My Life in Black and White (23 page)

“What did you think?” he asked me.

I couldn’t look at him. I stared at the screen and wept.

“I guess you thought she was pretty good, judging from your reaction. I happen to agree. She’s got talent. I’ll send the casting director a telegram this morning telling him I want to option the script and that she should play the lead.”

I tried to speak, but my throat was so dry nothing came out. I swallowed and tried again. “Are you sure your telegram will reach her in time?”

“In time for what?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I only meant, are you sure she’ll get it today?”

“I’m sure he’ll tell her.”

“Can we call him now? Make sure?”

He rolled his eyes. “What are you so obsessed about? Is she paying you or something?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer at first, and then I said simply, “I owe her.”

Frederick reluctantly dialled long distance to LA as I stood over him.

“I’ll leave a message.” When he was done, I felt a giant wave of relief sweep over me, and I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. It had to work. It had to be enough to stop her from doing something rash. But my sense of solace was short-lived because Frederick knew he’d done his part, and he wanted payback.

“Now, what about those photographs,” Frederick said and backed
me against the wall. He stroked the satin straps of the gown, his fingers brushing my skin underneath. It was time to come clean; he’d done everything I asked. “Let’s go back to the bedroom and play hide and seek some more.”

“I have a confession,” I blurted.

He was agitated. “Which is?”

“The truth is I made them up. There aren’t any photographs.”

He scrutinized me. “I don’t believe you.”

“You’ve got to. It’s the truth. I was desperate you see. I needed you to help my friend and you did and I’m grateful,” I said in a rush.

“I want the pictures, Clara,” he persisted, his breathing growing rapid.

I started to panic, thinking of what happened to Larry and what might happen to me. “I made it up,” I told him. “I read about Mica’s death and you told me once how people still suspected you and so I made it up.” I stood there, turning my face away from his as he leaned over me, his breath hot on my cheek, when it occurred to me that if he was so sure there were photos, and he was so frantic to get his hands on them, then maybe he wasn’t so innocent after all. And I wasn’t the only one to come to that conclusion.

“Oh God. Are you saying he did kill her?” It was Amber. She had crept into the screening room and heard everything. Frederick’s temper was nearing its peak.

“You stupid cow, I told you to stay put!” he yelled. Amber shrank from his voice.

“He didn’t kill anyone, Amber,” I said, more to convince myself than anyone. “I needed him to think there was evidence so he’d do what I asked, and he did and everything’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!” Frederick pounded his fist into the wall by my head. I leapt away and stood by Amber.

“Don’t be so sore, Freddie. Listen to Clara, there are no photos. And besides, if you did kill your wife, we won’t tell. Will we?” She looked to me. I shook my head. It was the wrong thing to say.

“I didn’t kill anyone!” he shouted. “Come with me. Both of you.” He shoved us in front of him and pushed us along through the maze of hallways until we were beneath the giant chandelier in the foyer. There was a loud crack of thunder and Amber screamed.

F
rederick continued to shove us up the stairs to the bedroom, where he expected the photographs to be. I tried to think fast. How could I explain why the handbag, when he eventually found it, was empty? No matter how things turned out, I’d never seen a man angrier than he was right then. A fact not lost on Amber.

Amber gasped. “See what you did?”

“Me?” I answered. “I was doing fine until you came into the room.”

Frederick reached the top of the stairs and pounded his fists into the air. “Shut up! You two are driving me mad! I should force you to have an old-fashioned duel. You can finish each other off. Catty remarks at twenty paces.”

“No thanks,” Amber snapped defiantly.

“For once I agree with her,” I said.

He grabbed each of us by an arm and pulled us into Mica’s room. Then he began tearing the place apart, starting with the bed. Amber and I huddled in a corner, and I gestured to the door. We shuffled closer but weren’t fast enough for Frederick, who slammed it shut. “Go stand by the window.”

Silently, we did as we were told. With one swipe he cleared the vanity of Mica’s perfume bottles and jars, the glass shattering on the stone floor. His chest was heaving now, and then he stared at the armoire
as though he’d only just noticed it. “There are only so many places to hide things in here,” he said and practically ripped its door off. In seconds he had every handbag on the floor and was opening them one by one, shaking out the contents of each. Mica’s bags had little in them, a lipstick here, a compact there. At last he found mine. He smiled. He knew it was the right one. I braced myself against the stone wall. He opened it and his eyes widened, puzzlement followed by rage. “They aren’t here.”

