur Brett slowed down and Loris noticed the ease with which he brought the car to a standstill outside the gates. The handle of the car door was stiff and she was struggling to open it when with a murmur of "allow me," he leaned across to do it for her. He was so close that she could see the tiny pulse beating at his temple, while he in turn felt her breath warm against his cheek. But the moment of nearness was soon over and she stepped out of the car and hand in hand with the children stood on the gravel path and watched as he turned the Studebaker round and drove off.

  Loris stood motionless until the car had disappeared from sight, then with a heavy heart followed Timothy and Gillian up the drive. They were just approaching the house when a car came up behind them, and as it shot past in a flurry of dust Loris recognized Melanie and Miguel Santos.

  By the time they reached the front door Melanie was bidding good-bye to her escort, a slim, dark young man of average height with black, wavy hair and limpid, eloquent brown eyes. In ordinary circumstances Loris could have well understood any girl being flattered by his attentions, although she herself viewed him with some distaste, for in contrast to Dickson's wholesome good looks he seemed oily and over-immaculate, with a suaveness suggesting guile.

  Miguel gave her a little bow from the waist as she went up the steps. "Good evening, Miss Cameron," he said, with elaborate politeness.

  "Good evening." She gave him a cool smile avoiding his glance as she shepherded her charges through the door.

  "Wait for me, Loris," Melanie called after her. She extended her hand to Miguel who, with a flash of white teeth placed it against his lips, and Loris heard him murmur: "Adios, beloved. Until tomorrow…"

  Really! thought Loris with a prickle of annoyance. How can Melanie be so stupid as to like that sort of thing? The lavish compliments Miguel uttered so easily seemed to her so false and cheap that she was surprised at even Melanie being taken in by them, although had she known Melanie's reaction to his approaches earlier that afternoon, she would have been somewhat mollified.

  After their bathe they had laid side by side in the sun. Enchanting in a brief white swim suit which emphasized her golden tan and curls bleached to silvery fairness, Melanie looked like a water sprite, and Miguel studied her covertly as she lay beside him, wholeheartedly wishing they were alone so that he could take this elfish creature in his arms and bring her to life with all the ardour and warmth of his Latin temperament.

  Driving to a hotel for tea, he had stopped the car in a deserted road and pulled her roughly against him, seeking her mouth with his until his lips were pressed feverishly upon hers. Melanie quivered beneath his experienced touch and responded artlessly to his kiss until his passion began to frighten her and she tried to push him away.

  "Don't, Miguel—please don't."

  "Melanie, my darling, how much I love you," he breathed, holding her more closely. "You are so fair, so golden and white, that you have taken my heart in your little hands." His own hands gently and insistently stroked her as he spoke. "You are more beautiful than any girl I have ever known, more beautiful and a thousand times more captivating."

  Words becoming inadequate, he dropped tiny kisses all over her
face, placing the last full upon her mouth until, with a final wrench, she pushed him away again. "No, Miguel, don't."

  "But, my darling, you like to kiss me and I like to kiss you, so why shouldn't we make love to each other?"

  "Because—because I don't want to." For the first time a picture of Dickson flashed into her mind and she felt ashamed.

  Miguel looked down quizzically at her small, set face, and then, with a theatrical sigh, let in the clutch and drove on.

  When they had had tea, Melanie found herself nervously wishing she did not have to go home alone with him, but she reckoned without Miguel's shrewdness, for the young man realized he would have to go carefully if he wanted to win this naive little creature. He was in love with her in so far as he could be in love with anyone, and by nature enjoyed the vicarious pleasure of stealing a girl from another man. Melanie's engagement only increased his interest, but he was too astute not to realize that beneath her impulsiveness she was old-fashioned enough to feel guilty at being kissed by a man other than her fiancé and he took pains to become once more the lighthearted and amusing companion she enjoyed being with.

  Melanie breathed a sigh of relief at the change in his behaviour. He was so different from Dickson, who had always been gentleness itself with her and never alarmed her by revealing his passion, that she had been genuinely frightened by the persistence of Miguel's lovemaking. But the young Argentinian was so natural and inconsequential during the drive home that she felt no apprehension at accepting his invitation to take her out the following day, although had she seen the satisfied smile on his lips as he drove away she might have felt less assured.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Although she had never looked after children before, Loris settled down quite naturally to the task of taking care of Timothy and Gillian, for she possessed the ability of talking to them in their own language.