by ILIL ARBEL
“But you are not entirely convinced, are you?” asked Glamora.
“No, not quite. Our situations are not the same. You see, Miss Tudor, your marriage was, after all, an adventure, since you had to hide it and play a part. And the two of you must have had an interesting time trying to reconcile such diverse backgrounds. With George and me, it’s all boredom, I’m afraid.”
“It’s true to an extent,” said Glamora, musing. “I have never been bored with Jake, and somehow, despite my ignorance and lack of education, he never seemed bored with me. I will never understand why he fell in love with me. I was a pretty Cockney girl, with neither class nor style. He was from Brooklyn, the son of a middle-class Jewish family. You know how they are – education is everything to that group of people, and they are rather sophisticated in their world view. The scraped and saved and sent him to the best schools… and then he travelled all over the world, advanced like a meteorite in his career, met such exciting and interesting people – and still, we had such fun together.”
“George and I were bored with each other almost from the beginning,” said Mrs. Rivers. “We come from exactly the same background. Sometimes it’s wonderful. Sometimes it’s not. Ah, well. Time will tell. Thank you for talking to me. I will go to England and think things over, and I will not do anything rashly, as I do not wish to ever bring shame or sorrow to my husband and children. But sometimes I feel I deserve some happiness, even if it is a little late… and Denis and I have something between us… I can’t explain it… don’t judge me harshly, Miss Tudor. I value your good opinion.”
“I will not judge you at all, Mrs. Rivers. No matter what you decide, I will not judge. I promise.”
Mrs. Rivers felt strangely relived, even though her situation was not clear to her at all. With a lighter heart, she went to see if all her packing was indeed complete, and Miss Tudor went back to her book, and started reading a chapter about Empress Theodora of Byzantium. But she could not concentrate on the lady’s fascinating rise from the lowest ranks of society into royalty. “Poor Hermione,” she said to herself. “Poor woman. How hard it must be…”
***
At the Towers, Cook and the housemaid were having supper. Cook’s niece, Rita, suddenly burst into the kitchen, waving a newspaper.
“Auntie, did you hear? They are coming back!” said Rita, rather out of breath, and put the paper next to her aunt’s plate.
“Who?” asked Cook placidly, helping herself to more peas.
“The whole party, Miss Tudor, Mr. Goldwasser, everyone, to do the sequel! They are saying so in the newspaper!”
“Well, well…” said Cook, looking at the paper with great interest. “More scandalous doings… and all of them women no better than they should be. I never…”
“But Auntie, you liked it last time, you even bought the lipstick that Miss Tudor was wearing, the orange one, with the funny name.”
“Now don’t be impertinent, girl. Sit down and have some supper. All the girls are going to think of nothing else but the films, they will be good for nothing.”
The housemaid said, “What with the Christmas season a-coming, and the filming, it will be plenty to do at Lady Norton’s place. My youngest sister, Molly, is looking to go into service. I should ask my cousin Carla, she is Lady Norton’s maid.”
“How old is Molly?” asked Rita.
“She is fourteen,” said the housemaid. “Big girl, she obliges when she can find work, but it’s time for her to work regular-like.”
“She does not want to go into the shops?” asked Cook with appreciation of the girl’s good taste, “or Mr. Adams’ Works?”
“No, she wants to go into service. She knows it’s easier work. Mother doesn’t care, as long as she gets some wages. Ten children, mother had, and she is tired of feeding so many of us as we were a-growing. Our father died when Molly was two, and good riddance too,” said the housemaid without any filial feeling. “He drank all his wages anyway.”
“It’s not a decent place for a young girl with all these goings-on and Hollywood,” said Cook. “Still, they pay well at Lady Norton’s.”
“Carla will keep an eye on her,” said the housemaid. “She won’t come to no harm with Carla. I will talk to her tomorrow.”
And indeed, everything was busy and lively at Norton Hall. Carla herself was overseeing many women who came from the village to oblige, since every room had to be cleaned and prepared. Lady Norton’s pride demanded that not a speck of dust would be seen by the most obscure GMG worker, let alone Mr. Goldwasser and Miss Tudor. The professor was jostled from one room to another, and after a day of irritation, decided to go to Kensington for a week or so.
