‘No.’ Victor’s voice was even but emphatic. ‘I’m testing Katharine Tempest. And if she tests the way I believe she will, then she gets the part.’
Lazarus stared at Victor, and his lip lifted slowly, disdainfully. ‘And who in hell is Katharine Tempest? If I’ve never heard of her, then you can bet your last dime the American public hasn’t either. I don’t want an unknown in my picture. I want an established movie star, who is an international name. I want a few box office guarantees, my friend.’
I’m not your friend, Victor thought, bristling. But he contained himself, and he chose not to remind Lazarus that he was one of the biggest box office names in the world. If not the biggest. Aloud he remarked, ‘Katharine Tempest is a brilliant young actress who’s starring in the West End play, Trojan Interlude, at the moment. And she is the perfect Cathy. You have to agree, she certainly looks right for the part.’
‘I told you, I don’t know who she is,’ Lazarus responded, coldly impatient.
The lazy smile eased onto Victor’s mouth. ‘You couldn’t take your eyes off her on Monday evening. At Les Ambassadeurs,’ he rejoined swiftly. ‘Much to the annoyance of your female companion. If looks could’ve killed, you’d be dead, my friend.’
Nick’s eyes swivelled between them alertly. He didn’t remember seeing Lazarus on Monday evening. But then he had arrived late, when Victor and his other guests had already moved into the restaurant. Mike Lazarus had leaned forward slightly, and Nick detected a faint flicker of sudden interest in those inscrutable eyes. Lazarus was silent for a split second, regarding Victor unblinkingly, and then he said slowly, ‘You must be talking about the very dark girl with those extraordinary eyes.’ Remembering the girl’s beauty, he felt a flare of internal excitement, but took care to conceal this behind a façade that was expressionless, adding, ‘I can’t imagine you are referring to that insipid blonde, the debutante type, who was with you.’
‘Dead right,’ Victor answered. He was angered by the disparaging reference to Francesca, but instantly clamped down on it. ‘Katharine has quite a face, hasn’t she? She’s as beautiful as Ava Gardner.’
There was no response for a moment. Lazarus seemed thoughtful, and then he said, ‘I’ll reserve my judgment until after I’ve seen the test. And even if the test is good, I’m still not sure we can use an unknown. I’ll have to consider it carefully. Yes, very carefully. Now, I’d like to discuss the script with you. Frankly, it has to go. It’s far too arty for my liking. Not commercial enough by any stretch of the imagination. We’d better get a new screenwriter on the job. Immediately. We’ve no time to waste.’
There was an awkward silence. Nick, who had flinched, thought: The lousy son of a bitch. He’s behaving as if I’m not here. I guess I’m not, as far as he’s concerned. He was on the point of exploding from frustration. He wanted to defend himself, and his work, and even jab Lazarus a swift right hook. But Victor had asked him to keep silent, whatever ensued, and so he kept his clenched fist pressed into the side of the chair, and waited.
Victor, whose face was stony and closed, said with quiet authority, ‘It’s a damned great script, Mike. Not just good, but great. Furthermore, it’s the script I have every intention of shooting. And let me tell you something else. Nick is not going to be replaced by any other screenwriter. Not today. Not next week. Not ever, my friend.’
‘Now, look here, Victor, nobody’s going to tell me how to make my own picture, the picture I’m bankrolling to the tune of two million dollars. I must say, I thi—’
‘Oh, shut up,’ Victor murmured.
Lazarus was so startled that he did exactly that. He sat staring at Victor, an expression of disbelief washing over his face.
It took all Nick’s self-control to suppress the laughter rising in his throat. Mike Lazarus looks as if he’s just been hit in the face with a wet fish, he thought, and glanced away, biting his lip.
Lazarus recovered himself immediately. ‘We’d better get something straight, my friend. And right now. Nobody, but nobody, ever tells me to shut up!’
‘I just did,’ Victor said. He leaned forward and lifted his briefcase onto his lap. He opened it. ‘Here’s the contract.’ He handed Lazarus a manilla envelope, snapped down the fid and locked his briefcase.
