The Winter Secret

by Lulu Taylor

  ‘But,’ Papa said confidentially to Xenia, ‘we’re keeping an eye on her, aren’t we? We won’t let her get sick again.’

  The fun brought colour to her mother’s face, and she seemed to thrive on the weekend social gatherings, staying up late to play games and dance, and oversee the hospitality that they lavished on their guests: huge breakfasts, elegant lunches, proper afternoon teas, and the long dinners that started with cocktails on the terrace and ended, sometimes, with champagne and skinny-dipping in the old pool in the early hours.

  ‘I say, Natalie, good shot!’

  Mama laughed, shielding her eyes from the sun to see where her ball had hit the court. ‘It was a hopeless shot, Johnnie. Lucky, that’s all!’

  ‘Don’t be silly, you’re a natural.’ Johnnie, handsome and elegantly sporty in his long tennis trousers and open-necked shirt, looked over to Xenia, who was sitting in the umpire’s chair, supposedly keeping score but constantly forgetting. ‘Isn’t she, Xenia?’

  ‘She’s getting better,’ Xenia said diplomatically, which made them laugh. Mama looked so spindly in her tennis dress, her legs pale and thin, and she moved with the awkwardness of someone unaccustomed to running about.

  ‘I never was any good at tennis at school!’ she called out.

  ‘Then now’s your time to learn,’ Johnnie said. He held the ball up. ‘Watch out, I’m going to serve.’

  Xenia watched the ball looping slowly through the air. Johnnie was giving Mama an easy time of it, but then, everyone was. The theatre people and artists who came down all knew Mama had been ill and they treated her with a cheerful delicacy, simultaneously acting as though she were normal, and on the point of total collapse. Johnnie managed just the right tone; he had been in a play with Mama years before and stayed her friend ever since, close enough to tease her and be sure she knew he was joking. His wife was sitting on the terrace with a small group, drinking tea in the afternoon sunshine, while others were splashing about in the pool. The summer was past its best, the grass withered and cracked, the garden looking thirsty after a dry fortnight.

  Mama whacked the ball and it sailed back and out of the court. ‘Sorry!’ she called, holding up her racquet. She sighed and rubbed her hand over her face. ‘I think I’m about done with tennis for now, Johnnie.’

  ‘Of course, darling,’ he said, picking up the ball and pocketing it. ‘Let’s get some lemonade.’

  ‘Lemonade!’ Mama looked outraged. ‘Champagne, you mean. Come on.’ She beckoned Xenia and they began to walk off the court and up the small hill to the lawn where the house opened to the terrace. As they went up, Xenia saw Papa coming out of the house, holding a piece of paper. He saw them, and started towards them. ‘Natalie!’ he called.

  ‘He’s got news by the look of it,’ Johnnie said. ‘Telegram. Might be from the good old US of A.’

  Mama prodded him. ‘Don’t be silly, I’m not that important any more, not after more than a year away.’

  ‘You’ll still red hot, darling.’

  Papa had reached them, his expression grave. ‘Natalie, Xenia. I’ve had some news. It’s Grandmama. I’m sorry to say that she has died.’ He looked at the telegram. ‘Peacefully on the evening of the eleventh. They didn’t rush to let me know, did they! My sisters are dreadful, they really are. No doubt they’ve been ransacking the jewellery boxes already.’

  ‘Paul, I’m sorry,’ Mama said, her eyes wide.

  Johnnie murmured, ‘Yes, sorry, old man. Always a loss, one’s mother.’

  Papa shrugged. ‘It’s no shock at her advanced age. But I appreciate your sympathy.’

  ‘Poor Grandmama,’ Xenia said in a small voice, a rush of sorrow coming over her.

  ‘Go inside and get changed, Xenia,’ Mama said, patting her shoulder. ‘You look far too hot.’

  ‘I shall have to go to Paris at once, there’ll be things to sort out.’ Papa hardly seemed to notice her. ‘A funeral. The will and so on.’

  ‘Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine,’ Mama said quickly.

