Miss Glamora Tudor!: The New Chronicles of Barset: Book One

by ILIL ARBEL

  “Nevertheless, my dear, you would have made it without me. It may have taken a little longer, but no more than that. I recognized your talent and your star quality – but if I had not been there, someone else would, eventually. And remember, I never tied you down to our GMG contracts. You made many successful films for other studios.”

  “Yes, Jake, but only after working with you and getting a Name. I will forever be grateful to you. And speaking of names, all these years later and I am still wondering how you thought of such a marvellous name for me. Glamora Tudor! This was automatic stardom.”

  “Don’t you remember how I got to it? I am sure I told you.”

  “No, come to think of it, I was thrilled, but I never questioned it. I was just amazed that you came up with it, Jake.”

  “I am show biz, love. Through and through. I have to think of such things all the time. Anyway, when I change names for actors, I first try to stick as close as possible to the original name. And when you came to me with a name like Maura-Gayle Stewart, what could be easier? You know how, when you repeat words in sequence, they start to blend? I kept saying to myself, very quickly, Maura-Gayle-Maura-Gayle-Maura-Gayle-Maura and suddenly it became Gaylemaura. The transition to Glamora was child’s play. As for the surname, I would have kept the Stewart, a perfectly good name for a star, but we already had one Stewart in Hollywood, so I just thought about another British dynasty and Tudor came quickly to mind.”

  “Magnificent. I hope I was as useful to you as you were to me, Jake, all these years.”

  “Of course you were. We are a good team, love. A very good team,” said Mr. Goldwasser and helped himself placidly to a second scone.

  “Yes, we are. But to tell you the truth, Jake, I am getting a little tired of maintaining the glamour, at least once in a while. Sometimes I would like to stop all this madness and start acting, really acting… and be my real age… don’t tell anyone I said so!”

  “Of course not, Glam. It’s not good for business to tell anyone about your doubts, so we will keep these feelings to ourselves for the moment. But we may think of some solutions for your dilemma. I don’t want you to be unhappy with your life, ever. You know that.”

  “What would I do without you managing my career, only the Lord knows,” said Glamora. “Well, time to go to Wardrobe. The deceptively simple suit they are squeezing me into today requires some time and effort, not to mention the subtle makeup and the very plain hairdo that will take a couple of hours to create… and even I have never put on higher heels than those of the shoes they showed me yesterday. What I don’t do to be tall enough for my gigantic leading men… so tedious; my feet already hurt in anticipation. You would think that butter-soft purple suede might be comfortable, but not when the heels make them almost vertical, if this is the word I am looking for. Well, see you later, Jake.”

  Mr. Goldwasser drank his last cup of coffee, musing. It was clear to him that his Glamora was not perfectly happy that morning. If it were a passing whim, no big deal, he thought; she will easily maintain the ageless image for at least ten more years. But if something more permanent was bothering her, he would have to re-evaluate the situation. This was the first time he had ever heard Glamora complain about her shoes. It may be significant, considering she had a shoe collection that could have supplied a small museum, and not a single pair could have been called “sensible.” What would Glam look like in a pair of sensible shoes, Mr. Goldwasser thought idly, something like the shoes that Miss Brinton always wore? No, it was not possible to even imagine it…

  The double doors suddenly burst open and Aurora stood in the entrance, her eyes blazing, her face flushed with emotion.

  “Aurora!” Lord Arthur jumped to his feet. “What are you doing here? We are in the middle of a most important conference! Some of these gentlemen came all the way from the Netherlands to discuss the Lillies contract!”

  “You are always in the middle of a most important something-or-other,” said Aurora disdainfully, never giving so much as a glance to the many men who had also jumped to their feet as soon as she stepped into the room. “Kindly dismiss this meeting, Arthur. What I have to say to you is more important than any of your business ventures.” She looked magnificent in a dark purple velvet suit, a small hat made of the same material perched on her beautifully and simply coiffed hair, and the shoes – but we have already described them. Suffice to say that Glamora negotiated these stilt-like contraptions with her usual easy style and no one could have possibly guessed how much they hurt her poor feet. A small bouquet of violets adorned the opening of her white silk blouse, and other than a pair of heavy pearl earrings, diamond engagement ring, and platinum wedding band, she wore no jewellery.

