by Peter Rimmer
Bruno had proposed to her the night before the book was finished, when they took their half hour walk at the end of the working day. Gillian was hopeful her mother would be so excited she would not be able to talk of anything else once she told her the good news. They planned to get married in the following spring, when the book had made them enough money to buy themselves a house of their own.
Genevieve, silent in the car, was consumed with what she was going to say to Gregory L’Amour who was due by boat from America on the Thursday in time to walk her up the long red carpet into the cinema and the first public showing of Robin Hood and his Merry Men; not once had she replied to any of his messages.
While Genevieve was still in the car, brooding, Gerry Hollingsworth was back in his old London house confronting the wife he had not seen in over a year. Largely, his three children had ignored him ever since he arrived home from America.
“My name is Carmel Casimir. My children are Rachel, David and Ephraim, who all have the surname of Casimir. Who is this Gerry Hollingsworth?”
Looking at his wife properly for the first time, Gerry Hollingsworth became aware the time for small talk was over. Looking defiant, he kept his mouth shut and waited for the worst.
“You’ve been having a year-long affair with her like all your other tarts you call film stars. Where has the bond between us gone we found again when they chased you out of that working men’s pub?”
“I was frightened.”
“And you aren’t anymore now you have a mistress?”
“I’m not frightened anymore now I am Gerry Hollingsworth of Los Angeles. Why won’t you bring the kids to America?”
“Because they don’t want to go. Because we are English, no matter what our religion or where our parents were born. The children have friends here. Like me. This is our home. What if this film doesn’t make any money?”
“It will, Carmel.”
“Of course. Your mistress is the leading lady.”
“She isn’t my mistress. She wouldn’t look at me.”
“There you are, you see, you did try, you bastard! Now you want us all to live as a nice new family with a nice new name halfway across the world.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Oh yes you did. I’ve been married to you for twenty-six years. David has joined the Territorial Army so he can’t leave England anyway. Ephraim has another two years at Manchester University. Rachel is going to get married, not that you ever asked in your weekly duty letter home.”
“Is she marrying a Jew?”
“As a matter of fact she isn’t. He’s in the Royal Navy. A lieutenant. Dartmouth after Pangbourne College. So nice of you to ask.”
“Carmel, stop being a bitch.”
“What do you want me to do? Take you to bed after you’ve slept with all those women in America?”
“Are you coming to the premiere?”
“And have her laugh in my face!”
“I thought you fancied Gregory L’Amour, who by the way is Genevieve’s lover. It will be all over the papers tomorrow in time to give the film a good boost. Lovers on screen. Lovers in life. The audience will love it.”
“You’d use anyone to make you money. Was it your idea to make fun of her grandfather? You killed him, Louis, or whatever you want to call yourself. The poor old man is dead. You didn’t even let an old man who never harmed you die in peace.”
“It’s all part of the film industry.”
“Then the film industry stinks. Why did you change your name?”
“I don’t want to be Jewish anymore. It’s too exhausting.”
“Well I do. You want to live with your wife and family, Louis, come back here with the right name or you can go to hell with all the others who deny their God… Shame on you.”
“There’s going to be a war, Carmel. From what I hear in America, if Hitler gets his way he’s going to exterminate all the Jews.”
“Chase them out of Germany maybe. We’ve been changing countries for centuries. What else can he do?”
“He’s going to kill us.”
“You can’t just go out and kill thousands of people. What would everyone say?”
“Not much. They’ve always hated the children of Israel.”
“You are saying this to frighten me.”
“Don’t you remember what was in that pamphlet of Mosley’s? And that’s England. Germany and half of Europe are far more anti-semitic.”
“Mosley’s a spent force. This is England. The Jews have been here hundreds of years without a problem.”
“And if Germany defeats England?”
“Don’t be daft. He’d have to beat the whole British Empire.”
“There are a few in that glorious empire who would dearly like to see the back of the British. Gandhi wants independence for India. No one likes to be ruled by foreigners.”
“The whole subcontinent would implode. Russia would invade from one side and China from the other. Then where would Gandhi be? People like that like the limelight.”
“The Japs have invaded China. Russia is still in turmoil. India would survive on its own without the British.”
“I’m not going to stand here arguing with you, Louis. I’m not going to America.”
“My name is Gerry Hollingsworth.”
“Then go to hell.”
“I want to talk to the children.”
“They will also tell you to go to hell. Their friends think you are a skunk. They all know what you have been up to in America. It goes with the film industry. It goes with being a film producer. You said so yourself. You made your bed in America. Leave us alone. Didn’t you know your children are ashamed of you? Probably the best thing you did was change your name.”
The cheap hotel in Hackney cost them each two shillings and sixpence which included a good English breakfast. The students who patronised the Williams Hotel knew a bargain when they saw one. Tinus and Andre shared a small room with twin beds against each wall and a bathroom down the corridor that served all the rooms on the third floor. Before breakfast there was a lot of banging on the bathroom door to hurry people up. On the first Saturday in November the hotel was half full. Andre and Tinus had taken the train down to London leaving the Morgans in Oxford; there was no parking for smart cars outside the Williams, which had decided them to go down by train.
