Their Exits and their Entrances: The New Chronicles of Barset: Book Two

by ILIL ARBEL

  “Why would a harvest festival be so difficult to arrange?” asked Mr. Goldwasser.

  “Because the ritual date for harvesting the root is the same as the opening of a new film at the cinema that was built near the royal palace. The inhabitants of Mngangaland had become addicted to three-dimensional films, and they would neglect the ritual date to watch a new film. But that is only one of the problems. There is also the issue of the small government jobs that need to be distributed among the seventy-nine sons of the king. An overwhelming task, but it is part of my employer’s diplomatic duties; he simply does not know how to begin.”

  “But what about your argument, and the what’s-its-name, the purple thing your employer wanted to wear?” asked Mr. Alcott.

  “Oh, this is all right, sir. My employer said that he had given the purple cummerbund to the twenty-seventh son of the king of Mngangaland. The prince had been to Oxford and he appreciates English attire, so I would not have to worry about it again. I regret to leave you, Mr. Alcott, but I simply cannot let Mr. Woo... I mean, my previous employer, down.”

  “Mr. Woo?” said Aubrey, a strange suspicion creeping into his mind. “Is that his name?”

  “I am sorry, sir. That was an unfortunate slip of the tongue. I am not at liberty to reveal my employer’s name at present, because of his sensitive diplomatic position which has not been as yet confirmed by the government. I do apologize.”

  “Of course,” said Mr. Goldwasser, giving a meaningful look to Aubrey Clover. “We have no desire to embarrass your employer or the government, Shymmering. But may I ask you, where did you get the name Shymmering, and why did you wish to hide your own identity?”

  “Shymmering was my mother’s maiden name, sir, so I felt I was entitled to use it without the taint of deception. I wished to hide my identity because I did not want to embarrass my previous employer. I knew that the present government would eventually employ me through him; it was inevitable, and my activities in Hollywood were not necessarily something I wished to discuss with them.”

  “When will you be leaving, then, Shymmering?” asked Mr. Alcott.

  “I would like to give two weeks’ notice, sir, if that is agreeable to you, and then proceed directly to Mngangaland. I truly regret leaving you, sir, but now that I know you are engaged, I am confident that Miss Robinson, who is both highly intelligent and practical, is perfectly capable of looking after you.”

  “Very well,” said Mr. Alcott.

  “Will that be all, sir?”

  “Yes, that will be all.” Shymmering blinked softly out of the room, and Aubrey said, “So that is why he seemed to be so familiar…”

  “Do you know Mr. Woo?” asked Mr. Alcott, who had never read a book unless he had been told to do so. “Is he of Chinese origin?”

  “Yes, both Mr. Goldwasser and I have known him well, for many years,” said Aubrey, looking at Mr. Alcott with some pity for his ignorance, which was wasted because Mr. Alcott did not notice it at all. “No, he is not Chinese. But Alcott, don’t mention it to anyone. We must respect the government’s wishes even if we are not very fond of Them.”

  “Of course,” said Mr. Alcott, who had no interest whatsoever in the affair other than a mild regret over losing Shymmering. But he was not too concerned about that either, since he knew that Shymmering was right and Maisie was more than capable of looking after him. In addition, despite his helpful ways, Shymmering had always rather intimidated Mr. Alcott. Being a slave to one’s valet is never pleasant, a fact often declared by many young gentlemen, including Shymmering’s previous employer, who shall remain nameless.

  ***

  A week or so later, the big white car sped toward London. Glamora and Mrs. Rivers were alone, since the rest of the people involved, including Mr. Goldwasser, Mr. Alcott, Maisie, a small band, and a filming crew went there the day before. Glamora was busily knitting.

  “Look, Mrs. Rivers, I have become an expert,” she said. “Increasing, decreasing, shaping, even blocking – I can do it all now. Merry went on with my knitting education during the filming.”

  Mrs. Rivers looked with interest at the elegant piece Glamora was knitting. It was made of a magnificent metallic yarn, glowing with a deep golden brown shimmer.

  “You are a very talented woman, Miss Tudor,” she said with admiration. “Whatever skills you decide to pick up, you are a success.”