In spite of the fury boiling within him, Mike Lazarus could not resist opening the envelope. The contract was in two halves, had been ripped across the middle. His eyes were riveted on the two pieces he was holding. For a moment he appeared to be mesmerized. Never in the whole of his life had he been so humiliated, so insulted. A slow flush rose from his neck, filled his face with deep colour. When he lifted his head, his eyes were like steel blades, and condemning.
Before he could utter a word, Victor, swift on the draw, said, ‘That’s what I think about your contract. And I’m sure you know what you can do with it. As hard as this might be for you to believe, I don’t want your money, and I most certainly don’t want you involved in my picture.’ Victor retrieved his briefcase and stood up. ‘I’ll be seeing you, Mike,’ he finished with a mirthless little smile. His black eyes were as cold and as hard as marble.
Nick had also risen and Lazarus regarded them both furiously for a prolonged moment. The bright colour had drained from his face. He was chalk white, and his voice, although as soft as always, was deadly as he said, ‘You’ll live to regret this, Victor. Truly, truly regret it. I’ll make damned sure of that.’
Victor did not bother to respond. He took hold of Nick’s arm and said, ‘Come on, sport, let’s get out of here. I do believe I’m in need of a bit of fresh air.’
Victor was striding rapidly towards the lobby. Nick kept in step, and when there was enough distance between themselves and Lazarus, he said, ‘Jesus, Vic, you really—’
‘Let’s wait until we’re in the street, Nicky.’ They collected their coats from the men’s cloakroom in silence. Victor shrugged into his camel-coloured cashmere overcoat and looked at Nicholas out of the corner of his eye. He winked theatrically, murmured, ‘That was short and sweet. Very sweet,’ and headed for the revolving door that opened onto Piccadilly.
Nick was so elated he could hardly contain himself. He had been a champion boxer at Princeton, and once they were outside he could not resist executing a few nimble, ballet-like steps. He feinted, and then delivered a light punch on Victor’s shoulder, exclaiming, ‘You really shoved it to him! Gave him the whole enchilada!’
‘I’m lucky I was able to do so,’ Victor said with a grin. ‘Thank God I really don’t need him, or his lousy money.’
‘So you’ve made a deal with a major? For financing?’ Nick questioned, his bright blue eyes probing.
Victor shook his head negatively. ‘No, not yet. But it’s in the works. Metro’s considering it, and very seriously. But even if they turn it down, I’m not going to abort the production after all. I’ve decided to go ahead. Too much sweat, yours and mine, has gone into this project for me to let it go that easily.’
Relief flooded through Nick. ‘Hey, that’s great, kid. But can Bellissima finance the picture completely?’
‘Just about. If I defer my salary, and if I can find other ways to cut production costs, which Jerry Massingham seems to think we can do. But I’m pretty sure Metro’s going to roll with us. They want me for another picture of theirs, so they’re willing to play ball with me on this one.’
‘Will you do their picture, after Wuthering Heights?’
‘Most likely. I’ve more or less said yes, in principle. Subject to reading the script of course.’
Nick chuckled and jabbed Victor’s arm again. ‘Did you see Lazarus’s face, when he realized that you’d torn up the contract? I thought he was going to have apoplexy. I wish he had, the slimy bastard. I almost punched him in the nose when he was raving on about the script as if I wasn’t there.’
Victor laughed. ‘I thought you might myself. That’s why I didn’t dare look at you. Thanks for restraining yourself, old sport. We could have all ended up
on the front page of the Daily Mirror if you hadn’t.’
‘Well, despite the insulting way in which he treated me, I wouldn’t have missed being there for anything. I bet it’s the first time anybody’s turned down his money. He was staggered.’
Victor nodded in agreement. ‘You’re probably right. That’s part of his problem. He’s had too much power for too long, running that fiefdom of his. He thinks he can push everybody around. I suppose I could have been more above board with him, and told him days ago that I wasn’t prepared to go ahead with the deal. But I’m afraid the actor in me overrode my scruples. I couldn’t resist playing the scene out to the bitter end. And I have to admit, Nicky, it gave me a lot of satisfaction, dumping him exactly the way I did.’
