‘What I say,’ Ellie stated firmly, ‘is look out Lana Turner.’
That year the annual banquet of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts was held in the Cocoanut Grove of the Ambassador Hotel. The fans stood five or six deep along the streets, and many people had to walk five blocks from where they had finally been able to park their cars. There were so many arc lights illuminating the scene that night had become day, and the only stars that were visible were the ones who got out from their rented limousines to wave at their thousands of fans. Bob Hope was the master of ceremonies, and after the members of the academy and their guests had stood in silence in remembrance of the recent death of Douglas Fairbanks, MGM’s Gone With The Wind made an all but clean sweep of the Oscars, including best actress, which went, to no-one’s undue surprise and least of all the modest Miss Garson’s, to Vivien Leigh.
‘If I were to mention all those who’ve shown me such wonderful generosity through Gone With The Wind,’ the raven-haired star said in her speech of acceptance, ‘I should have to entertain you with an oration as long as Gone With The Wind itself.’
The only real major surprise was Clark Gable losing out to Robert Donat for the best actor statuette, but since Goodbye Mr Chips was also an MGM production, the company had a more or less clean sweep of all the major awards.
The joy was unalloyed at the party afterwards. Patsy and Artemis squeezed through the throng of stars who were household names and Patsy discreetly whispered to Artemis who most of them were.
At one point they found themselves standing near a group of English actors away from the main body of the party, and in a very different mood to most of their fellow guests. The reason for this soon became apparent. They were talking about the war.
A tall handsome young man with a moustache was holding forth. Artemis recognized him as Fritz von Tarlenheim from the film of The Prisoner of Zenda, which she and Ellie had seen in Ireland.
‘I wish I could go back and enlist now,’ he was saying. ‘But they won’t release me until I’ve finished Raffles.’
‘Me too,’ another actor agreed. ‘I can’t wait to get out of here. You know what Ralphie said before he left, don’t you? “There’s a very fine trade in white feathers going on out here,” he said.’ Everyone laughed, but at the actor’s impersonation of Ralph Richardson, rather than at the reported quip.
‘Well, as one of tonight’s victors put it,’ von Tarlenheim continued ruefully, ‘as Scarlett O’Hara herself said, off-screen, the Americans are quite inconceivably patriotic.’
‘Excuse me, sir,’ Patsy interrupted. ‘I know a lot of you British think that we’re not behind you in this war. And while it shames me to say that there are a fair number who do think it’s your business and no-one else’s, there’s one hell of a lot more of us who can’t wait to get in the scrap, and help you guys beat the daylights out of Hitler.’
Von Tarlenheim smiled at him. ‘That’s what I like about the Yanks,’ he said. ‘They’re not afraid to come out with it. Why don’t you sit down and join us?’
Patsy and Artemis sat down and were introduced around the table. All the actors in the party were single-minded in their determination to get back as quickly as they possibly could to rejoin their squadron or to re-enlist.
‘Although I hear Dicky Greene’s none too keen,’ someone said.
‘Don’t worry,’ von Tarlenheim replied. ‘We’ll soon get to work on him. We don’t want any more of those cheap jibes from Westminster about English actors gallantly facing the footlights in America, thank you.’ Then he turned to Artemis. ‘You’re frightfully pretty,’ he said. ‘Would you like to dance?’
‘Sorry, sir,’ Patsy said with a smile as he stood up. ‘But this dance is already taken.’
As they walked away towards the dance floor, Artemis took Patsy’s arm for support. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘What for?’ Patsy asked her.
‘For being such a gentleman.’
Now that they were out of sight of the party at the table, Artemis let go of Patsy’s arm and used her stick to help her across the room.
‘I thought we were going to dance?’ Patsy said.
‘You don’t have to,’ Artemis said. ‘There’s no obligation. Really.’
‘Supposing I want to?’ Patsy asked. ‘Really?’
‘It’s a little awkward,’ she said.
‘You mean you want to dance with someone else?’
‘Meaning it’s a little awkward.’
‘Oh.’ Patsy nodded, and then gently took her stick, hanging it over his arm. ‘I don’t think so. Not if you let me hold you tight.’