  “I am not sure it is talent, Mrs. Rivers. I think it is rooted in deep determination. I am like a blood-hound…”

  Mrs. Rivers laughed. “A blood-hound would not look too well in this colour,” she said. “What type of garment is it going to be?”

  “It’s going to be a sort of a shrug. Most elegant over summer dresses, I think,” said Glamora. “This is the back. Here, look at the little sleeves I have already made, they just need to be attached. I love knitting. It’s so relaxing.”

  “You could use some relaxation…” said Mrs. Rivers.

  “Who couldn’t? Life is tough,” said Glamora.

  “Well, sometimes good things do happen,” said Mrs. Rivers. “I was happy to hear about Miss Robinson and Mr. Alcott. She is too good for him, but I am sure that if she takes him in hand he will improve.”

  “No doubt,” said Glamora. “And he is a good boy at heart, only a little susceptible where the ladies are concerned. But now he will settle down. I am so glad his infatuation with Miss Moonshadow is over.”

  “I hope no one is angry with me because of Miss Moonshadow and my son,” said Mrs. Rivers. “I cannot control Julian, you know.”

  “My dear Mrs. Rivers, no one is mad at you. For once, Julian did something that made everyone happy. Miss Moonshadow was most unsuitable for the part of a star, despite her inarguable good looks.”

  “I did not like her looks,” said Mrs. Rivers. “Her eyes bothered me, all black and no pupils. It made her look as if she had no expression, no feelings.”

  “Many people did not like her eyes. Apparently Shymmering said to Nes that her eyes are like those of a lizard....” Both ladies laughed.

  “I did not think she looked like a lizard, exactly,” said Mrs. Rivers, “but her beauty lacked personality. Even with the interesting haircut and the black and white outfits, something was missing. I do wonder what will happen to her, though. I don’t believe Julian will marry her.”

  “Of course not,” said Glamora. “But once the affair is over, she will go back to Peoria and resume her normal life. I hope she will be happy and not suffer too much from emotional consequences or regrets.”

  “Poor girl,” said Mrs. Rivers. “I don’t like to think that my son would abandon her. No, she was not good enough to fill your place... the name Estella Moonshadow was nice, though.”

  “Well, Jake knows how to choose names,” said Glamora. “He is really a genius with the use of language. Maybe someday he will give it to another starlet, pity to waste such a good name. By the way, Maisie refuses to use the name Estella Moonshadow. She insists on calling her by her real name, Madge Sorenson. She says it suits her much better. Ah, well, now that I am staying in the business, it’s all water under the bridge.”

  “Mrs. Lewis told me that you are not too concerned about staying in the business. Is that true, Miss Tudor?”

  “That is true; I am not concerned about it. There is nothing I would not do to help Jake, in the first place, and also, my plans are not changed much. Yes, I will continue with the silly films for a while, but what of it? Jake promised that he will get me a serious film every two years or so, and I will start from there.”

  “You and Mr. Goldwasser work so well together,” said Mrs. Rivers wistfully, thinking about her own uninteresting marriage.

  “Yes, we are the best team in the world,” said Glamora. “That is also why it is not so bad to stay in the business. I always have fun working with Jake.”

  “Miss Robinson told me the new film will be a version of the legend of Tristan and Iseult,” said Mrs. Rivers.

  “Yes. Jake is going to m
ake a musical from it,” said Glamora, laughing.

  “Not borrowing from Wagner’s opera, I hope,” said Mrs. Rivers. “I adore music, as you know, but not Wagner.”

  “No, no. Modern songs,” said Glamora. “Our audience would not appreciate any opera.”

  “Good,” said Mrs. Rivers. “Who is your leading man?”

  “A brand new young man. His name is Turf. Jake is hesitating between Turf Johnson and Turf Gregory.”

  “Nice,” said Mrs. Rivers. “Why not use a hyphenated Johnson-Gregory?”

  “I asked the same question, but Jake feels too many syllables might make the name less manly,” said Glamora. “But I liked it, so he said he would think about it.”

  “What’s the young man’s real name?”

  “I have no idea,” said Glamora. “All I know is that he comes from Brooklyn, like Jake, but they are going to say that he comes from California, since he is the beach type, tanned and blond. But I must tell you the plot for the film. It’s insane.”

