by Susan Lewis
‘No,’ Marian laughed. ‘Well, not in the way I used to. Funny, really. I thought at the time that I’d never get over it, but I have.’
Bronwen hesitated before continuing. ‘Would that be because of Matthew, cariad?’
In an instant Marian’s face was so painfully red that Bronwen felt herself beginning to blush too. ‘It is, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘That’s what I want to talk to you about, pet.’
Marian looked away.
Bronwen had been rehearsing what to say all afternoon, but now the moment had arrived it was proving almost impossible to say it. ‘Matthew’s . . . Matthew’s a lot older than you,’ she stumbled. ‘Of course, you know that, that’s not what I’m trying to say. What I’m trying to say is that we have all been captivated by that roguish charm of his, even me.’ Her laugh sounded hollow even to her own ears. ‘It’s those eyes of his, isn’t it? They look right into you.’ She attempted another laugh. ‘He’s a rotten old tease, really. The trouble is, people – well, some women – fall for it. And because you’re so young . . . The thing is, Marian, Stephanie and Matthew go back a long way. They’ve suffered a lot for, and because of, each other. They’ve a great deal to repair, and it’s not always easy for them, but you have to believe me, Marian, when I tell you that in the end they will straighten themselves out. Matthew will make certain of it. You see, he’s very much in love with Stephanie. He’s been in love with her ever since he’s known her. Oh, cariad, I didn’t say that to hurt you, I just wanted to try and make you understand.’
‘Before I make an even bigger fool of myself?’ Marian said.
‘No. Before you do or say something you might regret.’
‘Which means the same thing.’
‘Oh, Marian. It’s not so bad as . . .’
‘It’s all right, Bronwen, I understand what you’re trying to say and I know that this is probably as embarrassing for you as it is for me, but . . . Tell me, was it Matthew who asked you to speak to me, or was it Stephanie?’
When Bronwen only looked at her, Marian felt a despondency that was even worse than the torment she had put herself through over the weekend, when she had told herself, vehemently, that Matthew would never return her feelings. And now she could see what had happened on Friday evening when he’d returned to the Groucho. Knowing the way she felt about him, both he and Stephanie had asked Bronwen to intervene before the situation became intolerable for them all.
‘I think I’ll go and take a bath,’ she said, and as she stood up Bronwen had to swallow hard at the look of misery and humiliation in her grey eyes.
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Don’t go yet. I’ve seen this coming for some time, and it’s not your fault, cariad. Matthew is to blame, really. He shouldn’t . . .’
‘No, please don’t blame him,’ Marian interrupted. ‘It’s my fault – all of it is my fault. If I hadn’t gone . . .’ She stopped abruptly and her eyes flew to Bronwen’s face.
‘Hadn’t gone where, cariad?’
‘Nothing,’ Marian mumbled. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Bronwen reached out for her hand. ‘If there’s something on your mind, pet, you know you can tell me, don’t you? It won’t go any further, I promise.’
‘I know it wouldn’t,’ Marian smiled. ‘But there’s nothing on my mind, truthfully.’
Bronwen smiled. ‘OK, go and take your bath and I’ll make us a nice salad for our supper, how does that sound?’
‘Lovely,’ Marian answered, swallowing the lump in her throat. Then, as she was about to go back inside, she suddenly turned and gave Bronwen a hug.
‘Oh, be off with you now, cariad, or you’ll have me crying here.’ But as Marian turned away she caught her hand and held it between her own. ‘I know it hurts, Marian, I know it hurts a lot, but remember I’m here and if you want to talk . . .’
Marian nodded. ‘Thank you.’ And before the tears spilled from her eyes, she went off to the bathroom.
The following morning Marian went into the office dreading having to face either Stephanie or Matthew. However, to her relief neither of them was there when she first arrived, so she put the kettle on and set about opening the mail.
When Stephanie came in ten minutes later, without Matthew, she ran straight upstairs to her office. The fact that she had ignored her made Marian feel even worse than she did already, and she would have gone upstairs to talk to her had Woody not come rushing in at that moment, followed by Adrian, the location manager.
‘Got that rough schedule printed out yet?’ he asked Marian.
