Silver Shadows, Golden Dreams

by Margaret Pemberton

  She bent down by the drapes and held the lighter to the edge of the velvet. It smouldered but did not burst into flame. Impatiently she ran across to the bed and lit a corner of the delicate draperies. They ignited immediately.

  ‘Now see what I’ve done!’ she shouted triumphantly. ‘See if you ever dare ask to divorce me again!’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘The fire seems to have started in Mrs Rakoczi’s bedroom,’ the sweating fireman said to his chief as hoses sprayed gallons of water on to the roaring flames.

  ‘Who got her out?’ the chief of the Los Angeles Fire Department yelled, stepping back another foot as a fresh bellow of heat blasted him full in the face.

  ‘Her husband. They’ve been rushed down to the Los Angeles General. The wife is in pretty bad shape.’

  ‘Any other casualties?’

  The fireman nodded in the direction of a blanketed body. ‘A member of the household staff. A woman. Probably the housekeeper or Mr Rakoczi’s secretary.’

  The fire chief nodded and began to walk back to his car. He had been at a highly prestigious dinner when he had received news that the Rakoczi place was burning like a torch. His immediate fear had been that he had a disaster of huge proportions on his hands. If the fire had started while Vidal Rakoczi had hosting a Hollywood party, the casualty list could have consisted of half the movie community. As it was, there had been only the Rakoczis and the household staff there when the fire had occurred. He didn’t have Gloria Swanson or Clark Gable’s body on his hands. Only the body of a woman employee.

  ‘Keep at it,’ he said tersely, slipping behind the wheel of his car and revving the engine impatiently. If he hurried there was still time to return to his dinner party.

  ‘Must…cable,’ Vidal gasped, fighting for consciousness as white-uniformed doctors and nurses rushed his trolley along the corridors of the hopsital. ‘Must… send a cable.’

  It was eight hours before he was able to do so. It was to Valentina and it said only: SAFE STOP DON’T WORRY STOP BE WITH YOU SOON STOP PLANS UN-CHANGED STOP VIDAL.

  The second evening’s performance had been as great a triumph as the first. Denton had sent an army of servants into a vast, luxuriously furnished house at Amagansett, Long Island, and ordered them to prepare it for occupation by Valentina, her nanny and her four-year-old son. He was now at the Plaza to inform her that she need no more be besieged by the press and by clamouring fans.

  Leila was there, sorting through a pile of congratulatory cables as Valentina showered.

  ‘She’ll like that,’ she said crisply, when Denton told her what he had done. ‘Living here is impossible. It’s not fair to Alexander. I did suggest my place, but it’s far too small and Valentina hasn’t the time to find a suitable house herself.’

  ‘There’s a pool and tennis courts, and I’ve told them to erect swings for the child and to put a pony in the paddock.’

  Leila pursed her lips. ‘You’re really serious this time, Denton, aren’t you?’

  He brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his immaculately cut lapel. ‘I’m going to marry her,’ he said calmly.

  Leila smiled. ‘No you’re not, Denton. This time you’re going to find that your money won’t buy you everything you want in the toyshop window. Valentina is going to marry Vidal.’

  Denton Brook-Taylor’s eyes narrowed. ‘Rakoczi is already married.’

  ‘Yes, and it’s been on the rocks for years. He flew home yesterday to tell his wife he was divorcing her and that he intends marrying Valentina at the earliest opportunity.’ The telephone rung shrilly. ‘Damn, I’ve told them time and time again not to put any calls through.’ She answered it bad-temperedly.

  ‘Would you please ensure that no more calls are put through? It’s very disturbing and…’

  The blood drained from her face. ‘Oh my God,’ she said, swaying slightly, ‘When did it happen? How bad is he?’

  When she replaced the receiver, her hand was trembling. ‘It’s Vidal. There’s been a fire. He’s in Los Angeles General.’

  ‘Will he live?’

  Leilas eyes flashed with venom. ‘Yes,’ she spat at her former lover. ‘Goddamn you for your hopes, Denton, but he’ll live!’

  Through the adjoining door came the sound of Valentina singing to herself. Leila looked at Denton in horror.

