Araluen (17 page)

Franklin had not only ‘checked things through’ with Sam, he had asked Sam’s advice about Penelope’s apparent obsession with her career. They’d discussed the whole situation in depth.

‘How do I get her over this movie craze, Sam? I know she loves me, I can feel it, but I’m going to have one hell of a battle getting her back to Australia.’

Sam had the perfect answer to the immediate problem. During the production break Franklin was to take Penelope to Sydney and marry her. And as to the future, well Sam’s solution seemed to be equally simple.

‘Get her pregnant as soon possible,’ he said. ‘That’ll do it.’

A while back, Franklin would have agreed but now he wasn’t so sure. The studio had held a party to introduce the cast of
True Blonde
to each other and he had watched Penelope as she posed for publicity shots with Thelma Todd and the other two actresses. She looked radiant – far and away the most beautiful of the four women, despite the blonde wig she was wearing for the shots, which Franklin found loathsome. There was no possible way she could follow a career path if she was to
marry him and bear his children but he didn’t want to break her heart.

Sam knew that Franklin was in a dilemma, although personally he couldn’t see that there was a problem. ‘You’ve given the little lady a taste of a career. Fine. Now get her pregnant and she’ll soon forget about making movies, I swear.’

When Franklin still appeared unsure, Sam racked his brains further. ‘Course there is one other possiblity. It would give you control of the situation and make her feel like she had a career.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Buy into a film studio in Sydney.’ Franklin stared at him, bewildered. ‘You don’t need to know anything about the business,’ Sam continued. ‘You just hire the people who do.’

Then he warmed to his theme – he was talking money now and Sam enjoyed talking money. ‘There’s a movie boom about to happen, partner. Thirty-five has been a good year. The post-Depression struggle is over and by my reckoning mid-thirty-six’ll see the exhibitors’ gross receipts hit the highest peak in years. And it’s a world-wide trend, I tell you, bound to flow through to Australia.

‘A lot of people have lost a lot of money making movies,’ Sam admitted, ‘and I’m certainly not advising you to sink a fortune into the business. But your New South Wales government has just proclaimed a Quota Act to encourage Australian entrepreneurs – that’s a good sign for your local industry. And I could certainly open doors for you with Twentieth Century Fox. They control distribution in Australia,’ he explained, ‘so you’d be off to a damn fine start.’

‘You seem to have made quite a study of the situation, Sam.’ It was a question more than anything.

‘Yep, sure have. That’s what I was doing down there last year. There’s been some good movies come out of Sydney recently and a number of us are keeping our eye on you Australians. We reckon you might be heading to establish an international film industry. And that’s fine of course, good luck to you all. Just so long as you make your movies with a local flavour.’ He grinned patronisingly. ‘It wouldn’t do to try and compete with Hollywood now.’

Franklin nodded. The whole idea was certainly an option in the solving of the Penelope dilemma, although he rather hoped such drastic action would not be necessary.

‘Thank you, Sam, I’ll bear it all in mind.’

Lucy-Mae wouldn’t hear of Franklin renting an apartment for Penelope or setting her up in an hotel while he was away. ‘Why, I couldn’t dream of such a thing,’ she insisted, her bracelets jangling alarmingly. ‘Penelope’s our house guest and I, for one, would be deeply insulted if she didn’t accept our hospitality in the spirit in which it is offered.’

She darted a birdlike frown at Sam who took up his cue immediately. ‘Lucy-Mae is quite right, Franklin – don’t you even suggest such a thing.’ The home-front was Lucy-Mae’s realm and the one area where Sam always did as he was told.

Penelope wept quietly as she and Franklin made their farewells. He was touched and gratified and, as he gently kissed Penelope, he felt a deep and sincere love for her. ‘It’s barely five months, my darling, and then you’ll be aboard a ship home and we’ll be married in March.’

Penelope didn’t like the sound of ‘home’. Sydney was not ‘home’ to her, but Franklin had promised they would return to America immediately after the wedding and he never broke his promises. She continued her gentle weep, aware that he was enjoying it. To her, it was a mere indulgence and she could easily have stopped. But it was true she would miss him and, with his strong, protective arms around her, she allowed herself to feel vulnerable.

‘You won’t be with me for Christmas,’ she ^ sobbed.