He led her on to the dance floor, his arm around her waist, and then as soon as they were among the other dancers he took her other hand and held her up just enough, just as Hugo had held her, sufficiently high so that she could still dance, and was not just a helpless rag-doll in his arms. A beautiful black girl with bright red lips and a midnight blue sequined dress came on in front of the band and started to sing:
Do you love me – as I love you?
Are you my life to be – my dream come true?
Or will this dream of mine fade out of sight,
Like the moon growing dim,
On the rim of the hill,
In the chill,
Still of the night?
They stood outside on a vast flagged and stone balustraded terrace. Patsy leaned on it, on both his elbows, and looked out across the garden. Artemis stood beside him, her back to the view, watching through the windows the dancers gliding round the floor.
‘How long are you over for?’ Patsy asked, half-knowing the answer.
‘Oh,’ said Artemis with a shrug. ‘You know. Not long.’
‘How long is not long?’ Patsy turned to her with a smile.
‘Um –’ Artemis studied the dancers some more, without really seeing them. ‘I’m going back on Monday actually.’
‘Monday?’
She could hear the sudden gasp in his voice, and hoped that he might be feeling just a little of what she was feeling. ‘Yes,’ she went on. ‘Monday. Although from the way you said it, you obviously think Monday’s an awful day to travel.’
‘That wasn’t why I said “Monday?”,’ Patsy replied, repeating his inflexion exactly. He turned back to look out across the floodlit gardens. He knew why he’d said the day that way. Because he didn’t want her to go that soon. In fact, he realized, he didn’t want her to go at all. ‘Artemis,’ he began, once again turning to talk to her, and as he did, she turned away from him coincidentally, so it seemed, so that she might study the floodlit grounds.
‘I do hope you’re not going to tell me that Monday’s a bad day,’ she said, ‘because that was the only flight I could get to New York.’
‘Why do you have to go back? Ellie said the work you do –’
‘The point is, you see,’ Artemis interrupted, ‘about what I do being voluntary. The point is it isn’t really. In a war, if one volunteers for something, you can’t just chuck it up if you feel like it. Otherwise soldiers who volunteered, once they started getting shot at, and if they didn’t like it, they could chuck it in, too. Couldn’t they? And then where would you be? I’m a little cold. Do you think we might go inside?’
‘You could get killed. If you go home, if you go back to England, you could get killed!’
Artemis hardly dared to look at him, in case she was mistaken, and that the emotion in his voice wasn’t passion, but something else. ‘I know I might get killed,’ Artemis agreed. ‘But that’s why I’d rather go home. And get killed in England. Better that than to be accused of funking it out here.’
‘But you’re a girl,’ Patsy said. ‘It’s different for girls.’
‘Not really,’ Artemis replied. ‘The war’s changing all that.’ She looked at him, with that particular wide-eyed look of hers, an expression she had long ago adopted to conceal her real feelings, designed specifically to look like a challenge. It was a most successful look, althou
gh Artemis hadn’t any idea of its real effect. Which was to shut Patsy up. To him, as a newcomer to Artemis’s odd ways, the look suggested to him that any further conversation would be an intrusion on her privacy, and that he’d be well advised at this point to mind his own business.
‘Can I ask you something?’ she said.
‘Sure,’ he nodded. ‘Anything.’
‘Just this,’ she said. ‘If things were the other way round, and we were in England. And it was America who was fighting Hitler, what would you do?’ Would you stay in England? Or would you go home?’
‘What do you think?’ Patsy asked.
‘Exactly,’ Artemis said. ‘Now if you wouldn’t mind, it is nearly four in the morning, and I’m actually a bit tired.’
The next day, as Patsy was driving to drop his sister off at the clinic on his way to work, Ellie got to talking about Artemis and told her brother all about Artemis, all the things she knew full well Artemis would never tell anyone about herself, the things it had taken Ellie so long to discover. When he had heard these things, things that made sense of this strange, shy and sensitive creature, Patsy pulled the car up in the park of the clinic and poured his heart out to Ellie. Ellie listened without surprise.
