Camellia

by Lesley Pearse

  'Oh, Mel,' he sighed. 'What is there now?'

  The wind was cold, whipping round her legs and fluttering the skirt of her black dress. She could remember asking herself that same question when Bee died. She knew now that time did heal all wounds.

  'There's you, me, Nick,' she whispered. 'And Sophie and Stephen. Maybe soon you'll have grandchildren. We'll hold Helena in our hearts forever. She isn't gone.'

  He straightened up then, wiping his sleeve across his eyes. 'It was picking up these cards that started me off,' he said, holding them out to her. 'So many loving messages. Yet I never said to her what was growing in my heart.'

  'Some things don't have to be said,' she said simply. 'Some of the sweetest memories are just a special look, a brush of the hand. She'll know what lies behind our tears and our silences.'

  He half smiled. 'I just wish –'

  'No.' Mel stopped his words with one finger on his lips. 'No wishes or if onlys. Helena wouldn't want that. As the vicar said, we have to celebrate her life and honour it, thank her too for bringing us back together. Maybe in a week or two we can think of some way to do that properly.'

  'You're right, of course,' he sniffed and then put his arm round her shoulder. 'You know even if Helena hadn't finally told us she was your mother, I would have guessed eventually. You are becoming more like her every minute. But we must get back to Oaklands – everyone else will be there by now.'

  After the cold wind in the churchyard it was good to be back in the warm. Mrs Downes had called in several local women to get things ready while they were all at the church, and they'd built up the fire in the drawing room and laid out a buffet in the bar.

  Mel felt a wave of panic as she walked in with Magnus and Antoine. Except for Conrad, almost everyone mere was a stranger to her. She didn't think she could speak to anyone.

  'It's okay.' Nick saw her stricken face and came forward with a glass of brandy for her. He took her jacket and hat from her. 'They are just people who cared for your mother. They all understand you aren't up to talking much.'

  Conrad came forward first, silently holding out his arms, his mournful face showing just how much he felt for her.

  'You poor darling,' he said hoarsely as he hugged her. 'If I'd known this was going to happen I'd have torn my heart out before showing you that newspaper.'

  For a moment she hugged him back wordlessly. She wanted to apologise for not returning his many calls in the last week, for not acknowledging the beautiful letter he'd written, and yet she knew he understood about that dark world she'd fallen into. 'Please don't regret anything, Con,' she whispered against his shoulder. 'You taught me to accept fate, and that's what this is. I'm so very glad I met Helena, even if our time together was so short. And so very glad that I have you as a friend.'

  They talked for a little while, about the restaurant, her engagement to Nick, and his role in Delinquents, then Mel felt compelled to go and speak to other people. 'I'll come back to you later,' she said, pressing his hand in hers. 'You mingle too, there are plenty of people here who loved Helena's films as much as you, especially Miles – he'll be pleased to talk to you again.'

  It wasn't the ordeal she'd expected. Nick was right, they were just people who cared, and by circulating and having a few words here and there, gradually she found she was building up a picture of who everyone was and what Helena meant to them.

  The statuesque redhead, hands laden with rings, was Suzanna Ashleigh from Louisiana, an ex-dancer who had worked with Helena in Hollywood. She greeted Mel with unexpected warmth.

  'Helena was a real pal to me when I first arrived in Hollywood,' she confided, in her languorous Southern drawl. 'I was one of those dumb broads they used to call starlets. No talent, just a good body and a pretty face. She always said I reminded her of her Aunt Marleen, and she used to tell me these stories about Marleen's fancy men. She called them Spivs. There was a hidden warning in those tales, a sort of, "listen to me girl or you'll end up washed up in some trailer park". Gee, without her around I would've got in deep trouble too! She was one of the biggest stars at MGM then, but she never showed off. Ya know she lent me one of her evening dresses once. It was gorgeous, white chiffon, made by Myna Lowe, the dame who made a lotta Ginger Rogers's clothes. I was going to a big party and I wanted to look a sensation. Well I looked a sensation all right, but I had one too many martinis and somehow ended up in the pool with it on. The dress was ruined and I thought she'd kill me. But guess what she said when I finally got around to owning up?'