‘Me too. But I didn’t like his parting shot though. About your regretting it. He’s got a nasty reputation… for being vindictive. And there is something inimical about him. He might just try to get back at you, Vic.’ Nick’s voice vibrated with nervousness. ‘I think he’s creepy. Sinister. To be honest, he kind of scares me. Doesn’t he scare you?’
‘Not at all.’ Victor looked at Nick quickly, his eyes narrowing. ‘And I don’t think he scares you either, sport. As for being sinister, I think that’s your writer’s imagination working overtime. You know you enjoy playing casting director and visualizing people in various roles. The whores and the ladies, the good guys and the heavies. Goodness versus evil, and all that jazz.’
‘I suppose I do,’ Nick agreed. ‘Nonetheless, I think he’s bloody unscrupulous. And you said yourself he’s paranoid. Jesus, I feel sorry for Hélène. I don’t relish the idea of her being involved with a guy like him—’
‘I know what you mean,’ Victor interrupted. ‘But she’s a big girl. I think she’s capable of taking care of herself when it comes to men. Don’t you?’
‘I guess. Incidentally, did you notice that flicker of interest when you explained who Katharine was?’
‘Sure, and I saw that same look, only much more pronounced, on Monday night in the bar at Les A. Lazarus came in with this well-stacked, stately redhead, dripping jewellery from every pore, and clinging to him like an octopus. And from the moment he noticed Katharine, she might as well have not been there. And don’t think she wasn’t aware of his attention straying. It was all very pointed. They left after one drink, just before you arrived.’
‘Who was the redhead?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Victor responded. ‘But I can tell you one thing, Nick. I think Mike Lazarus is a womanizer in his own quiet but rather predatory way. Something I hadn’t realized before.’
‘That’s what I meant, about his being unscrupulous. I bet he’s a real bastard where women are concerned. And it’s apparent to me he keeps a girl in every port. Hélène in Paris. The redhead here in London. God knows who he’s got stashed where.’ He sighed. ‘Poor Hélène. She doesn’t deserve him. But then I guess that’s her problem, not mine.’
Victor was striding out quickly, suddenly preoccupied. After a moment he said, ‘Do you mind if we take a long walk, Nicky? I don’t feel like going back to Claridge’s just yet. I’m restless, and I need the exercise.’
‘That’s fine with me, kid.’
Victor and Nick kept up a brisk pace, not talking, but perfectly at ease with each other, as they had been since their first meeting. They were so well attuned to each other’s moods. Both were immersed in their own thoughts as they walked along Piccadilly, past Green Park, heading towards Hyde Park Corner.
Victor was pondering the current negotiations now under way with MGM, structuring the deal in his head, endeavouring to formulate all the elements which would make it even more tempting to them than it already was. His presence in the film gave them the box office guarantee they required, and they were not challenging him about casting an unknown actress in the female lead. But if he could offer them a prize package of superior talent, then the deal would really fly, and fly high. There was no question in his mind that he needed a back-up of good, solid British actors who were names, most especially Terry Ogden for the important role of Edgar Linton. And the right director was an imperative. Mark Pierce. Unfortunately Mark had already turned the picture down, because he did not want to direct a remake. Or so he said. Victor knew he had to have him, must get him at any price. But he didn’t really have to worry about either Mark Pierce or Terry. That problem was in other capable hands, would imminently be solved. Now if he could get Ossie Edwards then he was in clover. He was the best damned cinematographer in England, and he was already establishing an international reputation. There was also the matter of a completion guarantee. He might have to get that from one of the financial guys in New York, but Jake Watson would advise him. Jake was due to arrive early next week, and was itching to start shooting. Yes, everything was starting to roll along smoothly, now that he had made a few crucial decisions.
As they pushed ahead, Nick looked at Victor from time to time, but said nothing, not wishing to intrude. His own thoughts had stayed with Mike Lazarus. Despite what Victor said about his writer’s imagination, nothing could dissuade him from the belief that the man was somehow dangerous. His parting words had sounded ominous, even threatening. But what could Mike Lazarus do to harm Victor? He did not carry any weight in the motion picture industry, and besides Vic was a big star, a superstar in fact, who was also part of the old Hollywood Establishment, that cliquish upper echelon that was almost a private club. Jesus, you are stupid! Nick suddenly exclaimed to himself. Men with the kind of power Lazarus wielded invariably, and inevitably, had influence with somebody or other in every business where big money was involved. He turned the matter over in his mind several times, analysing and worrying, as was his custom. Finally he gave up, recognizing that worrying would not solve anything. Victor seemed calm enough, and was confidently going ahead with the film. Best not to borrow trouble, Nick decided. If Lazarus comes at Vic, he’ll just have to meet the bastard head on. And I’ll be right there with him in the fray.
