After donning the clothes, she rolled up the jeans, cinched in the waist with her own belt that had miraculously escaped the milkshake waterfall, and adjusted the t-shirt. Claire hung the towel, shoved her dirty clothes in a plastic bag she kept handy, exited the bathroom and shut the door.
‘Thank you so much, Hattie, I feel …’ Her words fell away as she caught sight of one Mr Luke Jackson sitting on a chair at the round dining table. He held a cup of tea in his hands, the steam snaking skyward. ‘Oh.’
Luke put the cup on the table and stood, his chair scraping against the shiny tiles. He turned to Hattie. ‘This is the stray you brought home?’
‘Excuse me?’ Claire placed a hand on her hip.
‘Now, Luke, there is no need for this behaviour,’ said Hattie.
‘She’s the one who knocked on the door today and I told her we’re not interested. And now she’s in your house and using your shower and wearing my clothes?’
Claire looked down at the black t-shirt and jeans. She’d felt so comfortable in the oversized clothes but now they felt too constrictive, like every last breath was being squeezed out of her. She did an about face and turned the handle on the bathroom door. To hell with clean clothes.
‘Claire, do not go and change and do not listen to my great-nephew. He has no manners, just like his father.’
Claire drew a deep breath and faced Hattie and Luke. His lanky frame dwarfed his petite great-aunt who looked at Claire with large, round eyes.
‘Is it true you were here this morning?’ The confident tone had left Hattie.
‘I was here, yes, but I didn’t know this was your home.’
Luke’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s a ploy.’
‘I’ll have you know, everything is above board,’ she said indignantly. ‘In fact, I had actually started telling Hattie about why I was in Starlight Creek, but our conversation halted when a wayward milkshake landed on my head.’
Luke smirked and Hattie flicked the tea towel against him. He flinched and rubbed his arm.
‘If I could just explain—’
‘I have everything I need to know,’ said Hattie. ‘I’m sorry, young lady, but the answer is no. We do not wish to be involved in anything to do with film.’
‘But—’
‘I am sure you are very good at your job and you will find somewhere else more suitable.’
‘That’s the problem, this cinema is the centrepiece we’ve been looking for. We need this cinema.’ Great negotiating, there, Montgomery. ‘Well, we had one, but … Look, we’ll make it worth your while.’
‘Money has nothing to do with it. People crawling all over my cinema and sticking their noses in places they shouldn’t is the issue. I like you, Claire, but it doesn’t mean I’ll change my mind. You’ll need to tell your people it is no from us.’
Her shoulders slumped as panic rose. ‘But—’
‘A very firm no from us.’
‘It’s just that the movie is about Amelia Elliott and your cinema is so beautifully preserved on the inside and—’
‘Nothing you say will change our mind.’ Hattie gripped the tea towel and looked out the window.
Although overwhelmed with the stomach-churning fear of failing in her first job since her promotion, Claire couldn’t berate the poor lady into changing her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, imagining the grief she’d receive from Nigel—not to mention Tony Karter’s glee—when she returned empty-handed.
‘I think it’s best if you leave,’ Hattie said, her eyes still trained on the view of the stark alley behind the cinema.
Gathering her messenger bag and the plastic bag with her milk-drenched clothes, Claire said, ‘Thank you so much for helping me out. I’ll wash these clothes and post them back to you.’
‘That’s not necessary,’ said Luke.
She didn’t argue, having already pushed things too far. She needed to return to Ashton and devise a plan—and quickly. If only she could figure out Hattie’s sweet spot, the one thing that would guarantee she would say yes.
‘What if we sent you on a holiday while we shoot? Where would you like to go? We’ll set you up with business class flights, five-star accommodation. That way you won’t be bothered by us being around.’
‘I need you to leave.’ Hattie’s soft temperament had been replaced by a hard edge.
‘You’d be helping us honour Amelia’s legacy. Honestly, we won’t—’
‘Out.’ Luke pointed at the back door. His steely eyes held no sympathy.
Clutching the plastic bag against her chest, Claire had no other choice than to make a hasty exit. As she opened the door, she said quietly, ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t make this happen, Miss Fitzpatrick. I would really have enjoyed working with you.’
CHAPTER 3
1950 – Hollywood
Lena Lee gripped her light blue purse with both hands as she stood in front of Stage Seven at Fortitude Studios. Her gaze travelled the full height of the thirty-foot steel door. Today it seemed darker, more daunting. She really should be grateful to have a supporting role in a star-studded movie but recently, a malaise had descended upon her and she’d found it impossible to push it aside.
Cheer up, old gal. She smiled at her brother’s favourite saying. How she missed her family.
‘Miss Lee!’
She turned to find a thin boy of about sixteen running towards her. He took off his peaked cap and gasped for air. When he’d regained composure, he handed her a small, pale green envelope. ‘From Mr Cooper.’
‘Thank you.’ She studied the thick linen paper, unsure why the head of the studio was sending her a missive. Itching to open it but realising a pair of eyes were fixed on her, she looked up. ‘Is there something else?’
He wrung his hat in his hands and shuffled his feet. ‘It’s … it’s …’
The poor boy had turned the same shade as the crimson dress she’d worn on set yesterday.
‘Yes?’ She hoped her tone sounded encouraging.
The boy offered a crooked smile. ‘You are as pretty in person as you are on the screen.’
He took off as fast as his long legs could take him. Lena laughed and shook her head. This kid, in his adolescent awkwardness, had been so genuine, she couldn’t help but be flattered. Lena may not have the beauty of Ingrid Bergman, the sultriness of Veronica Lake, or the sass of Mae West, but what she did possess was an ability to relate to people on and off the screen, no matter their background.