  Mel smiled. She liked the woman's frankness. 'Last time I lend you a new dress?'

  Suzanna laughed. 'The hell she did! No, she said "Well did you have a good time?" I said I did, but I was real sorry about her dress. She said, "Well, that's all that counts. If I had as many good times as I have dresses, maybe I wouldn't need a shrink." ' Suzanna stopped short and looked a little embarrassed. 'I guess I shouldn't have said that, honey.'

  'Yes, you should,' Mel retorted. 'She told me about that, she didn't make a secret of it.'

  'Well, all I can say it was a damned shame she kept you a secret,' Suzanna said. 'But I guess that was why she always seemed so sad.'

  Rupert Henderson, Helena's young co-star in Broken Bridges had no humorous stories to tell. As he spoke of acting with Helena he was struggling not to cry. His angelic choirboy face, soulful brown eyes and storm of blond ringlets were enough to make a woman of any age want to mother him.

  'She was such a great actress.' He bit his lip and tried hard to smile. 'But she was a lovely woman too, so generous with her praise, so patient and kind.'

  Nick had told Mel a great deal about him. They had crossed paths many times at auditions, and Nick said Rupert was as conceited as he used to be. But he didn't come across as at all conceited to her. He was truly distressed.

  'She made it all so easy,' he said wistfully. 'She explained to me all the emotions a woman of forty would feel falling for a lad half her age. The terrible fear of being out of control and of being hurt, the anxiety that her body is past its best and the jealousy when her lover looks at girls his own age.'

  Mel guessed he had been a little in love with Helena. She wondered if he had anyone he could shared his grief with. 'What will happen to the film now?' she asked.

  He shrugged. 'I don't know, nothing's been decided. All our big scenes together are in the can already, but there's still the whole bit to do when she finds her lover has another younger girlfriend, and her revenge. There was some talk about altering the storyline – something like her being disfigured in an accident, so we can get a stand-in, but I don't like the idea of that.' He broke off, blushing, realising how tactless he'd been.

  'I don't think Helena would mind that,' Mel soothed him. 'I think she'd even see the black humour in it.'

  'You are very like her.' He ran his eyes over Mel appraisingly. 'Not in looks so much, more your direct manner. I'm glad I met you. Perhaps we could meet for a drink sometime and talk about her.'

  Mel guessed Nick wouldn't like that, although she knew Rupert wasn't asking for a date. 'Maybe,' she said. 'I don't know whether I'm going back to London or staying here. I expect it's the same for you.'

  As the day slipped into early evening, Mel found she was moving out of the hopelessness she'd felt for the past week, just by speaking to all these people. Many of them had worked closely with Helena. Some like Suzanna had reason to feel indebted to her, others told her funny stories which gave a different insight into her mother's character from the things Miles or Magnus had told her previously.

  A relaxed atmosphere had crept into the room, perhaps aided by the drinks Magnus plied them with and the warm fire. The women had taken off their hats. One sat on a settee beside Miles with her legs tucked beside her as she chatted to him. Conrad was squatting on a stool in front of an elderly woman who'd apparently been a magician's assistant, and toured with Helena and Bonny right back in the 1940s.

  Miles and Nick were perfect hosts, getting drinks, urging pe
ople to eat, circulating and making sure no one was left alone. Although they often came to check that Mel wasn't overtiring herself, mostly they kept their distance, perhaps realising she needed to hear all these stories alone.

  Helena was tough and single-minded. She could do a scene in one take where other actresses took nine or ten to get it right. She was a faultless mimic and often had the whole cast in stitches with her imitations of everyone from breathless starlet to director. She always had time for her fans, never refusing to give an autograph and there were many actors and actresses, who but for her support and kindness might have given up the profession for good.

  But again and again Mel heard how Edward manipulated her.

  'I never liked the man,' Stanley Cubright, the director of Broken Bridges, stated emphatically. 'I wasn't a director back in those days when Helena first came to Hollywood, just a camera man, and I guess I was annoyed that she got some dude over from England who knew nothing about filming to be her manager. But right from the start he dominated her, made her think she couldn't trust anyone.'

  'But she had other friends didn't she?' Mel had heard at least a dozen friends mentioned today.