‘Not this time. But we’ll have every Christmas together for the rest of our lives, my darling.’ And he stroked her hair comfortingly.

Franklin didn’t really enjoy the forty-day sea voyage to Sydney. It wasn’t just that he missed Penelope; he was anxious to get back to work. He’d maintained cable contact with Solly at The Colony House and, via the Quilpie post office, with Kevin Everard, the station manager at Mandinulla, and everything appeared to be going smoothly. Between Solly and Gustave, The Colony House was in good hands, and as far as Mandinulla was concerned, Franklin and Sam had both agreed that Kevin Everard (known as Never-Never
because he refused to go near a city) was far better left on his own. Nonetheless Franklin missed the activity. He missed being at the hub of things, and he very much wanted to pave the way with the Australian military . Peter Lynells contacts had not only confirmed the probability of war but the fact that the British military was well and truly in preparation for it.

While Franklin impatiently paced the promenade deck of the SS
Pacific Star
watching his fellow passengers enjoy the tranquillity of the endless ocean, Penelope threw herself joyfully into the Hollywood scene.

She was flattered when Thelma Todd paid her far more attention than she did the actresses cast as Blondes One and Two. Indeed, Thelma even invited her out nightclubbing on several occasions when she was ‘doing the town’ with a gang of her cronies.

Penelope was aware that several of the cronies were ‘gangster types’ but they were suave, snappy dressers who threw money around like confetti, all of which made them glamorous. And Penelope was at a stage in her life where she was very impressed by glamour.

Little did she realise that Thelma Todd was, in turn, rather impressed by Penelope Jane Greenway and her background. The studio publicity department had concocted an imposing biography, leaning heavily on Penelope’s theatrical experience in London’s West End.

The biography wasn’t exactly a lie but it intimated that she’d starred in every production in which she’d appeared and there were also pictures
(copies of which were supplied to the department by Penelope) of her with Noel Coward, Gertie Lawrence and Jessie Matthews. She neglected to tell anyone they were taken at a party thrown by Peter Lynell. There was even a photograph of Donald Wolfit kissing her hand – again, she didn’t tell anyone it was the one and only time she’d met him. It was the opening night of
Quality Street
when she’d gone with the gang to the Garrick Club. The overall inference was that Penelope had starred on the legitimate stage with the British theatrical elite.

Thelma was further impressed by Penelope Jane Greenway herself. The regality of her. The tall, slim body, the patrician face and, above all, the mid-Atlantic accent. Thelma enjoyed introducing such a class act to her friends – it was good for her image.

Sam gave Penelope a gentle warning about Thelma’s friends. ‘I wouldn’t want you to be alone with some of those characters, my dear. They’re a pretty racy set and I feel responsible for you with Franklin away.’

But Penelope laughed it off. ‘Bless you, Sam, I can look after myself.’ She gave him a grateful peck on the cheek. ‘We’re always out in a crowd and they always behave like gentlemen, each and every one of them, I assure you.’

A fortnight before Christmas, Minotaur threw an open-house party at the Beverly Hills mansion of one of its executives. Sam never offered his home for such events – he didn’t enjoy actors en masse
and he liked to be able to make a quick escape. Besides, there was always a number of the studio hierarchy queueing up for the privilege of hosting a party – their wives liked to boast that Tyrone Power or Gary Cooper or Joan Crawford had been to their homes.

Thelma took it upon herself to invite several of her friends, including ‘Lucky’ Jim Lonetti. Lonetti was a favourite of Penelope’s. Whenever she’d gone out with Thelma’s crowd he’d been most attentive and she knew he was deeply attracted to her. He was handsome in a brooding Sicilian way and she enjoyed flirting with him – it was harmless, after all, and he always treated her with great respect.

‘Jim. Hello. What a nice surprise.’ She refused to call him Lucky. ‘It sounds like something out of a gangster movie,’ she’d said when they first met.

‘Penelope.’ He kissed her hand. She always liked that.

It was a good party and Penelope was enjoying herself. Grateful for the opportunity to meet the hierarchy, she had worked hard to create a good impression. She’d spent time with Sam, Lucy-Mae and several members of the board. And she’d chatted to Thelma Todd, the producer, the director and, finally, to Blondes One and Two.