  “There are a million versions to the legend,” said Mrs. Rivers.

  “Yes, so I hear,” said Glamora. “Of course, Jake will use a bit from each, and then invent some. It is to be called ‘They Loved Too Well,’ I believe.”

  “So you already know what the plot will be like?”

  “Yes, to an extent. Tristan is taking Iseult to marry King Mark, acting as her guardian. On the way, Tristan and Iseult take a love potion by accident, and fall madly in love. King Mark is old enough to be her grandfather, and the marriage is a sham; she is just forced into it for political reasons. The three of them seem to like each other, but King Mark eventually listens to his evil advisors who know about the affair and want him to punish the lovers. He decides to hang Tristan and send Iseult for a life of service in a leper house, where she would undoubtedly contract the disease. She knows that her beauty, which is the root of all evil, would be destroyed by the horrible disease, so she sings a touching song about how she submits to her fate and plans to nurse the lepers faithfully until her dying day. Jake is thinking about having a troupe of dancers wear gray leper outfits with their face covered with scarves, all dancing around her as she sings, a dream-like scene, I suppose. However, she does not have to do so since Tristan manages to escape on the way to the hanging, saves Iseult, and they run away and hide in a forest. King Mark finds them when he hunts alone in the forest, to forget his sorrows, but since he is such a kind old man, he agrees to forgive them if Tristan promises to go away forever, seek a great lady by the name of Iseult of the White Hands, and marry her. Happy ending.”

  “But that is not really a happy ending. People want romance. They won’t like it if he marries another woman for convenience. They would rather he sacrificed his life for his love, won’t they?”

  “This is where Jake is a genius,” said Glamora, laughing. “He said that the coincidence of the two women having the same first name, Iseult, is proof-positive that they were secretly meant to be the same woman. So Jake worked with the script writers and made them rearrange the ending. While Tristan, sad and subdued, goes to the White Hands Kingdom, wherever that is, Mark and Iseult have a heart-to-heart talk, and he gives her his trusty magical horse, and commands her to follow her love, and go to the White Hands Kingdom, where the ruler is her cousin. The horse is so fast that she can get there before Tristan does. She goes, and now we follow Tristan, as he enters into the White Hands Kingdom. He does all sort of things there, I don’t know what as yet. In the last scene, Tristan requests an audience with Iseult of the White Hands, as he had promised King Mark, intending to ask for her hand in marriage, even though he could never love her, since his heart belongs to his other Iseult. He sings an entire song about his dilemma, and then goes into the audience room, only to realize to his great joy that she is one and the same with his Great Love. They sing a song about their future life together, and the film ends.”

  “The story certainly fits a musical,” said Mrs. Rivers.

  “Yes, it really does, I think. Silly, but just right. Jake asked Mr. Stonor to consider writing the music, but he had not decided if he can take it up, he must see about his schedule.”

  “I see,” said Mrs. Rivers, her heart skipping a beat as it always did when Denis was mentioned. They were now near London. Miss Tudor was neatly arranging her knitting in its special bag, and did not seem to notice.

  The dress rehearsal at the Wigwam nightclub was arranged for the next evening, and the club was closed to the public. The street around it was cordoned, and the rather sophisticated London audience ignored the filming equipment and went about its business. The sun had set already, and the scene was to be filmed by artificial light.

  Lady Aurora Fitz-Gardner was strolling in the street, alone, visibly trying to collect her troubled thoughts. She had been to her husband’s memorial, and therefore was naturally too distressed to go to her hotel. Poor lady, the audience would think. All alone, and the sadness of the memorial would give anyone quite a turn, particularly such a lady as was a lady. She was wearing a heavy gray coat that covered her dress completely, a gray hat with one black rose, and black shoes with unusually-shaped high heels. Had Emma been at the scene, she would have immediately recognized the ridiculously expensive dancing shoes Glamora bought in Vienna, and wore when she danced the wild tango with Mr. Alcott. These shoes were about to be put to good use again.

  When poor Aurora was near the entrance of the Wigwam, which she did not even notice, a man turned the corner and nearly bumped into her. Raising her eyes, she recognized the shocked, dazzled, handsome face of Nestor Chardonay. She put her hand to her heart, making it very clear that it was pounding, and the two gazed at each other without word.