  'She had plenty on the set,' Stanley said with some bitterness. 'She liked to mix with the crew and the dancers, she felt easy with them, but Edward soon put a stop to her meeting them socially. We had no "class" you see. He organised her private life and unless he felt that a dinner or cocktail party would further her career in some way, he declined invitations for her. But you gotta understand honey that in those days, guys like me didn't dare speak out for fear of losing our jobs. He was ruthless. Know what I mean?'

  Mel nodded. No doubt in Hollywood Edward's essential English gentleman act, coupled with a little covert homosexual activity had opened many doors for him. He began to enjoy having power.

  'I suppose he thought unless he kept her on a tight lead he might be dumped, and then he'd be no one again,' she sighed. 'But everything I know about Helena suggests that she'd have remained loyal to him anyway. Why couldn't he have settled for just having a good time by her side?'

  'He didn't know what a good time was,' Stanley chuckled. 'Not in the sense you or I understand it. We used to call him "the Butler".'

  Mel smiled. 'I thought he looked like a Nazi! I still don't really understand why Helena allowed him to get so close in the first place.'

  'I read somewhere that our friend is our need answered,' Stanley said. 'Helena needed a family, and Edward became it. Brother, sister, ma and pa. He was a good-looking dude, and to be fair to him, he stood by her when she had her problems. But he always worried me, honey. Word got out he used to cruise the downtown bars. We used to hear whispers of stuff you don't like to think about. You know what I mean?'

  Mel nodded. She knew exactly.

  'Don't dwell on it.' Stanley patted her on the shoulder comfortingly. 'That priest said it all this afternoon – let's celebrate Helena's talent, charm and her courage, and put the rest aside. In a month or two I'll call you up to see the film we've got in the can. It will make you cry, but they'll be tears of pride. I promise you.'

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  On the twelfth of December, just weeks after the harrowing events of October, St Nicholas's Church at Kelston was once again full of people. But this time there were no mournful faces or dark clothes. Hamiltons to one side, Osbournes to the other, brightly coloured frivolous hats, beaming smiles and whispers of joyful anticipation.

  Nick and Conrad in grey morning suits stood side by side at the altar rail waiting nervously. The church was ablaze with candles, garlands of holly and ivy festooned the end of each pew, and banks of vivid poinsettia, scarlet carnations and the heady smell of pine brought Christmas and the awaited wedding together.

  'Ready?' Conrad whispered as the first notes of the wedding march wheezed out from the organ.

  'As I'll ever be,' Nick grinned. 'Have you got the rings?'

  Reverend Matthews, the vicar of Kelston, had encouraged Nick and Mel to go ahead with their original plan of getting married before Christmas. He had visited Mel at Oaklands a few days after the funeral and since then they had met often to talk. He felt that it was by no means always right to delay wedding plans out of respect for the dead. He pointed out that Sir Miles was growing increasingly frail, and that a happy occasion might very well help him through his grief, giving him something else to focus on.

  Nick was overjoyed when Mel finally agreed to go ahead. In the first week or two after the funeral she had been unpredictable. Sometimes she disappeared for hours, without telling anyone where she was going; other times she seemed too jovial. On several nights she'd woken screaming from a terrible nightmare, going over and over all that had happened, but the next day had been so withdrawn he couldn't reach her. She went up to help Conrad in Fulham for a few days and when she returned she was calmer, much more like her old self. It was then she agreed to the wedding.

  But it was sharing with Magnus in making the wedding arrangements which brought happiness back into Oaklands. Once laughter had been heard coming from Magnus's office as the two of them compiled a guest list, everyone of the staff perked up. Antoine baked the cake, a huge three-tier one. Joan Downes organised a spring clean and suddenly there was excitement in the air, driving out the gloom and despondency.

  Mel had so much to do, her panic attacks all but disappeared. Magnus had some purpose again, striding around with lists, barking out orders in his old manner. Miles became a regular visitor, staying for days on end and allowing all the staff to pander to his every little whim.

  Nick had asked Conrad to be his best man. Although they hadn't known each other long, there was already a strong bond between them. Now he was here in the church, awaiting the moment when Mel would sweep up the aisle on Miles's arm, and he felt as excited and happy as a child at Christmas.

