Silver Shadows, Golden Dreams

by Margaret Pemberton

  Orange and lemon groves flashed by. On her left-hand side were glimpses of the Pacific. On her right, the distant haze of mountains.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked, offering her a piece of gum. She took it tentatively. Gum had been forbidden in the Sacred Heart Convent. Autographed photographs were pinned all around the cabin of the truck. Marlene Dietrich, Greta Garbo, Gloria Swanson. She stared at a photograph of Rudolph Valentino in riveted fascination. She had never seen a photograph of him before, but even in the Sacred Heart Convent his name had been whispered in the darkness and there had been tears from some of the older girls when he had died. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

  She tore her eyes away from the photograph of Valentino and flashed him a smile that took his breath away. He thought he’d picked up a kid with braids. Now he saw that he’d picked up much more.

  ‘Valentina,’ she said, and when he laughed, her mouth curved into a rare smile and to her astonishment she found that she was laughing with him. Sunlight had entered her bleak world and she was still laughing with him when they reached the outskirts of Los Angeles.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Where is it to be?’ he asked as the truck hurtled through down-town Los Angeles.

  She stared at the bewildering array of buildings and fear began to mix with the heady intoxication of freedom.

  ‘I… Anywhere.’

  Where would she go? What would she do? The Reverend Mother had given her the name and address of a lady in San Diego who needed a maid, but she had torn the card into pieces, determined never to be a maid to anyone. Now, for the first time, she began to feel doubt and she turned her head abruptly, avoiding Bob’s all too perceptive gaze.

  Bob circumnavigated a bevy of motorcycles with only one hand on the steering wheel, reaching for a fresh piece of gum with the other.

  ‘Los Angeles is a big place,’ he said laconically, dropping a silver wrapper to the already littered floor. ‘You tell me whereabouts your folks live and I’ll drop you nearby. I’ve got the time.’

  He began to chew, his eyes no longer on her but on the road ahead.

  Daisy cleared her throat. ‘I… Here will do fine.’ Her laughter had drained away and she looked suddenly very small and heartbreakingly afraid. Bob Kelly removed his eyes from the traffic and regarded her thoughtfully. There was an almost elusive quality about her. Her beauty was bone-deep, far beyond mere prettiness.

  He said, keeping his voice casual, ‘Of course, you never did say you had folks in Los Angeles. It could be that I was mistaken. I just reckoned that having just left the convent, home would be the first place you would head.’

  A trailer passed, horn blaring. A picture house had a giant billboard of Marlene Dietrich and Clive Brook. The film was Shanghai Express and she wondered if Bob had toted the props for it.

  Bob continued through down-town Los Angeles at a speed much slower than normal. He needed to give her time to think and he needed time to think himself.

  Daisy’s throat was uncomfortably tight. Her stupidity overwhelmed her. Nothing she had ever experienced had prepared her for the seething hubbub beyond the safety of the truck.

  ‘I don’t have any family,’ she said at last, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on Bob’s photograph of a langorously smiling Gloria Swanson.

  Bob rolled the gum around his mouth and tried to remain nonchalant. He felt as if he were dealing with a small, trapped animal. A wrong move on his part and she would freeze up for good, and he’d never know where the hell she was going or what she intended to do.

  He braked sharply as a Plymouth Roadster cut in on him. One thing was for sure. If he deposited her on the sidewalk she wouldn’t last a minute, convent clothes or no convent clothes. Los Angeles was a city of wolves and her haunting seductiveness was apparent despite her coarse cotton dress and thick stockings. A bead of sweat broke out on his forehead. He was twenty-eight and had certainly never met anyone like her before. What she needed was protection and it was beginning to be obvious that there was no one but him around to take on the task.

  He shook his head as if to clear it and swore again. He’d given a kid a lift. She’d said she wanted to go to Los Angeles. He’d taken her to Los Angeles. Now was goodbye time. He liked his life exactly the way it was. No responsibilities. No hassles. ‘Don’t ask,’ he said to himself. ‘For Christ’s sake, don’t ask.’

  ‘So who are you staying with?’ he said grimly.

  She tried to inject a note of nonchalance into her voice. ‘No one.’