‘So why not tell her?’ Ellie asked. ‘It’s no good telling me.’
‘Never in a million years!’ Patsy exclaimed. ‘Never in a thousand million years! I’d never dare tell her I was falling in love with her!’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Have you seen that look she gives you?’ Patsy replied. ‘I tell you, if England has an army full of people who can give that look, Hitler hasn’t a bat’s hope in hell!’
Ellie shook her head. ‘The only way to win her, Patsy,’ she advised, getting out of the car, ‘is to come out of your corner and go straight for the knock-out. Artemis doesn’t spar. Artemis is perfectly prepared to stand there and slug it out, but she doesn’t spar. Next time, when the bell goes, go for the chin. She’s just psyching you with that look of hers. Believe me. I know.’ Ellie shook her head and smiling, ruffled her brother’s dark hair. He bent away from her with a good natured grin. ‘I’m serious, Patsy,’ Ellie said as she left. ‘And don’t worry. Where you’re concerned, she’s got a glass chin.’
Ellie waved, kissed her hand to her brother, and disappeared into the clinic.
It was a different Patsy who the following day invited and took Artemis to the studios. He was much more relaxed, less anxious and didn’t make one more reference to Artemis’s decision to return to England. He was kind and sweet and attentive, but above all funny, making Artemis laugh with his stories about filming and the outrageous behaviour of certain stars, as well as keeping her constantly amused with a wonderful flow of native Irish wit.
Artemis was more relaxed too, determined not to worry any longer about what he might think of her, but to enjoy herself and live for the moment, however short and sweet it may be. After all, she was in Hollywood, the home of the makers of fairy-tales, the place where lived the dreamers of dreams, while back home, across the cold Atlantic, the world, the real world, was at war. And when she returned to it, this time of enchantment would be just a memory, something which her heart and mind could search for and feel reassured by when the bombs started raining down from above, as she knew that they must soon do.
And then, two days later and quite suddenly everything changed, in the time it takes to light a cigarette, or pour a cup of coffee.
Patsy had invited Artemis back to the studio to watch filming on a picture called The Shop Around The Corner, starring James Stewart, of whom even Artemis had heard, and Margaret Sullavan. Patsy had placed Artemis in a canvas-backed chair to one side of the set, and although what was happening on the floor was enthralling and fascinating Artemis found her eyes kept straying after one person, and that person was Patsy as he went diligently about his work as assistant to the director. It seemed he was popular with everyone on the film, technicians and actors alike, most of whom whenever there was a break spent time joking with the amiable young man and, as everyone else always did, ruffling his thick brown curly hair.
Patsy, having had to build his body from nothing as it were, kept himself in first class physical shape. Of medium height, he was exceptionally well proportioned, with long legs, a strong chest, and a narrow waist, and when at work his well muscled arms were shown off to their best, thanks to his habit of pushing the sleeves of his short-sleeved sports shirts up even higher.
But it wasn’t his athletic figure that made Patsy Milligan so noticeable. Hollywood was full of beautiful bodies, male and female. It was his smile. Artemis noticed all morning as she sat and watched the activity around her, that whenever there was a minor crisis or misunderstanding, Patsy was the task force that was sent in. And all it took was a joke from him and a few words, and then a smile, a smile that started in his Irish eyes, before dancing down to his lips and stealing everyone’s hearts away.
‘Are you OK?’ Patsy had appeared at her side from somewhere out of the blue, as she had been sitting there day-dreaming. She smiled and then told him she was fine.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘We’ve broken, so let’s go and have some lunch.’
They started to walk across the studio, discussing the morning’s shoot. Patsy stopped to show her the camera close to, only to discover the cameraman was still at his post.
‘Hey, Pat,’ he said. ‘Just the fellah I need. Got a moment?’
‘Sure, Mr Daniels,’ Patsy replied. ‘But first I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. Mr Daniels, this is Artemis Deverill.’
The cameraman climbed down off his seat and shook her hand. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘You an actress?’
‘No,’ Artemis said, and then during the silence that followed as the cameraman stared at her, she added. ‘No. No I’m not.’