‘Good morning,’ Marian said. ‘Yes, it’s over there on the printer.’
‘Good morning,’ Woody grinned, then snatching up the schedule, he turned to Adrian.
At that point Hazel came in with Freddy, the designer.
‘It’s here,’ Woody told them, using his middle finger to push his metal-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose, ‘Now, let’s get Stephanie and we’ll go through it. Is she in yet, Marian? Can you give her a call, then?’
Marian picked up the phone and buzzed through. ‘Be right down,’ Stephanie answered, and almost instantly Marian heard her footsteps on the stairs.
‘OK,’ Stephanie said as she walked into the office, looking, Marian thought, exceptionally elegant in her pale-grey-and-white-striped dress. ‘Hit me with it, you lot. By the way, I’ve already told Matthew and he’s agreed in principle, so let’s see what you’ve come up with.’
‘We haven’t come up with much yet,’ Woody confessed. ‘I mean, this schedule is for America and Italy only, obviously. But as I told you on the phone yesterday, Adrian’s drawing a blank wherever he goes in New York with regard to the nightclubs, not even Frank Hastings can persuade them – drugs, they don’t like ’em, don’t want to be associated with them. So Hazel here came up with the brilliant idea of cheating on the locations and cutting the budget in one go.’
‘I’m all ears,’ Stephanie said.
‘Right, well, it’s quite simple really,’ Woody went on. ‘Freddy and his army of able-bodied layabouts can dress the exterior of clubs in New York, changing the names and so on, and then we can shoot the interiors here in London.’
‘When?’
‘That’s why I wanted to look at the schedule. But we’ve got a couple of weeks between the American and Italian shoots, so there doesn’t seem to be any reason why we can’t do the nightclub stuff then. They don’t even have to be night shoots – well, that depends on Matthew, really, but . . .’ He shrugged. ‘What do you say?’
‘I say, if it’s going to save me money, brilliant. But talk to Matthew before you go ahead and arrange anything. He’s working at home this morning. Morning, Josey,’ she added, as the production secretary walked in.
‘What’s this?’ Josey cried. ‘I know I’m late, but there’s no need to send out a posse, Steph.’
‘You are indeed late,’ Hazel remarked, looking at her watch. ‘When I called you yesterday I asked you to be here for nine.’
‘Yes, but you forgot to inform British Rail, didn’t you?’ Josey quipped. ‘Anyway, what’s all the fuss?’
‘I’ll explain on the way over to Matthew’s,’ Woody told her. ‘Can you fit five in your car, Adrian?’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Hazel interrupted, ‘I’ll stay here. Just take Josey, and she can fill me in on the details later. Unless you’d like to come round for dinner tonight and tell me yourself?’
‘Well, actually, I’m . . . busy tonight,’ Woody said, backing away from her.
Sitting at her desk in the corner, Marian watched Stephanie as she turned to walk out, and seeing that she was laughing, she tried to catch her eye. But Stephanie didn’t even glance in her direction as she picked up a pile of audio cassettes and went back upstairs to her office.
Two hours later, Hazel was resting her chin in her hands, staring across the office at Marian who was reading over some letters she had just typed for Bronwen. Marian was aware of Hazel’s eyes, but was deliberately av
oiding them. The fact that Stephanie had snubbed her twice already that morning was causing her a great deal of distress, and if Hazel was about to start picking on her, she was afraid she might disgrace herself by breaking down altogether. She’d thought she had changed over these past few months, that her erstwhile retiring and timid nature had left her for good, but since her conversation with Bronwen the night before she had felt it stealing up on her again in all its odiousness. Just a trip to the newsagent’s an hour ago had brought tears to her eyes, and though she was fairly certain Hazel hadn’t noticed, she had given her a peculiar look when she’d come back into the office with nothing.
In the end Hazel broke the silence. ‘You really are the most appalling creature to look at sometimes, Maz,’ she said. ‘No, I’m sorry, but you are.’
Marian seemed to shrink behind her hair and her fingers curled the edges of the paper she was holding.