Having stood in line for their morning shower, an African habit that had stayed with them, whereas in England people bathed once a week, they had gone down to the dining room to eat as much breakfast as possible to prepare themselves for the big day. At eleven o’clock, Tinus and Andre were going to the bookshop at Harrods store where Genevieve was signing her book. At eight o’clock in the evening they were going to Leicester Square for the premiere of Robin Hood and his Merry Men dressed in their best dinner jackets with red roses in their button holes, a touch suggested by Andre in the train coming down.
“The three musketeers, don’t forget. Got to look spiffing, Tinus. I suggest a small rose bud in each of our lapels. I’ve never before been to a film premiere. What’s all this about a book?”
“Publicity I suppose. Oxford doesn’t teach you much about real life and how people make money. The tickets she sent us are right at the back of the cinema according to her note, but beggars can’t be choosers. What a time in her life to think of us. Most people I’m told, when they get up in the world, forget their friends.
“Isn’t she more than just a friend to you, Tinus?”
“How could she be? Well, maybe. There’s something behind those different-coloured eyes that call to me. Not in her beautiful face but deep in the recesses of her mind, as if we know there’s more to come in our lives together. Maybe she does it to everyone. Why Genevieve is a film star. Her charisma that calls to every male on the planet.”
“All I see is the beautiful face and her sexuality. There’s nothing else calling me or the rest of us. I think you two have something going together that is very special. Far away
from anything to do with films or you being up at Oxford.”
“Like you and Fleur?”
“We’re chums more than lovers.”
“So you are lovers!”
“Don’t look so shocked. I seem to remember a story about a lifeboat. Did you ever hear from her again?”
“Not a word. Ships in the night except on that night we were both in the same ship. Was I drunk when I told you, Andre?”
“Yes you were.”
“You do know the worst thing in life is a drinking companion with a memory?”
“Sorry, old chap. I’ll forget it right away. Well, you can now read her book to find out everything you don’t want to know. You think she’s spilt the spicy bits in her life?”
“I asked her if she had had a lover. She said it was a question I would not like answered, whatever that meant.”
“In the film business, it’s inevitable, or so I read somewhere in one of those magazines.”
“I think she’s as pure as the driven snow.”
“I say, Tinus, you’re in love with the girl. You know, I like travelling by train. Gives you a chance to look at the countryside. Barely another month and I’m going home for good. I like England but my home is in Africa.”
“What are you going to do with your degree in History?”
“Absolutely nothing. Oxford is an experience to enjoy, a place to learn how to think. The subject matter learnt doesn’t matter. It’s all about training the mind to think clearly, to be able to see what is going on in life. Anyway, that is what Plato had to say. Practical knowledge comes after university.”
“So it was all an excuse to play cricket and rugby?”
“Something like that. At our age, who knows what the future will bring? The trick is to enjoy what you are doing at the time. Right up to the hilt.”
“Are you going to see Fleur this trip?”
“Not this time. Tomorrow is all about Genevieve.”
From the railway station they had caught the Tube and walked half a mile to their hotel. By then it was dark, both were tired and went up to the room, each with a box given them by Mrs Witherspoon containing their supper. After eating their sandwiches they both got into their beds, falling asleep before either of them had a chance to say goodnight.
On the table next to the cornflakes and milk was a section of the morning newspapers being ignored by most of the guests; students found newspapers boring. Having filled a plate with cornflakes, Tinus picked up the jug of milk, glancing at the newspapers. As he did so, his whole stomach flipped over as he read, his eye first drawn to the Daily Mirror’s widely published picture of Genevieve. Next to the picture of her was the picture of a man; a very good-looking man, Tinus thought, as his whole body tensed, making him put down the jug without pouring milk into his plate of cornflakes. The headline was simple:
LOVERS OFF AND ON THE SCREEN. WHEN’S THE WEDDING?
Quietly Andre, who had read the headline, picked up the milk jug and poured for Tinus.
“Bad luck, old chap.”
“I’ve been in a stupid dream ever since I saw her the first time at the Mayfair party with Uncle Harry.”
“There are plenty of fish in the sea.”
“Not like Genevieve.”
“You can congratulate her at the book signing.”
“Of course I can. Whatever was I thinking? Lucky I haven’t made a damn fool of myself.”
“It could just be publicity.”
“You’re a good friend, Andre. Let’s just go sit down and eat our breakfast. The memory will never go. That’s something I will always have for the rest of my life. Thanks for the milk. My right arm locked for some reason.”
“My pleasure, old friend. Just remember next year you’ll be playing cricket for Oxford while I’m looking for some kind of job in Cape Town.”
Later, when she looked up from the desk where she was signing copies of her book and saw him standing at the back of the crowd, Tinus saw pain flicker in Genevieve’s eyes followed by a resigned smile and a mouthed hello. Neither of them had ever said to each other what they were thinking. Andre was thumbing through a copy of Genevieve he had picked off the pile at a long table on the side of the Harrods bookshop. Tinus thought his friend understood the embarrassment caused by the story in all the morning newspapers and needed something to do with his hands. The request for the both of them to attend the signing, in Genevieve’s note with the cinema tickets, had said lunch with me afterwards.
