My Life in Black and White (22 page)

M
y head instinctively jerked in the direction of the scream. Not surprisingly, it was the same direction that Frederick had gone. I knew better than to investigate such matters alone, so I remained where I was, aware that my feet had refrozen to the stone beneath them. I waited for more screams. My heart was thundering in my chest as I thought irrationally that perhaps Mica was either still alive like Rochester’s lunatic wife in the attic or else she was haunting the joint. Then I heard a loud crash, more of a smash really, and that was enough to get me moving. I was at the door in a flash, but it took all of my strength to pry the giant blockade even a few inches, not enough to squeeze through. I kept clawing at it, and stuck my foot in the crack to force it open. Then without any warning it flew open with such impact that it sent me tumbling to the floor.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Frederick stood on the threshold towering over me, a suitcase in his hand, his hat askew and his tie and shirt rumpled like he’d been attacked.

“How many of you are there?” I asked pointedly and rubbed my neck.

Frederick grimaced and offered his hand to help me to my feet. “I’m the one and only. I went through the servants’ entrance to get
this,” he said and, putting his suitcase on the floor, wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

“I heard a scream and I got scared,” I explained warily. “You sure your wife’s name wasn’t Bertha?”

“You’re full of one-liners aren’t you, Clara? No, I’m afraid I’ve not locked my dearly departed Mica up in the attic. It was a real woman and she shocked me as much as she did you.”

“A maid gone wild?”

He was about to answer when I heard footsteps walk up behind me. They were small, dainty steps, and by the sound they made on the stone, the shoes were definitely heels.

“Not a maid, an actress,” said a familiar voice.

My blood went cold as I turned around to see Amber standing not two feet from me. Even in shades of grey she was still the golden girl; her long wavy hair was platinum and fell about her shoulders in loose waves, her skin alabaster and her eyes pale and intoxicating. Her lips were glossed to a shine that twinkled as brilliantly as the crystal fobs hanging from the chandelier. Her dress was only a shade darker than her skin, and its satin fabric picked up the candlelight, illuminating her every curve. She looked otherworldly, some might say angelic, but I knew better.

“Don’t be too upset, Clara,” she said. Her voice still sounded like a truck-stop waitress smacking a stick of gum. “If I’d known you were having a romantic tryst with Freddie, I would have stayed in London. To be honest, I am surprised. But I guessed as much when I saw you two at The Savoy. Dean wouldn’t believe me. Trouble is, you’ve played the heartbroken wifey so long no one would have thought you were sleeping around.”

“I wasn’t playing anything,” I said. “I’m still his wife. And Frederick and I are just friends.”

She snorted derisively and gestured to Frederick, who was standing
behind me in silence. “By the look on his face I’d say he has a different view of things. But don’t worry. I’m not the jealous type. There is plenty of Frederick to go around.”

I looked at Frederick. He glared back.

“Did you know Amber was going to be here?”

“Certainly not,” he said. “To enter the cellar I have to cross through the kitchen. When I flipped on the light, she shrieked like a banshee and flew at me like a madwoman.”

“How did I know it was you?” Amber whined. “I couldn’t figure out the light switch and I was hungry. You scared
me!
That fridge of yours needs some stocking up, I might add.”

“You neglected to mention how you got into my home,” he said, annoyed.

“The butler did it,” she said and then snorted again, this time with laughter, and turned to me like we were co-conspirators. “I’ve always wanted to say that.” She looked back to Frederick and her features softened, and she became the pretty young thing once again. She rushed up to him and rested her head on his chest like a child.

“Dean kicked me out of The Savoy. I had no place to go but here. You weren’t at your house. I checked. I knew you spent weekends here and, well, I am your new star,” she said through batted lashes.

“What a performance!” I said sarcastically. Amber gave me such a harsh look that her eyes practically spun around in her head. “You don’t scare me,” I said and stood my ground as she clung to Frederick.

She was about to respond when Frederick cleared his throat and picked up his suitcase. “I’ve had about all I can take of listening to women’s troubles, and certainly enough about Dean Lapointe. Now, we’ll just have to make do with the three of us tonight. Tomorrow I will drive Amber to the train station and arrange a room at another hotel. In the meantime, I’ll show both of you to your rooms.”

That shut us up, and we followed him up the grand staircase. What he couldn’t see was Amber and I vying for top spot behind him. My long legs outstepped her shorter ones, but she “accidentally” bumped my elbow to send me off balance and into the railing. In retaliation, I grabbed the skirt of her dress and pulled her back behind me. I was tempted to knock her down with my handbag. We continued this absurd competition until we reached the top. By that time we were perspiring and out of breath.