Nick shivered and hunched further into his trenchcoat, suddenly feeling the nip in the air, and the bite of the wind which had blown up. They were on Park Lane now, approaching the Dorchester Hotel, and beyond he could see the top of Marble Arch silhouetted against the sky. He lifted his head quickly, squinting. It was no longer the spring sky it had been earlier in the day, golden and glorious and shimmering with blue luminosity, like the glaze on antique Chinese porcelain. The sun was fugitive, and the blueness had been obliterated by daubs of darker and more sombre hues, a range of greys, ombréd from pearl to opal to cinereous, and leaking into lividity at the outer edges. There, on the rim of the horizon, splinters of light suddenly poked out like shards of broken crystal, and pierced the darkening cloud mass with spears of glittering brilliance. In an instant it had become an unearthly sky, the kind that presaged, or followed, a thunderstorm, and to Nick it was perfectly beautiful.
He did not mind the rain and fog and greyness of London in the midst of winter. Unlike Victor, who missed the sunshine and balmy breezes of Southern California, Nick loved England’s inclement weather and changing seasons. Perhaps because it reminded him of New York and his childhood, and also of his years at Oxford University. Salad days. A wave of nostalgia swept over him. For no reason at all, his thoughts turned to Francesca Cunningham. Now she was really something else. There’s a lot more to that one than meets the eye, he thought.
Nick tapped Victor’s shoulder and said, with a soft laugh, ‘Lazarus was a bit hard on Francesca, wasn’t he? I’d hardly call her insipid. I think she’s quite a dazzler!’
‘I’ll say she is!’ Victor exclaimed, glancing at him. ‘I got the distinct impression Lazarus was attempting to be inflammatory when he made the comment.’
Nick peered at him, his brow furrowed. ‘Did you, now?’ He studied Victor reflectively, and then went on, ‘But why would he think that a derogatory remark about Francesca would inflame you? Does he know something I don’t? Come on, Vic, ’fess up. What give
s?’
Victor laughed. ‘I guess you could call that a Freudian slip on my part. No, he doesn’t know anything. There isn’t anything to know. But he might have noticed I was paying special attention to Francesca in the bar for a while, trying to make her feel comfortable. Mind you, I was really only being my usual charming and gallant self.’
‘Hey, come on, kid! You can’t get out of it that easily. I know you too well. And what did you mean by Freudian slip? Explain.’
‘If you must know, I was rather taken with her, when I first met her. And, well… Well, I guess she has been dancing around in my head a bit. But that doesn’t mean a thing. She’s a mere child, Nicholas. A baby.’
‘San Quentin quail, eh?’ Nick grinned, his eyes twinkling with considerable amusement.
‘Hardly that. She is nineteen.’
‘She’s too young for you, maestro.’
‘You’re damned right she’s too young,’ Victor shot back sharply. ‘Twenty years too young.’
Nick gave Victor a sceptical look, trying to recall his behaviour on Monday evening. If he remembered correctly, Vic had been extremely proper and hadn’t paid undue attention to Francesca, or even spoken to her much. But that’s meaningless with him, Nick muttered under his breath. He’s a dark horse. ‘Are you trying to tell me you’re not going to do anything about her?’ Nick asked.
‘Of course I’m not going to do anything about her. She’s off limits. But regardless of that, I don’t think she’s interested in me anyway. So this discussion is pointless.’
Nick threw back his head and roared. ‘What do you bet, old buddy? What do you bet? I’ll give you a hundred to one she is more than interested.’
‘If she is, I’ll never know, because I’m not even going to try to find out. I told you, she’s far too young, and naïve, and we’re from different worlds anyway. It would be a bad mix. Trouble I don’t need.’