Having observed protocol, and in the correct order, Penelope allowed herself a dance with Jim and then let him escort her to the banquet room where they served each other delicacies from the gigantic buffet table. She laughed as she opened
her mouth to accept the wedge of toast with Beluga caviar.

After she’d eaten, she excused herself and adjourned to one of the many powder rooms to freshen her make-up. Since her arrival in Hollywood, Penelope had been appalled to witness women applying their lipstick in public, and had vowed she would never do such a thing.

Although it was early, people were starting to get drunk and cigarette and cigar smoke was permeating the rooms. For Penelope, who didn’t drink (apart from the odd glass of champagne) or smoke, it was time to get some fresh air. Besides, she wanted to explore the gardens. They were even more impressive than Sam and Lucy-Mae’s.

The air was biting but invigorating and she clasped her wrap tightly about her as she set off on her exploration. Although it was dark, the paths were easy to follow – throughout the huge landscaped gardens, various trees, rockeries, and statues were floodlit.

It was a night-time fairyland and Penelope was enchanted. There was a little wooden bridge over a floodlit pond stocked with huge, golden carp. She stood there for a full ten minutes before the cold drove her on.

And then she came to a pergola. She could hear noises. Feverish, wet noises. A man’s guttural breathing. A woman’s moans, desperately demanding fulfilment. And there they were right in front of her, bucking and plunging and writhing and, in the reflected glow from the garden, Penelope could plainly see the man’s buttocks as they
pounded frenziedly between the woman’s outstretched thighs.

Penelope was shocked at the audacity of the couple. How could they be so brazen? Anyone could see them. She was also horrified. Horrified at the loveless desperation she was witnessing. It was ugly. Wasn’t lovemaking supposed to be a caring exchange? But she was also fascinated.

Quietly, she stepped back into the shadows. She wanted to leave, but she couldn’t. She even averted her eyes. But she couldn’t escape the noises. And now the woman was gasping, as though she was in pain. Faster and louder and faster and louder, and then time suddenly stood still … there was no sound from her at all. Penelope could hear the thrusts and grunts of the man as he struggled towards his own climax, but what was happening for the woman? Was this what it was like? Then the woman gave an ecstatic moan, followed by waves of strange quivering sounds from the back of her throat.

She backed further into the dark. Confused, she turned to go, panic setting in. She had to get away from the place before the couple saw that she’d been watching. How humiliating. She hurried back towards the party.

She was nearly at the house – she could see the lights of the main driveway ahead, and the sea of parked cars – when a voice from out of the dark stopped her. ‘Penelope.’ She whirled about, startled. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’ Lucky Jim Lonetti stepped out of the shadows.

‘Oh, Jim,’ she gasped. ‘You frightened me.’

He came up to her and took her by the arm,
presumably to escort her back to the party. ‘Now why on earth would you be frightened of me, Penelope?’

She smiled and started to walk towards the driveway and the lights and the cars, but his hand was suddenly like steel. ‘You were watching them, weren’t you?’ She stared back at him. ‘I saw you watching them. You liked it, didn’t you? Would you like it to be you?’

Penelope felt more humiliated than frightened. Humiliated and angry. ‘I don’t know what you mean. And I’d like you to take me back to the house … right now.’

‘Would you? You’d like me to take you now? Right now? Well I guess I’d better do as I’m told, hadn’t I?’

A set of car headlights was switched on in the main drive. They shone down the garden path, for a moment dazzling them. Lucky dragged her roughly into the shadows and Penelope realised that now was the time to be frightened.

‘Jim, please.’ She tried to reason. ‘You’re behaving ridiculously; you’ve had too much to drink. Now come back to the party.’

‘Come on, baby. Admit it. You want it.’ He’d forced her up against a tree and one hand was holding her by the throat while the other ripped at her blouse. She felt the buttons tear away, then his hand on her breast and, all the while, his groin was thrusting at her.

‘Stop it! For God’s sake, stop it!’ She tried desperately to push him away. ‘Please, Jim! Please!’

‘Shut up, bitch!’ There was an explosion in her head as he smashed her hard across the face. She
stopped resisting and stared at him, in a state of shock. ‘That’s better,’ he said quietly. ‘Now why don’t you call me Lucky like everybody else, eh?’ He still had her by the throat and his free hand was now pulling up her skirt.