Stolen Beginnings

by Susan Lewis

  He smiled. ‘Then how are you going to cope this afternoon?’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ she laughed. ‘I might get some sleep before the party tonight.’

  ‘You do that. Now, are you going to see me off?’

  She pulled herself up from the bed and walked to the door with him. She was still naked, and as he pulled her into his arms he ran his hands down her back, cupping her buttocks to draw her closer. But he kissed her lightly, then pulled the door open. ‘Tomorrow we’ll spend the day together,’ he said. ‘No publicity, no parties, just you and me.’

  ‘You’re on. Oh, by the way, will you bring me a copy of Vanity Fair, Shamir’s on the cover.’ She was looking straight at him, pretending not to be aware of the two porters who were walking past, and he shook his head, laughing. That was something about her he would never change, her exhibitionism; he found it almost as erotic as she did.

  When he reached the lift he looked back, and she blew him a kiss. ‘Don’t forget Vanity Fair,’ she called.

  ‘I won’t,’ he answered, knowing that when he called Shamir from Harry’s, she would remind him anyway.

  Once the lift doors had closed, Madeleine ran back into the room and over to the window. A few minutes later Paul emerged from the hotel and strode across Fifth Avenue, heading towards the Upper East Side. He had already turned the corner, but she was still looking after him, when the telephone rang again. This time she answered the call.

  Half an hour later Madeleine was fully dressed. She wore a torn pair of jeans and a white basque top, and her hair was scraped back in a pony tail. Her hand trembled slightly as she finished applying her lipstick, but when the knock came on the door her features were drawn into an expression of indifference, and she didn’t even bother to turn round as she called ‘Come in.’

  For several seconds there was silence. Then Marian said: ‘Hello, Maddy.’

  The sound of her cousin’s voice, the gentleness and the apprehension in it, turned her insides to liquid.

  ‘How are you?’ Marian said.

  ‘Oh, I’m fine, fine,’ Madeleine stumbled. She picked up a pen and made a pretence of copying something from a magazine. ‘What brings you to New York?’

  Marian told her, and as Madeleine listened, astonishment dilated her curiosity so that she started to turn. Then she received her second shock of the day. ‘My God, who’s been to work on you?’ she said, interrupting Marian and gazing disbelievingly at the new cropped hair, tailored khaki dress and slim-line figure.

  Marian gave a self-conscious shrug. ‘Hazel. She’s our production manager.’

  Madeleine pulled a face, then walked across the room and sat down in an armchair. Crossing her long legs, she surveyed her cousin, unsure of herself but not wanting it to show. But when her eyes returned to Marian’s, she looked away quickly. ‘Sit down if you like.’ She hadn’t meant to sound so offhand, it just came out like that.

  Marian perched on the edge of the sofa and put her bag on the glass coffee table. After a while Madeleine looked at her again. Marian smiled, and suddenly all Madeleine wanted to do was throw her arms round her and tell her how much she had missed her – but she heard herself saying: ‘Go on, you were telling me about this film.’

  As Marian continued, Madeleine was only half-listening. Marian’s call had come as such a shock that she was still reeling from the discovery that she was in New York, but now, seeing her and hearing what she was doing – as well as trying to come to terms with the way she looked – was too much to take in. She wondered what Paul would do if he were to walk in now, and it occurred to her that instead of being angry, he might welcome Marian. He might even fancy her now she was all dolled up and nearly thin. Unwittingly, she threw Marian a nasty look – and with the sad realisation that it had been a mistake to come, Marian stopped speaking. There was an awkward pause while they both struggled with their feelings, and outside a siren whooped through the silence, followed by the roar of a helicopter flying low over the city. Suddenly Madeleine was on her feet.

  ‘You said on the phone there was something you wanted to talk to me about.’

  Marian hadn’t really figured out what she was going to say. She had simply felt that it was time she and Madeleine talked, tried to deal with the rift that had developed between them, and tried to overcome it. But how to begin when Madeleine was so hostile? ‘I’ve fallen in love,’ she said, surprising herself.

  Madeleine’s eyebrows were raised. ‘Really? Who with?’

  ‘His name’s Matthew Cornwall. The director. You remember, he was staying in the flat downstairs when we were in Bristol.’

