by Joan Wolf
“Did he really?” Tracy said with genuine interest. “I know that the American dressage team did not do as well as we had hoped, but I just assumed that the Germans had won all the medals.”
Sidney’s straight back became a little straighter, and he stood a little taller. “No. Britain won the bronze.”
Jon said, “Not all of Silverbridge’s press has been as positive as Sidney makes it out to be. Last year a model he was seeing committed suicide when he dumped her.”
Sidney made a noise that sounded like harrumph. “It was a terrible tragedy, my dear Tracy, and I’m certain Lord Silverbridge deeply regretted the young woman’s hasty action.”
Jon said conversationally, “Actually he was cool as a cucumber about it.”
“If you will excuse me, I must speak to someone for a moment,” Sidney said courteously to Tracy. Then, in a very different voice, he said to Jon, “Your costume is in that room.”
As he watched Sidney walk off, Jon said, “I shouldn’t let him bother me, but he does.”
“He seems harmless,” she replied.
Jon shook his head, as if to clear it, then said, “Do you realize that we are going to have a day off? We leave for Wiltshire on Sunday, but Dave has left us Saturday free.”
“He must have made a mistake. I thought he was ethically opposed to days off.”
Jon laughed. “I was wondering if there was anything in London that I could show you, anything you haven’t already seen.”
Tracy hid her surprise. Jon had been friendly over the past six weeks, but he had never attempted to ask her out.
Not that there’s been time to do anything but film, she thought.
She hesitated, then said slowly, “I would love to see the Tower of London. I’ve been here at least a dozen times, but I’ve never managed to tour the Tower.”
He smiled. “One of my favorite places. Let’s go to the Tower then.”
Tracy had not lost any of her initial awe of this English actor; in fact, her respect had increased the more she worked with him. She did not want him to have an unpleasant experience in her company. So she said half-humorously, “I must warn you that if you are seen in my company, the American gutter press will assume that I’m carrying your baby. It will then plaster this news all over the scandal sheets so that every person in America who buys groceries will be sure to see it.”
“Surely we can manage to elude the press for one day,” he protested.
“There is one reporter who seems to have made me his mission in life. If I were an ordinary person, I could have him arrested for stalking, but my lawyer tells me that I am a public figure, and the press has a right to do its job.”
“Good heavens,” he said.
“This miserable excuse for a human being is parked outside my hotel just waiting to pounce. I don’t want you to be the other pouncee.”
“There must be a back way out of your hotel,” he said.
Her lips curved in acknowledgment of a hit. “There are several exits, in fact. I prefer the kitchen one myself. As far as I know, that miserable bloodhound, Counes, hasn’t found it yet.”
“Great. Then shall we say that I’ll meet you at ten o’clock Saturday morning outside the kitchen of your hotel?”
Tracy felt a spurt of excitement. “Okay.”
“Uh-oh, Sidney returns,” Jon said. “I had better get into my costume before he throws a tantrum.” She laughed, and waved, and turned away.
2
Tracy had a very enjoyable time on Saturday with Jon. They managed to avoid the loathsome Counes and were relatively undisturbed by the tourists at the Tower. They capped the day with an excellent dinner at one of London’s best restaurants and ended it with a visit to a nightclub.
Tracy did not find a single flaw in Jon that was egregious enough to complain to Gail about.
On Sunday afternoon, the movie company left for Wiltshire. Tracy was feeling sleepy from a late night and dozed for most of the trip. It was almost six by the time the car pulled up to the front of a half-timbered building that was styled like a large cottage. The front yard was brilliant with massed pink tulips, and, as Tracy ascended the stone steps, a carved panel next to the front door proclaimed THE WILTSHIRE ARMS.
The manager himself escorted her to her suite, which was decorated with what looked like genuine antiques.
“It’s lovely,” Tracy said politely. “What a charming hotel.”
The manager, who had a round, babyish face and horn-rimmed glasses, beamed like a delighted two-year-old. “It’s not large, so we can offer personal service to all our guests. Please call me, Miss Collins, if you need anything at all.”
Tracy said that she would, and he left as two young men in uniform came in with her luggage. As they took the bags into the bedroom, she went to look at the cards on the magnificent floral arrangements that dotted the sitting room. The flowers were from her producer, Jim Ventura; her director, Dave Michaels; the hotel management; and Jon. She was reading the card attached to the last floral arrangement when the phone rang.
Gail answered, then put her hand over the receiver, and said, “It’s Jon Melbourne. Do you want to speak to him?”
“Yes, of course.” Tracy went to take the phone from her secretary. “Hi, Jon. How are you?”
“Comfortable. This is a nice hotel.”
“It seems to be.”
“I understand that its dining room serves the best food in the area. Would you care to join me for dinner tonight? Once we get started filming, we’ll be eating off the catering truck I’m afraid.”
Tracy smiled. “From the looks of the shooting schedule, I’m sure we will. I’d like to have dinner with you. In an hour?”
“An hour it is. See you in the restaurant.”
“Great.” Tracy hung up and turned to her secretary. “Jon just invited me to have dinner with him.”