  “I am sorry, gentlemen. We must resume our meeting tomorrow,” said Lord Arthur. “I do apologize. Let’s meet again at ten o’clock.” The men filed out of the room, quite obediently and without complaints.

  “Well, Aurora?” said Lord Arthur. “You have thoroughly embarrassed me in front of some very important people. I hope you had a good reason.”

  Aurora sat down, a good distance from her husband. The huge conference table was meant to be a subtle symbol of how far apart they have drifted, so it was polished to a gleam that no conference table had ever experienced. Maisie, the romantic head script writer, thought about one large flower arrangement in a state of semi-wilting, as a metaphor for the dying marriage, but she was shot down by the research department who claimed that no conference room would ever have even a small vase. Maisie argued that the business was all about flowers, but to no avail. So the table stretched to its polished miles without interruptions.

  “Embarrassed you, Arthur? You will be much more embarrassed when I leave you,” said Aurora with a fury that must have disconcerted the husband who was used to her reserve.

  “Leave me? Why? Are you mad?”

  “I will be following my heart, Arthur. Since you do not have a heart, you will not understand.”

  “A lady of your rank and position does not leave a marriage like that. This is unthinkable, shocking.”

  “Shocking to what, Arthur? To your feelings, to your love for me, or to your position? I am tired of being alone, neglected, and unloved.” She got up and stared out of the window, her magnificent figure outlined against the bright light.

  “I have given you everything, Aurora. A title, great wealth, a life of culture and refinement, a social position that anyone would envy. And I have always treated you with the utmost respect.”

  “Respect? Position? It is Love I want, Arthur. Love, even if I have to suffer dire poverty as the consequence. I would work my fingers to the bone if I had to help the man I love… Do you think I married you for your position? I loved you, Arthur, and you have mocked and ignored my love.”

  “Is there someone else, Aurora?”

  She turned to him with a sudden movement, clutching nervously at the small bunch of violets tucked into her blouse. It fell on the shining surface of the conference table and she ignored it. “Yes, Arthur. There is someone who loves me. His love is pure and noble. He would not mention rank and money to the woman he adores.”

  “Very likely he does not have any rank or money to mention, Aurora. He may want some of your money and social position. How utterly dreadful. An affair… my wife having an affair with a worthless adventurer… what a scandal.” He put his head in his hands. “Your infidelity will destroy my position.”

  “Don’t cheapen my feelings, Arthur. There is no affair, no infidelity. Nestor and I love each other with all our hearts, but we maintained our purity… our love is like a shining, clear, distant star… Can you understand that? No, you can’t. Goodbye, Arthur, you shall not see me again!” She stalked out of the room. Lord Arthur raised his head, picked up the small bouquet of violets and stared at it. Suddenly he whispered, “Aurora, my love! How could you! Don’t you know how much I adore you?” and brought the violets to his face.

  “Cut!” said Mr. Goldwasser.

&n
bsp; Glamora returned to the room, carrying her shoes in her hands, and smiled sweetly at the very tall, thin, elegant actor who played the unfortunate Lord Arthur and generally specialized in the parts of a British Nobleman even though he really was the son of a greengrocer from Sydney, Australia, and said, “You were as amazing as ever, Peter. You should have been born a lord and a tycoon. You certainly have the Look.” The actor laughed and everyone trailed to the commissary for a much-needed cup of tea.

  At the commissary, Mr. Goldwasser steered Glamora away from the crowd and sat with her at a corner table. “Glam, we must talk,” he said.

  “Was something wrong with today’s shooting?” asked Glamora, surprised.

  “No, it was perfect. Thousands of women will cry when Lord Arthur picks up the violets. Such a nice touch… No, I wanted to talk about a couple of other things. First, our trip to Vienna.”

  “So silly and expensive,” said Glamora. “But of course I can see why you must do it, what with Mrs. Rivers and Lady Norton screeching at you… and I rather look forward to the perfect Wiener Schnitzel at Frau Vogl’s restaurant.”

  “Expensive? Not a bit of it. The price of a short trip and a couple of days in Austria is nothing compared with the fact that we will have to shoot the whole scene for a second time later, love,” said Mr. Goldwasser placidly.

