Quest for Alexis (3 page)

From then on Deer’s Leap became my home, and I
grew to love every mellow stone of it, every nook and
moss-filled crevice. There was a timeless quality about
the ancient manor, as if its very fabric had grown out
of the sandy heath upon which it stood. The grounds, except for some hard-won lawns and rock gardens just
around the house and terrace, defied all attempts at
taming with domestic plants. It was a lovely wilderness
of bracken and heather, with dense encroaching
clumps of wild rhododendron and quiet woodland
glades where a spotted fallow deer could now and
then be glimpsed. A wonderful playground for a soli
tary, imaginative child. I loved the lake, where I swam
when it was warm, and used to spend hours drifting in
the dinghy while I read a book or just lay back in dreamy contemplation, waiting for a kingfisher to
swoop down from the conifers and pluck a small trout
from the water.

And after I left school and was working in London,
Deer’s Leap was still the place I loved to be above all
others. Most weekends when I could get away I would
drive down to Sussex. If the offer of a six-month spell
at BFC’s New York office had come at some other
time, I might even have turned it down. But when it
did come, it seemed like a deliverance from Brett
Warrender.

It was at Deer’s Leap that I met Brett again for the
first time since I was a child. I had known him before
in Czechoslovakia, known and disliked him with sin
gle-minded intensity.

Brett had spent much of the long vacation—he was
at Cambridge then—visiting his father in Prague just
after Sir Ralph had married Caterina. Since both of us
were the offspring of Embassy officials, it was inevita
ble that our paths should cross now and again.

At first I had approved of Brett enormously, because
he spoke to me in such a friendly, natural way, with
no hint of condescension despite his nineteen years to
my ten. But I gathered, from an amused remark tossed across the luncheon table, that “young Brett” wasn’t
backward and knew his way around with women. And
it wasn’t long before I received humiliating proof of
that.

We were in an anteroom at the Embassy one after
noon, deep in an absorbing discussion—Brett doing
the talking and me a rapt listener—about the new
wave of Czech film directors.

“Men like Mrynych and Milos Forman have a com
pletely fresh approach to the problem of ...” He broke
off as the door behind me opened. It was Eileen Peters,
an Embassy secretary. Eileen had ash-blond hair and long shapely legs—and instantly she was the target of
all Brett’s attention.

“Oh, I was looking for your father,” she said with a
coy little laugh.

Brett awarded her a dazzling smile. “Won’t I do
instead?”

“Well, that depends.”

I was totally forgotten. Wretchedly, I crept out of
the room, and I doubt that Brett even noticed my going.

I might have forgiven him this once, but a few days
later it happened again, with some other girl. I was
furious. I was madly jealous. I vowed I would hate
and despise Brett Warrender forever.

And nothing in the intervening years had caused me
to change my opinion. On getting his honors degree, Brett had rebelled against going into the diplomatic
service like his father. Instead, he had spent two or
three years roaming the world doing his own thing be
fore eventually landing a job as a TV man-on-the-spot
reporter. This proved to be just his
metier,
and Brett rapidly became one of the small screen’s best-known
faces.

By a strange combination of circumstances, we had
never met in all this while, even though I was at Deer’s
Leap so often. Brett spent a great deal of his time
abroad. When he did come home to visit his father and
stepmother, it just so happened that I had always
missed seeing him.

Now and then I’d watched Brett on TV, and these
programs only confirmed my preformed judgment of
him. An overconfident man, an arrogant man—too
aware of his own ability, far too aware of his attrac
tiveness to women.

So when I arrived at Deer’s Leap one Saturday for
the weekend, it was with mixed feelings that I learned we had all been invited to dine with the Warrenders
because Brett would be at home.

“We were working it out,” said Alexis. “You two
haven’t met each other since that summer in Prague,
have you?”

At least it would be interesting, I told myself, actual
ly to see him in the flesh after all this time.

At seven-thirty Alexis, Madeleine, Rudi, and I
trooped through the doorway that divided the two parts
of the house, a door that was always left unlocked,
though seldom used unless by invitation.

The Warrenders were in their drawing room—the beautiful Ivory Room that had always fascinated me,
filling me with wonder at the hours of dedicated crafts
manship that had gone into the carving of those fragile
treasures. The two men rose to their feet to greet us,
and Sir Ralph held out his hand to me, smiling the un
seeing smile of a blind man.

“Gail, my dear, you are always welcome. And this
evening doubly so. My son has been looking forward
to seeing you again.”

I turned to Brett, and our eyes met. Until the day I
die, I shall be able to recall the exact quality and tex
ture of that moment. The sudden tensing of my heart
muscles, the feeling of panic, of struggling for breath,
the lost, despairing sensation that I was drowning.

From the sofa by the fire, Caterina gave her musical
laugh. “Well, Brett, what do you say? Gail is no longer
a shy little schoolgirl, is she?”

He grinned at his stepmother affectionately. “I hate
to contradict you, Caterina, but I deny that Gail was
ever shy. An intelligent and fascinating child, as I re
call—when she wasn’t sulking.”

It was almost a relief to find that Brett could still
infuriate me.