“I told you. They don’t exist,” I pleaded.

“Did you remove the photos and hide them somewhere else in the castle?” he asked.

I shook my head repeatedly. He crossed the room towards me.

“Tell him where they are,” Amber said in a panicked voice.

“I can’t! I made them up!” I insisted. But it was no use. Frederick was practically on top of me. At that moment, the thunder returned with a vengeance and lightning struck, lighting up the sky. He glanced out the window and my gaze followed his. Below the window was the swimming pool. I caught my breath.

“I have another idea,” he said. “I think we all could use a relaxing swim.”

“A swim?” Amber said, missing his sarcasm entirely. “It’s the middle of the night.”

He ignored her, instead choosing to clasp my chin in his hand and squeeze, just hard enough to twist my lips into a pucker. “You’re a reporter, Clara. I’m sure you’d love a tour of the crime scene. Just like the swarm of reporters loved seeing William Holden’s corpse in
Sunset Boulevard
,” he said menacingly. “I can show you exactly where Mica’s body was found, floating face down in her gold dress. What a coincidence; her dress was exactly like the one you’re wearing now.”

I swallowed, but with the hold on my face I couldn’t talk. He wasn’t done spewing either. “Tell me, are you a fan of
Sunset Boulevard?
”

He forced my head to move up and down in the affirmative. “Yes? Me too. As a producer, there is always at least one point in the filmmaking process where you want to kill the writer.” Then he released me.

“Now get moving, please.” Then he turned to Amber. “You too, sweetheart.”

“Why me? I’m not a writer.”

“But you’re a witness,” he pointed out cruelly.

Grabbing each of us by the arm, he manhandled us out the door and dragged us down the stairs. He ushered us through the castle to a side door at the end of a narrow passageway. Just as he was to open it, there came another crack of thunder and shot of lightning and every light twitched then snuffed out, leaving the entire castle shrouded in darkness.

“The electricity is gone,” Amber said unnecessarily.

“You don’t say?” he answered acidly. Shoving us in front of him so we were cornered, he grabbed a garden torch that was leaning against the wall and lit it with a wooden match.

“You’re kidding, right?” I said.

“We’ll need light in order to see the pool in all its infamy,” he answered caustically.

He yanked at the door until it creaked open. I could barely make out the stone path that bent and twisted through an English garden that might be beautiful come spring. My heels were unsteady on the stone, and I picked my way along, feeling him close on my heels, able to snatch at me if I was to try to run away. At one point, Amber clasped my hand, and I didn’t have it in me to shake her off.

I felt my dress snag on an enormous hedge as we turned a corner. Suddenly, there before us was the glassy pool, the wind blowing across in fine ripples. We stood near the edge, staring into the water. It wasn’t difficult to envision the body of his wife floating on such a polished surface.

“So now what?” I demanded, the nervous edge audible in my voice.

“You disappoint me, Clara. Don’t you have any of your reporter questions to ask? Such as when did I last see Mica alive? Why didn’t I hear her scream? I assure you, I’ve heard them all before. I’m sick to death of them.”

I shook my head violently. “No, I believe it was an accident.”

“Now that I have your attention,” Frederick said, seething, “where are the photos?”

I saw movement beside me and turned to see that Amber had ventured far too close to the edge. Frederick followed my gaze and I saw him twitch. He started towards her. She panicked and her heel slipped on the wet tile. I leapt to her side and managed to grab the torch and knock it towards his face. It must have struck him because he shrieked and fell backwards, landing hard on the ground.

“You could have killed me! You’re a madwoman!”

“Could have killed you? You were going to kill us!” I shrieked back.

“Don’t be absurd! I was only trying to scare you!”

“Well, it worked,” I said angrily.

Amber was useless, lying on the ground, watching.

“You’re not going to tell me where the photos are, are you? What more do you want? Money? I said I’d produce the film,” he blabbered.

He pulled himself to his feet and clambered back up the path to the house without another word. Amber and I remained where we were, too frightened and too confused to know what to do.

“You did it!” she said. “You fought him off!”