  He swung his head sharply and she continued hurriedly, ‘But that’s no problem, I’ll get a job… living in. A maid. I’d make a very good maid.’

  Bob ground his teeth and Daisy reflected bitterly on how quickly she was prepared to defect on her vow never to be a maid to anyone.

  ‘You’d make a God awful maid,’ Bob said. Then, as the silence grew uncomfortable, ‘Know any agencies?’

  ‘Agencies?’ Daisy was bewildered.

  Bob’s temper flared at her naivety. ‘Yes, agencies! What do you think this place is? Fairyland? What the hell were those people doing in Capistrano? Do they usually turn kids out on to the streets with no job, no place to stay?’ He ran his hand through his thick shock of hair. ‘Know what I should do?’ he continued agrily, as she shrank into the corner of her seat, ‘I should turn this Goddamn truck round and take you right back there!’

  Her heart began to beat so hard she thought she would faint. ‘No. You can’t do that. I won’t go, and besides, they wouldn’t take me.’

  ‘They’d have to take you,’ Bob said as he narrowly missed a Greyhound bus. ‘They should have made provision for you. Given you an address; fitted you up with a job. Not to do so is downright negligence. It’s crass stupidity. It’s practically criminal!’

  ‘They did give me an address,’ she said in a small voice. ‘It was to live in with a lady in San Diego. As a maid.’

  Bob sighed and spat the gum out of the open window. There was no way he could turn round and make the hundred and twenty mile trip to San Diego. His load was needed at the studios, and he was already taking too long in delivering it. Tomorrow he finished early. He could take her there then. She’d have to sleep on his sofa for the night, but in another twenty-four hours his non-sought-after part of father-figure and protector would be over.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he said grimly, ‘I’ll take you there tomorrow.’

  She eyed him nervously. ‘You can’t,’ she said, her eyes fixed on his profile and the bunched muscles of his jaw. ‘I threw away the paper with the address on it, and I can’t remember the lady’s name.’

  ‘Christ Almighty! Do you mean to tell me you’ve nowhere to go?’

  ‘I can manage,’ she said, her trembling voice holding a hint of defiance. ‘Just stop the truck and let me out.’

  ‘Over my dead body!’ Bob’s mouth was set in a harsh line, the blue of his eyes glacial. ‘You’re about as equipped to deal with this town as I am to star as Cinderella.’

  Despite her distress a smile tinged the corners of her mouth. ‘What are you going to do with me then?’

  ‘Look after you until you’ve the sense to look after yourself. First of all we dump this load up on the lot. Next, we get rid of that damned cardboard valise.’

  ‘You can’t,’ she protested mildly, aware of a sudden feeling of safety and refuge. ‘All my clothes are in it.’

  ‘And I can guess what they look like,’ Bob said darkly. ‘Tomorrow we’ll buy you a couple of dresses and some shoes.’

  ‘I haven’t any money.’

  Bob’s lips twitched in a suspicion of a smile. ‘I never for one moment reckoned you had.’

  Down-town Los Angeles was behind them now. They were climbing a steep, winding road that led high into the San Gabriel mountains and Daisy looked around her. Fuchsias grew wild and, instead of gasoline fumes, the air was heavy with the scent of mimosa and honeysuckle.

  ‘I like it up here,’ she said disarmingly
.

  Bob looked across at her, marvelling at the calm way she had accepted his protection: at her innocence and trust. ‘Don’t you want to know if my intentions are honourable?’ he asked curiously.

  A faint frown furrowed her brow. ‘Are they?’ she asked, and for a fleeting moment he saw the frightened-little-girl-look dart into her eyes again and instantly regretted his question.

  His face softened. ‘Hell, yes. You take the bed, I’ll take the sofa.’

  ‘Shouldn’t it be the other way round?’ she asked as they approached a vast array of sprawling, hangar-like buildings contained behind iron gates.

  ‘It should be,’ Bob agreed drily, ‘but I’m just an old-fashioned boy at heart. Always the gentleman.’

  They were laughing again as the truck drew up to the gates and a small, heavily-built man dragged the gate open wide so that they could drive through.

