‘My goodness, Mr Phillips, I hadn’t realized it was such a big deal number,’ said Rose. ‘And it’s a biography?’
‘Well, not exactly. My books are more portraits of the world certain people inhabit, rather than biographies as such. How those people function in it. Dancers, for instance, surveyed the entire ballet scene, as well as one or two particular dancers; The House was a look at British politics and all its shenanigans, as well as a handful of politicians. Big scandals, like Profumo. And this one is actually subtitled A Story of Hollywood. Which is where Brendan comes in.’
‘What’s the title?’
‘The Tinsel Underneath.’
‘Oh, the old Goldwyn quote. Yes, I see. And who is your main subject?’
‘Well, as far as there is one, Piers Windsor.’
‘Piers Windsor! You’re kidding me! What in God’s name does Brendan have to do with Piers Windsor?’
She looked so genuinely astonished that Fleur was taken aback. She felt a thud of intense, painful disappointment.
‘Well, it’s pretty remote,’ said Magnus easily. ‘Let’s call it ideological. It’s the Hollywood connection, really. Have you ever met Piers Windsor?’
‘I certainly have. He was here a year or so ago, filming the Dream, you know? I met him at some parties then. And his pretty little wife.’
‘Did you like the pretty little wife?’ asked Magnus mildly. Fleur shot him a look of pure venom.
‘I thought she was adorable,’ said Rose. ‘And that little tiny daughter – she was just delicious.’
‘Uh-huh. But you hadn’t met him before?’
‘No. Not really.’
‘Not really?’
‘Well, I mean, I think we once met at an Oscar. Something like that.’
‘So you didn’t know him – earlier?’ said Fleur.
Magnus looked at her; his eyes were very hard. She flushed, looked down. It had been the condition of her sitting in on the interview that she didn’t say anything.
‘Earlier – what do you mean, earlier?’ said Rose.
‘Oh – nothing,’ said Fleur. ‘Sorry, Magnus.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Magnus. He turned back to Rose. ‘The thing is, my books are rather like spiders’ webs. I start in the centre and work out. Extraordinary links emerge. That’s why they’re so fascinating. And so – if I may sound immodest – unique. Piers is very far from being the only subject. Merely a hook to hang the book and its concept on. Other actors. Film directors, theatre managers, agents. Money men. Backers. English society. New York society. And lots and lots of Hollywood. Every conceivable area a career of that kind of calibre might be expected to extend into.’
‘Well – of course I’ll tell you what I can. But I still don’t see any possible connection with Brendan,’ said Rose.
‘At this stage, there seems to be none whatsoever,’ said Magnus, ‘but it’s those early Hollywood days, the struggles, what people did to one another, that fascinate me. And Brendan typifies that.’
‘But Piers wasn’t here in the early days,’ said Rose patiently.
‘I’m pretty sure he was. For a brief time.’
‘Piers Windsor? Here? And nobody knew?’ Rose stared at him. Then she began to laugh, her joyful, throaty, infectious laugh. ‘That is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. Do you really think we would have let him get away, that someone somewhere wouldn’t have seen him, snapped him up?’
‘Stranger things have happened,’ said Magnus equably.
‘But, Magnus, he is the most brilliant actor, and probably one of the most photogenic men in the world. Of course he would have been discovered.’
‘Well, maybe he wasn’t so hot then. I believe Laurence Olivier did none too well at first. Isn’t the film business full of people telling how they missed Gable and Monroe and Hepburn first time around?’
‘Oh, puh-lease! I’m telling you, it couldn’t have happened. OK, maybe he might not have made it, but there’s no way someone wouldn’t have known him, noticed him. Or at the very least remembered him later on.’
‘Well, maybe my informant was mistaken,’ said Magnus easily. ‘That’s one of the reasons I’m here, to go over and over the same ground, from every possible angle. I’m very pleased, in a way, that you’re so positive. It makes me that much more careful. Anyway, as I keep saying, it’s the ambience of those days I want to get over. The dreams. All that sort of thing. What it was like to be a struggling young actor. I want to know how you, for example, moved from being a Young Hopeful to a Major Star. I hope you can hear the capitals. And by contrast, how Brendan moved from being a Major Star to a Casualty, a no-hoper.’
