by ILIL ARBEL
“Of course. Honour demanded it. I exposed her unscholarly approach to raising sweet peas out of season. One of my comments, about how the Romans knew how to use thin mica panels for raising roses out of season, two thousand years before the learned professor was born, made the whole horticultural world laugh at her expense.” He shook his head vindictively, but the thought of Professor Hilliard-Sabre’s temporary disgrace apparently pacified his wounded pride. At that moment they reached the cactus room, and Lady Norton unlocked the door.
“Do you think the locks are secure, Lady Norton? Does anyone else have a key?”
“No, this is the only key to this lock. I ordered it myself some time ago, when we had just started our correspondence.”
“So it would not be possible for anyone else to enter the room. That is good. You cannot be too careful with people like Professor Hilliard-Sabre.”
The professor took out a magnifying glass and observed the soil under the glass. Suddenly he exclaimed with joy. “I can see a sprout!” he said, handing the glass to Lady Norton. Indeed, a green dot which would be barely visible to non-botanizing mortals, could be clearly seen by Lady Norton. Instantly, the professor and Lady Norton forgot the arch-enemy and experienced the glow of success that only plant enthusiasts can feel when they see a green object, smaller than the head of the pin, miraculously appear over what used to be barren soil.
Chapter Nine
The next day, Mrs. Rivers and Maisie finished their morning work on the script for the unnamed sequel to Send Me No Lilies. Maisie busily tucked her papers into a dilapidated briefcase, while Mrs. Rivers put hers into a neat paper file. “Are you in a great rush, Miss Robinson?” she asked. “Won’t you stay for a while, have a cup of coffee and some cake? It is still early, we did not work very long.”
“As a matter of fact, I am not in a rush at all,” said Maisie. “My afternoon session was postponed until three o’clock, since the other writers had to attend a conference. I would love a cup of coffee.”
“I’ll call for it, then. Yes, we did not do much work this morning… it’s my fault. I am a bit tired today, after yesterday’s party,” said Mrs. Rivers, and rang for the maid.
“So am I,” said Maisie listlessly. “I feel rather weary. Did you meet Miss Moonshadow?”
“No, I didn’t even see her very well, but they talked about her at breakfast, and she is coming over this afternoon to talk some things over. Mrs. Lewis is coming, too. It seems to me they have some plans for her future.”
“Yes,” said Maisie. “That is the plan, I gather.”
“Is she that beautiful? They said she has rare star quality.”
“Well, yes, she is very beautiful, and exotic looking. As for the star quality, I am not sure. She has a pretty speaking voice, low and romantic, but her conversation is that of a good, sturdy small-town girl. I couldn’t tell.”
“Mr. Goldwasser is a good judge of stars. I imagine he will know if he gets a chance to spend some time with her.”
“Yes, he has picked some of the best, and of course he will know how to improve her style. Everyone at the party was rather enchanted with her. By the way, I met your son, Mrs. Rivers.”
“Did he say anything terrible?” asked Mrs. Rivers anxiously, expecting the worst.
“No, not at all,” said Maisie, a little surprised by the question. “He talked about modern art, that is all. I did not understand much of what he said, since I know nothing about the subject, but he did not say anything terrible. Why?”
“In England he is thought of as brash and rude…” said Mrs. Rivers.
“We are less sensitive to manners in America,” said Maisie. “Not that we like bad manners, not at all, but we appreciate straightforward behaviour more than you do in England. I think it is because we are a much younger country.”
“I do feel comfortable in America,” said Mrs. Rivers, musing. “You know, in England, I am thought of as grasping, tough, and sometimes extremely hard to deal with. I don’t think I really am, but that is the general idea, and it’s shared by many, even my own publisher, even though he made quite a bit of money off my books. You would think he would like me, but he does not.”
“I can’t imagine why,” said Maisie. “You know what you want and you say it, but there is nothing wrong with that in my book.”
“I think that finally, after all these years, I can explain it. Have you ever met Mrs. Morland, the famous author of the delightful Madame Koska books?”
“Yes, once, in Barchester,” said Maisie. “A very nice lady, I liked her very much. Why?”