  Bob was aware of a glare of disapproval. It was strictly against company policy to give lifts, much less admit anyone unauthorized on to the lot. He didn’t give a damn. He did his work well, was a good timekeeper and this was the first time he had so much as infringed a company rule.

  Daisy gazed around her, wide-eyed. ‘Is this the film studios?’

  Bob nodded, driving steadily past the enormous hangars with their infuriatingly closed doors. Beyond them she glimpsed a whole street that looked as if it had been transported in its entirety from the Wild West. Then a castle, turreted and crenellated; and then a bizarre semi-circle of fake Amazonian trees and trailing creepers. She wanted to ask Bob to slow down, so that she could see better, but sensed that to do so would be futile.

  There were people everywhere. Ethereally slim, pencil-skirted girls hurrying purposefully in and out of glass-fronted offices; sweatshirted, muscular men hauling heavy cables. Young girls in tutus and ballet shoes. Young men with sheafs of paper under their arms. All carried with them an air of importance and barely suppressed excitement. It was as if they were all privy to a glorious secret and Daisy wondered what it would be like to be one of them. To have a destination to hurry to. A task to undertake.

  Suddenly there was a distant shout of command and she gasped as scores of brass-plated soldiers began to surge towards the battlements of the castle. Before she could catch her breath Bob had driven into a building so large Daisy could see no end to it. He halted the truck, opened the door and sprang to the ground. ‘Stay there, I’ll be twenty minutes, maybe thirty.’

  Daisy’s eyes adjusted to the dimness. Piled high on either side of the truck, stretching into seeming infinity, were what she imagined were the props Bob had spoken of. Another male voice joined Bob’s. The rear doors of the truck were opened and the contents were lifted out, checked off and added to the overwhelming array surrounding them.

  It was only twenty yards from the hangar entrance to the point where she had glimpsed the intriguing mock battle. She peeped out of the truck. Bob was lifting the heavy props, the strong muscles of his arms gleaming with sweat. She paused for a second then opened the cab door and jumped lightly to the ground. Neither man heard her or looked up as she ran, fleet-footedly, out of the shadowed hangar and into the brilliant sunlight.

  The battle was still raging.

  ‘To the death, men!’ yelled a brave figure, with a huge black cross emblazoned on his silver mail, as he led yet another charge against the brass-plated enemies scaling the castle walls.

  ‘Cut! for Christ’s sake, cut!’ The deep voice cracked like a whip across the set, instantly silencing the uproar. ‘The invaders are to be repelled, Tennant. There’s so many of them over the battlements there’s not a knight to be seen.’

  The men groaned, retreating down the ladders and slumping defeatedly against the walls. Fascinated, Daisy edged nearer. The harsh voice that had brought a halt to the proceedings belonged to a powerfully built man sitting in a canvas chair with his back to her. Hair as black as her own curled low over the collar of his shirt. The clenched knuckles that drummed impatiently on the wooden arm of the chair were olive-toned. Everything about him indicated command. The tense set of his shoulders; the undisputed authority in his voice.

  A minion approached and was waved impatiently away. Electricians and cameramen surrounded the foot of the castle and close to Daisy saw that it was nothing more than a facade of grey, painted plywood with platforms behind on which the knights could stand.

  ‘Okay, let’s take it again and this time put some guts into it.’ There was an intriguing quality to his voice; an accent not quite American.

  ‘Quiet on the set!’ called one of the men near the cameras. ‘Tennant. Knights of the Black Cross. Scene 16. Roll’em.’

  Again the air was filled with the sound of battle. Again the walls were scaled, but this time the Knights of the Black Cross succeeded in repelling the onslaught.

  The formidable figure in the canvas chair rose to his feet and Daisy held her breath, willing him to turn in her direction so that she could catch a glimpse of his face.

  Suddenly a door only yards away from her opened and she shrank back against the hangar wall as a vision in clinging white silk stepped out into the sunlight saying petulantly to the retinue in her wake, ‘If my call doesn’t come soon, I’ll need a complete re-make-up.’

  Daisy had never seen anyone so beautiful. Her hair was a golden halo, her eyes large and blue, her glossy lips forming an almost perfect Cupid’s bow. A wimple trailing floating chiffon crowned her head and a belt of braided silver hung seductively low on her hips, falling in two glorious streams to the hem of her gown.