“Amber, you may stay in the room on the left. And for tonight, Clara, you’re to have the second master bedroom at the end of the hall.”

“Why does she get the big room?” Amber complained.

“Because I’m a grown-up,” I answered.

She glowered at me but kept her trap shut and stormed into her room. I smiled, satisfied.

“You women,” Frederick sighed, exhausted. “It’s after midnight. Let me show you your room.” He swung open the door. Inside was the largest canopy bed I’d ever seen. A huge wooden armoire took up residence across from it, and a mirrored vanity stood on guard by a large picture window.

“There should be a fresh toothbrush and other such things in the bathroom. The butler was supposed to have left it so,” he explained. He moved to the bed, where a long pale swath of fabric was lying across the bottom. He lifted it up, and I saw at once that it was a satin gown, and I didn’t need to see in colour to know it was gold. He had to be kidding.

“Ah, my man remembered to steam the dress for you too,” he said and ran his tongue over his lower lip.

“I’m sure that wasn’t necessary,” I said. “I’m fine with how I look in this.”

He shook his head. “It is a nice dress. But it won’t do.”

“We going to a black-tie affair or something?” I asked sarcastically. He smiled as though I was flirting with him. “I want you to put this on.”

He came over and draped it over my arm. I nearly dropped the script. Placing the screenplay and my handbag on the bed, I moved to the armoire as if to hang up the gown. There was no way I was wearing it.

The armoire was packed with dresses and furs. I pulled open a drawer full of flowing silk nightdresses and whistled.

“You must abduct lots of female guests who don’t have time to pack,” I said and felt ill at the thought.

“You weren’t abducted,” he said dryly and moved to the door. “This was Mica’s room and those are all her things.”

“How sweet that you’ve kept them all,” I said, trying not to let the terror I felt seep into my voice. When his back was turned, I tossed the gown on the bed like it was dirty socks.

Ignoring me, he opened the door and stood on the threshold. “You have one hour to prepare yourself.”

“Prepare myself for what?” I asked, even though I knew.

The creepy smile was back on his face. “When I return, I will have read your screenplay. You will hand me the photographs. Which, I assume, are in your handbag. Unless you’ve found other, more delightful, places to hide them.”

I looked at the square black bag on the bed. He smiled.

“And after those two items of business have been dispensed with, we will enjoy each other to my satisfaction.”

T
he sound of the sea churning and the harsh wind whipping through the trees were enough to keep me on tenterhooks as I sat on the bed trying to figure out what to do, but the creaks and moans of the castle were what kept me on high alert. Each groan or squeak could be Frederick. I’d checked, and the door only locked from the outside. And the descent to the ground from the bedroom window was a fatal one. I was a prisoner.

It was nearly one o’clock in the morning on December 10. Was the date as ill-fated for me as it had been for Alice? The sudden knock on my door wasn’t the answer I was hoping for. I watched in terror as the doorknob turned slowly and the heavy door creaked open. I had a fairly clear mental image of Frederick wearing a velvet smoking jacket with matching paisley slippers and carrying two glasses of champagne as a “pick me up.” But it was Amber who crept through the narrow slit. The door closed behind her. She was in some sort of frothy nightie with a matching flowing robe that left nothing to the imagination; on her feet were marabou mules. I tried not to picture her in this getup in bed with Dean.

“You get lost?” I asked contemptuously.

She put her fingers to her lips to shush me. “We should whisper,” she whispered. “In case Freddie is awake.”

“Trust me, he’s awake,” I said, relieved not to be alone. I would use Amber as my human shield if need be.

She tiptoed in the marabous all the way to the bed and sat down beside me like we were having a sleepover. I scurried to the other side of the bed.

“No one asked you to make yourself comfortable,” I hissed.

She rolled her killer pale eyes like it was a bother to do so and sighed. “I’m not your enemy.”

“Who said you weren’t?” I said and ran my fingers through my red hair.

“I’m sure you’re quite satisfied with yourself,” she said accusingly.

“About what?” I asked stiffly, not wanting to have this conversation when each second brought me closer to Frederick’s naked bulk.

“That Dean ended things with me,” she said and sniffled.

“Oh dear, you’re not catching cold are you?” I asked with fake warmth in my voice. “You better take care of yourself because you’re going to be a big star.”

“Look, I know you don’t like me,” she said.

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“But Dean wasn’t happy in your marriage, and he told me he was already separated when we met,” she explained, then paused.

“Go on, you have my attention,” I said and began to twist the satin duvet into a tight ball in my fist.

“He lied to me too,” she said with a shrug. “Maybe we’re both better off without him.”

“And what about the baby?” I asked.