  ‘Matthew Cornwall!’ Madeleine didn’t know if she was up to another shock. ‘I saw him the other night at a dinner party. He didn’t say anything about you.’

  Marian took a breath. ‘No, I know.’

  ‘Anyway, he’s a bit old for you, isn’t he?’

  Marian blushed. ‘It doesn’t matter, really. He doesn’t feel the same way about me.’

  ‘Hardly surprising, a man like that!’

  ‘It’s not, really, is it, but you didn’t have to say so.’

  Madeleine shrugged. ‘Have you slept with him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Of course you haven’t. Oh, don’t worry, Paul’s told me all about your chaste little nights together in Bristol. When are you going to wake up to the fact that a virgin never gets the man, let alone hangs onto him?’

  ‘That is something we’ve never agreed on.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t manage to hang onto Paul, did you?’

  ‘No, Madeleine, I didn’t.’ Marian’s voice was full of meaning and Madeleine felt as though she was shrinking before those steely grey eyes. Then suddenly Marian’s face softened. ‘I didn’t come here to talk about that,’ she said. ‘I came to talk about you.’

  ‘What about me?’ Madeleine demanded belligerently.

  ‘What you’ve been doing. How you are. Anything you want to tell me.’

  ‘Have you seen me in the papers and everything? I’m quite famous now, you know.’

  Marian nodded and smiled. ‘Yes. So’s Paul.’

  Madeleine flinched.

  ‘I always thought you would be successful, you two,’ Marian chuckled, ‘but I never imagined it would be together.’ It was the wrong thing to say, she knew it instantly, but it was too late and Madeleine’s face was already flushed with anger.

  ‘If you’re here on some sort of revenge trip, Marian, you can forget it,’ she spat. ‘Paul’s not interested in you now, he never . . .’

  ‘No! No. I’m not here for revenge, Maddy. I only wanted . . .’

  ‘Yes? What do you want? To steal him away from me, like I . . .’

  ‘Like you stole him from me, is that what you were going to say, Maddy? Well, the answer’s no. I’ve been over Paul for some time. As I told you, there’s someone else now, even though it’s not going to work out.’

  ‘Surely you didn’t come here to talk about that.’ Madeleine could hardly believe what she was saying. In her heart there were so many other words fighting to be spoken, but they were trapped in a welter of guilt. And she was afraid. Afraid that Marian would suddenly announce that she knew about the money, afraid that Marian was going to expose her for the fraud she was.

  Marian’s heart was aching. She could see that the barrier that had arisen between them was now insurmountable, but she had to try. ‘I’ve missed you, Maddy,’ she said. ‘I’ve thought about you every day, and I have to confess I often wondered why you left me like that. It would have been difficult, but I would have understood about Paul, you know.’

  ‘Spare me the noble act!’ Madeleine scoffed, and even as she said it, a scream of denial which never reached her lips was wrenched from her heart. She hadn’t meant to say that, it was guilt that had spoken. What she really wanted to do was beg Marian to forgive her, tell her how much she had missed her too.

  ‘I wasn’t trying to be noble,’ Marian answered. ‘I was only trying to
say that I’m happy for you.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Madeleine’s distaste curled her lip.

  Marian picked up her bag. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, standing up. ‘It’s obvious that anything I say is going to annoy you, so I’d better go.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’ Madeleine screamed. ‘Can’t you lose your temper for once? Can’t you stand up to me? No, you never could stand up to anyone, could you. And there you go, running away again. You might have a new image, Marian, but deep down you’re the same snivelling little coward you’ve always been.’

  Marian looked at her cousin’s face with the deepest sadness she had ever felt. ‘You’re wrong, Maddy,’ she said, ‘it took a great deal of courage for me to come here today. And deep down, whether I’m a coward or not, I love you, that’s why I’m not going to lose my temper. Of course I can stand up to you, but there’s no point when you feel the way you do.’

  ‘Why don’t you just fuck off?’

  Marian’s face was taut but she was determined to remain calm. ‘That always was your answer when you knew you were in the wrong,’ she said. ‘I’d hoped you might have changed, but you haven’t. I don’t mind so much for myself, but what I’ll never understand, Maddy, is why you had to hurt my mother too when you know how much she loves you. What’s happened to you? You’ve got no conscience, no integrity.’

  ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you, just because you come swanning in here all dolled up to the nines, acting like someone who knows everything. And just you remember, Marian Deacon, that you were the one who stole Paul from me in the first place. I only took what was mine.’

  Marian sighed deeply. ‘Did you, Madeleine? Did you really?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Madeleine snapped, suddenly nervous.

  ‘Nothing,’ Marian answered, shaking her head, ‘nothing at all.’ Hooking her bag over her shoulder, she started to walk to the door.

  ‘Marian . . .’

  ‘Yes?’ she said, turning round.

  Madeleine stared at her, willing herself to say just one word that was in her heart, but in the end all that came out was, ‘Don’t come back.’

  ‘I didn’t intend to,’ Marian answered. ‘You and I have nothing to say to each other any more, Madeleine, I can see that now, and I was a fool to come. But I know you, Maddy, I know you better than anyone ever will, and that’s why I’m so, so, sorry it has to be like this. Take care of yourself.’

  As she closed the door behind her she heard something smash inside the room, but she carried on walking. For the moment she was numb, but she knew that later it would hurt. It would hurt more than she could bear, but she would face it.

  When she pushed through the revolving doors of the Dorset she saw that the crew had returned. Their gear was piled in reception and Rory was checking film cans with the clapper loader. She smiled as she walked past and Rory whistled, the way he did at all the women. She threw another smile over her shoulder and stepped into the lift.

  You see, she told herself, it’s not so difficult to be strong. Keep cheerful, make sure no one knows what’s going on inside, and after a while you might forget it yourself. The fact that she wouldn’t be allowed on the set again was better than being fired, so there was even a bright side to that. Matthew’s face rushed to her mind but she pushed it away – it did no good to dwell on things that hurt.

  In her room she found a message from Hazel – would she like to go out for dinner with some of the crew? That little touch of kindness put a chink in her armour, but no more than that. She had a fleeting yearning for Bronwen, but put it out of her mind and went to take a shower.

  Later, as she was leaving the hotel with the others, she was laughing at one of Franz’s caustic remarks when she saw Matthew and Stephanie walking into a restaurant opposite. He had his arm round her – and Marian’s breath was sucked into a great well of loneliness. She would miss the closeness she had shared with him, but it was over and she must move on. Then she laughed again as Franz took her arm and they walked off down the street.

  ‘. . . So you see,’ she was saying to Rory an hour later, blinking to try and keep him in focus, ‘there weren’t seven sages at all, there were twenty-two. Yes, I’ll have another one of those champagne things,’ she said to Hazel. ‘Anyway, I wrote about them in my thesis, but I can’t remember a damned thing I put, now.’ She screamed with laughter, and everyone applauded. ‘What the hell has it got to do with the price of eggs, anyway,’ she added, and again she whooped with laughter.

  ‘I hear you’ve written most of the script,’ Rory said, closing his fingers round hers.

  ‘Oh no,’ Marian said, waving a hand dismissively, ‘I only wrote a bit of it. Well, more than a bit, actually; in fact, quite a bit.’ She giggled. ‘I’ve even come up with an idea for the end, but I’m not going to tell anyone now.’

  ‘I think you should be credited as the writer,’ Rory told her.

  ‘We all do,’ Hazel added.

  ‘Rory, you’re really good-looking, do you know that,’ Marian said, leaning across the table towards him. ‘Don’t you think he’s good-looking, Hazel?’

  ‘Absolutely divine, darling,’ Hazel answered.

  Marian picked up her glass and took a generous mouthful of champagne cocktail. ‘Where’s Woody?’ she said, ‘I want to speak to Woody.’

  ‘Won’t I do?’ Rory murmured.

  ‘No, it has to be Woody. No, it doesn’t, I can tell you. I didn’t mean to be in that shot, and Matthew shouldn’t have shouted at me like that. If Rubin Meyer gets me now, he’ll be sorry.’

  ‘What’s she talking about?’ Rory muttered to Hazel.

  Hazel shrugged. ‘Search me. A few too many of these,’ she said, tapping a finger against her glass.

  ‘So, Marian, tell us,’ Franz piped up, ‘do you fancy our Rory?’