“Ah, Lady Norton,” he said over tea.
“Yes, Professor?”
“I have been asked to go to Kensington for a week. Would that be convenient?”
“Yes, of course, Professor. What is the occasion?”
“Believe it or not, it was an invitation from Professor Hilliard-Sabre herself! She wants to have three joint lectures with me, about the tropical palms that were brought to Florida from Tahiti during the 18th Century and naturalized there, crowding out some of the native palms. I cannot credit it myself, but there it is. She invited me!”
“I thought she was your mortal enemy, Professor.”
“She is, Lady Norton. She is… which is why it is so strange. Could it be she is trying to cover up for her theft of the cactus seeds, through Carla? Is she trying to hide her heinous crime?”
“Well, it’s hard to say…” said Lady Norton. “Did you ever give joint lectures with her before?”
“Goodness, no!” said the professor, scandalized by the thought. “No, when I was in Kensington, it was the first time we met in person. Before that, our feud was entirely through the papers, and letters.”
“Perhaps she is seeing her evil ways, and is trying to atone for them,” suggested Lady Norton. “Once she met you in person, perhaps she realized how wrong she was to doubt your scholarship and your wisdom.”
“That would be gratifying,” said the professor cautiously. “If it were not for the cactus, perhaps I would be bold enough to hope for such reconciliation, but under the circumstances…”
“I think,” said Lady Norton, “that under the conditions you describe, that is, giving these joint lectures, you may be able to find out, once and for all, if she really was the mastermind behind the disappearance of the seeds. Perhaps, even, Carla sent her the seeds, rather than throwing them out of the window, as she claimed to have done? If so, Professor Hilliard-Sabre would probably try to grow the cactus, and be the first to do so in England, rather than you and me. Therefore, I consider your trip a rare opportunity to resolve this issue, find out if she has the seeds…”
The professor looked at Lady Norton with new respect in his eyes. “This is a stroke of genius, Lady Norton,” he said. “You are right. I will go and write to Professor Hilliard-Sabre immediately!”
“And I have another suggestion to make, if I may,” said Lady Norton. “After the lectures are over, if you do not find out everything about the theft of the seeds, why not go a step further? Invite Professor Hilliard-Sabre for a few days here. Between us, we will be able to resolve all doubt, I am certain of it.”
“Absolutely! How clever of you to suggest that!” said the professor, his admiration for his hostess growing by the second. “I will suggest to her that you have the best conservatories in England, and that she would enjoy seeing them, as much as you would enjoy meeting such an expert as herself. Brilliant, brilliant idea!” Lady Norton inclined her head graciously. “More tea, Professor?”
Chapter Eleven
The weather in Barsetshire, as in all England, was cold, damp, and unpleasant, a fact particularly noticeable by people who had blissfully experienced sunny California. Norton Hall remained its usual uncomfortable large abode, with the august presence of Lady Norton not helping make it any cosier. Nevertheless, most of the crew enjoyed being back in the C
ounty, where the peace and quiet permeated the air itself, where the brittle glamour of Hollywood did not exist, though had it existed would have been looked down upon by the residents, where one could enjoy the soft scent of fertile earth and wet foliage rather than the burning cement and rubber tyres on the highways, mixed with the artificial perfumes worn by countless starlets. The crew members settled to their appointed tasks as if they had never left, and looked forward to spending Christmas in the country.