‘I mean, really,’ Hazel went on, ‘it’s too much to expect me to sit here day in, day out . . . Are you crying? Oh, for heaven’s sake, Maz, you’re going to give me a guilty conscience. Just when I’d made up my mind to be nice to you.’
‘There’s no need,’ Marian whispered. ‘I’ve always looked like this. And anyway, I’m not crying.’
Hazel swivelled in her chair and stood up, hands resting on her hips. ‘You were blubbing earlier, weren’t you? When you came back from the newsagent.’
‘Hazel, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you . . . upstairs, if you don’t mind.’ Until she spoke neither of them had seen Stephanie standing in the doorway. As they turned, hope for a friendly word, or even a smile, flared in Marian’s chest, but Stephanie merely dropped the audio cassettes onto her desk, asking her to return them to the composer, then glanced at Hazel and waited to follow her out.
When they’d gone Marian folded her head in her arms and let the tears run. This was all so awful, and she didn’t know what to do about it. She couldn’t help feeling as she did about Matthew – if anything, she’d give the world not to, especially as she knew she couldn’t continue to work for Stephanie when Stephanie now so obviously despised her. But to leave Bronwen would be such a terrible wrench, almost as bad as not seeing Matthew again. How had things become so complicated, when only a few months ago she’d been living happily in Bristol with two of the people she loved most in the world? Now, to cap everything else, Madeleine and Paul were in the newspaper again this morning, laughing into one another’s eyes as they left The Roof Gardens in Kensington. The caption referred to them as ‘the golden couple’ and declared that Paul was be ‘one of the great literary talents of the decade, who has just been signed up by Freemantle’s for an unspecified sum’.
Marian had no idea why this particular article had upset her so much; after all, they were in the newspapers almost every day, she should be used to seeing them by now. Perhaps it was because it seemed as if everyone had someone, except her. She winced at her nauseating indulgence of self-pity and took the newspaper from her handbag. It was crumpled, but she spread it out and looked at her cousin’s lovely face. She wondered if Madeleine ever thought about her, ever missed her. She probably had lots of glamorous friends by now, and was too busy even to remember how close they had once been. Marian wished she could forget, too, but no matter what happened, who she met or how far she travelled, life somehow didn’t seem complete without Madeleine.
The door opened and Hazel walked back into the office. Quickly Marian stuffed the newspaper into her bag and turned to her typewriter. There were still tears on her cheeks, but she didn’t dare pull out a tissue in case Hazel noticed.
‘You can stop whatever it is you’re pretending to do on that typewriter,’ Hazel said, ‘you’re coming with me.’
‘But I’ve got to type all this up for Stephanie.’ Marian’s red-rimmed eyes were uncertain as she looked up.
‘Ugh,’ Hazel groaned. ‘You look like an accident in a jam factory. Go and blow your nose, put some powder on those blotches, and forget the typing. Well, go on,’ she said, when Marian continued to stare at her.
‘I haven’t got any powder,’ Marian sniffed.
‘Then we know where our first stop is, don’t we? Go on, take mine for now.’
When, a few minutes later, Marian came back from the ladies’ with Hazel’s powder in small crusts on her cheeks, Hazel was waiting outside in a taxi and Stephanie was in the office.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, when she saw Marian’s look of dismay, ‘Hazel’s told me she’s taking you off for the day, and I’ve approved it.’ She sighed and put a hand on Marian’s arm. ‘I’m sorry about last Friday. I behaved abominably and I owe you an apology. No, no,’ she said, as Marian started to speak, ‘I don’t want to hear another word. Take the day off, see if Hazel can cheer you up a little.’ And taking Marian by the shoulders, she steered her out into the street.
‘Oxford Street, Selfridge’s end,’ Hazel barked at the taxi driver, and hauling a bewildered Marian inside, she closed the door.
‘I am going to make a new woman of you, Marian Deacon,’ she declared as they hit the first snarl of lunch-time traffic.