  ‘Who is going to tell her? What can we tell her? We don’t know any details. We don’t…’

  ‘Who called?’ Denton asked curtly.

  ‘Stan. The Los Angeles Times rang him with the news and wanted a comment.’

  ‘Telephone Los Angeles General and find out the truth of Rakoczi’s condition. Not from here,’ he snapped as Leila reached towards the telephone. ‘She could walk in on the call.’

  ‘Yes.’ Leila’s head was spinning. ‘I’ll go down to reception. Oh God, I can’t bear to think of it. What if he dies?’ she began to cry.

  ‘Make that telephone call immediately,’ Denton said, grabbing her arm and leading her to the door. ‘When we do speak to her, let’s have some facts to give her. He may be suffering from nothing more than shock.’

  Leila stumbled out into the corridor. Denton was right. Vidal might not be burned. After a fire they always took people to hospital. Vidal couldn’t be burned. Disfigured. It wasn’t possible.

  ‘I want to be connected to the General Hospital in Los Angeles please,’ she said to the desk clerk. ‘Is there anywhere I can telephone from that is private?’

  The desk clerk took one look at her ashen face and led her into the reception office.

  ‘I’ll get the number for you immediately,’ he said. ‘Use the phone on the desk.’

  The connection seemed to take forever. When she was at last put through she found that her voice was trembling. ‘Could you please give me some information regarding the condition of Mr Vidal Rakoczi who I believe has been admitted after a fire at his home.’

  ‘I’m sorry, madam, we are giving no information to the press at this stage,’ an arch voice replied.

  ‘I’m not press.’ The breath hurt in her chest. ‘I’m a friend, Leila Crane. I’m ringing up on behalf of Valentina.’

  There was a slight pause. ‘Just one moment.’

  Leila could hear a hurried discussion and Valentina’s name repeated, and then, ‘Mr Rakoczi’s condition is serious but stable.’

  ‘You mean he’ll live?’

  ‘Yes.’ The crisp voice left no room for doubt. ‘However, he is in no condition to receive any visitors.’

  She didn’t know what else to ask. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and only when it was too late and she had replaced the receiver did she realize that she had not asked after Kariana. As she left the office she saw curiosity in the eyes of the staff. The newspapers were spread out on the reception desk, the headlines glaring.

  ‘World famous director risks his life to save his wife from house inferno.’

  ‘Un-named woman dead in Rakoczi house fire.’

  ‘Vidal Rakoczi saves wife.’

  She couldn’t bear to pick them up and read the details. Feeling as if she had aged ten years, she made her way slowly back to Valentina’s suite.

  The telephone had begun to ring incessantly the minute she had left the room, and Denton had answered, saying sharply that no calls were being received. When the knock came at the door he wondered if it was Stan. A bell-boy stood there with a cable. Denton took it wordlessly, closed the door and weighed it speculatively in his hand. Hundreds of congratulatory cables had flooded the suite, yet some primeval instinct told him that this was one different. That this one concerned Rakoczi.

  From behind the far door, the sound of the shower had ceased. Valentina was likely to emerge at any moment. With a decisive flick of his thumb nail he opened the cable. It was from Vidal. When he had read it he paused for a moment and then a slight smile touched his mouth. Crushing the cable into a small ball and burying it in his pocket, he crossed to the telephone and asked to be connected with his Lo
s Angeles home.

  ‘Burton, is that you?’ he asked sharply as his butler answered.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I want you to send a cable to Valentina, the Plaza Hotel, New York. Have you got a pen and paper?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘The cable is to read: “AM SAFE STOP KARIANA BADLY HURT IN FIRE STOP OUR PREVIOUS PLANS CAN NOT GO FORWARD STOP PLEASE DO NOT WRITE OR CALL STOP ALL OVER STOP SORRY STOP VIDAL.” Have you got that, Burton?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ Burton said dutifully.

  ‘Good. Send it immediately.’

  Valentina emerged from the bathroom and he put the receiver down.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Someone wishing to speak to you. They didn’t leave a name.’

