'That was her decision. And she wanted to go on the stage, something she'd given up for Jack's sake. She's doing well, another big hit in London.'
'Do you hear from her?' Gloria was suspicious.
'I don't hear from her. Celia makes sure I know all the gossip, including anyone Rosa is seen with. I sometimes think she pays a private eye to keep tabs on Rosa.'
Gloria leaned towards the table and poured herself a glass of orange juice. 'Are you hoping she'll come back to you? Is that it?'
'I know it's all over. There's no chance of that.'
'Then why don't you divorce her? It's not difficult.'
'What would be the point? If she wants to marry again, then I'll divorce her. I don't want the bother until then. I'm busy enough running the office here, especially as Peter spends half his time on the trains between here and New York.'
Gloria drained the glass. 'You blame him for leaving you with all the work here?'
'Of course I don't,' Max said wearily. 'One of us has to do the travelling.' He fell silent, concentrating on the sketch he was doing. A few moments later a shadow fell across it and he looked up to see his host, one of the architects who had recently joined the partnership in California, leaning over his shoulder.
'Is this your dream house, Max?'
'Hi, Robert. No, just a few ideas.'
'You've had that piece of land for almost two years now,' Gloria said. 'Are you ever going to build on it?'
'One day, when I get round to it. There are too many other things to do.'
He soon made an excuse to leave, driving back to his apartment, the same one he'd rented when he'd arrived in California. He was seriously considering throwing it all up, resigning from his partnership, and doing as his mother wanted, setting up his own practice in Virginia. It was the constant refrain of her letters. They saw him so infrequently now, once or twice a year when he made the trip back east, or they came for a vacation in California. He grinned suddenly. His mother had a matriarchal attitude, wanting all the members of the tribe within reach, under her influence if not her control. She'd even held out the suggestion that now young Jenny had made up her differences with Dale and married him, Max needn't fear she'd be urging him to marry Jenny. She ignored the inconvenient problem of his own marriage. Max was well aware that though she might disapprove of divorce, she would soon be forcing suitable young ladies, well connected with Virginian society, onto his notice. It was the prospect of having to fend off these well-meant attempts that made him hesitate. He would put off the decison for a while, just as he kept putting off choosing one of the hundreds of ideas he'd had for his own house. The problem was he could not decide on a design since he did not know what sort of life he wanted, even if in the end he remained in California.
*
Gilbert was whistling as he soaped himself. It was sheer luxury to lie in a deep bath and relax in hot water, secure in the knowledge that soon he'd be earning once more. Rosa had persuaded the director of her new play that he could understudy several of the minor roles as well as the leading man's, and he had been given a contract. That afternoon he had an appointment to see Mr Bridges-Adams, and he was confident he'd be given something for the 1931 Stratford season too. Rosa had even insisted that he stayed in her apartment for the two weeks remaining before they left for the first part of the tour. Life looked better than it had since Celia left him.
'Gilbert, you haven't any money. Be sensible. If you can tolerate the sofa you're more than welcome. You're a surprisingly good cook, too,' Rosa had said, and he'd swallowed his pride and accepted.
He heard the doorbell ring, and knowing that Rosa was expecting some of her new clothes for the play, he scrambled out of the bath and threw on a bathrobe before padding in bare feet to the door.
'Yes?'
'I – doesn't Miss Greenwood live here?'
'I know you, don't I? Don't you live in Stratford-on-Avon?' Gilbert asked. 'I've got it, you're Adam Thorn. Sorry, you look older.'
'I am. What are you doing here? This is Rosa's flat, isn't it?'
Gilbert nodded. 'Yes, she's renting it. Sorry, I was expecting someone else. Come in. Rosa's out, I'm afraid, but she'll be back for lunch.'
'What are you doing here?' Adam demanded again, gesturing to Gilbert's bathrobe.
'Sorry, I'm dripping. I'm staying here. Look, I'll go and dry off, and get dressed. Help yourself to a sherry, there's glasses and a bottle on the sideboard.'
'You're Celia's husband,' Adam accused, remaining in the dooorway. 'What are you doing here with Rosa?'
