My Life in Black and White (16 page)

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, clearly not wanting to talk about it. “But they only want the puff stuff from me. The real news is for less controversial chaps, apparently.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“People will die from this smog,” he said earnestly. “I’m not sure the NHS will keep up with the demand in heart and lung trouble that will come. It needs to be investigated and reported by decent writers.”

“I’ve never seen you this serious,” I said.

He shrugged. “The Great Depression, the Great War, the Great Smog. None of it seems great to me.”

“Maybe it will blow over by morning,” I suggested hopefully and for reasons of my own, still holding out faint hope of flying Alice here before December 10.

“Don’t wager on it,” he said, sounding as gloomy as the fog.

Then a second shot of bourbon arrived courtesy of Saffron.

“It’s on me,” she said.

“Thank you,” I replied. When she scurried away, Niall gave me a look. “That’s an expression I don’t much care for,” I said.

“Tell me, what are you doing getting messed up with Frederick Marshall?”

I tried not to flinch. “What gives you that idea?”

“I saw him drop you off the other night. Before you stole the typewriter,” he teased.

“I didn’t steal it,” I reminded him, holding the cigarette aloft. “Are you spying on me?”

I was torn between wanting to tell him everything and telling him off. I chose somewhere in between.

“If you must know, I need Frederick’s help.”

He snorted. “With what? Don’t tell me you’ve got acting aspirations too?”

“A friend of mine is in real danger,” I said, and my tone was serious enough that Niall wiped the sarcasm from his voice.

“What kind of danger?”

“I can’t get into it.” I shook my head. “But Frederick has the power to change things for her.”

He sat back and flicked his cigarette into the ashtray. “I didn’t know you were so noble,” he said, and this time he did sound sarcastic.

“I’m not some tramp with a grudge. I’m a wronged woman.”

“Out for revenge!” he chastised me. “How petty.”

“Is that so?” I felt my voice shake and I fought it. “Tell me, Mr. Adamson, when does revenge become something noble? When avenging the death of a loved one, perhaps?”

He sat up. “Perhaps. But there’s nothing noble in going after some poor sap with bad taste in women.” I bristled and he smiled and said, “Present company excluded, of course.”

“If you must know, I
am
avenging the death of a loved one. But I can’t say more than that. You just have to trust me.”

I could tell from his expression he didn’t. But it was the truth, in a manner of speaking. Getting even with Dean was in some way getting even with Lyle. And punishing Amber was like punishing Lillian. My revenge was Alicia Steele’s—just like in the screenplay.
As I turned my head and blew the pale smoke into the air, I watched it form soft patterns like paintbrush strokes against the darkness of the room. I shivered a little as though I could sense the spectre of the fictional Clara circling. It all made sense to me.

Niall furrowed his brow and pummelled his cigarette out. “I’m just wondering what’s next for Clara Bishop? Now that she’s gotten even with her husband.”

“You’ll just have to watch me.” I smiled at him innocently. He wasn’t buying it.

“For the record, Amber Ward is not in love with your husband,” he said and pulled his notepad from his jacket pocket, plopping it down in front of me.

My ears pricked up. “What makes you so sure?”

“She’s after a career upgrade. He’s her first stepping stone. She’ll leave him at the first sign of a better offer. She’s a Bette Davis fan, which tells you something, although she apparently relates more to Marilyn Monroe.”

I was outraged. “She couldn’t touch Marilyn Monroe. Who does she think she is?”

“She’s a nobody and she knows it. But she’s ambitious.”

“She seems to have charmed you,” I said, irritated. “So you would have done the same. Walked out on me to start a new life with Amber.”

He studied my face again, and this time I made sure there were no clues for him to find. I wanted to be a blank slate—no past to regret and no future to predict—just a redhead playing dress-up in her grandmother’s dress.

“If you were my wife, I’d never let you out of my sight long enough to notice a meaningless blonde.”

I gazed at him, surprised by what he said.

Niall stood up and stepped beside me. Then he took my chin in his hand and wrenched my neck up none too gently until I had no
choice but to look up at him. It was rough and invasive and, what’s more, I enjoyed it.