So they waited, in Tinus’s words, ‘like spare parts’, until a literary-looking Harrods flunky announced the signing was over. Half the people with books in their hands yet to be paid for put them back on the pile. Genevieve gave Tinus a wry smile and again mouthed a word over the noise of the disgruntled customers that Tinus thought was, ‘wait’. Very soon the side of the room set aside for the signing was empty. Genevieve, looking more gorgeous to Tinus than ever before, stood up and walked round the desk. Someone turned back from the door, one of those who had put her unsigned book back on the table.
“Where’s Gregory L’Amour? Where’s the lover?”
Genevieve gave the middle-aged woman a stare that was anything but friendly. Tinus, nearer the woman, gaped at the rudeness of the remark, said in a way that implied the woman had been cheated out of something rightfully hers. When he turned back Genevieve was standing next to him. Andre was still thumbing through the book, not reading a word so far as Tinus could see.
“Buying a cinema ticket or a book, they think they own part of you. Half of these people won’t even read the book I just signed. They just want a piece of me.”
“Where is Mr L’Amour?”
“He’ll be at the premiere. We are not getting married. We are no longer lovers.”
“But you were?”
“Things get complicated on film sets. He’s actually a narcissistic twit. Does that make you feel better?”
“Much better. I had no right to ask.”
“How are you, Andre? You can put it down now. I knew when you both walked in you’d seen the papers. Mr Hollingsworth’s revenge, I rather think. His wife wants to kick him out of the house now he’s back in England for God only knows how long. She doesn’t like me. Uncle Harry is giving us lunch at Simpson’s on the Strand. Believe it or not, his wife will be with him and the only other guests, other than my Uncle Barnaby and Merlin, are you two. No, I’m wrong. Uncle Barnaby will have his new girlfriend on his arm.”
“Celia Larson,” said Tinus.
“How did you know? Oh, of course. You brought her down to Purbeck Manor the night grandfather made me sing ‘Greensleeves’.”
“I’m sorry. He seemed a nice old man.”
“He was much more than that to me, Tinus… The only thing that stays the same for Uncle Barnaby is the age of his girlfriends. I wonder what he’ll think of Aunty Tina after all these years? They were inseparable as children despite the difference in their family class, but we won’t go into that. Uncle Barnaby, when he was a bit drunk once, said seeing an old girlfriend from the past was a miserable way of ruining a good memory. With luck after tonight’s premiere I won’t have to clap eyes on Gregory L’Amour again. The only person he will ever marry is himself. The lunch is as much to remember my grandfather as it is for the book, which tells the truth about my mother and father, who is now the Eighteenth Baron St Clair of Purbeck, for what the hell that is worth in a modern England. He’s going to live at the Manor from tomorrow. Bury himself in the country. We’ll see how long that lasts, if I have anything to say about it. Well, there’s grandmother so maybe he’ll have to stay for the time being. Come on now, one on each arm. The three musketeers. I’ll never forget that day on the Thames when you two rowed me in a boat. Cheer up, Tinus. The war hasn’t broken out yet, though Uncle Harry thinks it won’t be long.”
“So does Squadron Leader Cunningham.”
“I thought it was just Uncle Harry?”
With a firm, almost claw-like grip on his arm, Tinus w
as led out of Harrods and finally into a taxi downstairs in the street.
“You’re hurting my arm.”
“Sorry.”
“There’s not going to be a war.”
Smiling happily in a way that Andre later described as a smirk, Tinus finally relaxed and the taxi took them to the restaurant where the family were going to have lunch.
To add to their day’s consternation, when they stood at the desk inside the door of Simpson’s waiting for the maître d’hôtel to show them to Uncle Harry’s table, across the room, smiling happily and sitting between his uncles Barnaby and Merlin, was Celia Larson showing not the least surprise at finding Andre in London. Giving the gathering a full appraisal as they walked between the crowded tables behind the obsequious maître d’hôtel, Tinus noticed Aunt Tina looking sour while Uncle Barnaby was holding everyone’s attention.
“There they are,” said Uncle Harry standing up, followed by the rest of the men as Genevieve took her seat at the long table. “How did the signing go?”
Conversation over lunch was continuous but inconsequential as no one ever seemed to get a reply, much to Tinus’s amusement as he watched the social swirl; Celia Larson was the only one showing interest in anything, so absorbed was she in Uncle Barnaby. Quite quickly it became apparent to Tinus that everyone at the table had tickets to the night’s premiere, obtained somehow by his Uncle Harry.
“Had a letter from mother, Uncle Harry, who asked when are you coming back to the farm.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Of course. The big news is Tembo taking a surname that he’s given to all his children. Princess says her boy can’t just have one name. Apparently the chief’s name of the Matabele village Tembo came from was Makoni. Four-year-old Josiah is now Josiah Makoni. Mother says it sounds very classy. There wasn’t much more news of any excitement. I brought you mother’s letter to read... How did you get them all tickets for tonight?”