  Recovering himself, Nestor Chardonay said, “Aurora! What are you doing here? I thought you were in Tahiti!”

  “I have been back for a year, Nestor,” whispered Aurora.

  “And where is Lord Arthur? What is wrong, Aurora? What happened?”

  “You do not know?” said Aurora, incredulously. “Lord Arthur is no longer with us, Nestor.”

  “I know nothing,” said Nestor Chardonay. “I have just returned from Mozambique, where I had been working since we parted. I had to complete a mission of great importance for England.”

  “I see,” said Aurora. “That is why I never came across you in London, nor heard from you, before I went to the country estate.”

  “And Lord Arthur is dead?” asked Nestor Chardonay, sticking to the point. “Why, he was in good health, I thought.”

  “He was killed while trying to save a child from an accident. A year ago exactly, Nestor. I have just come back from his memorial.”

  “A noble deed, fitting for a man of Lord Arthur’s character. But oh, my poor Aurora,” said Nestor Chardonay. “Do allow an old friend to offer you something to strengthen you at this hour.” Looking around, he noticed the Wigwam entrance and the two entered.

  The audience would see them sitting at a table, talking, and then the camera would point to the moon (beautifully drawn and illuminated with delicate silver mist) and then move, showing the passing of the hours. The scene then would move again, to the interior of the Wigwam.

  The nightclub was almost empty. The tired band played softly, a sad and romantic tune. The clock on the wall showed the hour, which was a little after three o’clock. Aurora and Nestor were dancing, slowly, not talking to each other. Aurora, who had taken off her gray coat, of course, was wearing a black and white dress with a tight bodice and a very full, knee-length skirt, cinched with a wide black belt. The skirt was supported by fluffy net petticoats. Another couple quitted the dance floor and returned to their table, and Aurora and Nestor were the only ones left dancing. The camera zeroed on the band. The pianist looked around, and trying to liven up the scene, changed his tune and started playing “La Cumparsita.”

  The audience, not to mention the rest of the population, would know the music. The “Cumparsita” was the most famous tango in the world, all
passion and dazzle. The special dance, based on the wild tango the two of them danced when Mr. Alcott had drunk his spiked orange juice, was to indicate that passion ruled and that the lovers must stay together at whatever cost. The dance had to convey their feelings, the choreographer had done his best, “La Cumparsita” was as magnificent as “La Cumparsita” always was, the band was excellent, and this scene was supposed to be the most exciting part of the film, full of the fireworks of desire.

  Unfortunately, it was not exciting at all. Mr. Alcott and Glamora, following the prescribed choreography, were as flat and uninteresting as a middle-aged couple dancing a mild tango at someone’s twenty-fifth anniversary party. They were tame, boring, and subdued. The movements were perfect, each step was correct, but the fireworks were sadly missing. Mrs. Rivers and Maisie looked at each other, aghast. What was happening?

  Mr. Goldwasser seemed worried. “Stop!” he said, and went to talk, in a whisper, to the pianist, who nodded. “We are going to try a faster pace,” Mr. Goldwasser said loudly. The dancing resumed. It was worse. It seemed rushed and without rhythm or style. Maisie hid her face in her hands in despair, and Mrs. Rivers just stared. What happened to these two superb dancers? Where was the passion, the style, the rhythm, the tension?

  At this moment, the door opened and Denis Stonor walked in. He was not expected, no one even knew he is in England. Ignoring everyone’s stares, Denis strode straight to the piano, and said something to the pianist. The pianist laughed and got up, allowing Denis to sit down at the piano. Mr. Goldwasser, who was standing nearby, said nothing, and Glamora and Mr. Alcott, who had stopped dancing, also looked without saying a word. Denis smiled pleasantly, and said, looking at Mr. Goldwasser, “No, we will not have ‘La Cumparsita.’ It’s been around for too long. It had become tame and there is nothing wild about it; it’s been used in weddings, for heaven’s sake, Mr. Goldwasser.”

  “But we had choreographed the tango for ‘La Cumparsita,’” said Mr. Goldwasser, who was obviously playing the Devil’s Advocate, if his big grin was any indication.