“You going to kiss me again?” I taunted him, knowing I wanted it.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said coldly, releasing me.

Then he put on his fedora. “Good luck getting your friend out of her jam,” he said. “Remember, I’m an investigative journalist. It may come in handy if your friend is truly in danger.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Then he walked away. I rubbed my neck and ground my cigarette into the ashtray.

B
y the time I got back to the flat, Trinity had popped open a bottle of champagne.

“We celebrating something again?” I asked innocently.

“You are the best friend ever!” Trinity screamed in delight and ran over and threw her arms around me.

“Thank you, but what happened?” I asked, hugging her back.

“I got the part!” Trinity shouted.

I let her bounce up and down as she poured two glasses of bubbly. “I can’t tell you how difficult it was to get champagne.”

“Let me guess, it’s rationed.”

“It is! But I have connections,” she said with a wink. “We movie stars have to be resourceful!”

“To you landing the part of a lifetime!” I said cheerfully, thinking how fast the casting process was. Usually directors and producers deliberate for days if not weeks. “They must have loved you to make such a quick decision.”

“They did. Frederick Marshall took one look at me and knew I was right. Although I did remind him we were friends, hope you don’t mind,” she said sheepishly. “I just wish David Niven had been there to read with me.”

I wondered if I was the reason she got the part so quickly. Frederick
had dreams of a dirty weekend with a redhead, and I was that redhead. But Trinity wasn’t part of the deal.

“Of course I don’t mind,” I said and felt that now she was cast I could tell her about Alice. “Another friend of mine is reading for the lead in the next day or two.”

She frowned at this. “That’s odd. I thought he said he’d found his star already.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “What do you mean? Who?”

“I’m not sure. Some unknown girl.”

My heart was thumping in my chest. Was Frederick really going to double-cross me? Or was the unknown girl Alicia Steele? That had to be it. We had a deal. For an instant, I shuddered at the thought of his hands all over me.

“Is the girl local?” I pressed her for more details.

She scowled. “Actually that much I do know. She’s from America. Can you imagine casting a foreigner like that and her not being a big star already?” she said, sounding offended on behalf of all English girls. But for me it was glorious news. It would make sense that Frederick would be preparing the other cast members and his crew that he’d found some unknown American actress. No one but me knew she hadn’t read for the part yet. I had complete confidence in her talent. Once Frederick saw her read, he’d be so taken with her. The audition was just a technicality.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I said to be conciliatory.

“Not when there are loads of great actresses in England!” she continued. “You know, I feel like going out. Despite this smog business, let’s gussy ourselves up and head to The White Stallion for some delicious pub fare,” she said. I smiled; gastro pubs were a long way off, so simple plain food would have to do. “I’ll buy!” Trinity joked. “A movie actress needs to be seen, you know.”

The decade I’d spent chasing after celebrities dining out at restaurants
in order to get a lame story came flashing back. “Oh, I know all about
that
,” I said and smiled.

We left the flat and entered the street cloaked in total darkness. The glow from the street lamps barely lifted the gloom, but we used them to guide us towards the pub. The townhouses lining the street appeared to close in on us like a canyon, and our footsteps echoed on the concrete. Up ahead, a shadow crossed our path and we heard talking. But as we grew nearer, one voice was familiar. Then the figure stepped out of the shadow into the sparse light up ahead.

It was Niall, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth. He was leaning up against a street lamp, talking to a group of teenaged boys. What I noticed was how the boys were dressed, long Edwardian overcoats with patterned waistcoats and suede shoes. Each had his hair slicked into a quiff at the front like a pompadour. It was a look that I’d call rockabilly and was in stark contrast to Niall.

“Who are those boys?” I asked.

“Beats me,” Trinity said. “They’re just a bunch of Teddy Boys. Not sure what you call them in America.”

I knew the term. Teddy Boys were youthful gangs that listened to American rock ‘n’ roll and played in bands and otherwise caused trouble for English society. “We call them teenagers,” I said plainly.

They were far enough away not to notice us, and I watched Niall point his finger at one of the boys angrily. He was always so intense. I wondered what had happened.

The group dispersed and the boys scrammed around the corner, and Niall disappeared in the opposite direction. We carried on to the pub.