  Glamora looked at him, pale and silent. “Do you mean because of Hank? I think you will find that he has mastered the Waltz. We have been practicing every evening.”

  “I know, Glam. I have seen you, dancing every evening.”

  “Did you notice how much he improved, then?”

  “No, I did not. He may get the hang of the steps, he may learn not to trip on his own feet, but it will never be the exciting, moving experience the audience expects from The Last Waltz. Glam, I have known thousands of actors, and I can tell so much from a single glance at them. Keith is extremely good looking, but he will never be graceful or elegant. He is very large and a bit clumsy, and you know it as well as I do and he freely admits to it. What is it all about, my dear? Why do you insist on this poor boy staying on a job he neither likes nor is suited for? Please explain. You can tell me anything.”

  “I can’t, Jake,” said Glamora and wiped her eyes with a napkin. “No, I can’t explain, really. I don’t quite know how to explain it. As usual, I don’t have the right words... I am so sorry…”

  “And for once I have no idea how to guess or interpret your feelings. Glam, you have vanquished whole troupes of young men, and I always thought of it as your little hobby and never interfered. Come to think of it, I usually find it rather amusing. But your involvement with Keith is destroying the film.”

  “Okay, Jake,” said Glamora, now openly crying. “Give him just this last chance, and if he cannot do The Last Waltz the way you want it, I give up. Yes, I give up.”

  “Glam, you seem a bit too attached to this boy… I don’t want to see you hurt. You may be missing something here. Even if you find him utterly attractive, for whatever reason, you know it won’t be a good thing to go on like that with a young man. Didn’t you notice that he is rather interested in Clover’s little niece?”

  “Yes, Jake, I did notice. More than noticed, I know it with a certainty. But it’s all part of the same problem… I just don’t know how to explain it to you, Jake. I am never good at explaining thoughts, or feelings. You know that.”

  “Okay, love, stop crying,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “Either way, no one will be seriously hurt; I simply won’t allow it. Cheer up. We will go to Vienna, and see what we can do, and if it does not work out we will consult before I do anything at all. I promise you I won’t do a thing without your consent, Glam.”

  It was a busy day in Barchester and the streets were unusually crowded. As Miss Merriman was hurrying out of Bostock and Plummer, the old-established Ladies Emporium from the 1870s, where the respectable county still did its shopping, she bumped into a gentleman and raised her eyes to apologize.

  “Why, Mr. Choyce,” said Miss Merriman. “Please forgive my clumsiness. I don’t know why I am in such a hurry… but how nice to meet you so unexpectedly. I was doing a little shopping before my trip to Vienna.”

  “Vienna?” asked Mr. Choyce, rather taken aback. “You are going to Austria? Why?”

  “With the Company, of course,” said Miss Merriman rather dashingly. “For reasons of authenticity they want to shoot a certain scene on location in Vienna, and Mr. Goldwasser asked me to come with him, just in case.”

  “I see,” said Mr. Choyce. “Well, well, you have been there before, I am sure, but it is a very pleasant city.”

  “Yes, I was there with Lady Pomfret, that is, my Lady Edith Pomfret, years ago. I did enjoy the trip. I am rather looking forward to seeing how Vienna changed, if at all. I wonder if Frau Vogl’s restaurant is still there… Lady Pomfret, who generally ate so little, always looked forward to Frau Vogl’s perfect sachertorte. If the restaurant is still there, I will have a slice in her honour.”

  “Speaking of cakes, would you have time for a cup of tea, Miss Merriman?” asked Mr. Choyce diffidently.

  “Why, yes, Mr. Choyce, I will be delighted. I drove here, so I don’t have to worry about buses or about anyone waiting for me.”

  They entered one of the nicer tea shops and settled at a small table for two by the window. Mr. Choyce felt rather awkward, but of course Miss Merriman, the soul of tact, would not permit herself to notice such a thing.

  “You look a little different, Miss Merriman,” said Mr. Choyce. “Very nice, as always, but different, and I can’t tell what it is.”