The sequel to Send Me No Lilies was more or less on its way. Lord Arthur and Lady Aurora Fitz-Gardner, as represented by Peter, the very tall, thin, elegant actor who generally specialized in the parts of a British Nobleman even though he really was the son of a greengrocer from Sydney, Australia, and Glamora Tudor, had already returned from their second honeymoon in Tahiti, and settled down to a delightful private life in London. Unfortunately, their happiness did not last long, since Lord Arthur was promptly killed, as planned by Maisie and Mrs. Rivers when they audaciously decided to make a highly modern sequel, which would include a dangerously risqué tango danced by Aurora and Nestor Chardonay at midnight in the Wigwam, the kind of dance that could not be performed by a respectable married woman, as any Hollywood censor would agree. Crossing the street soon after the couple’s arrival in London, Lord Arthur heroically saved a golden-haired child from a runaway car, and was himself hit and killed instantly, mercifully never knowing that his untimely death would pave the way for the reunion of his widow with Nestor Chardonay. This segment was already filmed in Hollywood, in a studio made to look like a London street, so Peter did not have to travel to England, and could stay home to celebrate Christmas with his own family, enjoying plenty of money from his payment for Send Me No Lilies and the segment of the sequel – enough to buy enormous presents, which were rightfully expected by his wife and children.
Mr. Goldwasser planned to show the accident segment at the absolute beginning of the film, right after the title, accompanied by intense, heroic music. The research department was bitterly debating whether the Flight of the Valkyries was even appropriate, since Lord Arthur was a mere man, not a female warrior flying on a horse. No, said one of the members. He thought they would be safer with someone’s, anyone’s, requiem. But was there a requiem that sounded heroic as well as sad? The debate was sure to rage for a while. Whatever the choice would be, if any viewer came to the theatre a few minutes late because she had to give the kiddies their tea, well then, she would miss this all important part and would not understand where Lord Arthur had disappeared to and why Aurora was suddenly free to surrender to her love for Nestor Chardonay. Still, no doubt the unlucky viewer would see the film more than once, since it stood to reason that an ever-so-nice Glamora Tudor film was worth seeing again, particularly since this would be the first time, ever, that she had made three films with the same young man! But of course Nestor Alcott was no longer just any young man, her friends would argue when they went to the tea shop after the film was over, wiping their eyes with emotion. Nestor Alcott was a great star himself and don’t you forget it, and did you notice the colour of his eyes, my dear? I have never seen such green eyes on any gentleman – they simply glow, if I may be so bold as to say so…
The broken-hearted Lady Aurora Fitz-Gardner would not be able to bear the London life, naturally, not when she was so alone and in deep mourning. So she would retire to Lord Arthur’s great country estate, and take with her all the children from the poverty-stricken but oh, so full-of-love orphanage, where the little innocent golden-haired boy lived, and she would also bring their saintly teachers, and settle them to a life of luxury in the great house, where she would look after them like a mother and devote her life to good deeds.
This part was not so easy to film. “Where could I get a bunch of handsome but obviously poor children?” Mr. Goldwasser asked Glamora soon after their arrival. “They have to be really pretty, particularly the little golden-haired thing that killed Lord Arthur.”
Glamora laughed. “Don’t say such a thing… the ladies would be horrified if they thought of the innocent little creature as a killer. There is only one thing to do, Jake. You must beg Miss Merriman to help during the filming of the sequel.”
“I thought about it, Glam, but I don’t know… don’t you find it a bit awkward, after she turned us down last time?” said Mr. Goldwasser with uncharacteristic hesitation.
“Not a bit of it. She did not want to change her life permanently and go to America, but why would she not consent to a couple of months right here in Barsetshire? I am sure she would love that. You know how she adores the movies and she is such a friend to both of us.”
“True, and the sequel should not take very long,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “Damn it, Glam, I wish Maisie and Mrs. Rivers would find a name for it already. I am tired of referring to it as The Sequel. Yes, you are right. I will ask Miss Merriman. I will call Pomfret Towers right away and beg Lady Pomfret to send Miss Merriman to help us.”
“And while you are begging, Jake, do tell Lady Pomfret she should come whenever she likes to watch the filming. She enjoyed it when she came over during the filming of Send Me No Lilies. But as for the name, yes, I agree with you. I wish the new film would have a name already.”
Coincidentally, Maisie and Mrs. Rivers were engaging in a similar conversation. “This is becoming ridiculous,” said Maisie irritably, looking up from the papers she was collecting, her face clearly exhibiting an expression of impatience and even anger, quite unusual for her. “We have got to find a name for this blasted film! Why are we incapable of solving this?”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Rivers uncomfortably. “We have thought of so many titles, and none of them worked.”