  It was so good to see family on both sides of the aisle. The Hamiltons had turned out in force in a show of solidarity for Miles: his two younger brothers, with their wives, children and grandchildren. On the Osbourne side were Sophie and Michael, Stephen and June, and half a dozen cousins Nick hardly knew.

  Further back were a handful of friends: some actors, some old members of staff and a few old friends of Helena's they'd got to know at the funeral. But more important to Mel was the sight of Jack Easton's stocky figure and flame-red hair and Bert Simmonds's kindly face and broad shoulders. Both men had written warm, compassionate letters soon after Helena's death, offering Mel their support and affection. Their presence here today meant so much to her. They stood for links with Bonny and John, and for her they completed the family circle.

  A gasp from behind him made Nick turn, and his eyes prickled at the first sighting of Mel in her wedding dress, framed in the church door, holding her grandfather's arm. Conrad looked first at Mel then back to Nick, his eyes glinting behind his glasses. 'She didn't change her mind then,' he whispered.

  As Mel stepped forward to Nick's side at the altar rail, he trembled. She had never looked so beautiful, the simple white velvet dress enhancing her olive skin, dark eyes shining through the delicate veil, her hair pinned up with a garland of rose buds and gypsophila, her lower lip quivering with emotion.

  The bell that had tolled so mournfully that day in October, now rang out in joy as Nick took Mel's arm and led her outside to be bombarded with confetti.

  It was a cold crisp day, the churchyard trees gaunt without their foliage, but the sun shone weakly and the happy faces and bright wedding finery made the small churchyard as colourful as high summer.

  'Happy, Mrs Osbourne?' Nick asked, his dark blue eyes gleaming with delight.

  'Extremely, Mr Osbourne,' she replied, lowering her eyes like a Victorian bride. 'I would go as far as to say this might turn out to be the happiest day of my life.'

  Mel slipped upstairs at seven that evening to take off her wedding dress. All the guests had left now, aside from Miles and Conrad who were staying the night. They had arrived bac
k at Oaklands from the church just before twelve and the reception had gone on until five when the Osbournes' coach arrived to take them back to Yorkshire. The Hamiltons had drifted off soon after, back to Hampshire, followed later still by the other guests.

  Tomorrow she and Nick would be flying off to New York for a brief honeymoon. Their real honeymoon would be in Rome in the New Year.

  Sitting down at the dressing table she took off her veil and headdress, glad of a few moments alone. Her wedding had been all she hoped for and more. It really had been the most wonderful day in her life, despite the attack of nerves she'd had earlier.

  She smiled at herself. It had all been so silly really, but at the time it had seemed like a warning to abandon the wedding. A dream had started it. and as Nick was sleeping at a friend's flat for propriety's sake, she'd had no one to turn to.

  She had dreamed of the figures of a bride and groom on a wedding cake, and a huge knife coming down between them. In the early hours, before it was even light, she'd sat up at the window and cried, afraid that all the trials she and Nick had been through had created an illusion of love. She cried too for all the people she'd cared about in the past and lost. Later she picked up the photograph of herself and Bee and that brought on new tears.

  But now twelve hours later all sadness and anxiety had left her. She had a huge family: dear kind people who had welcomed her with all their hearts. Tomorrow she would be setting off to New York, her passport bearing her new name, a suitcase full of new clothes and a whole new adventure about to begin as Mrs Osbourne.

  She stood up and slipped off her wedding dress, fleetingly wondering if one day her daughter might choose to wear it too. She smiled at herself in the long mirror. She looked naughty in the white lacy basque and stockings and not a bit virginal, but tonight she would play the part for Nick.

  As she stepped into the long flowing red crushed-velvet dress she'd bought for tonight, the colour and fabric reminded her fleetingly of the tunic and shorts she'd worn that first night in the Middle Earth club. She'd changed so much since those days, yet she had few real regrets now. She had experienced so much more than most girls her age – a lot of heartache, but a great deal of fun too. It was better to go into marriage knowing what she did. One day she'd tell her children all about it. 'Well, maybe an edited version,' she giggled to herself.