  Miss Merriman laughed. “Before I went to do my shopping at Bostock and Plummer, I spent a rather pleasant hour at Maison Tozier, where Miss Dahlia cut and styled my hair in the latest fashion. She said that since I work for Hollywood now, I must be, to use her expression, up-to-date.”

  “Very nice, very nice indeed,” said Mr. Choyce.

  “I am glad you like it, Mr. Choyce,” said Miss Merriman in her quiet way.

  “So how long will you be working with Mr. Goldwasser, Miss Merriman?” asked Mr. Choyce a little too casually, busily and unnecessarily stirring his tea cup with his spoon even though he had not put sugar in it.

  “Until Miss Brinton comes back, in a few weeks,” said Miss Merriman, discreetly pushing the sugar bowl toward Mr. Choyce. “She is rather vague about the exact date.”

  “I wonder why Mr. Goldwasser puts up with that,” said Mr. Choyce somewhat pettishly, and put two lumps in his tea, this time forgetting to stir. He sipped the tea and winced at the bitter taste.

  “He is a very kind man,” said Miss Merriman, ignoring the little incident. “His relationship with Miss Brinton is one of trust and confidence, and he won’t stand in her way if she needs those few weeks for settling a personal matter. Besides, I am there, doing much of her work, so there are no difficulties.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Mr. Choyce, suddenly throwing caution to the winds.

  “Don’t like what, Mr. Choyce? Miss Brinton going on a leave of absence? Why?”

  “No, Miss Merriman. I don’t grudge Miss Brinton a holiday, or time to attend to her personal concerns. Why should I? What I don’t like is that a person of your character, integrity, and morality, should be involved in this film… in an inferior story of bad taste and vaguely risqué behaviour. I am sorry, I have no right to say these things…”

  “We are old friends, Mr. Choyce, and you have the right to express any of your opinions,” said Miss Merriman graciously. “I respect your views both as a friend and as a clergyman. But allow me to assure you, the tone of the film will not affect me, nor will it cause any permanent change, let alone damage, in my life. I am only there for a short while. My duty is at the Towers, and to the Towers I shall return. I could not leave Lord and Lady Pomfret for anything – anything at all – for as long as they want me. I will only leave them when my services are no longer needed.”

  Mr. Choyce felt better, an
d they had a pleasant time. But when Miss Merriman went away in her car, her packages safely stacked on the back seat, he suddenly wondered. Did she mean that if the Pomfrets could dispense with her services, she would then go to Hollywood, after all? Or worse, did she just give him, Mr. Choyce, a royal congé? Did she tell him, in no uncertain terms, that his suit will never meet with success while the Pomfrets needed her? Such behaviour bordered on pointless and purposeless self-sacrifice, an act quite beneath someone as wise and practical as Miss Merriman. He could not believe that this was what she meant – but neither was he sure. Mr. Choyce was extremely confused, and when he went home, Charlemagne did not like the way he looked. “There he goes again,” thought the wise cat. “I must do something about it. This is becoming ridiculous.”

  Chapter Nine

  Self-imposed rules should occasionally be broken. If they become sacred and immutable, life turns out to be too regimented, too orderly, and somewhat airless. It is important to bring this issue to the readers’ attention because we are about to break one of our own self-imposed rules and head out of Barsetshire, and what’s more, not to London, a relatively short trip if you catch the right trains, but to Vienna! This will be an important development because, first, momentous events are about to occur during the GMG trip, and second, because we feel, much like Lady Norton, that after all the talk about the trip to Vienna, it is really part of our own Contract with GMG, though we hope to never express ourselves in the unpleasant manner Lady Norton habitually does.

  However, since we do not profess to know Vienna personally, descriptions will be avoided. Unlike Mrs. Rivers, who was called “The Baedeker Bitch” by her publisher, Mr. Johns, because of her detailed descriptions of every city her heroines visit, we refuse to spend one or two days researching a strange town and then pretend to know it well. If Vienna possesses castles, cobblestone-paved medieval alleys, or charming little cafés, which very likely it does in profusion, the reader is respectfully requested to open a guidebook, do her own research, and get a good visual image of the city. Suffice to say that the Company reached Vienna in safety, with all the filming equipment in good order, and settled in a comfortable hotel. They arrived during late afternoon and planned to go to Frau Vogl’s famous restaurant for dinner.