Gilbert frowned. 'I was Celia's husband,' he corrected gently. 'She divorced me, in some place in America.'
'Yes, I know. She wrote to my wife.'
'Wife? I hadn't realised you were married. Congratulations. But do come in, old chap, it's chilly out here and Rosa will be home soon. I need to get dressed.'
'Yes, you do, don't you?'
At last he moved and Gilbert was able to close the door. 'In here,' he said, leading the way into the living room. 'I always thought you were sweet on Rosa,' he remarked.
'Rosa would have married me if that damned Yank hadn't bemused her with stupid promises about curing Jack. What promises have you made? You'll find her bigger and better parts on the stage? Like you enticed Celia with such promises?'
'Hey, steady on,' Gilbert said, surprised at the venom in Adam's voice. Then the absurdity of the situation struck him and he laughed aloud. Instead of him helping Rosa she had helped him. 'I loved Celia,' he said quietly.
'But she ran away, and now you're after Rosa! You're an utter cad.'
'At least I'm not married,' Gilbert snapped. 'You're behaving as though you have some rights over her.'
'I have the right of an old friend to protect her. I don't like your being in the same flat, and I'll ask you to leave. Now.'
Gilbert stared at him, and laughed again. 'No one tells me to leave but Rosa. While she wants me here I'll stay. I suggest you go back to your wife and look after her instead of poking your nose into Rosa's affairs.'
'Yes, Adam, do that,' a quiet voice interrupted.
'Rosa.' Adam stepped towards her and tried to take her hand. 'I didn't hear you come in.'
Rosa evaded him. 'I've asked you many times, Adam, to leave me alone. I have nothing to say to you and I'm tired of having you follow me round to the towns we're playing in. Please go.'
'What about him? You'll permit Gilbert, your own brother-in-law, to live here with you? It's disgusting. Is he going to follow you round? Will you turn him away?'
Rosa smiled mischievously and glanced from under lowered lashes at Gilbert. 'No, we'll be travelling together, Adam, so don't try to see me again, please. Gilbert's an excellent watchdog.'
Adam glared impotently at her and then stalked to the door, slamming it as he left. Rosa giggled.
'I'm sorry, Gilbert. I hope I haven't compromised you, but it was too good a chance to miss. He's been making himself, and me, ridiculous. Now he might leave me in peace. And you'd better hurry if you're not to be late for Mr Bridges-Adams.'
*
Celia stamped her foot. 'It's all wrong, Hank!'
'But pet, it's a lovely setting, you on the bridge, the waterfall behind you, and you leaning through the fronds of the willow. Lovely picture it'll make.'
'You're muddling me with Ophelia,' Celia snapped. 'It was a balcony, in a medieval town, not a bridge over a pretty little waterfall that doesn't even look real.'
'I know it was a balcony in the original scenario, but this makes a better picture. Come on, let's work it through. The sun will be back there, the rays shining through the water, give us some great shots.'
'It was night, just before dawn,' Celia protested again. 'Juliet was in her room. What would she be doing out on some stupid bridge? And even so, having the sun up will make nonsense of some of the lines. And in the talkies the lines matter. Juliet has to say "The mask of night is on my face, else would a maiden blush bestain my cheek." How can I
say that with the sun blazing away behind me?'
'The scriptwriters will have seen to it, don't worry. Didn't you read the script they sent round last night?'
Celia was appalled. 'I didn't need to read it, I know that part backwards. You don't mean you've let them change the words? You can't do that!'
'We change 'em all the time, honey. That's what scriptwriters are for. Pity we can't have old Will here to help out, but these chaps are fine, I've worked with them before. And while they're about it they can get rid of those old words nobody'll understand. What sort of a word is "bestain", for Pete's sake?'
'I won't!'
Hank raised his eyebrows. 'You signed a contract,' he said curtly. 'You'll do as I say, or you're out. I won't have anyone, even my wife – especially not my wife – telling me what to do on my set. Now get up on that bridge and read the damned words, pronto. Or you can get off the the set, out of the studio, and out of the house. Well?'