“I want something poetic,” said Maisie. “A name that will give a sense of distance, despair, hope, all mingled together. I can’t choose a single title that I like from all those we came up with, and we have been trying for months!”
Mrs. Rivers hesitated for a second, then took courage and said, “Mr. Stonor had an idea for us. I wonder what you would think about it.”
“Yes?” said Maisie, “So what was it? Mr. Stonor is a creative person, he might come up with something really good.”
“He said, call it My Love, Far Away,” said Mrs. Rivers. She found it difficult to say the title, but Maisie, whose eyes suddenly lighted with joy, did not notice.
“This is magnificent!” she said in exultation. “So simple, so effective… why didn’t we think of it? Of course, Lady Fitz-Gardner is in Tahiti with her husband, as far as Nestor Chardonay is concerned. He does not know that Lord Arthur has been killed in an accident. How utterly perfect… excuse me, Mrs. Rivers, I must run and tell Mr. Goldwasser. I believe he is losing patience with us.” She took her papers and ran out of the room.
Mr. Goldwasser was just coming out of his office when Maisie approached him with the good news about the title.
“This is an excellent title,” he said. “I like it very much, and as far as I am concerned, it’s official. By the way, Miss Robinson, I think things are beginning to look brighter. I just called Pomfret Towers, and spoke to Lady Pomfret and Miss Merriman. I am happy to say that Miss Merriman is coming over to help us during the filming!”
“That is good news indeed, Mr. Goldwasser. What with Mrs. Lewis babysitting Miss Moonshadow, you can use the help,” said Maisie.
“Babysitting is a good description,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “If it were not for her incredible looks, I would have dropped Miss Moonshadow and tried to find another star, possessing a higher level of intelligence. Mrs. Lewis is more optimistic about her than I am. I think Miss Moonshadow is so simple, so unable to learn.”
“Do you think she will be ready to become Mr. Alcott’s fake fiancé when we return to the States?” asked Maisie with considerable discomfort that she was trying to hide.
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “But let me tell you, Miss Robinson, if she is not ready, and somehow messes up the fake romance, off sh
e goes back to Peoria. I have neither the time nor the inclination for babysitting.”
“How will you determine her readiness?” asked Maisie.
“There are three things that I will require, to start with. First, she will have to stop constantly talking about Peoria. Second, she must understand what a sophisticated wardrobe looks like and stop longing for her vulgar teen-age attire. Third, she should avoid looking interested when a man, other than Mr. Alcott, is approaching her, the way Julian Rivers did. I did not like her reaction to Mr. Rivers, and such behaviour would be instantly caught by the journalists. As time goes by, she has to show growing levels of sophistication. I don’t expect her to be a genius, but she must develop a personality that matches her looks. I want her to be mysterious and enigmatic, as you know.”
“The part she takes in Mr. Yukon’s film will help, I think,” said Maisie. “The Evil Seductress is the epitome of the mysterious and enigmatic female.”
“We’ll see if it helps any. Perhaps I chose the wrong person; she may be just too young, I don’t know. The part is very small and she will be finished in a few weeks. I wanted Hollywood to think she is temporarily in love with Rush Yukon, but I am not sure I can trust her to do even that. When I remember how good Glam was when we were planning such things at the very beginning of her career… she always had a head on her shoulders. There will never be anyone quite like Glam.”
“Of course not, Mr. Goldwasser. No one can fill Miss Tudor’s place, she stands alone. But as you always say, we must work with what we have.”
“We are trying,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “And we have been successful at least with Miss Moonshadow’s looks, if not with her brains. I have an idea, Miss Robinson. Perhaps we should ask her to come here, with Mrs. Lewis, once they are done with the Evil Seductress part? We could help her develop her new personality, and Glam is here to point the way. It’s really not a big deal if Miss Moonshadow becomes Alcott’s fake fiancée right away. We can always say she missed him so much she had to follow him to England, chaperoned, of course, by Mrs. Lewis.”