Gail’s large brown eyes shone. “Now this is promising. He must have passed the first test.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tracy replied edgily. “I don’t have ‘tests.’ ”
“Oh yeah? Then how come all the men you know seem to flunk them?”
Tracy’s shoulders slumped fractionally and, all of a sudden, she looked very weary. “I don’t know, Gail.” She hooked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I just don’t know.”
Gail said something under her breath in Spanish, then came to put an arm around her employer. “Don’t mind me, I’m only teasing. My problem is I don’t know when to stop. Have fun with Jon. I’d have dinner with him just to listen to him read me the phone book.”
Tracy smiled. “I know. That voice! Anyway, you’re on your own for dinner. I suggest you order all the best stuff from room service. The movie company is paying, remember.”
Tracy was very popular with the moneymen in Hollywood because her modest requests for perks added very little to a movie’s budget. Instead of asking the studio to pay for a limo, a cook, a private camper for location shots, and personal makeup, hair, and clothes persons, she only required that the studio pay the hotel, food, and travel bills for her secretary. She was perfectly content to use regular studio personnel for the rest of her needs.
“Filet mignon, I think,” Gail said.
Tracy nodded. “Perfect.” She glanced at her watch. “We had better get a dress unpacked for me to wear to dinner.”
They both knew the “we” was a courtesy, and Gail would unpack the suitcases. She said, “Why don’t you take a shower while I’m getting the clothes out?”
“Terrific idea. Thanks.”
Tracy went into the bathroom while Gail hung a garment bag on a hook in the closet and began to take dresses out of it. “How about the blue Escada?” she called through the door to Tracy.
“Fine,” Tracy called back over the sound of rushing water.
Gently, Gail took a deep cobalt blue dress out of the garment bag and laid it on the bed. Then she went to another suitcase to see if she could find the matching shoes.
&nbs
p; Jonathan Melbourne sat in the dining room of the Wiltshire Arms sipping a Glenlivet and waiting for Tracy. He had socialized and worked with many beautiful women in his life, but there was something about Tracy that was particularly striking. She looked so… so… healthy, he thought, picturing her in his mind. She was slim, not skinny, with a beautiful slender waist, and her flawless skin had a natural glow. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was threaded with a gold that looked amazingly natural, though Jon was quite sure it couldn’t be.
When she came in the door, every eye in the dining room turned her way.
“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” she said, as the waiter seated her.
“I haven’t been here long at all.”
She looked around the small, elegant room. “This is charming.”
“It’s not as opulent as L’Aigrette,” he said, referring to the restaurant in London he had taken her to. “But it’s more comfortable.”
She smiled, showing the perfectly even white teeth that Jon associated with all Americans.
A waiter came to ask what Tracy wanted to drink and, as she gave her order, Jon took another sip of his scotch and watched her. Her hair glowed under the light from the chandelier, and, in profile, the tilt of her nose looked delightfully insouciant. She turned away from the waiter to look back at him, and Jon said, “That dress is lovely. It matches your eyes.”
A faintly ironic expression came over the eyes in question. “Why else do you think I bought it?” She picked up the handwritten parchment menu and frowned. “This writing is so elegant that I can’t read a word of it.”
“Their veal is supposed to be outstanding,” he said.
The cobalt eyes looked at him reproachfully. “Do you know what they do to those poor little baby calves?”
“Please don’t tell me,” he replied hastily.
“If you knew, you would never eat veal.”
“I’ll order something else,” he promised. He remembered that she had eaten fish the night before, and asked curiously. “Are you a vegetarian?”
She gave him a rueful look. “No. I tried to be once, but the dreadful truth is that I don’t like vegetables very much. It’s difficult to be a vegetarian when you don’t eat vegetables, so I went back to eating meat.”
“But not veal.”
She smiled. “But not veal.”
The waiter appeared, and once again Tracy ordered fish. After the waiter had collected their menus and left, she said, “I’ve been wanting to tell you how wonderful your films of Hamlet and Henry TV are. I think it’s marvelous that people who didn’t get to see the theater productions should have an opportunity to see your performance.”
He was pleased. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied, and took a sip of her white burgundy.
He buttered a roll. “You appear to be fond of Shakespeare. Have you ever acted in one of his plays?”
“Oh no.” She shook her head emphatically, causing her gorgeous hair to float around her shoulders. “I was an English major in college, and so I’ve read most of his plays, but I never acted in one. I really became an actress by chance, you see. I didn’t go to drama school or anything like that.”
He was about to ask how she did become an actress when a stir at the door drew their attention. The maitre d’ and other members of the staff were fawning over two men who had just come in. As the newcomers were ceremoniously escorted to the best table in the room, Tracy said to Jon, “Are they royalty or something?”
He laughed. “Not precisely. The man with the mustache is Robin Mauley, the biggest real estate developer in the country. He’s rather like your Donald Trump, I suppose. The other man is Ambrose Percy, the hotel man.”
Tracy raised her eyebrows. Ambrose Percy, the scion of one of Britain’s most noble families, built only five-star hotels.
“They must be cooking up a deal,” Jon went on. “I know that Mauley is interested in building a world-class golf course here in England, and Percy must be thinking of putting a hotel nearby.”