“I had no choice,” she explained, and I thought for an instant there was regret in her voice. The drapes were open, and I could see the clouds were brewing a rolling mix of charcoal and ebony that moved hastily, signalling an approaching storm. Perhaps it would clear the
air. When I looked back at her, she had placed her hand on mine. I snatched it away like she was a leper. Ignoring my reaction, she continued unemotionally.

“It had nothing to do with the film. I’d already had the procedure when Freddie came to the hotel. I just let him think he was forcing me to do it. I figured I’d have something on him this way, you know, in case he tried to fire me from the movie. You know I don’t have much acting experience.”

“You don’t say?” I resisted telling her how close she had come to being fired because of me.

“And I could blame him if Dean found out.” She shrugged like it was no big deal. “Which, unfortunately, he did. You win some, you lose some. We can switch back if you like. I’ll take Freddie and you can have Dean all to yourself.”

I was stunned. I had underestimated her; she had out-femme-fataled me and then some.

“You’re awfully young to be so diabolical,” I said archly.

“These days a girl can’t be too careful,” she observed. “Right now I want to focus on my career. My only regret is that Dean found out. The doctor, the man who did it, called the hotel and spoke to him. I guess he figured Dean knew.”

This last part was too much for me, and despite not wanting to share my feelings with her, they came pouring out. “Do you know I tried for years to have Dean’s baby?” I said, knowing full well she didn’t give a damn. “I almost did, you know. But I lost the baby. It very nearly destroyed me. It was all I wanted. And you had it and you threw it away?”

She pursed her lips. “That’s sad what you went through. When you want something so badly and it gets taken away and you have no control, it’s the worst. But I’m not you.”

I breathed in deeply. “I firmly believe it is your right to do what you want with your body. But you let everyone believe you were forced to do it.”

“Yes, well, now you know. The real question is are you taking Dean back?”

I bristled. “That’s none of your affair.”

“Oh, but it is, it’s entirely my affair,” she said bitterly.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said simply. “You can’t possibly convince me you’re still in love with my husband.”

“I’m not going to try. But you should know that if I wanted him back, I’d get him back.”

“Of all the nerve! You deserve a good slap across that china complexion of yours.”

I remembered how satisfying it was to slap Niall; it would be even more so to smack Amber. Perhaps sensing I wasn’t kidding she leapt off the bed just out of reach. I flew across the bed and managed to snag a piece of her filmy housedress.

“Let go of me!” she shrieked.

I was on my feet and about to give her the slap of her life when the door flew open and Frederick stood looking at us with a grin on his face the size of Texas, a tray of canapés in one hand, a bottle of champagne under his arm. We both froze and I let go of Amber. She grabbed her housecoat and bundled herself up inside it.

“My, my, who would have thought two rivals would be such close friends?” he breathed. “Having you both here isn’t such a bad idea after all.”

“She’s hardly my rival,” I said bluntly. “And don’t get any ideas.”

“What she said!” Amber added.

“That’s what I do. I’m an ideas man,” he said with a chuckle. “Now go to bed, Amber. I have business to discuss with Clara.”

I could tell that Amber wasn’t having any of it, and for once, I was cheering her on.

“Why does Clara get the midnight snack? I’m starving!”

“I’m sure she’d love a saucer of milk,” I said acidly. Amber glared at me.

Frederick sighed. “Very well.” He came into the room and placed the tray of canapés on the vanity. Amber practically leapt on top of it.

“Careful, Frederick. Amber can be pretty clumsy with hors d’oeuvres.”

She scowled but continued to stuff her face. Frederick looked about the room, and I knew for what. But I had hidden the handbag in the armoire among several others that belonged to Mica. The dress was still on the bed. His fingers grazed it longingly.

“Clara, about that business we discussed,” he said, then began walking about, growing more agitated.

“What about it?” I asked, knowing I was safe as long as Amber was near.

“That screenplay of yours. It’s quite good,” he said.

I fought the urge to smile or clap my hands or in any way show my pleasure. My whole adult life all I wanted was to write a good script and have a producer want it, even one like Frederick. There was so much I could have said had the circumstances been different, but they weren’t. I didn’t matter right now. What did was being one step closer to saving Alice. So all I said was, “Now it’s you that sounds surprised.”

“I was. And don’t be offended; I’m notoriously picky. But I’m considering producing the screenplay. I’ve never made a film noir. Who doesn’t love a glimpse into the underbelly of society with all its dark and brooding tough guys and desperate, mysterious femme fatales, eh?”

Try living it.

“Have you decided how it will end?” he asked.

“Not yet.” Then I got an idea, call it self-preservation, but I decided to appeal to the artist in him. “I would love to hear how you think it should end.”