Celia gulped, and for a moment considered challenging him. Then she recalled his absence from home the previous night, and his refusal to tell her where he'd been. After so short a time he seemed to have tired of her. He'd carry out his threat. And she'd lose all chance of a film career. She had no illusions. If Hank fired her no one else would hire her. She breathed deeply, smiled sweetly at him, and stepped up onto the bridge.
'OK, darling. You're the boss,' she murmured softly, inwardly vowing that once she was a star and could do without him, she'd be the one heading for Reno.
She was still fuming later that afternoon when she was leaving the studio. Hank said he had work to do and sent her home, but Celia decided she needed something to soothe her nerves. She'd buy that evening gown she'd seen, which she'd decided was too expensive. Hank was at least generous, he wouldn't grumble at the cost of a pearl and diamond-studded gown.
Telling the driver to wait she spent an hour trying on other clothes, and bought two day dresses too. She went further along to a shop where she'd seen some handbags, hoping to find a matching one for the evening gown. A man stepped aside as she entered and she smiled her thanks.
'Max, hello. What are you doing here'.
'It's my sister-in-law's birthday, I hoped to find something for her.'
'Did you?'
'Yes, and I hope she likes it, the price it was. I hear you and Rossi are married? I hope you'll be happy.'
Celia gave an inelegant snort. 'We might if he can keep his hands off Shakespeare's words,' she said sharply, recalling the day's filming which had made her more and more angry. 'I sometimes wish I'd stayed in England. I'd be going to Stratford too, perhaps, as well as Rosa.'
'Rosa? In the next Festival, you mean?'
'Yes. They've started the auditorium in the new building, but they're still using the Temporary Theatre. Who'd have thought it would have been so long?'
'What about Rosa?'
'She's playing Beatrice in Much Ado. Wouldn't you like to see her?'
Max closed his eyes momentarily and Celia wondered whether he still loved her sister. 'I hope she does well,' he said evenly.
'She'll have plenty of masculine support,' Celia said. 'I had a letter from Agnes, and she was angry because Adam is still besotted with dear Rosa, but now she's living with Gilbert. She switches men as frequently as I do, but at least I choose men who can help my career.'
***
Chapter 17
The applause was deafening. The audience loved Rosa's lively performance, and as she smiled dutifully she recalled her first appearance on this stage, when she had been so terrified. She also recalled Max's encouragement that night and for a second her smile wavered.
When the curtain fell she returned to her dressing room. It was so full of people she had difficulty in squeezing inside until Gilbert pushed a way through. Rosa's lips twitched. Suddenly, it seemed, all the old acquaintances who had been so cool to her during the rehearsals wanted to share in her triumph. There were girls she barely recognised, girls who'd been at school with her and who had not then been at all interested in the theatre. Several older people, tradesmen and farmers who had been their customers, and who had pointedly averted their gaze when she had encountered them in the streets, now strove to congratulate her.
She accepted their praise with smiling calm, thanking them for coming, and listening patiently to their protestations about their generous contributions to the Memorial Theatre rebuilding fund.
'I'll bet not a single one of them gave more than the minimum to get their names on the lists,' she muttered to Gilbert when the last one finally left. 'There was no one amongst that lot who cared a jot for the theatre before it was burned down, and Stratford suddenly became more famous.'
He grinned. 'They're hoping to cash in on next year's festivities, when the new theatre opens. I imagine hundreds of Americans will come to see how well their money has been spent.'
Rosa turned away. 'Yes, I expect so,' she said quietly. Any sudden reminder of America, of Max, still hurt her unbearably. By this time, she told herself daily, she ought to have forgotten him, or at least subdued the craving for him that attacked her whenever she let drop her guard. Instead it seemed to get worse. By absorbing herself in her work she could thrust her memories away for a while, but they always returned. The worst was when she dreamed, and found herself lying once more in his arms. Then she awoke with her face drenched by tears, and a sense of desolation that was becoming more difficult to throw off.
'Are you going to the party at the Shakespeare Hotel?' Gilbert asked.
Rosa forced herself to pay attention. 'I suppose I must, for a while.' It would delay the time when she'd be alone, in bed, prey to dreams she both feared and longed for.
