‘Did she accept?’ Victor cut in sharply.
‘Yes, and she seemed very pleased about the invitation.’
‘Then I guess I’m wrong,’ he commented in a softer tone, thinking sardonically: This is a helluva volte face on Katharine’s part. Doris’s too, for that matter. Or is it simply the first sign of a truce? Nonetheless, he knew he was accurate about their mutual antipathy for each other.
Francesca was an uncomplicated and loving girl who believed the best about everyone. He realized now that her deep affection for both women blinded her to their true natures. ‘And how did Kim react?’
‘He’d already left for the day when Daddy rang up. He’ll get my note when he returns from Skipton later. And I will ’phone him tonight.’ Francesca settled back happily, half turned to face Victor, and added excitedly, ‘Doris is going to give a really super engagement party, a dance actually. You will come, won’t you, Vic?’
‘Sure,’ he replied, and then asked with a dry laugh, ‘Am I invited?’
‘You’re about to be, and so is Nicky, even though Doris doesn’t know him. I happened to mention you’d both be in the South of France around that time, and she seized on it immediately. She very much wants you to come. The trip to Beaulieu-sur-Mer is still on, isn’t it?’
Francesca had been unable to keep the nervousness and anxiety out of her voice, and Victor picked up on both immediately. ‘Sure it is, baby,’ he assured her. ‘Nick and I will be staying at La Réserve. I’ve already booked a couple of suites, as I told you I would. We’re going to have a terrific time this summer, Ches. Lots of sun and rest, also a little fun, a few parties, side trips up and down the coast. It’ll be great, kid,’ he enthused, forcing a lightness into his voice he did not feel. He had not anticipated these latest developments, nor Katharine’s presence on the Riviera, and he was now experiencing sudden qualms. Oh Jesus. More complications in his already complicated life. He suppressed a groan, swiftly cast aside the troublesome thoughts. Anything could happen between now and August. Speculating about the future was a futile occupation. His main interest was in the present, the next few days to be precise. He was not prepared to project beyond that length of time.
Francesca broke into his thoughts, when she said gaily, ‘The summer will be super, Vic, I just know it will, darling. It’ll be Königssee all over again, in fact.’
No, he thought, it won’t. But he said nothing. For a while he concentrated on driving, enjoying the feel of the Bentley, its smoothness, its speed and its power, and also revelling in the isolation and intimacy within the car. Without taking his eyes off the road, he said: ‘Listen, Ches, talking of Nick. I’ve got some great news for you. He’s arriving in London tonight. From New York. I thought we’d have dinner with him tomorrow. Okay, baby?’
‘Oh yes, Vic! It’ll be lovely to see him after all these weeks,’ she cried enthusiastically. ‘I can hardly wait. He’s been gone far too long.’
Victor chuckled. ‘Hey, slow down. Don’t get so carried away. You’re making me jealous.’ He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the palm lingeringly. ‘I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve wanted you these last few days, Ches.’ He closed her fingers tightly, squeezed her hand, placed it back on her lap. ‘I’d better not get started on that particular subject, otherwise I’ll have to pull over and ravish you on the side of the road.’
‘I wouldn’t put anything past you,’ she joked, happiness and pleasure flowing through her.
‘You’re right, you shouldn’t, kid.’
‘You haven’t forgotten that Diana arrives tomorrow also, have you? I’ll have to go to the airport to meet her, darling.’
‘What do you mean you’ll have to go,’ Victor exclaimed. ‘We’ll both go. I’m not letting you out of my sight for the next week. Besides, I’m looking forward to seeing that lovely cousin of yours again. Hey, she’ll be able to join us for dinner with Nick.’ The boyish smile struck his mouth, and there was a mischievous note in his voice as he announced, ‘Know what? I bet you a hundred to one they take to each other just like that.’ He lifted his hand from the wheel, snapped his fingers in the air.
‘I wouldn’t dream of taking you up on that particular bet, Mr Mason,’ Francesca laughed. ‘In this instance you’re absolutely right.’ She lifted Lada onto her lap, edged closer to Victor, reached out to touch his hand on the wheel. ‘I’ve missed you so much, Vic. It’s been awful for me, too,’ she whispered, her longing for him echoing, her eyes overflowing with her love.