  ‘We’ll go home right away, in the circumstances,’ put in Johnnie.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ Papa clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Stay and have fun, look after Natalie for me. She was a killjoy in life, my mother, no need for her to be one in death as well.’

  Papa was gone for a week and when he returned his mood was black, and not from grief for his mother.

  ‘She left me almost nothing,’ he declared when they were together again. ‘It’s insulting. To my older sisters, who married imbeciles and ratbags, she left money and jewels. To me, a few mouldy old pictures and some personal effects.’

  ‘No money?’ Mama said, smoking rapidly. Her bracelets jangled at her wrist with the constant movement.

  Papa shrugged. ‘A thousand pounds. Nothing. Her villa was rented. Her will said, “In view of the fact that my son has married a successful actress, he will require no further monetary support from me and thus shall receive tokens only.” ’

  Xenia looked anxiously at Mama, who went instantly white.

  ‘I see,’ she said in a high voice, stubbing out her cigarette. An instant later, she reached for another from her silver case. ‘So I’ve cost you your inheritance.’

  ‘You know her ridiculous ideas about the acting profession. Bitter old bitch.’ Papa reached into his pocket and brought out a sealed packet. ‘By the way, Xenia, she left you this.’ He passed it to her.

  Xenia took it and opened it carefully, pulling the string from the red wax stamped with an eagle crest, and snapping the wax disc open so that she could pull apart the paper wrapping. A blue box came out. She opened it and lifted out the cloth bag inside. Within that was a velvet case. Inside that was the blue sapphire brooch with the ring of diamonds and the tear-drop pearl glowing beneath. She gasped. So Grandmama had remembered her promise. But the reality of it was more overwhelming than she’d imagined.

  ‘What is it?’ Mama asked, curious.

  Xenia was speechless, she could only turn the box to show them the contents.

  ‘That pretty trinket,’ Papa said carelessly. ‘Well, I’m glad she remembered you. You are her sole Arkadyoff grandchild. The one princess left. It’s only right you should have it.’

  She stared at the jewel that glittered in the lamplight. It’s an empress’s jewel. I can never be worthy of it.

  In the autumn, the London house was sold and Xenia did not go back to school there but stayed at Charcombe and went to a small school on the other side of Gorston where there were only eleven pupils, all girls of differing ages, taught by two elderly sisters and a retired clergyman. Mama went away to make a film, her first since she’d come home from America, but only to studios outside London – close compared with filming in America. At Christmas, they were reunited at home for the celebration, with a twenty-foot tree in the hall, extravagant gifts, and ever-flowing hospitality. But there were ominous signs in Mama’s behaviour. In the run-up to Christmas she was either hectic, racing around to ensure everything was exactly as it should be, awake till all hours to complete it all, or in such low spirits that she could only lie in bed with the curtains closed, miserable and unable to move.

  Papa sent for a doctor from London, who said she must drink less and sleep more. That would cure both the feverish activity and the depression.

  Mama laughed when they told her. ‘I can’t sleep unless I drink! That’s the whole key to it. If I don’t knock myself out with martinis, I’ll be awake all night.’

  So Papa sent away for more of the pills Mama took when she couldn’t sleep, and more of the pills she took when she couldn’t get out of bed. She began to lose weight and gain that glittering, hollow look she’d had before. It was impossible to stop her though.

  ‘I’m having fun, Paul, isn’t that what you want?’ she’d ask gaily as she reached for another cigarette. ‘It’s Christmas, we must have fun!’

  ‘Balance, and moderation, Natalie!’ Papa cautioned.

  ‘Pah to that!’ Mama lau
ghed. ‘What’s the point when we don’t have a clue what will happen tomorrow? Come on, let’s get Johnnie and the gang down for New Year.’

  Papa agreed because he thought Johnnie and his wife were good for Mama, but even they couldn’t restrain her. Over the New Year, Mama didn’t go to bed for two days, and nothing Johnnie or Pearl said could calm her down.