O
ur celebration at the pub was in full swing, and for the first time in a long time, I’d forgotten that anything was wrong in my life. Cocktails and laughter had that effect on me, I guess. But the good time was cut short by the arrival of a lanky man in a dark grey suit. I froze. It couldn’t be … He removed his hat and my jaw fell open. It was.

“What is it, Clara?” Trinity asked, worried.

I pointed to the man in the doorway and whispered, “Dean.”

She looked up. “So it is.”

“How did he know where to find me?”

Trinity’s guilty expression gave me the answer.

“He rang while you were out, looking for you. He begged me. I told him you’d be here. Please don’t be angry.”

Before I could object, she stood to leave and put her hand on my arm. “Besides, you two have a lot to discuss.” Then she was gone.

I watched Saffron approach him like a jaguar stalking an antelope. His lips moved and her eyes darted in my direction. Dean started to walk over, but I looked the other way, like I hadn’t a care in the world. That drinking cocktails alone in a pub in London was precisely the sort of thing I did.

“Clara?”

I looked up, refusing to give him anything but a blank stare. I wondered why he’d come. Was it to discuss the divorce? Or was he coming back to me, as I had wanted so badly before the world turned upside down?

“May I join you?”

“It’s a free country,” I said and sat quietly, wanting him to do the talking.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Saffron asked, arriving at our table with her bosom heaving for effect.

“I’ll have a sidecar too,” he said, pointing to my drink. He still was my husband, after all. I waited for him to ogle Saffron, but he didn’t give her a second glance, and that irritated me. Saffron was far prettier than Amber, but it was as though she was a mouse in his eyes.

“She’s a beautiful girl, isn’t she?” I said, my voice cool. He shrugged. “I didn’t really notice,” he said.

“Why not? You’re still a man, aren’t you?” He didn’t flinch.

“Pretty girls are routine in my line of work. You know that. I didn’t come to argue with you.”

I breathed deeply. Let him talk, I told myself over and over, but myself wouldn’t listen to reason, so out it came. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to thank you,” he said.

It wasn’t the answer I was expecting, not in any of the scenarios I’d thought up. “Thank me for what?”

“Frederick Marshall called me, and we met to discuss his new picture,” he said with a smile. “He watched
Daddy’s Girls
and said I have an eye.”

“How wonderful,” I said half-heartedly.

Saffron appeared with our drinks, but she didn’t leave right away.

“You must be Dean Lapointe,” she said and painted on her best smile. “Yes, this is Dean,” I said. “This is Saffron. She’s an actress.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Good luck with your career.” I always could tell when Dean was unimpressed. He never liked wannabes hitting him up for work—until Amber, that is.

Saffron flared her nostrils and hoofed it away.

“Did you see the piece in
Talk
this morning?” I taunted him.

“I did,” he shrugged. “But it’s nonsense. You know as much as I do that kind of rot doesn’t last beyond the day. And besides, I got lucky. The only thing people care about right now is this damn smog.”

He had a point, which was disappointing considering the lengths I went to to get the story to run.

“Look, I don’t want to take up too much of your evening,” he said. I bristled at this.

“You can take all the time you need,” I said sarcastically. “I’m your wife.”

He sipped his sidecar and pursed his lips from the sour taste of the lemon.

“I wanted to thank you because I know Frederick Marshall had no intention of meeting me before we ran into you at The Savoy. Amber said you would ask him to, and while I didn’t believe it at first, I appreciate it. Given all that happened between us, well, you’re a first-class lady, that’s all.” He sucked back his drink.

I sat there trying to settle the shaking that had taken over my body; I prayed he couldn’t see it.

“You didn’t have to hunt me down to tell me that,” I ground out. “You could have just sent me a text.”

He looked confused, like he hadn’t heard me right. “A what?”

I rolled my eyes. “A telegram,” I snapped. “You could have sent a telegram or a thank-you note, like that other note you sent.”

He recoiled. “I wanted to thank you in person. We’re friends, aren’t we?” he asked stupidly.

“Like the wolf and the lamb,” I said.

“If that’s how you feel, then why did you help me out?” he asked like I’d offended him.