His sideward glance was penetrating and it betrayed his own emotions only too clearly. He took hold of her hand and brought it to his mouth again. He ran his lips over it. ‘I know, darling, I know. And it won’t be long now… we’ll soon be together.’
Chapter Thirty-One
It was a little after two o’clock when Nick Latimer swung his Aston Martin DB2–4 through the gates of Shepperton Studios on Thursday afternoon in the first week of July. He parked next to Victor’s Bentley, turned off the ignition, and jumped out. After locking the door he stood back, gazing at the car admiringly. It had been waiting for him at the David Brown showroom in Piccadilly when he had returned to London ten days ago, an unexpected gift from Victor. He had been flabbergasted, and had exclaimed vehemently to Vic about his unparalleled extravagance.
Victor had reminded him that he had been hankering after this bit of high-powered machinery for the longest time, indecisive about buying it. ‘So I got it for you, old buddy,’ Victor had gone on. ‘Life’s too damned short to deprive ourselves of the few things which might give us a bit of pleasure in this tough world. I thought it would cheer you up.’ Touched by his friend’s thoughtfulness and understanding, Nick had accepted the car graciously, acknowledging that men like Victor Mason were a rare breed.
Nick patted the bonnet of the car appreciatively, and then loped across to the cluster of sound stages in the distance. They always reminded him of aeroplane hangars in appearance. Unpretentious on the outside; cold and utilitarian on the inside. Only there did they differ from aeronautical garages, filled as they were with complex equipment, plus armies of dedicated technicians and gifted artists striving to create a special kind of magic called motion pictures. Glamour factories. But like all factories, singularly unglamorous. Nonetheless, he enjoyed being on the set, derived a feeling of gratification and participation as he stood on the sidelines watching, hearing his words take on meaning when the actors breathed life into them. As he walked, he straightened his tie, wondering how the morning had gone. This was the final day of shooting. At three o’clock Victor would walk out onto the set to do his last scene with Katharine Tempest and Terrence Ogden. It was a wrap. God willing, he muttered under his breath.
Since his return from New York, Victor had regaled him with innumerable stories about the shenanigans of the past few months, and he had listened in astonishment and morbid fascination, aware that Vic was not exaggerating when he pronounced it one of the most difficult pictures he had ever worked on. Nick was well aware that trouble went hand in hand with movie making, but it seemed to him that Wuthering Heights had had more than its share, had been cursed from its very inception. When he had been out at the studios on Tuesday he had witnessed first hand a few tense little contretemps, and both Jake Watson and Jerry Massingham had confirmed that the explosive atmosphere was nothing if not normal. Also, from what he had heard from the two production executives, everyone would be delighted when the last frame was shot, the missing footage in the can. All would walk away relieved that this particular ensemble was breaking up.
A regrettable ending, Nick thought sadly. To him, perhaps the most marvellous thing about making a movie was the camaraderie that developed between those involved; the sense of an intimate close-knit family, of unselfish collaborative effort and teamwork that generally evolved over a period of time. According to Jake, only Victor’s diplomacy, his stupendous efforts to smooth ruffled feathers on a continuing basis, plus his constant words of
encouragement and praise, had kept things together and under reasonable control.
‘Pip pip! Toot toot! Hi there, Nicholas.’
He recognized the shrill voice at once, and swallowing his dismay he turned around. ‘Hello, Estelle,’ he said, staring at the approaching figure, trying to conceal his aversion behind a smile that was bland if not particularly friendly. ‘How are you?’
‘In the pink, thanks much. I’m also footloose and fancy free at the moment. Are you, my darling?’ she simpered.
‘I’m all tied up right now, Estelle.’
‘What a shame, my love. I’ve always thought we’d make sweet music together. I can almost hear the clickety-click of our twin typewriters.’
Nick winced and retorted, ‘People in the same profession should never be foolish enough to get involved. It doesn’t work. You know what they say—there’s only room for one star in the family.’
‘Touché,’ she giggled, and tucked her arm through his possessively, making eyes at him. He said, in a kinder tone, ‘I guess you’re here for the wrap party later.’
‘Oh yes, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. And I thought I might. I just got back in time—from the Côte d’Azur. I was down there for the wedding.’