“That is just it. Everyone, and I really mean that literally, everyone likes Mrs. Morland very much. No one dislikes her; I should hate her, or at least be jealous at her for her general popularity, but I like her nonetheless. In contrast to my situation, her publisher adores her and has become a personal friend, almost a member of the family, since he married her goddaughter. As I said before, my own publisher cordially dislikes me, and has a horrible nickname for me, always behind my back of course, but people told me about it often enough. You see, Mrs. Morland does not take herself, or her work, very seriously. She always says she writes strictly for badly needed money, in the early years to educate her sons, then to give them gifts, or something along these lines, and she insists that she is not a “real author,” whatever that term means to her. She takes her financial dealings with her publisher on faith, too, and does not bother much about her sales, or about marketing; she does not even read reviews of her books. Once, long ago, I offered to introduce her to the firm that does a cutting service for me, you know, reviews and suchlike, where my work is mentioned. She was not at all interested. Polite, of course, she always is, but totally bored with the idea of the clippings. The English love that kind of character in a woman. They don’t like a woman like myself, who takes her work very, very seriously, and who is concerned about the business side of it as well, such as advances and royalties and advertisements. They think of me as too pushy.”
“In America, Mrs. Rivers, you would be considered a perfectly normal author, and Mrs. Morland, nice as she is, would be an anomaly,” said Maisie. “Working women like us need to take their business seriously. My work means a lot to me.”
“That is exactly what I was wondering about. I feel so comfortable here. No one gives me a look of disdain when I mention my work, or my fans, or if I talk about writing as a business, which of course it is. I suspect I am happier here than I am at home.”
At that moment, Denis Stonor was announced. Neither of the ladies was surprised, since he came very often, and most of the times unannounced, to visit Mrs. Rivers at that time of day after she had told him about her morning and afternoon working routines. They were pleased to see him, coffee was offered, and Denis settled for a short but pleasant visit.
“Did I hear you say something about being happy here, Hermione?” he asked.
“Yes, you did,” said Mrs. Rivers, and repeated her conversation with Maisie. Denis sat quietly, deep in thought.
“Have you ever considered the possibility of settling here, Hermione?” he finally said. “With your experience, talents, and connections, you could easily get excellent script work in Hollywood. And of course, you should continue writing your wonderful books, and simply send them to your publisher in England.”
Mrs. Rivers stared at him in surprise. “Stay in America? But I couldn’t…”
“Why couldn’t you, Mrs. Rivers?” asked Maisie enthusiastically. “Of course you could! How delightful that would be!”
“But… but… my family, my work…”
Denis looked at her with a little smile lighting his face. “Your work will continue, even expand. Your children are grown. As for your husband, I understand that you often spend time in different locations because of your respective lines of work. What would be the difference?”
“But in England we are just in different towns, not in different continents!” said Mrs. Rivers, still shocked by the idea. “What will people
say?” Denis laughed.
“Honestly, Hermione… What will people say? Why would they object to your work in Hollywood? We live in fast times, people work on both sides of the Atlantic, the steamships and aeroplanes are busily taking everyone back and forth, and you are a sophisticated traveller who had been all over the world. There is nothing unusual about my suggestion.”
“None whatsoever,” said Maisie. “You should think about it, Mrs. Rivers. You could do magnificent scripts, with your talent for romance, and you will be so highly appreciated here. I can assure you, Mrs. Rivers, we will all love to have you. Why, I can see every single one of your books turned into a splendid film. Mr. Stonor knows that I, too, admire your work very much.”
“Very well, I will think about it,” said Mrs. Rivers, suddenly becoming brave. “This could be the adventure of a lifetime. Thank you so much for your encouragement, Miss Robinson. You are so kind.”
“That’s the spirit, Mrs. Rivers,” said Maisie, putting down her cup. “You and I could do a lot of good work together! Well, I must be off to my afternoon session. Goodbye, Mr. Stonor. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Mrs. Rivers. Thanks for the lovely coffee and cake!”