“Frederick asked me what I thought of your work. So I told him the truth. I said he would be crazy not to meet with you.”

“Well, he won’t be sorry.”

I laughed. “No, you’re right about that,” I said. “
He
won’t be the one who’s sorry.”

Dean pulled some cash from his wallet. “Let me get these.”

“I won’t stop you,” I said.

Then just like that he was gone. The shaking got worse and the tears came flowing down my face. If that wasn’t a rotten enough feeling, Niall strode in like a prize bull and plunked himself down in the chair that Dean had vacated.

“You don’t seem happy to see me,” he said sarcastically.

His words irritated me enough that the tears stopped. He gave me a handkerchief, and I made sure to wipe as much mascara on it as possible before blowing my nose. I gave the dirty cloth back to him with a smile.

“You have mascara on your nose,” he said matter-of-factly.

Mortified, I grabbed a napkin and wiped my face but he shook his head.

“Allow me,” he said and pulled another handkerchief from his pocket. He dipped it in my sidecar and proceeded to wipe the makeup from my face. I felt about three.

“What did your husband want?”

I drank the sidecar. It tasted bittersweet, maybe from my mood or the handkerchief. “All he wanted was to thank me for getting Frederick Marshall to meet with him.”

Niall nodded. “Did he get the job?”

“Not if I have any say,” I said darkly. “I could use another of your cigarettes.”

He took out two, one for each of us, and lit mine for me. I took it and inhaled the rotten smoke so deeply I could feel it in my toes.

“Why do I get the feeling you have plenty of say?” he said.

“You know,” I said, remembering Cora in
The Postman Always Rings Twice
. “I’m not really a hell cat.”

Niall stubbed his cigarette out and leaned towards me. I held my head up; my lips were in perfect alignment to graze his.

“Hell cat enough for me,” he said and kissed me, this time like he meant it. And I didn’t resist. The more I thought of Dean, sitting across from me to thank me, the harder I kissed Niall.

“We could go to your place,” I suggested, the smoke from my cigarette creating a halo over him.

“And leave this dump?” he teased. “Let’s go to yours.”

I frowned. “My flatmate.”

“We’ll be as quiet as mice.”

I smiled, thinking of the eerie typing that I’d blamed on the mouse.

Trinity was probably asleep by now.

“That will do fine,” I nodded.

I lay naked in the fold of Niall’s arm, feeling guilty that I’d succumbed to the moment. I had more serious business to contend with. Getting caught up in passion and desire wasn’t my usual forte, not that waltzing around the foggy streets of London wearing tight-fitting dresses with peekaboo hair and red lipstick was. I wondered if Alice or Marjorie would have done the same. Looking at Niall’s bare, firm chest, I decided they would have. I kissed his arm and ran my fingers through his wavy blond hair. I wanted him to shield me from everything. “Do you like me, Niall?” I asked quietly.

He kissed me some more. “You’re one of a kind.” Then his face screwed up like he had something on his mind, like he was about to ask if I’d ever had an STD. “You don’t have any kids, do you?”

I went numb and withdrew my caresses from him. Staring at the ceiling fan, which was equally annoying in black and white, I said plainly, “I was pregnant once. But I had a miscarriage. To be honest, it was far more devastating for me than for Dean. It’s all I wanted, a baby of my own.”

He held me tight. “Sorry, that was wrong of me to ask.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s part of getting to know someone. Intimacy.”

I could be wrong, but I thought I felt him squirm.

“Enough of that kind of silly talk,” I said, wanting to shake the past loose a little while longer. “What do you like for breakfast?”

“Breakfast? Is it morning already? You can’t tell with the smog.”

“It’s still nighttime. I’m thinking ahead. I’m used to being a wife, remember? Let me take care of you.”

He eased upright. “What about your flatmate?”

I sat up too, and instinctively pulled the covers up to my chin. “We’re grown-ups. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“I can’t, Clara.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve got an early day,” he said. I started to protest, but he quickly covered my lips with his hand. He released me and kissed me again. “I’ve got to go.” He got up and dressed in the dark as I lay there watching yet another man leave me alone in bed.