‘Well – I don’t know,’ said Rose. ‘I didn’t realize it was going to be quite this sort of book. I thought it was just another book about – well, like you just said, about – Hollywood.’
‘It is,’ said Magnus. ‘Hollywood. And also Broadway. Shaftesbury Avenue. Stratford. Big names, big stars. And I want you to be in it. I want you to grace its pages.’ He smiled at her, and his eyes moved over her face, lingering on her lips. Then he sat back, picked up his glass. ‘But of course I shall understand if you feel you can’t. Absolutely. I have no wish to worry you, make you feel uncomfortable.’
Rose hesitated. ‘Can I read it? Before publication?’
‘Of course. I shall have proof copies sent to you.’
There was a long silence. Then she suddenly said, ‘All right. Start the interview.’
‘Thank you. How did you meet Brendan?’
‘Oh, in the best possible way,’ said Rose, smiling down at the hand holding her glass, at the memory, ‘at a cattle call. A cattle call at Theatrical. Which was then in West Hollywood. You know about cattle calls, Mr Phillips?’
‘I do think,’ he said, ‘you should call me Magnus. After all, you said I should call you Rose. And yes, I do know about cattle calls.’
‘Fine. Well, there he was, Magnus, standing in line, and I just looked at him, and – oh, this is going to sound like one of my movies –’
‘And why not?’ said Magnus. ‘What better way to sound?’
Shit, thought Fleur, he is ladling it on with a shovel. Slimy bastard. She wouldn’t have expected it of him. She was sure Rose could see straight through him. Although she didn’t appear to; she was sitting with her pretty little pointed chin resting on her hand, her large eyes fixed on Magnus, her face just slightly flushed. She was wearing a black dress, cut very low, her brown breasts pushed very high and full; he was clearly captivated by her. Fleur was finding it amusing, in the light of his early hostility.
‘Well, maybe,’ said Rose. ‘Anyway, he looked at me and smiled, and I looked back at him and smiled, and hours later, when neither of us got anything, we caught the bus and went back down to Schwab’s, because he had buddies there, and he bought me a beer and I guess that was that.’
‘Tell me about Schwab’s. Wasn’t that where everyone got discovered?’
‘Supposedly. Of course they weren’t really. But it was such a fun place to be, almost like a family, and they took messages for you and . . .’
The light, musical voice drifted back into the past, telling charming, amusing stories, sad stories, anecdotes, about the people who had been around Schwab’s in those days, hopeful, struggling people, all of them talented, all of them waiting for the big chance, the big break; Fleur listened, half interested, half bored. Rose’s certainty that Piers had not been in Hollywood had upset her. She would surely know. All this time, and she had been making a fool of herself, wasting time. She sighed, forced her mind back on to Rose and her stories. ‘And like I said,’ she was saying, ‘that was it really. For Brendan and me.’
‘But I thought – forgive me –’ Magnus hesitated.
‘Yes?’
‘I thought that a
t first you were just friends.’
‘Oh, you have done a lot of homework.’ She spoke lightly, but was clearly irritated at her story being, however slightly, queried. ‘Who told you that? Fleur here?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Well, Fleur my darling, I shall clearly not have to employ you as my ghost writer when I do my autobiography,’ said Rose. ‘You’ll take all the magic out. Yes, that’s right. We were friends for a while. Friends and housemates. Then one night, oh, I don’t know, the moon was full, I guess, and the air was warm, and – things changed. Friends become lovers rather naturally, I always think, don’t you, Magnus?’
‘Sometimes,’ he said. ‘I prefer the compartments kept very separate myself. Love, for me, is a singular creature, with one thing and one thing only in mind.’
‘Indeed,’ she said, smiling at him, reaching out for the wine, refilling his glass. ‘Well, perhaps we had better not get on to that for now.’
‘Perhaps. And so . . .?’ His voice tailed away.