“Hardly,” I said. “He didn’t put up much of a fight. And you did nothing.”

Amber got up and cleaned herself off and nodded towards the path. “I’ll go see if he’s hurt. I can’t have him being mad at me, can I?”

“Just like that? You’re suddenly not afraid?” I asked and followed her. “Don’t be so sure he’ll forgive you.”

“It wasn’t me who smacked him with a torch. I’ll blame you.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” I said.

We moved silently along the pathway. The enormous door was ajar, and we slipped through it and down the dark hallway until we were within a few feet of the foyer. I stopped in my tracks and grabbed Amber.

“What is it?” she asked, irritated.

“Voices. He’s not alone,” I whispered.

We listened but couldn’t hear what they were saying.

I stepped closer to try to see who was there and had popped my head into the foyer just as the lights came on. Amber squealed. The giant chandelier was lit up and beneath it stood Frederick, pale and puffing, with Niall, Trinity, Saffron and Dean, of all people.

H
earing Amber’s cry, they turned in our direction and we stepped out into the light. But it was obvious that Niall and Frederick were arguing.

“How dare you set foot in my home again,” Frederick charged.

“Believe me, it’s not by choice, but you took something of mine,” Niall fought back.

“What something of yours did I take?” Frederick sneered, irritated beyond belief.

That’s when Niall finally looked at me. He pointed, his eyes taking in the gold dress, and grinned in that lopsided way of his. “Clara Bishop.”

My first instinct was to run into Niall’s arms, but then I thought about how long it took him to get here. “You took your sweet time!” I said to him. “I thought you were too hurt, or too angry, to rescue me.”

“I have a bump on my head, but that wouldn’t stop a guy like me from rescuing a damsel like you.”

Before I could respond, Amber put on a big show rushing to Frederick’s side. “You poor dear. I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea what got into Clara. But you have to know it was all her. I never thought you were going to murder us.”

Frederick’s eyes narrowed, and I recognized his default angry expression. He looked at me. I stared back.

“I was trying not to have you fall into the pool,” Frederick muttered.

“And you would have saved me too, if it weren’t for her.”

Then she looked at Dean. Her face became soft and sulky as she moved from Frederick into his arms. He embraced her reluctantly while avoiding eye contact with me. Niall rolled his eyes. Trinity and Saffron each hugged me.

“There, there, love, it’s okay. It’s all a misunderstanding,” Trinity said.

“How did you find me?”

“I came to the flat to tell you about Larry,” Saffron explained. “But when Trinity and I got there Niall was lying on the floor, out cold. He bashed his head right proper, slipping in the entryway like he did.” I swallowed and peered at Niall. He raised an eyebrow. “I threw a pitcher of water on him like you see in films and he came to.”

“He told us that you’d driven off with Frederick,” Trinity continued. “Of course, with the smog, we didn’t know what to do.”

“Then your husband turned up,” Niall said. “Looking for you.”

“I told Amber it was over,” Dean said sheepishly. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“How did you all get here?”

“Billy,” Niall said, as though that explained everything.

“Who is Billy?”

“You know him well enough,” Niall said, and just then in walked the cabbie who always appeared when I needed him.

“You?”

“Yes, miss. I’m an old acquaintance of Niall’s. He paid me to keep an eye on you. Said you might get into trouble.”

I looked at Niall. He shrugged. “I didn’t realize how
much
trouble. I’ve said it before, you’re quite the girl.”

I felt myself blush. But it all seemed too easy. I turned to Saffron. “You should know that Frederick is to blame for Larry’s beating.”

Frederick piped up. “That’s nonsense!”

“You practically confessed,” I said, but Saffron cut me off.

“It wasn’t him,” Saffron explained. “Larry came to yesterday, and he’ll be okay. Turns out he owed some gambling debts to the wrong people and they roughed him up.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, yet in some twisted way, it all made sense. Except for Frederick. I turned to him.

“But you threatened me if I didn’t give you those photographs,” I said and stepped towards him. “You made me think you were going to turn me into William Holden in
Sunset Boulevard!
” I accused him.

“You bloody well blackmailed me,” he retorted.

Good point.

“But if you weren’t guilty of the death of your wife, why would you care about any photos?” I asked.