Marian’s misgiving pushed her eyes wide. But even if she had wanted to protest, Hazel allowed her no time: not only for the rest of the day, but over the following week too, when make-up counters, dress shops, beauty salons and hairdressers’ were the only resting places between endless tube and taxi journeys. When her bank account ran dry, Stephanie put more in, and Marian’s face was prodded, pinched and scrubbed, her hair pulled, cut and highlighted, and her body squeezed into shapely dresses she insisted she’d never have the courage to wear. Stephanie merely laughed every time she tried to apologise for not being at her desk, and Bronwen twirled her about in enthusiasm for her new look. Baffled as she was by what was happening to her, Marian couldn’t stop herself watching for Matthew’s reaction. But he said nothing – didn’t even seem to notice as he raced up the stairs to Stephanie’s office, then out again. Worst of all was that everyone seemed to realise she was waiting for his verdict, and took great delight in teasing her about her crush – which made her feel almost sick with self-consciousness each time she looked in the mirror and saw the elfin face peering back at her through her own grey eyes, which now seemed larger and somehow more defined. Her skin looked healthier, her mouth less narrow, and her hair – well, she could hardly believe how sophisticated it looked.
‘Turn around, let me see how utterly brilliant I am,’ Hazel said two weeks later. They had just returned from yet another shopping spree and Marian was wearing a pale blue skirt with matching top; her short silvery hair was cut over her ears, shaped into the back of her neck and swept back from her forehead; and her red dangling earrings matched her beads, bangle, belt and shoes. As far as she could remember, she’d never worn red in her life. ‘I’d hardly recognise you for that dowdy little creature sitting across the office a week ago,’ Hazel said, tweaking at a stray strand of hair. ‘You’ve still got some weight to lose, though, honeypop.’ She poked at Marian’s thighs. ‘Cellulite, ghastly stuff! Still, we’ll soon put paid to that. Now here you are, all dressed up with nowhere to go, I’ll bet. Well, seeing as you’re so frightfully presentable now, I’m going to take you to Kettner’s with me. Like champagne, do you? No, don’t tell me, you’ve never had it. You’ll break that earring if you keep twisting it.’
They turned round as Matthew rushed in and up the stairs to Stephanie’s office. Hazel rolled her eyes as they heard Stephanie shriek, and Marian’s earring snapped in her fingers.
The next day she was sitting alone in the office, staring with mild disgust at a tub of cottage cheese, when footsteps on the stairs took her attention to the door and Hazel, followed by Stephanie and Bronwen, came in for her bag.
‘Hi, Cinders,’ Stephanie grinned. It was a name they’d all taken to calling her recently. ‘We’re off to lunch. If Frank Hastings calls we’ll be at the Gay Hussar.’
‘OK,’ Marian answered.
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br /> ‘Good girl. See you later.’ Stephanie turned, then burst out laughing at something Marian couldn’t see. Then Matthew appeared with Freddy, the designer and Adrian, the location manager. ‘Get a move on, you lot,’ Stephanie said. ‘And stop making me laugh, we’ve no right to be happy when everything’s falling about our ears.’
As they bundled down the hall and out into the stifling heat, Bronwen waved through the window at Marian, and dolefully Marian turned back to her cottage cheese. She grimaced. It was truly the most revolting stuff.
‘Charming.’
She looked up to see Matthew standing at the door, and immediately her pulses started to race.
‘Aren’t you joining us?’ he said.
Not wanting to admit she hadn’t been invited, Marian said: ‘Hazel’s put me on a strict diet.’
He smiled, and perching on the edge of her desk, he gazed into her eyes with such lambency in his own that she almost regretted the loss of her long hair to hide behind. ‘Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re looking good on it.’ He pulled a face, and checking over his shoulder to make sure that no one was listening, he whispered: ‘Not so sure about the lipstick, though.’
Marian burst out laughing. ‘Neither am I,’ she declared, and pulling a tissue from the box in front of her, she wiped it off.
‘Come on,’ he said, laughing, ‘throw that muck away and treat yourself to a proper lunch.’
‘I’m not brave enough to face Hazel,’ she admitted. ‘Besides, I’ve got to wait in in case Frank Hastings calls.’
He nodded, then stood up. ‘Everything all right, is it? No more strange assignations on the Fulham Road?’
‘Nothing like that. But there is something . . . I was going to tell you before, but I could be imagining it.’