Over dinner it emerged that Brett was now in a posi
tion to pick and choose his assignments. In the future,
it was unlikely that he would need to spend so much
of his time abroad. “We hope we shall be seeing a
great deal more of him from now on,” his father told
us.

Across the table I met Brett’s eyes again and read
the challenging message in them. I glanced away hast
ily, disturbed and confused. By the end of the eve
ning I felt strangely tired, almost exhausted, as if I
had been under an unbearable strain.

Next morning at breakfast Alexis asked me casual
ly, “What did you think of Brett?”

The shattering effect of his personality was still upon me. But I fought against it. “He has a high opinion of
himself, I’d say.”

“With good reason,” said Alexis mildly. “Brett has a
clever mind, and his analysis of a political situation is
very acute.”

I gave a casual shrug. “Oh, well, I doubt that I’ll be
joining his fan club.”

On Monday morning Brett called me at the Mayfair
offices of Brand, Feiffer, and Coles. He came to the
point without any preamble.

“Gail, you must have dinner with me tonight.”

The curious feeling of panic gripped me again, but it didn’t even occur to me to refuse or invent some
excuse. I knew when I was defeated. I just said, “Yes,
of course.”

“I’ll pick you up at your place at seven-thirty—
okay? And by the way, Gail, keep the rest of the week
free. I’ve a feeling we’ll want to see a lot of each other
from now on.”

And we did. Too much, perhaps. Our relationship
was too intense, too urgent, too demanding. Looking back, I think I was never truly happy. I felt so unsure
of Brett, and each time I saw him I dreaded that this might be the last time. I knew jealousy such as I had never experienced with any other man. He made me
angry, and we often quarreled, so that I lived always
on the edge of despair. But the times when everything
was good between us seemed to make up for all the
rest.

And then, suddenly, with the spring, it was over.

I still went down to Deer’s Leap quite often on
weekends, but Brett kept clear when I was there. He
accepted a couple of assignments abroad that took him
away for most of the summer. Alexis, with his usual
tact, didn’t press me for details, and I made no attempt
to explain. For all our closeness, this was something too
painful to be talked about.

It was in the autumn that Alexis told me about the
plans for a documentary on his life and work.

“You mean
Brett
is going to make it?” I exclaimed, horrified. “But why Brett? Why does it have to be him?”

Alexis gave me a brief, pitying smile.

“It’s almost an honor, really. Brett is a top name in
television nowadays, and of course he’s known me for
so long that he understands the way I think. For my
self, I couldn’t be more pleased.” My uncle regarded
me intently. “You see, my dear, Brett Warrender’s
stamp on the film will help it make a big impact, and
I want all the publicity I can get at the moment. It
will help achieve a widespread sale for my book.”

Alexis didn’t need to explain to me that he wasn’t
concerned about the money involved, except insofar
as it would allow him to give further aid to his refugees.
This new book took the lid off a great deal that the
Communists would have liked to keep hidden about
the Stalinist trials of the 1950s.

“Men like Clementis and Slansky were hanged, Gail,
in order to terrify the whole nation and keep it sub
dued. The methods they used to extract false confes
sions—the methods they used on innocent people like
poor Madeleine—these things need to be told. They
have never been properly understood in the West. This
is my chance to
make
them understood.”

I supported my uncle all the way, of course, but still
I felt dismayed that Brett should be the one to make
the film that was to tie in with his book.

Alexis went on, “Brett and his production team will be in and out of Deer’s Leap for quite some time.” He
ran his fingers through his thick white hair, a sign of
nervousness. “I don’t mind admitting that I’ve had
great hopes, Gail. Perhaps, seeing a lot of each other
again, you will be able to be friends once more. Who knows, you might even—”

I cut in quickly, my pride at stake. “I’m afraid I’m
likely to be very busy myself in the next few months.
I doubt if I’ll be able to get down here very often.”

I would have been hard put to it to find excuses for
skulking in my Bayswater apartment every weekend.
But fate decided to be kind. Only a week later Tom Grant, the London boss of Brand, Feiffer, and Coles,
sent for me.

“How would you like to do a stint in the New York
office, Gail? They’ve suggested an exchange of staff to
compare our working methods.”

It seemed the perfect answer to my problem. More
over, it sounded exciting, a challenge, something to
give me a new interest and break free from the state of dull apathy I’d been living in these past months.

“Great,” I said, “count me in!”

Tom Grant raised his thick eyebrows and grinned.
“Can you really say yes just like that? You amaze me,
Gail. Haven’t you any ... male entanglements at the
moment?”

“No entanglements,” I said firmly.

In New York I received regular progress reports
from Alexis on the film-making. He was very happy
about it and full of praise for Brett. He also made
constant references to Elspeth Vane, the film’s produc
er. A charming woman, he wrote, intelligent and
talented as well as beautiful.

Alexis clearly had no idea that he was twisting a
knife in my heart.

I was infinitely thankful for the lucky chance that
had removed me from Deer’s Leap at this time. And I
guessed that Brett was equally thankful not to have me
around. A break like ours must be clean-cut. Final.