‘Wedding?’
‘Good God, Nick, where have you been? Grace Kelly’s wedding, dum-dum, you know, to Prince Rainier of Monaco.’
‘Oh sure, I forgot.’ He laughed lightly. ‘Ah well, another promising career curtailed, just when it was reaching its peak.’
‘Grace is going to make more movies, I’m sure of that.’
‘I doubt it. And more’s the pity. I always thought she had something very special. I like her cool, pristine beauty. My blood type,’ he grinned, and instantly saw vivid images of Francesca and Diana, who, each in their different ways, possessed this same quality in appearance. He disentangled his arm from her tight grasp, opened the heavy steel door of Stage Three, ushered her in, and said, with a forced smile, ‘See ya, Estelle.’
‘You betcha, Nicholas. I haven’t given up on you yet,’ she giggled. Then she stared hard at him, and her face changed, filled with unfamiliar sincerity. She said, in a gentler tone, ‘So very sorry, Nick. About your sister.’ She did not wait for a response, but sailed off, waving to Alan Medbury, the unit publicist, who was talking to a camera man, crying, ‘Toot toot! Pip pip, Alan!’
Nick looked after her, a mixture of surprise and chagrin seeping into his eyes. He had not expected a show of sympathy from Estelle, and he felt a small twinge of guilt about his sarcastic jab at her a moment ago.
‘Over here, Nicky!’
Jake Watson’s voice echoed hollowly across the relatively deserted sound stage, currently occupied only by a sprinkling of technicians. Nick swung around, raised his hand in brief salute. He edged between the cameras, klieg lights and sound equipment, carefully stepping over the snaking lengths of cable, making his way to Jake, who was standing in a corner talking to Jerry Massingham. Drawing nearer, Nick saw at once that both men looked gloomy and depressed. This was par for the course with Jerry, who always appeared to be carrying the troubles of the world on his shoulders, but not affable, imperturbable, dapper Jake Watson, film producer par excellence and a veteran of many bloody production wars. He usually radiated an air of insouciance whatever stress he was under, and so his present mien and dishevelled appearance were somewhat out of character.
Not wishing to become embroiled in their troubles, at least not initially if he could help it, Nick knew the wisest tactic would be to ignore their obvious disgruntlement. He decided to resort to an old game he and Jake had invented out of mutual ennui on picture locations around the world. They structured their dialogue in movie tides, using these to make the salient point, testing their memory and mental agility, and in the process they had had a lot of fun in the past.
And so Nick flung an arm around Jake’s shoulder, said with a breezy grin, ‘All Quiet on the Western Front, I see.’
Jake responded tersely, ‘Momentarily.’ Almost immediately his face relaxed, acquired the geniality that was more normal for him. He smiled apologetically. ‘I didn’t mean to bite your head off. Welcome, friend.’ And then he winked, added with swiftness, ‘You’ve just walked into Stalag 17.’
Jerry looked from one to the other in puzzlement, shrugged, and thrust out his hand. ‘Afternoon, old boy. And Jake’s right, bloody prison camp this is. Can’t imagine why you’ve come back, unless it’s to share our misery.’
‘Hello, Jerry.’ Nick shook the production manager’s hand. ‘Everything seems peaceful enough to me. Positively tranquil.’
‘Yes, you might say there’s a lull right now, and I do sincerely hope it’s not the proverbial bloody lull before another storm,’ Jerry declared, the moroseness on his face intensifying.
‘Rough morning?’
‘Bad Day at Black Rock,’ Jake announced, his tone gone slightly sour. He ran an immaculately-manicured hand through his waving silver hair. ‘Pray. Light candles. Genuflect. Face Mecca on your knees. Practise witchcraft. Just do anything you think will get us through this afternoon without another hitch, Nicholas, so that we can fold our tents and quietly steal away. Shooting Mark Pierce might be an idea.’
‘Shall I take him out to the parking lot?’ Nick asked with a droll smile, his light blue eyes mischievous.
Jake cracked up. ‘Jesus, I sure am glad you’re back, bubeleh. At least I get a few laughs when you’re around.’
‘I’m glad to hear somebody does. Anyway, where is Little Caesar?’ Nick glanced over his shoulder, scanning the set with considerable interest. Other members of the crew were slowly straggling back, and it was gradually filling up with people as zero hour approached.