Mrs. Rivers sat quietly, looking at her coffee cup. Denis sipped his own, saying nothing, allowing her to digest the revolutionary idea. After a few minutes, she raised her eyes and said, “Do you really think I could, Denis?”
“I don’t see why you couldn’t,” said Denis. “It’s not such an extraordinary idea, after all.”
“Perhaps not… Should I mention it to Mr. Goldwasser?”
“Not quite yet. Talk about it first with Glamora, and see how she feels about it. There is a mix of shrewdness and sympathy in her, and as a woman, she will be better able to put herself in your place. Then, Mr. Goldwasser will see to the practical side. Just take your time and think about it.”
“Both Miss Robinson and you seem to wish that I stay here. I am very grateful for it, and a little surprised. I am not used to that, to be quite honest.”
Denis said nothing for a few seconds. “I wish it very, very much, Hermione. I don’t think you realize how much I will miss you when you go back to England.”
“You will miss me? Really?”
“Don’t you know it? Really? Well, I had better leave now. I know you want to go into your afternoon’s work on your book. By the way, did you ever find a name for the sequel to Send Me No Lilies?”
“No, not yet,” said Mrs. Rivers absent-mindedly. “No, we can’t think of anything, somehow. The story is about the reunion of the lovers after the husband’s death, as you know. It should be a simple thing to find a title, but for whatever reason, we can’t.”
“How about My Love, Far Away?” said Denis, and left abruptly. Mrs. Rivers stood staring after him. Then she sighed and went to her room to work on her Hollywood book. She did not make much progress, though.
A few hours later, Mrs. Rivers went down to tea. She was rather curious about meeting Miss Moonshadow, but her thoughts were mainly occupied by Denis’ idea. Should she attempt to settle in Hollywood, at least for a while? Why not? Yes, it was an interesting and unusual career move. Anyone would view it as a good business deal. So if it were strictly business, why did it feel as if something else was at the bottom of it, some mystery, some intrigue? Why would she be more emotional about staying in Hollywood than spending time in Paris or Rome, which she had done often? Mrs. Rivers shook her head, decided to dismiss the thought for the moment, and entered the living room. Only Glamora and Mr. Goldwasser were there, but after a short wait, Mrs. Lewis and Miss Moonshadow were announced.
Even in the strong light of a California afternoon, Miss Moonshadow looked like Titania. She was dressed in a white suit, simple to a point of starkness, wore no jewellery, and again her only makeup was her crimson lipstick. And yet her beauty was so sophisticated, so dazzling, that it took Mrs. River’s breath away. They were introduced, and everyone sat down to tea.
“I’ve never had English-style tea before,” said Miss Moonshadow, eyeing the thin porcelain cups with some discomfort.
“Have you ever been to Europe, Miss Moonshadow?” Asked Glamora.
“No, never. To tell the truth, Miss Tudor, I never travelled much even in the United States. I went to New York once, on a school trip, when I was sixteen. I was so scared…”
“Scared? Of what?” asked Mr. Goldwasser.
“So many people… We were taken to Times Square and everyone pushed so hard and they were screaming… not like Peoria at all.”
“Well, and what do you think of Hollywood, then?”
“Scary, too… but I go in the car everywhere, so it’s better. Mommy told me to be very careful.”
“Of what?” asked Mrs. Rivers.
“Oh, everything. Strangers, bad people… one can’t be too careful, Mommy said so…”
“And what does your father do, Miss Moonshadow?” asked Mrs. Rivers, desperate for a subject Miss Moonshadow could discuss.
“Daddy is a supervisor in a company that manufactures tractors and cranes and things like that,” said Miss Moonshadow proudly. “They have quite a few of these in Peoria, but Daddy works for the best one. And all my little brothers and sisters go to school. I am eighteen, you know, and I graduated high school last year, but they are still in school.” She looked at a scone, a masterpiece baked to perfection by Glamora’s English cook which she had brought over from England so many years ago.
Miss Moonshadow was obviously a bit confused as to how to eat it, so Mrs. Rivers, taking pity on the girl, took one herself and put clotted cream and strawberry jam on it, very slowly and carefully. Miss Moonshadow looked on very seriously, and attempted to imitate her lead, not very successfully; some cream dripped on the plate and the jam did not stick.