  It was a relief when it was dull, boring, cold January again and the parties were over. Mama seemed to settle down a little. Xenia worried that she was almost too calm now, and this was the first sign that she was starting a downward swoop into the other phase of her nervous condition: an utter lack of energy as a deep blanket of misery settled on her.

  She watched her mother carefully as they walked in the garden one icy morning, watching for the deadness in her eyes that signalled the onset of sadness. ‘I’m glad it’s just us at home now,’ she said, pulling her coat closer around her. ‘It’s great fun to have parties, but I like it when it’s peaceful too.’

  Mama was wearing her fur coat against the cold, the collar turned up to keep out the chill. ‘You said home!’ she exclaimed, looking at Xenia over the furry top. ‘You called this place home. Is that what you think of it?’

  ‘Of course. This is our home, isn’t it? We don’t even have our London house any more.’

  ‘That’s wonderful.’ Mama smiled. ‘That’s what I want for all of us. A home where we can be happy. I want it for Papa, because he wants it so badly.’ Her mood seemed to change in an instant and she sighed. ‘I’ll miss it when I go.’

  ‘Go? Go where?’

  ‘Papa wants me to make another film, a big one this time. I still owe the studio that made Delilah, you see. They say I must go back to America.’

  Xenia felt afraid at once. ‘You’re not well enough, Mama, you need to stay here for a while longer.’

  ‘I must go. We don’t have the money we need, and Grandmama left us nothing. So I have to earn it. If I don’t, who will?’ She gestured towards the house. ‘You’re not a baby any more, Xenia. You must know that all of this costs a fortune to run.’

  ‘But you shouldn’t go if you’re ill!’ Xenia protested. ‘Papa is wrong to make you.’

  Her mother turned on her suddenly, her eyes flashing. ‘And you know best, do you? Better than Papa? How dare you talk to me like that, how dare you? He is the most wonderful and most caring husband in the world, he would never hurt me, and yet you accuse him of wanting me to suffer! You are the one who wants me to suffer, you’re the real little beast around here, taking everything and ungrateful with it! Get out of my sight, you horror!’

  Xenia gasped, shocked that Mama would speak to her in such a way.

  ‘You heard me, get out of my bloody sight!’

  She turned and ran all the way back to the house, up the stairs and into her room, where she collapsed sobbing on her bed. Much later, when she had recovered herself and her red eyes were not so swollen, she crept back downstairs. Mama was in the drawing room, reading while a cigarette burned in the ashtray beside her. She looked up as Xenia came in, and smiled.

  ‘Hello, my darling, how are you?’

  Xenia went up to her, penitent. ‘I’m sorry about before, Mama,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to criticise Papa.’ Mama smiled again, bewildered. ‘My dear girl, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘On our walk – you were so angry . . . you shouted . . .’

  She shook her head. ‘No . . . no. I don’t think so. Did I? No. I simply don’t remember, my darling.’ She picked up her cigarette and took a long drag on it. ‘Be an angel and make me a drink, will you? I’m quite parched.’

  The sudden furies appeared more often after that: they came without warning, were over rapidly, and often immediately forgotten. When the film in America was confirmed and a date set for her departure, Mama did her best to rally. She stopped drinking and smoking, she ate the diet recommended by her doctor, took her pills, and went to bed early every night. During the day, she wanted to spend as much time with Xenia as she could, doing jigsaw puzzles in the library, playing Chinese chequers or doing hands of patience together. It seemed to keep her on an even keel.

  ‘You are her medicine,’ Papa confided as he and Xenia sat together after dinner in the drawing room. He was smoking a cigar and cradling a large glass of whisky. ‘You can work miracles, dear Xenia. She responds to you.’

  ‘She adores you, though, Papa.’

  ‘Yes. But I can’t seem to break through when she falls into one of her states. You weren’t here when she had her last attack of nerves. She turned on me like a wild cat, talking to me in a way I’ve never heard from her before, swearing and using such awful language. It was most distressing. And then afterwards, down she swoops, knowing she’s done something awful but barely able to remember it. When I tell her, she hates herself for talking to me like that.’ Papa sighed. ‘And she will not see the doctor any more. She absolutely refuses. That’s why you must go with her to America and help her to make this film.’