  ‘No, I fancy you,’ Marian slurred, then burst out laughing. ‘Does Rory know that you fancy him, Franz?’ she asked.

  ‘The whole vorld knows I fancy him,’ Franz answered, giving Rory a lewd wink. ‘But I think he fancies you, Marian.’

  ‘Do you?’ Marian said, turning to Rory in amazement.

  ‘Oh, very definitely,’ Rory answered. ‘I’ve had my eye on you ever since I first met you.’

  ‘Did you hear that, Hazel? Rory fancies me.’

  ‘I know he does, darling.’

  ‘Shall we go dancing?’ Marian said suddenly. ‘I vant to dance with you, Franz. Dance with you, Franz – it rhymes,’ and throwing out her arms, she started to sing it.

  ‘Come on,’ Belinda said, ‘let’s get her out of here. We’ll take her to the Limelight Club. Go and call a cab, Franz.’

  Linking arms with Hazel and Rory, Marian tripped into the Limelight Club, still singing. The building was a converted church, and Marian spent some time trying very hard to focus on the stained-glass windows. Then she spotted the organ and wanted to go up to the gantry and play it, but Rory and Franz swept her onto the crowded dance-floor. Hazel and Belinda plied her with more drinks, and she couldn’t remember ever having had such a good time.

  ‘Bronwen was right,’ she told Hazel as they were leaving the China Club in the early hours of the morning. ‘She said we’ll all laugh over this one day. Matthew shouldn’t have been so cross with me. I’ll tell him when we get back to the hotel. I love Bronwen, don’t you?’

  ‘We all love Bronwen,’ Hazel laughed, ‘and you’re repeating yourself, darling. Now come on, get into this taxi with Rory, and the rest of us will follow in the next one.’

  ‘We can get more in this one,’ Marian said helpfully.

  ‘I know, but I think Rory wants to kiss you good night,’ Hazel whispered.

  ‘Does he?’ Marian turned to look at Rory who was already sitting in the taxi.

  ‘Yes, now go along,’ Hazel said, giving her a gentle push, but Marian had had so much to drink by that time that she fell sprawling into Rory’s lap.

  ‘I think I’m going to fall asleep,’ she
told him, once he had straightened out her dress and sat her comfortably in the seat.

  ‘Here,’ he said, lifting an arm, ‘rest your head on my shoulder.’

  With a sigh Marian closed her eyes and nestled against him. Five seconds later she was sitting bolt upright. ‘Everything’s spinning,’ she told him.

  Rory chuckled. ‘I thought it might be. Just look out of the window and concentrate on nothing. Here, hold my hand, it might help.’

  ‘I think you’re wonderful, Rory,’ she sighed, looking out at the passing streets. ‘I think New York’s wonderful too.’

  Rory laughed, and ran his fingers through her hair. ‘You’re pretty OK yourself, you know. Now don’t speak any more until we get back to the hotel.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said obediently.

  Tony, the doorman, was on duty when they arrived back at the Dorset and laughingly helped Marian to climb from the taxi as Rory paid.

  ‘There y’all go,’ he said, steering Marian past the revolving doors and in through a side door.

  ‘I think you’re wonderful, Tony,’ she giggled, then falling happily into Rory’s arms, she allowed him to lead her to the lift.

  ‘Everyone’s in love with you,’ she informed him, as he took her key and unlocked her door. ‘Oh, this is my room,’ she said, as he picked her up and dropped her gently on the bed.

  He turned on the bedside light, and as she blinked she looked at him and said cheerfully, ‘I’m a virgin.’

  ‘I know,’ he answered, as he sat on the bed next to her. ‘But it’s curable.’

  Marian exploded with laughter. ‘Curable,’ she repeated. Then she gasped as his hand slipped under her skirt, and pulling her face round to his, he pushed his tongue deep into her mouth. She was aware of him opening the buttons of her dress and the way he pulled her forward to slide it down over her arms, but she did nothing to stop him because he was still kissing her and she liked the way it felt. Then he laid her back against the pillows, and giving the dress a quick but gentle tug, he draped it over the chair beside him. Vaguely she remembered him standing up, then pulling back the sheets and lifting her between them, but after that she knew nothing until she woke the following morning.