Mr. Goldwasser sighed inaudibly. This perfect beauty, so exotic and sophisticated at first sight, needed a lot of polish to make her into a star. He looked at Mrs. Lewis in mock despair, and she smiled reassuringly. She knew, apparently, what to do. At least, Mr. Goldwasser hoped so. He remembered the first day Glamora showed up at the auditions in London. A simple London girl, true, but the seeds of sophistication were there, the great potential shone in the large violet eyes. He looked at his wife affectionately, remembering the young Maura-Gayle Stewart, so scared, so brave, so splendid. Of course, no one would ever be like her, it was not to be expected… but they will do their best with Miss Moonshadow.
At that moment, the maid appeared, and announced Mr. Julian Rivers. He was not invited to tea, but of course no one objected to his visiting his mother whenever he could find a moment in his very busy schedule.
Julian slouched into the room. He seemed rather unkempt, as if he spent his day doing unlikely physical work at the exhibition in preparation for the opening, which was to occur in two days. His hair was falling over his brow, he was not cleanly shaven, and altogether seemed as if he did not expect to find guests. Which was rather silly, because everyone knew that tea time was usually very busy at Mr. and Mrs. Goldwasser’s welcoming home, and guests almost always showed up, bidden or unbidden.
“Oh, I had no idea you had guests,” he said sulkily to Glamora.
“Do sit down, Mr. Rivers,” Glamora answered graciously. “Have a cup of tea. Mrs. Lewis, have you ever met Mr. Rivers? I am sure Miss Moonshadow never did. Mr. Rivers is a well known artist from England, and he has an exhibition which we are all looking forward to visiting.”
“I saw you at the party,” said Julian to Miss Moonshadow, ignoring Mrs. Lewis, who seemed surprised at his rudeness. “I’d like to paint you. You will do nicely as a black and white study with red spots. Come to my hotel, I’ll introduce you to the group.” Miss Moonshadow seemed very scared by this offer and said nothing. Instead, she stirred her tea.
“I am afraid right now Miss Moonshadow is not coming to anyone’s hotel, nor does she have the time to be painted,” said Mrs. Lewis firmly. “Perhaps some time in the future.”
“I don�
�t plan to be here some time in the future,” said Julian as he accepted a cup of tea. “Ah, scones, good, I miss them.” He put a large amount of cream and jam on the scone and took a large bite. “If she does not come to the hotel to be painted within the next few days, she will lose the opportunity of a lifetime of being painted by a genius.”
“I think we will take that chance,” intervened Mr. Goldwasser quietly. “Miss Moonshadow will be extremely busy in the next few months.”
Julian looked at the girl and said, “Well, you had your chance for immortality. Listen to me, my girl, you will come or not come, but if you always let other people tell you what to do, you’ll never get anywhere.”
Mrs. Rivers, who was too mortified to say anything, ignored the exchange as if it did not happen. She noticed that Miss Moonshadow glanced at Julian a few times, very furtively. This would not do. Julian was tremendously good looking, and some women found him attractive, particularly silly and innocent women, but even an empty-headed little actress like Miss Moonshadow should know that if she was going to be groomed by Mr. Goldwasser and Mrs. Lewis for stardom, scandalous personal romance with an older man had no place in her current activities. But did she know that? And would Julian ever stop making mischief? Mrs. Rivers wished her beloved and difficult son were safely back in England.
“Well,” said Mr. Goldwasser and got up. “Mrs. Rivers, I am sure you and your son have plenty to talk about. We will leave you to it, and the rest of us must go to the library and discuss some plans. Very nice to see you again, Mr. Rivers. I look forward to the opening of the exhibition.” He opened the door for the ladies, and they all were about to leave the room, when voices were heard from the corridor and to Mrs. Rivers’ relief, she heard the voices of Emma and Edmond who came home from their respective occupations at the same time, accompanied by Rush Yukon, who apparently had met them at the entrance. The meeting at the library was postponed for a few minutes until introductions were made and a few words were exchanged.