  ‘Just another few minutes, Miss de Santa,’ one of the girls hurrying after her said.

  ‘A glass of water, Miss de Santa?’ suggested another deferentially.

  A glass of water and ice appeared as if by magic. Miss de Santa sipped it daintily and then, surrounded by her acolytes, drifted goddess-like towards the dominant figure surveying the scene before him with rapt concentration.

  ‘Darling, can’t we possibly get my take over and done with? I can’t possibly wait any longer. I shall wilt.’

  With an expletive of impatience the broad-shouldered figure swung round and Daisy felt as if all the breath had been sucked from her body.

  Black eyes slanted under winged brows. There was something harsh, almost Arabic, about the sun-dark planes of his face, the high, lean cheekbones; the strong nose and jutting jaw. It was the face of a man used to being obeyed. Hard and uncompromising. A face that once seen would never be forgotten. In the sunlight his hair had a blue sheen as it tumbled low over his forehead. His shirt was gashed open at the throat and Daisy was aware of whipcord muscles and a sense of power barely under restraint. There was something feral and primitive about him that sent a shiver down her spine.

  He frowned fiercely as Miss de Santa laid a hand upon his arm and said, ‘It’s so insufferably hot, darling, and…’

  Behind her Daisy heard the throb of the truck’s engine. Reluctantly she moved in its direction and as she did so his eyes flashed across at her.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ His voice halted her instantly. She turned to face him and tried to speak but the words choked in her throat. Her legs had suddenly lost their strength and she leaned weakly against the hangar wall, her fingers splayed behind her.

  His eyes narrowed and he sucked in his breath. God in heaven, where had she come from? At first he had seen only the cheap dress, the ugly stockings and clumsy shoes and then her head had jerked upwards, startled and afraid, and he had seen her face.

  He had been in Hollywood for two years. For the five years prior to that he had made films in his native Hungary, and in all that time he had never seen a face so exquisitely photogenic. It was angular and delicate, full of shadows and light, the hollows beneath her cheekbones balanced perfectly by a mouth full and sensually curved. But it was her eyes that held him, almond shaped and thick lashed, the colour of smoked crystal. Luminous, haunting eyes that screamed out to be filmed. Eyes that belonged to a woman,
not a child. A woman who had suffered pain and loneliness and defied them with courage as she was defying him now. He began to stride towards her, oblivious of the waiting set, the curious crew. The long, lovely line of her neck was flawless, the shapeless dress she wore no concealment for a body supple and slender and unbelievably graceful. There was an incandescent quality about her that took his breath away. It was as though she was lit by an inner flame. She was fire and air and he wanted to film her more than he had wanted to film any other woman in his life. He halted, barely a foot away from her.

  ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’ His voice had lost its snarl. He was gazing at her with such a curious expression in his eyes that she wondered if he was mad.

  ‘I’m a visitor,’ she said, drawing a deep, ragged breath into her lungs, and struggling for composure.

  Vidal Rakoczi stared down at the cloud of dark hair and bravely tilted chin.

  ‘I’ll be damned,’ he said softly, and gazing up into his dark, devil’s face, Daisy felt that he very well might be.

  For a long moment their eyes held. Time wavered and in the sun-scorched heat seemed to halt. The cast and crew fell silent, watching them. She could no longer hear the throb of the truck’s engine. She was aware of nothing but the overpowering presence and masculinity of the man standing so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

  ‘What is your name?’ he asked, his voice scorching her nerve ends raw.

  ‘Valentina.’ Her lips trembled slightly, her sexual vulnerability so palpable it enflamed even his hardened senses. He stemmed his surge of desire and stared at her hideous shoes, the ugliness of her stockings.

  ‘How old are you?’

  He was so close that her hair blew against his skin.

  ‘Seventeen.’

  His eyes narrowed speculatively and tiny white lines appeared at the corners of his mouth. She looked nearer fifteen, and if she was Worldwide would never agree to her appearing in his films. Not in the parts her eyes destined her for. ‘Did your mother bring you?’ They usually did. Laying siege to the casting director’s office for hour after hour.