'At least the people there will be genuine enthusiasts for the Bard,' Gilbert consoled her. 'I'll go and change now, we'll walk round together.'
Rosa smiled at him. He was so comfortable to be with. Celia had been stupid to let him go. She was aware that many people in the theatre world gossiped about her and Gilbert, and together they laughed at the rumours. They were friends, nothing more, and neither of them wanted more, but it suited them to mislead others.
'It will keep unwanted admirers at bay,' Gilbert had remarked after Adam's reaction had alerted them to the potential misunderstandings about them. 'If that's what you want, I'm game.'
Rosa wondered what would happen after the Stratford season. She was to be in a new play in London, while Gilbert was touring with a different company. They wouldn't be together so often as they had been during the past few months. She would have to manage once more on her own.
Rosa wanted no admirers. As she changed for the party she allowed herself to wonder what Max was doing now, where he was. Celia wrote that he'd left Hollywood, where Peter de Vries and two other partners were in charge of the office now, but she hadn't been able to discover where he was. Sometimes Rosa wondered if he'd divorced her and she hadn't even been told, but that seemed unlikely. She was becoming well-known in the theatre world, not difficult to trace.
Angrily she wiped away a tear and fiercely powdered her nose. This would not do. She must forget him. That part of her life was over and she had what she'd always wanted, good parts in the professional theatre. That was enough. It had to be enough.
*
Celia tried not to let her emotions show. During the past few weeks, while they had been filming Hank's version of Romeo and Juliet, she had become adept at concealing her feelings. Once she had conceded the balcony scene, and the wholesale script alterations, it did not seem necessary to object to the happy ending Hank demanded, with the lovers waking in the forest he'd insisted on instead of the tomb, and stealing away together. It was a different story, she told herself as she sat in the small viewing room and for the first time saw the completed movie. It owed as little to Shakespeare as his stories probably owed to the original ones he'd copied. And if she hadn't been permitted to play the true Juliet, she was starring in a movie that would be seen all over America, and was to open in Lo
ndon a little while later.
That thought made her smile. None of the other actors and actresses she'd appeared with in England had achieved what she had. If Hank kept his promise and they went to London for the opening she'd be sure to meet some of them, and she looked forward to seeing their envy. Even if Hank had divorced her by then, as he'd threatened during one of her earlier outbursts, before she'd learned to control her feelings, her next three films were contracted and her agent was a match for Hank. They would be made, and while she was well aware of the many reasons that could be found for delay and even cancellation, she had begun collecting her own dossier on Hank's many infidelities. He might say he did not care for public opinion, but she was sure a threat to expose him would ensure her films were made. After that, she wouldn't need Hank, she'd be a star every studio, including MGM, would want.
'Well, honey, what do you think?' Hank asked, swinging round towards her.
'It's marvellous, really it is.'
'I was right, you see. This is how to tell the story.'
'Yes, Hank,' Celia replied, injecting fulsome sincerity into her voice. 'It's truly wonderful. But I'm glad it's finished and we can start on the next. Which script have you chosen?'
He glanced at her, his smile slipping a little. 'It would be better to wait and see how this is received.' Celia raised her eyebrows slightly. 'Before deciding whether another of your Shakespeare plays would be popular, I mean. What else is there?'
'Wouldn't it be better to do a modern one? Less expensive, and we could be doing it while this one goes out.'
'Isn't there one set in a Scottish castle?' Hank asked, and Celia inwardly berated herself. She'd forgotten Hank's prediliction for doing the opposite of whatever she suggested.
'You need someone older for Lady Macbeth. I'd like to play Desdemona. You know, in Othello.'
Hank stared at her, his imagination beginning to work, then he shook his head. 'No good. The South wouldn't touch it, a serious darkie lead. It had better be a modern one after all.'
*
Max faced Reuben across the large desk in the senior partner's office. 'I'd like to go. I haven't taken a proper vacation for two years, so it won't be in the firm's time. I think we should show an interest, even though we didn't win the competition.'
Stratford Jewel Page 28