  Xenia stared at him, stunned.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, child,’ he said testily. ‘I thought you hated school.’

  ‘Not so much any more – and don’t I need an education?’

  ‘You seem perfectly well educated to me.’ He leaned towards her, his blue eyes intense. ‘Don’t you see, if Mama can’t work, all of this’ – he waved his cigar around the room – ‘will go. She must complete another film. You understand that, don’t you?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘It will only be a few months. You can go back to school when you’re home again.’

  ‘Won’t you come to America too, Papa?’

  ‘I believe that at the moment, I do more harm than good. I wish it weren’t so, but it is. So you must go in my place.’

  ‘I see.’ She bit her lip, quailing at the thought of supporting Mama all on her own through the strain of making a film when it had taken all of Papa’s strength to get Mama through Delilah.

  ‘Good girl. I’m proud of you. Now run along and go to bed.’

  As the time for departure grew closer, Mama seemed to improve and show signs that her energy was returning and that there would be a period of calm and normality.

  As she and Mama left Plymouth on the Ile de France, bound for America, Xenia hoped that this time, the normality had returned for good. She left the empress’s jewel hidden in her bedroom in its velvet box.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  1953

  Far away from Papa, Mama seemed balanced and in control as the preliminaries for the new film began. This time there were other stars of equal stature: a newly arrived young beauty of pneumatic sexuality with china-blue eyes and platinum blond hair, and a moody actor who took his art extremely seriously and had little truck with the princess and her English manners.

  Xenia accompanied Mama wherever she went, a secretary and assistant as well as a daughter, staying attentive to her mother’s moods. As rehearsals began, she was proud of the way Mama composed herself, full of dignity and prepared to work with all her might to do the best she could with the role, putting in long hours studying her lines and practising the mannerisms of her character. She was soon obsessed with thoughts of the woman she played: Rhonda was a cool sophisticate floored by passion for a younger man despite the fact that they were both married.

  Mama and Xenia sat for hours in the trailer, talking to the make-up and costume designers about the kind of woman her character was, how she would dress and look. With the props manager, Mama discussed what might be in Rhonda’s house, on her bedside table, in her handbag.

  ‘It’s so important that everything is right, if I’m going to inhabit my character,’ Mama said.

  With Xenia, she discussed the character herself, and what made her behave the way she did. ‘It’s vital to explore the nature of her love for Anderson,’ Mama said, and began to talk to Xenia as if she were not a sixteen-year-old girl, with no experience yet of the world and of m
en and passion, but a mature woman who could analyse the forces that drove people into each other’s arms, no matter what the consequences.

  ‘Love makes you feel so alive,’ Mama said, a cigarette held between her fingers. She was in a bathrobe with cold cream all over her face, but she was still exquisite and the dreamy look in her eyes made her even more extraordinary. ‘That’s why it’s impossible to resist. When you have to make the choice between feeling as though you don’t know what your purpose is, and the utter, heady magnificence of someone else knowing you, desiring you, bringing you to life in every nerve of your body—’

  ‘Doesn’t she feel that for her husband?’ Xenia asked timidly. ‘She must have, if she married him.’

  ‘Once she did, I expect, or perhaps something she thought was love – it’s easy to mix it up with admiration and attraction when you don’t know any different. Not all married couples are as lucky as Papa and me, still like lovers in the first flush of romance. Most people find that their love turns stale over time. They don’t please each other the way they used to. Rhonda feels as though her husband doesn’t see her any more. Then she meets Anderson, and he sparks that passion in her.’

  ‘But how, how does it happen?’

  Mama smiled, her eyes knowing. ‘Oh darling, that’s the mystery. You meet hundreds of people, and then one day there’s someone who makes you feel quite different. They draw you to them and, if you’re lucky, they are drawn to you. Soon you only feel your true self with that person, and they bring you such joy that you need them like a drug. That’s love, darling.’