Frederick cleared his throat and almost seemed embarrassed; it wasn’t a look I’d seen on him before. “There might have been photographs, but not of my wife. You see, on occasion, I invite ladies here to have a bit of fun, like I invited you. I dress them up in gold gowns and red wigs, we drink a bit of champagne and sometimes these parties get a bit wild. More than one reporter came here on several nights to follow up on Mica’s death. Like that Larry. And Mr. Adamson, for another. He came here numerous times. I can think of at least one incident where I caught him spying through a window when I was in bed with at least three redheads.”

I looked at Niall. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, just stared at the ground sheepishly.

“For all I knew, there were pictures,” Frederick continued. “You had me convinced. After the murder investigation, it took ages to get my reputation back on track. The last thing I need is a sex scandal.”

“So you dress women up like your wife?”

“Not exactly. Despite what I told you, it isn’t Mica’s dress. She hated them. I always forced her to dye her hair and wear gold gowns. It’s my taste,” he shrugged. He must have realized how it made him sound by the stunned looks on all our faces. “I may be a pervert but I’m not a killer. Mica was an alcoholic. She was drunk and we’d had a huge fight. But I went to bed because I was fed up. She fell in the pool when she was alone. Her blood alcohol level was so high, the coroner said, that she probably passed out before she hit the water.” For the first time Frederick looked genuinely sad, and I felt sorry for him.

Niall cleared his throat. “But I never wrote a story about those parties because at the time I wasn’t interested in famous people’s private lives. Still not.”

I didn’t know what to do or say next. I was done trying to write this plot in my head to a satisfying ending. The only thing that mattered was Alice. The rest was just madness.

That’s when Niall spun me around into his arms and kissed me. When he let me go, he wore his stupid lopsided grin. This time it matched the lopsided angle of his fedora. But the grin didn’t last, because Dean came at him, and in one swift move slapped Niall across the face so hard it knocked his hat off.

“How dare you kiss my wife?” Dean growled. I rushed to Niall but he gently pushed me aside and faced Dean.

“Did you really just slap me?” Niall asked, stunned.

“You bet I did!” Dean shouted. “You’re not man enough to take a punch!”

“Is that so?” Niall said, seething.

I shoved them apart, each an arm’s length from me. “Listen, boys, I’m flattered but you got to stop,” I told them. “You know what they say, Niall, ‘See to it you can take a slap as easy as a kiss,’” I said, repeating my grandmother’s dialogue from
He Gave No Answer
.

“Then let’s see if he
can
take it,” Niall said, and then without warning raised his hand to slap Dean. Only Dean ducked and Niall slapped me. My head snapped to the left and back like a rubber band. The entire side of my face burned. I shut my eyes from the pain and the shock.

“Are you all right, Clara?” I heard Saffron ask. My head felt funny. I was dizzy and warm and wanted to lie down.

“My God, Clara! I’m so sorry,” I heard Niall say.

“You bully,” Dean said to Niall.

“You coward,” Niall said to Dean.

“Stop it!” I heard Trinity say to both of them.

“I’m all right. Men always slap women in film noir,” I said, with my hand to my face.

“Only when they need to snap out of it,” I heard Frederick mutter snidely. He didn’t say precisely what “it” was, and I didn’t feel much like asking. Slowly, I opened my eyes. The room seemed brighter, although my vision was blurry. I blinked several times and opened my eyes wide until at last the foyer, the chandelier and everyone came into focus. But that was the least of it: every inch of the place was in colour, and everyone was dressed head to toe in twenty-first-century clothing. I was back.

“I didn’t mean to hit you,” Niall repeated.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said to him. I was dazed, but that didn’t stop me from grinning ear to ear. I looked at Frederick. “I guess you were right. I needed to snap out of it. Just like in the movies.”

Dean shoved Niall out of the way to stand beside me.

“As long as you’re not hurt,” he said softly.

“I’m not the one who hurt her,” Niall spoke up and straightened his shoulders.

“Well, I think we’ve all had enough bloody fun for one day,” Trinity said sensibly. “It’s a little late to be heading back to town in that
storm. Your little castle seems to have plenty of room, if you ask me.”

Frederick slowly got up. “I keep all the bedrooms suited up in case of surprise visitors. There are three others left, one each for Trinity and Saffron, but the men have to share the third, but don’t worry, it’s equipped with twin beds.”