‘And so – we fell in love. We were inseparable. Everything to one another. I loved him. Very much.’
‘And that lasted for?’
‘Oh, around a year. He had a tough time. Well, we both did. He’d arrived on a three-month contract, didn’t make it; well, you’ll know all this from Joe Payton’s book.’
‘You’ve read it, then?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said quickly. ‘Of course. Are you surprised?’
‘No. No, of course not. Besides, it’s a good book.’
‘I thought so too. Anyway, we had that year, Brendan and I. Hard up but happy. Living in a little cold-water apartment off La Brea. We had fun.’
‘How would you describe him?’
‘Oh –’ Her blue eyes took on a hazy, tender look. ‘Kind. Generous. Gentle. Funny. All the good things.’
‘No bad ones?’
She met his eyes very steadily. ‘Not then, no. Unless you could count trusting people too much.’
‘Hardly a fault.’
‘In Hollywood, that’s a fault.’
‘I can see it might be. How was he as an actor?’
‘Pretty bad. Sorry, Fleur. He really wasn’t good. But he did something to the camera, it liked him, he looked good, moved well. There was one film, a comedy, he played a young lawyer, when I really thought maybe he was getting somewhere. But – well . . .’
‘Did he think he was a good actor?’
‘He certainly did.’ She laughed, easily, tolerantly. ‘And I certainly didn’t disabuse him of the idea.’
‘I would hope not. Fragile egos we have, us men. Did he talk about Fleur?’
‘Of course. A great deal. He loved her very much.’
‘And he wanted her over here?’
‘Yes, he did. But he couldn’t bring her. It wouldn’t have been suitable. Nowhere to live, no money.’
‘Of course. Did he talk about Caroline?’
‘Who?’
‘Fleur’s mother?’
‘Oh – oh sometimes. He had obviously loved her very much. But then I might have been jealous, don’t you think?’ She smiled at him, sweetly provocative.
‘I suppose so. How old were you then?’
‘You should never ask a lady her age.’
‘How old were you, Rose?’
She laughed. ‘How offensive. I was – eighteen.’
‘Ambitious?’
‘Very.’
‘I see. Well now, what went wrong? With this idyllic state of affairs.’
The eyelids lowered: the long black lashes swept down, concealing emotion.
‘He met Naomi MacNeice.’
‘What was she like? She fascinates me.’
‘Casting director ACI. Powerful, dangerous, very clever.’
‘Beautiful?’
‘Not at all.’ Rose sounded almost amused. ‘Icy cold eyes, hard face, much too thin, rude, God, she was rude. She had more enemies than anyone you could possibly think of.’
‘So Brendan wasn’t personally taken with her?’
‘Of course not. He found her very unattractive. But – she was success. At last. And she signed him up, and took him off.’ Her voice was brittle, determinedly amused.
‘And he wasn’t allowed to see you any more?’
‘No, he wasn’t.’
‘And’ – Magnus’s dark eyes were careful, watchful – ‘and how did you feel about that?’
‘Oh – terrible. Of course. Very upset.’
‘Angry? Surely you must have been angry?’
‘No. Not angry. Not exactly. I suppose I found it hard to believe. After – well, after what we’d had. And of course there were scenes. But it was very – Hollywood. You just have to accept that kind of thing.’
‘Really? I find that terribly hard to believe.’
‘Listen,’ said Rose. She leant forward earnestly, pushing back her golden-brown hair. ‘You come to Hollywood to make it. To get famous. Successful. It’s a tough club to get membership, and the rules are very simple. You do what you have to do. Otherwise you just go home. Brendan had to become Naomi’s lapdog.’ Her eyes were calm, but gently, amusedly contemptuous. ‘I didn’t like it, I was very hurt, but I accepted it. And I didn’t want to go home. Magnus, would you like a brandy? Some Armagnac maybe? What about you, Fleur?’
‘Armagnac would be very nice,’ said Magnus. He was awe-inspiringly sober, despite the bottle and a half of Chardonnay he had consumed. Fleur supposed it was years of training. She refused anything more to drink, sipped slightly compulsively on mineral water.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘when did you hear Brendan had fallen from grace?’