‘Mark? Grinding his heel into Terry, I’ve no doubt,’ Jerry intoned derisively.
‘That bad, huh?’ Nick shook his head sadly. ‘Cheer up, you guys, and take heart from the fact that this is the last day. And Victor? Where’s he?’
‘In his dressing room,’ Jake said.
‘Then I guess I’ll go in to see him, before you start rolling again.’
‘No, don’t!’ Jake grabbed his arm, restraining him. ‘Why not?’
‘He’s got Katharine in there. They’re having a conference. He doesn’t want to be disturbed.’ Jake shrugged. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘Oh! But look, he’s expecting—’ Nick broke off as the continuity girl hurried up. She handed a sheaf of papers to Jerry, and retreated rapidly without uttering a single word.
Jerry grimaced at Jake. ‘Hells bloody bells, she looks as if she’s got a feather up her bum. I’d better go and find out what in God’s name has gone wrong now.’ He strode off, muttering under his breath.
Nick and Jake exchanged concerned glances, and Jake said softly, ‘Don’t worry. Whatever the problem is, Jerry’ll handle it. He’s a good guy, I don’t know what I’d have done without him, to tell you the truth. He’s been terrific backup for me. I’d have him on a picture any time.’ Jake sighed, fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, lit it. ‘I must confess, Nicky, it’s struck me more than once that Mark sets out to create unnecessary tension—perhaps that’s the only climate he can work in.’ His shoulders lifted in a gesture of resignation. ‘But then I could be wrong. Anyway, what the hell, it’s all water under the bridge now.’
‘Yes, it is. From what Victor has said, I gather there has been a great deal of free-floating emotion in general.’
‘That’s true, Nick,’ Jake agreed with a brief nod. ‘As you well know, when you corral a lot of creative people together, you’re also amassing an extraordinary amount of talent, sensitivity and temperament. All these things are bouncing around, interacting between everyone. A few fireworks are not only expected but inevitable. But Jeez, Nicky, on this picture it’s been like the Fourth of July almost every day. Still, I’ve got to hand it to Victor, he’s kept his cool pretty damn well. But then he’s a real pro.’ Jake hesitated, gave Nick a close and piercing look. Afte
r a moment he said, in a guarded tone, ‘It’s only these last few days he’s been a bit moody. Sort of brooding. Controlled as always, but more reserved than usual. Uncommunicative in some ways. Know what’s bugging him?’
Nick was taken aback, and it showed on his face, ‘Nothing. So far as I know,’ he said in all truthfulness, baffled by this unexpected revelation. ‘He was in good spirits last week, when you were in Yorkshire, and he seemed to be his normal self when I saw him on Tuesday night. I’ve spoken to him on the ’phone every day, and I didn’t detect anything out of the ordinary, either in his voice or conversation.’
Jake was thoughtful, said slowly. ‘To tell the truth, it’s begun to concern me. He really hasn’t seemed like himself. Preoccupied. Worried even. You must have noticed something. Don’t hold back on me, Nick. Come on, let’s talk mama-loshen.’
‘I am being straight with you, Jake, honestly, I am. I don’t know a thing. I repeat, there’s been nothing untoward in his manner or his behaviour.’ Nick pondered, his face reflective. At last, he said, ‘Look, perhaps the tension finally got to him, affected him these last few days. You’ve worked on enough pictures with him to know he considers excessive temperament to be juvenile and unprofessional, that he likes a peaceful set. Anything less tends to irritate him.’
‘Oh Christ, you’re probably right, Nicky. Maybe it’s just my imagination doing a job on me, and listen, that wouldn’t surprise me. This goddamn movie is making me paranoid.’
‘Relax, old sport.’ Nick placed his hand on Jake’s shoulder affectionately, his eyes knowing, gleaming with confidence. ‘And whether the picture is making you paranoid or not, it is spectacular. I saw some of die rushes yesterday, and I was knocked for a loop, I really was, Jake!’ Nick’s excitement was evident in his tone. ‘Mark Pierce might be a son of a bitch, but he’s a brilliant director. And the wonderful thing is that none of the troubles shows up on the screen.’