“I’ll stay with my wife,” Dean piped up firmly and put his arm around me. Silence. Although if facial expressions have a language of their own, Niall’s and Amber’s were speaking volumes. Even Trinity’s and Saffron’s eyes were bulging.

“Of course you may stay with your wife,” Frederick said, glad to be done with me.

Dean smiled and rubbed my shoulder. I had gotten what I wanted; Dean had come back to me. All I had to do was walk up the grand staircase of this ancient castle with my husband at my side and close our bedroom door and life would be exactly as it was before. But all the strange things that had happened, the clothing, the black and white, moving through decades, all of it, had changed everything. I no longer wanted life to be like it was before. Dean still didn’t love me the way I wanted him to. He had cheated on me. And the other cold, hard fact was I didn’t love him anymore, not like I thought I did. I also wasn’t as forgiving as he seemed to think I would be. Then I looked at Niall. He was a heap of trouble in his own right. Then again, I’d become the kind of girl who got into trouble plenty, and I’d shown myself I could take a slap or a kiss and not bat an eye. I guess I was tougher than I thought. And I wanted to be tough now when the situation called for it.

“Don’t I get a say in all this?” I asked.

Dean removed his arm as though I were covered in spiders. “Sure, Clara,” he said and chuckled nervously. “You saying we should head back to London now?”

“I’m not saying that at all,” I said firmly. “I’m saying I don’t want you in my room.”

Silence again. Then Dean whispered in the vain hope the others wouldn’t hear, but in such a cavernous tomb that was impossible. “Can we discuss this later? I’ll sleep on the floor if you prefer. Just let me come back.”

I saw Amber flinch. And while it pained me to not march Dean upstairs and play the triumphant wife in front of the disgraced mistress, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want him.

“You’ve had plenty of time to discuss our marriage and you haven’t bothered to text, call, email, nothing. And when I’ve tried to see you, you let that girl humiliate me. I’m done with the both of you.”

I didn’t need to look at Niall to know he was smiling. Trinity and Saffron actually applauded. Amber took the opportunity to run up to Dean and fasten her skinny arms around his waist. But Amber wasn’t smart enough to know when to quit.

“Forget her, Dean! She’s like you said, cold and bitter,” she hissed. I looked at Dean; the bastard wouldn’t meet my eyes now.

“You said that?” I asked, my mouth quivering. I may not love him anymore but the words still stung.

“I was wrong,” he said desperately and tried to shake Amber off. She wouldn’t be diverted.

“Why don’t you tell him the truth, Amber? That you weren’t heartbroken when he left you? That the first thing you did was hightail it out here and into Frederick’s bed. At least you tried to,” I said. Both men looked aghast.

“That’s not true!” she cried. “How dare you make things up?”

I laughed. “You really are a lousy actress.”

“Oh yeah. Well, you are a crap writer, and that friend of yours? Alicia what’s-her-name? She’s a crap actress. I saw the screen test. She’s nothing, like you’re nothing.”

That was too far and everyone but Amber knew it.

“Amber!” Dean snapped, looking at her with horror. “Apologize immediately.”

“Don’t bother,” I said and walked up to her. She was still wearing the high heels, and there we stood, not quite eye to eye, the blonde in her skimpy nightie and the redhead in a gold satin gown. Even Louis B. Mayer couldn’t have dreamed up a better scene, and I knew what I would have written had I been the screenwriter.

Only I didn’t write it, I did it. Amber yelped in pain and covered her cheek with her hand. She wanted to cry but was either too proud or too shocked to let the tears flow, but her eyes were plenty glassy. I surveyed the faces of the rest of them in case anyone else needed straightening out. The women were covering their mouths to hide their laughter. The men stood their ground but said nothing. Amber, on the other hand, got madder and madder like a two-year-old in a tantrum, her face equally red, but then again the colour was probably from the smack I gave her.

“I’m going to sue you, Clara Bishop,” she yelled. “I’ll charge you with assault! You and Dean will have to pay me hundreds of thousands of dollars, maybe even millions!”

“Me? Why would I pay?” Dean asked stupidly.

“Because she’s your wife and you brought me into this mess,” Amber snapped. “There may be permanent damage to my face and that’s my livelihood.”