That got him to finally end his search of the room, at least for the moment.

“You could give it the routine ending: Clara gets killed.”

I felt a chill rush through me, hearing my name and “killed” in the same sentence.

“But I don’t like routine stories,” he continued, enthused. “Clara could knock off the mistress.”

At this Amber lifted her head from the food. “Huh?”

“Go on, I’m
loving
that idea,” I said, even though it was what I’d already wanted to do. “You are a genius, Frederick.” He beamed at the flattery, and continued speaking excitedly about the script’s potential.

“We can decide later. But if I do produce the film, your friend and co-writer, Alicia Steele, would be first in line to play Clara,” he said.

“Who’s Alicia Steele?” Amber asked suspiciously. “Why can’t I play Clara?”

I was aghast at the thought of Amber in the part. How dare she grasp at every role she heard about? “You don’t have the
gravitas
,” I said coolly.

She looked at me blankly as she chewed on a piece of cheese. Then after swallowing she said proudly, “I may not have gravy-ass now, but I can buy it if I want it. After my first film, I’ll be rich! Tell her, Freddie.”

He and I exchanged knowing glances, and we let the subject drop. He cleared his throat. “And it was very clever of Alicia to use scenes from it for her screen test.”

It was my turn to be stunned. “She did?”

“Didn’t she tell you she was reading from it? Funny, when you told
me the title I knew it sounded familiar,” he chuckled. “Which reminds me. I brought the film canister with us. It’s in the boot of the car.”

My whole body was trembling now from excitement, nerves, everything. “I thought the smog grounded all flights?”

“To London, yes,” he said. “But I had it rerouted to Paris. It came over on the ferry. You know the saying; the show must go on. I watched it yesterday. She’s a looker, you were right about that.”

“How much of a looker?” Amber demanded competitively.

“Of course she read the Clara role.” He winked at me as we both ignored Amber.

“May I see it?” I pleaded demurely.

“Don’t you have something to give me first?” He raised an eyebrow. “After I see it,” I said firmly.

“We will compromise,” Frederick answered brusquely. “I read the script. Now you change. Then we watch the film.”

“Change into what?” Amber looked thoroughly confused. “What does she have to give you?”

There was no getting around it. So I dutifully picked up the gown and went into the adjoining bathroom to slip it on. I emerged moments later, feeling like an elegant corpse. Frederick looked at me salaciously, like I was a centrefold come to life and about to climb onto his lap, which he probably expected. I walked towards him.

“What’s with the getup?” Amber said, clearly feeling left out.

“You’re stunning,” he breathed, then went to the door. “Come along.”

Amber started towards the door but I shoved my arm in front of her. “Not you.”

She scowled and looked to Frederick, but he shook his head.

“Stay here Amber, that’s a good girl,” he said.

As I followed Frederick through a maze of hallways, I regretted not having Amber with me. But seeing the screen test was so personal,
and I didn’t want to share it with anyone, least of all her. Besides, as long as Frederick thought I had the photos hidden, I was safe. He led me into a giant windowless room with soft red velvet chairs that faced a sky-high back wall. An elegant walnut desk with a green lamp and telephone on it sat behind the row of seats.

“Welcome to my private screening room. I’ll go thread the film. Sit down.”

I did as I was told, but the anticipation was a severe test of my patience. All of my scheming and persuading had finally paid off in a strip of celluloid. My heart was beating so fast I felt I might faint when I heard a loud click and the screen lit up. I watched the numbers count down from ten to the final sync beep, and then it cut to the clapboard, the very one from the photograph. At long last I could read every word. December 7, 1952.
The Woman Scorned
. The clapper snapped the board shut and there stood Alicia Steele in the green dress, her eyes brazen, and even though it was in black and white, I knew her hair was the same shade of red as mine. She spoke the lines in a voice more husky and assertive than in
He Gave No Answer
. This Alicia Steele was a tough dame. The scene was the one where Rod and Clara meet for a second time. The male actor was off-screen and sounded like a casting director.

Her delivery was pitch perfect, vulnerability, sensuality and a heart of steel all at once. Then a second scene came on screen, the one on High Tower Court, when she first tells Rod she wants to murder someone.

I sat motionless, dazed by seeing my grandmother moving and speaking. The best part came in the few seconds after the casting director called cut and Alicia stood and smiled. She wasn’t acting then; she was being herself. The woman I’d never met was suddenly alive in front of me. What I noticed was how authentic the smile was
too. It wasn’t the smile of a woman on the verge of driving off a cliff. She looked like she had a million reasons to live. Tears streamed down my face as the short film ended, turning the screen into a blazing light of emptiness before the room went black. Then it was all over. Frederick returned and switched on a light.