‘Oh, very quickly. This is a small town. And he had been quite high-profile. The story hit the scandal sheets and he was out. Just like that.’
‘Did you go and see him?’
‘Yes, I did. Of course.’
‘That was nice of you.’
‘Well, I figured he needed a friend. I suppose I’d loved him enough to be able to be that to him.’
‘It was still nice of you.’
She shrugged, gave him her sweet smile. ‘I’m a nice girl, Magnus.’
‘I can see that.’
God, thought Fleur, I shall throw up in a minute.
‘And what did you make of the allegations in the magazine? Were you shocked?’
‘Not shocked exactly. Surprised.’
‘But you believed them?’
‘I still don’t know. I think probably I thought, and I still think, that there was maybe a minor indiscretion or two, and they were – well, oversold, shall we say? I honestly didn’t take a great deal of notice at the time. Those publications were always raking along the bottom of the muck heap, destroying reputations, people, lives. That Dan Dailey was a drag queen, that Lana Turner and Ava Gardner shared a lover. Half the time they were bought off, the scandal sheets. They made as much money out of blackmail money as sales. But within that framework, I guess I thought it might have been – feasible. Anything’s feasible here. I can’t stress that enough.’
‘But you’d certainly had no idea? That he might have been – capable of such behaviour?’
‘Of course not. None.’
‘Not even though he’d been brought to Hollywood by two raving queens?’
‘Magnus, half of the actors in Hollywood are there by courtesy of raving queens.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. And he’d never talked to you about past indiscretions?’
‘No. Never. It’s not the kind of thing you tell your girlfriend, is it? Magnus, I’m awfully tired. Do you think we could carry on tomorrow?’
‘Of course we can. I’m so sorry. I thought you were busy tomorrow.’
‘Oh, not re
ally. Costume fittings, that sort of thing.’
‘Well maybe I’d better be getting back to the hotel. Could your driver take me?’
‘He could, but you’re welcome to stay. It’s very late. The poolhouse is free. There’s everything you need in there. Including pyjamas.’
‘I don’t wear pyjamas,’ he said. ‘But thank you. I’ll take you up on the offer.’
‘And we can talk some more in the morning.’
‘Indeed we can.’
Fleur could see the poolhouse from her room. The lights were on for almost two hours after they all went to bed.
In the morning Rose was sparkling, awesomely bright. She had done thirty lengths, she told them, before either of them had even been up. She sat by the pool in a pale peach robe, her face totally bare, her wet hair slicked back, and looked as perfect as if she had spent three hours in make-up.
She offered Magnus fruit salad, eggs, croissants. He spurned them all.
‘I only like toast. And do you have any marmalade?’
‘I certainly do.’ She picked up the house telephone on the poolhouse wall.
‘Sue! Bring some marmalade out, would you?’
‘Er – I’m afraid it isn’t just some marmalade,’ said Magnus. ‘I only eat Cooper’s Oxford. Otherwise honey’ll do.’
‘It’ll have to,’ said Rose Sharon. ‘What in God’s name is Cooper’s Oxford?’
‘The only real marmalade there is,’ said Magnus. ‘All the rest is counterfeit.’
‘We only have the counterfeit. Sue, can we have some honey? Fleur darling, you look tired.’
‘I am tired,’ said Fleur. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’
‘Oh, darling, I’m sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Fleur, ‘I hardly ever can.’
‘Did you try herbal tea?’
‘I tried everything.’
‘Acupuncture?’
‘Everything,’ said Fleur firmly. She had no intention of letting some Hollywood crank stick needles into her.
That morning Magnus sat and recorded at least sixty minutes more of conversation with Rose about her early career, her struggles, how she got her first big break. ‘I was working at the Garden of Allah, and this guy came in, said I should be in pictures and he could help. I said sure, what was his name, Harry Cohn? He said no, but he was one of Harry Cohn’s scouts. I didn’t believe him, of course, but it was true.’
AN Outrageous Affair Page 72