‘You should be. You have the most fantastic eyes.’
‘Mr Daniels is our top cameraman, honey,’ Patsy continued. ‘He photographed Miss Garbo in Anna Christie, Grand Hotel, Queen Christina, Camille, Ninotchka.’
‘Pat,’ William Daniels took him by a forearm. ‘Would you mind just standing in? It won’t take a moment? And I’d really appreciate it if Miss Deverill wouldn’t mind as well.’
Patsy led her to the mark on the studio floor where the cameraman wanted them to stand.
‘I think I’ve found a better angle!’ he called from behind the huge movie camera. ‘So if you two wouldn’t mind just edging a little closer to each other!’
‘Which scene is this, Mr Daniels?’ Patsy called.
William Daniels, with his eye to the view finder, called back, ‘First scene after lunch, Pat! Where Jimmy and Margaret get to kiss!’
Artemis knew she was blushing and felt it to her horror. She turned her head slightly away from Patsy and tossed back her hair.
‘Miss Deverill?’ William Daniels called. ‘I’m sorry – I’m sure this is one heck of an imposition – but if you could just look at Pat, do you think?’
Artemis took as silent a deep breath as she found possible, and then clenching her hands so that the nails dug into the palms, turned back to face Patsy.
‘A little closer, if you wouldn’t mind, kids! I’m very tight on you!’ Patsy moved his face closer to Artemis. ‘Closer?’ Daniels called. They were even closer. Artemis had to shut her eyes. ‘Good!’ the cameraman called.
And then Patsy kissed her, long, slow and gentle. And continued to kiss her, until when he finally let her go, and the world came slowly back into their vision, they saw that the cameraman had gone.
‘That’s a pity,’ Patsy said, frowning.
‘What is?’ Artemis just about managed to ask.
‘Mr Daniels going,’ Patsy said. ‘I hoped he might need a retake.’ And then he grinned. ‘Except on second thoughts, I don’t think we need Mr Daniels for that,’ he said, before kissing her again.
When they finally wandered off to lunch, Artemis holding on to Patsy’s arm, his hand clasped over hers, she q
uite forgot her walking stick, leaving it hanging where she had left it on the handle of the camera trolley.
The plan was for them all to go up to Santa Barbara for the weekend, to stay at a friend of Patsy’s empty beach house, but on the Friday morning Ellie had to cry off.
‘Doctor Vincent is so pleased with Jamie’s progress,’ she explained, ‘he wants to send him home earlier than planned. He’s anxious to see if Jamie can keep his improvement up with a change of environment.’
Artemis had been greatly looking forward to spending her last weekend in America by the sea in company of Ellie and most of all of Patsy. But she realized the recovery of her godchild was more important than a brief vacation by the sea and so she concealed her disappointment.
‘There’s nothing to stop you two going,’ Ellie said, as Artemis started to pack her things preparatory to flying to New York rather than motoring up the coastline. ‘I’ve got Nanny, and Doctor Vincent is going to be on call all weekend. It’s not as if there’s anything you can do. It’s just I can’t very well take Jamie with me to the coast and I do so want to have him home.’
Artemis went on packing for want of something to do while she silently tried to find the reason she knew must exist as to why she should not spend the weekend with Patsy. ‘It won’t be the same,’ she said finally. ‘Not without you.’
‘No,’ said Ellie, giving her a smile. ‘I don’t suppose it will.’ And then she went off in search of her brother.
‘Say something!’ Patsy called. ‘You’ve hardly said a thing since we left town!’
‘Sorry!’ Artemis called back over the noise of the wind.
They were driving with the roof of the rag-top down, along the almost deserted highway to Santa Barbara, and having small talked their way out of the city limits, once they had hit the open road Artemis had fallen into a thoughtful silence. For the first twenty or thirty miles Patsy had covered the lack of conversation by happily singing a selection of the latest popular songs in a fine tenor voice, but as Artemis’s silence had grown deeper, he had begun to cast anxious looks in her direction. Finally he slowed the speed of the car down so they could talk more easily.
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