Tracy said, with an edge to her voice, “It sounds like America—golf courses everywhere. Personally, I think they’re a blight on the landscape. A few years ago some developer bulldozed a beautiful stretch of woodlands near my parents’ home in Connecticut and put in a golf course. Now there’s nowhere to ride your horse, or let your dog run, and the deer are reduced to eating from everyone's gardens. What we do have are batches of people dressed in Calvin Klein, scooting around in carts and whaling away at a little white ball.”
Jon, who played golf, was amused. “What you just said would be regarded as blasphemy by most of the people I know.”
She took a sip of wine. “I really don’t mind people playing golf, it’s the cutting down of the natural woodlands that I abhor.”
He decided to drop the subject of golf. “You said that you became an actress by chance. If you weren’t going to be an actress, what were you going to be?”
She looked a little wary. “I was going to be a high school English teacher.”
He thought that she would have been a completely disruptive influence in an environment of adolescent males, but prudently did not share his thought with her. Instead he asked, “And what caused you to change your mind and go into acting instead?”
A subtle change came over her face, and she looked down at her china plate and was quiet.
He said, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I know what a nuisance it is to always answer the same questions.”
She looked up. “It isn’t a big deal. I took a semester off from college between my junior and senior year and an agent I knew got me a job on a film that was shooting in New York. The director liked me and put me in his next picture, and my career sort of snowballed from there. I never went back to school to finish my degree.” Her voice was calm, but there was suddenly such an air of sadness about her that Jon felt an urge to gather her into a comforting embrace. He said with an attempt at lightness, “So you were never a struggling young actress, pounding the pavements looking for a job?”
She shook her head. “No. I was lucky.”
The look in her eyes did not agree with her words. “Mademoiselle, monsieur.” It was the waiter with their food. Once the plates had been placed in front of them, it was only natural to change the subject.
“What do you think about Julia?” he asked, referring to Tracy’s part in the movie. “Her husband certainly thinks she is unfaithful, but the book leaves the question open.”
She smiled faintly, although her eyes still held that sad look. “I don’t think I’m going to tell you what I think. If you’re going to play Martin, you need to be in a state of doubt.”
He grinned. “That is very astute of you.”
She smiled back. “Thank you.”
He immediately tried to think of a way to make her smile like that again.
Jon was called for Monday morning, but Tracy was not needed until the afternoon, which afforded her a chance to sleep in. At precisely eleven-thirty she and Gail came out of the Wiltshire Arms and got into the car with their driver, Tracy in the front as usual and Gail in the back. Tracy always sat in the front of cars because she had a tendency to get carsick.
The two-lane road from the hotel took them through a perfect stretch of English countryside, and today Tracy was awake enough to enjoy it. The new leaves were a clean fresh green, and dense patches of bluebells turned the grassy meadows an even deeper blue than the sky above. Brown cows grazed peacefully in their fields, and ducks floated on a stream underneath a small stone bridge.
“What a difference from what it must have looked like last year, when they had that awful foot-and-mouth disease over here,” Gail said.
“That was horrible,” Tracy agreed, and opened the window so she could smell the freshness of the spring air. They passed a pasture where ewes were nibbling the sweet new grass while their lambs frolicked around them. A flock of birds passed overhead and settled in the woods
at the far end of the pasture.
“Oh, aren’t the lambs darling!” Gail exclaimed. She had grown up in the New York City streets of Spanish Harlem, and the sight of animals always delighted her.
Ten minutes later a high iron fence appeared on their right. “This must be it,” Charlie said, and slowed the car.
The gate was open, and a small, discreet sign beside it proclaimed the word: SILVERBRIDGE. Charlie turned in.
The long driveway was bordered by beautiful tall lime trees and eventually opened onto a vista of vast green lawns, budding shrubbery, and flower beds with a brilliant display of erect red and yellow tulips. The centerpiece of this scene was an elegant, Palladian-style mansion, its many tall windows glittering in the afternoon sun.
Tracy stared at the mansion like one who is stunned. I know this house. The thought was instant, confident, absolute. Her heart began to pound.
Don’t be ridiculous, she scolded herself, trying to account for the odd sensation of déjà vu. I must have seen a picture of it somewhere. I’ve never been here before.
Dimly from the backseat she heard Gail’s voice. “What a beautiful house. It’s so perfectly proportioned.”
“Yes,” Tracy managed to reply.
The car pulled up, and for the first time she noticed the movie’s trucks and campers parked on the driveway along the edge of the wide front lawn. They looked ugly and incongruous in the golden eighteenth-century setting.
Gail opened her door, jumped out, lapdog in hand, and said cheerfully, “Well here we are. Do you want to go directly to makeup or do you want to check out your dressing room first?”
It was a sensible, ordinary question. Tracy, whose eyes were glued to the house, didn’t respond.
“Tracy?” Gail asked. She opened the front car door and looked worriedly at her employer. “Are you all right?”
Slowly Tracy swung her legs out of the car and stood up. The smell of cut grass wafted to her nostrils. The golden stone of the house was mellow in the sunshine. She stared at it and said nothing.