  Valentina sat at the dressing table and began to brush her hair. ‘People have been amazing. Did Leila tell you that Theodore Gambetta actually rang this morning and suggested we meet? He said it was time we forgot the past and began to look to the future.’ She smiled at Denton’s reflection in the mirror. ‘Can you believe it? He actually believes that I’d be willing to work for him again.’ At the sombreness of Denton’s expression, she laughed. ‘There’s no need to look like that, Denton. I only told you because I thought it was amusing.’

  He stepped towards her. ‘Valentina, Stan rang a few minutes ago. He had some bad news.’

  At the expression in his eyes her hand froze in mid air, still holding the brush. ‘What did he say? What’s happened?’ She swung round on her dressing table stool to face him and as she did so Leila entered the room.

  ‘He’s safe,’ Leila said, her face haggard. ‘He’s going to live. There’s no need to worry. He’s going to live.’

  ‘Who’s going to live?’ Valentina demanded, springing to her feet, the nameless fear that had haunted her ever since Vidal had taken his leave of her crystallizing and taking shape.

  ‘Vidal. There was a house fire. One of the household staff died. But Vidal is all right, Valentina. I’ve just telephoned through to the hospital. He isn’t in any danger.’

  Valentina’s skin was like alabaster. ‘Which hospital?’ she demanded, her hands already on the telephone.

  ‘The Los Angeles General.’

  As Valentina waited to be connected, Denton Brook-Taylor held his breath. It had been a gamble and if it was true that Vidal Rakoczi was not seriously hurt, and if he was allowed to receive calls, then it was a gamble that would have failed.

  Leila could dimly hear the same arch voice. The same answers to the very questions that she had asked. Valentina put the receiver down abruptly.

  ‘I must go to him. Now. Immediately.’

  ‘You can’t,’ Leila said, her eyes filling with tears at the sight of Valentina’s anguished face. ‘There’s the play. For the stand-in to go on tonight would be disastrous. Besides,’ she paused uncertainly, ‘there’s Kariana. I think she may be more badly injured than Vidal. There are newspapers downstairs…’

  Valentina pressed her hand against her throbbing head. Kariana. For a brief moment she had forgotten all about Kariana. She felt as if a huge weight were pressing in on her, suffocating her.

  ‘Have the newspapers sent up,’ she said through parched lips.

  ‘You can’t stay here.’ It was Denton speaking, quietly and authoritatively. ‘I’ve rented a house for you out at Amagansett. There’s plenty of room for Alexander to play. There’s a full complement of staff just waiting for your arrival. I think you should go there now. From now on, the pressure from the press is going to be unbearable.’ He put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Right now you need taking care of, Valentina. I’ll make sure that we get news from the hospital on an hourly basis. And I’ll make sure that you fly out to be at his side just as soon as he is able to receive visitors, play or no play.’

  She looked up at him gratefully. ‘Thank you, Denton. I’ll tell Ruby to begin packing Alexander’s things as soon as she returns from their walk.’

  When the newspapers were delivered she read them in silence. Hazel Renko, who had cared for Kariana so diligently for so many years, was dead. The rest of the household staff had all escaped unscathed. The fire had begun in Kariana’s bedroom and there were varying accounts of how Vidal had risked his life to save her. She pushed the newspapers away. None of them gave any clear indication of the severity of his burns. The Los Angeles Examiner said that Kariana Rakoczi was near to death. The Los Angeles Times quoted firemen as saying that Vidal’s rescue of her had been an act of almost suicidal courage.

  The telephone rang again, and Valentina leapt towards it in agitation. It was a reporter wanting to know her comments regarding the Rakoczi house blaze. She put the receiver down without speaking, her hand trembling violently.

  ‘Get dressed,’ Denton said to her. ‘At Amagansett I will be able to ensure that the only calls you receive are those that you want.’

  Valentina turned to Leila. ‘Will you come with me, Leila?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll start packing. By the time Ruby returns from the park with Alexander, we’ll be ready to leave.’

  As the dressing room door clicked shut behind her, Leila began emptying drawers. As she did so she glanced several times at Denton. His face was sombre, his manner all that it should be under the circumstances. Yet Leila could not help feeling that deep below the surface he was feeling triumphant.

  She frowned. Vidal was not dead and was not near to death. Nothing had happened to change his relationship with Valentina. He would still divorce Kariana, still marry Valentina. Denton would still have lost the one thing he had openly declared that he wanted above all others. There was no reason in the world for him to be feeling so self-satisfied, yet Leila knew that he was. His shoulders were set in the same way as they were whenever he concluded a successful business deal or heard that a painting he had been bidding for by proxy was now his.

  She shrugged her shoulders and continued with her task. Perhaps that was all it was. Perhaps he had just acquired another Rembrandt or Van Gogh. She had more important things to think about. Valentina, and how she would survive the next few hours waiting for news from the hospital. How she would cope when she had to set foot on stage and put all thoughts of Vidal out of her mind.

  Valentina dressed hurriedly. Denton was right. To continue living at the Plaza was impossible. At Amagansett she would at least have some privacy. The sooner she arrived there the sooner she could establish an hourly link with the hospital and make arrangements to fly out and be at his side if he was badly burned. She didn’t care about the play. She didn’t care about anything. Only Vidal.

  ‘Will your new house be like our house in Crete, Maman?’ Alexander asked, snuggling up against her in the rear of Denton’s Rolls.

  ‘No, darling. It will be much bigger and there will be swings and a pony.’

  Alexander sighed ecstatically. He hadn’t liked the hotel. It had been full of furniture with long, thin legs and things that fell over easily when he ran past.

  Valentina glanced at her watch. It had been over forty minutes since she had telephoned the hospital. A lot could happen in forty minutes. People could die in forty minutes.

  ‘I must go to him,’ she said urgently to Denton. ‘I can’t just stay her waiting for telephone calls, behaving as if nothing has happened.’

  Denton patted her hand reassuringly. ‘We’ll make one more telephone call when we reach the house then I’ll see to it that you’re flown straight to Los Angeles. Jeanette Leeman can go on in your place tonight.’

  The gratitude she felt towards him deepened.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said with heartfelt relief. ‘I don’t know what time the flights are…’

  ‘There’s no need to worry about flights or seats. I have a private airplane. It is completely at your disposal.’

  She managed a flicker of a smile. ‘You’re a very useful person to have as a friend, Denton.’

  ‘I’m very privileged to be one,’ Denton said, his white hair silvered by
the sun as they sped over the Queensboro Bridge.

  At Amagansett Ruby discreetly absented herself with Alexander, taking him out into the grounds, showing him the pool, the tennis courts, and the pony. An army of household staff ferried their luggage upstairs. The rooms were full of exotic flowers. The satin sheets on Valentina’s bed bore her name in exquisite gold embroidery, as did the bath towels. Leila eyed them cynically. Denton’s suggestion that Valentina retreat from the onslaught of the press at the Plaza had not been taken on the spur of the moment. The whole house had been very carefully prepared for its visitor. Too carefully prepared for Denton to be satisfied with Valentina staying there only fleetingly. Yet he was already on the telephone ordering that his private aircraft be made ready for a flight to the west coast. She didn’t understand it. Denton was not behaving remotely like the unbending, autocratic figure she was accustomed to. Either he had undergone a complete metamorphasis or there was something funny going on.

  ‘What are second degree burns, for goodness’sake?’ Valentina was asking frantically. ‘It could mean anything. Why the hell can’t they speak in a language that people can understand.’

  ‘Second degree burns are severe but won’t kill him,’ Stan Kennaway said, crushing out one cigarette and immediately lighting another. He hoped to God he was right. If Rakoczi died, it was obvious that Valentina would go to pieces completely. The play would be a two-night wonder.

  Denton heard the purr of a limousine and put the telephone down. It was the aide-de-camp he had left at the Plaza with strict instructions to drive out fast with any Los Angeles cables.

  ‘The plane is ready, it’s only a ten minute drive and then we’ll be aboard,’ he said comfortingly, a small smile hovering at the corners of his mouth as he saw his employee run from the car towards the house.

  ‘Oh God!’ Valentina said, pacing the floor, a mink coat flung around her shoulders, her hands grinding together in anxiety. ‘The flight will take hours. We’ll have to land at places that probably won’t have a telephone. I’ll be out of touch with his condition for ages! I knew something dreadful was going to happen to him when he left me yesterday. I just knew.’