She undid the envelope, trying not to damage her freshly painted pink fingernails. Lena pulled out the stiff paper, unfolded it and sucked in her breath.
Dear Miss Lee,
You are cordially invited to celebrate the twentieth wedding anniversary of Mr Stuart and Mrs Lesley Cooper Saturday 11 March
A squeal of delight escaped then she clutched the invitation against her chest.
Oh no.
This couldn’t be right. Why would they want her to attend? She was nothing more than a supporting actress.
‘What’s with you?’ Yvonne Richardson, wardrobe assistant and good friend, stood beside Lena. When Lena had found herself without a place to live, Yvonne had taken her in, reassuring Lena that she’d never be left homeless again. This act of kindness had shown Lena that Los Angeles did have a soul, she just needed to surround herself with the right people. Although that was a harder task than she’d anticipated.
‘This.’ Lena held the invitation in front of Yvonne who scanned it a couple of times.
Her grin was as large as her personality. ‘That’s incredible!’
‘It has to be a mistake.’
‘Mistake or not, you’re going, right?’
‘I don’t know. I—’
‘I know just the dress! Come on!’ Yvonne shoved open the door and grabbed Lena’s hand. ‘You don’t have to be on set for a while, so we’ve got time.’
Lena let Yvonne drag her into the studio and across the set of cobblestones, rose bushes and a large fountain. With only two days lef
t to film, Parisian Dreams had been Lena’s biggest role to date, not that a dozen lines and a few minutes’ screen time counted for much when starlets like Jeanne Harris took enough limelight for ten people. Lena and Jeanne had arrived in Hollywood and started working at Fortitude Studios at the same time. They’d considered themselves friends then, although things had changed once Jeanne had become a leading lady and had dropped Lena like she had the plague. Jeanne had the advantage of youth on her side, whereas Lena, at the grand old age of twenty-nine, was considered by the studio as ‘well past it’ for an actress. For the past two years she’d clung to the few sparks in a sea of darkness, while Jeanne’s career had taken off like a rocket on the Fourth of July. If Lena didn’t find a way to break through soon, her contract would be cancelled and the life she’d worked so hard for would vanish. But as much as Lena would love to be where Jeanne was right now, she refused to turn into a cutthroat diva. There were limits, even if it meant a career less lucrative.
Lena and Yvonne wove between the lights and cameras, the studio quiet at this early hour. Lena often arrived on set before anyone else as it was her chance to sit in silence and remember why she’d made so many sacrifices for her chance at the big time—and how many more she’d have to make.
They left the set and walked down narrow hallways that twisted and turned.
‘What is this place?’ Lena asked.
‘You’ll see.’
‘Are we supposed to be here?’
‘No one’s around, it’s fine!’ Yvonne’s laugh didn’t instil confidence in Lena.
‘But there’s only certain areas we’re allowed on the lot,’ Lena said.
‘Why do you worry so much?’
They reached a door and Yvonne yanked it open. She started sorting through the rainbow of dresses that sparkled and shimmered with thousands of tiny crystals. Yvonne grabbed an emerald number and placed it against Lena’s body.
‘Oooh! That colour looks gorgeous with your red hair! Try it on!’
‘Oh no.’ Lena shook her head. ‘It’s not mine.’
‘Some of these are Jeanne’s.’ Yvonne winked.
‘Then I’m definitely not touching them.’
‘Oh, come on! Look,’ Yvonne ran a hand across the dozens of costumes, ‘these dresses have been long forgotten. It’s sad, really. We create these masterpieces, they’re worn on-set for a short time then they end up in the costume graveyard. Honestly, no one would notice if one was missing.’
‘And what if it’s recognised?’
‘I doubt it.’ Yvonne shoved a violet dress at her.
‘No, no, no.’ Lena backed away towards the door.
‘No one would care if you borrowed it for the weekend.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Just try it on. Please?’
Her friend batted her eyelashes and Lena gave a nervous laugh. She held out her hand for the dress and stood in front of the mirror. Draping the silky fabric across her body, Lena studied the intricate beading around the sweetheart neckline.
‘It truly is a work of art.’ She sighed.
‘Here.’ Yvonne placed a tiara on Lena’s head then curtseyed. ‘At your service, Miss Lee.’
The door slammed against the wall.
Lena jumped.
Yvonne cursed.
‘What the hell is this?’ boomed Lawrence Doherty, Lena’s movie director. Just like Lena, he often arrived early. Although Lawrence’s habit was to meander across the lots, mentally preparing for the day ahead. Trust Lena to be caught out on the day Lawrence decided to mosey past a place she wasn’t allowed.
‘I … I …’ Lena couldn’t put the dress on the rack fast enough. She stood with her hands behind her back, feeling like a schoolgirl caught with her hands in the cookie jar.
‘Lee, get on set now. And you,’ he rested a steely gaze on Yvonne, ‘shouldn’t be here without good reason.’ He pointed at the door and Lena scurried towards it but stopped when he put his hand across the doorway.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted. ‘I was just looking.’
Lawrence lifted the tiara off her head and cocked an eyebrow.
She glanced at Yvonne who pursed her lips, as if trying to contain a laugh. What Lena wouldn’t give to be as carefree as her best friend.
Making a hasty exit, Lena bolted towards the communal dressing room outside Stage Seven. A cold wind whipped around her legs. She glanced up. The sky had turned almost black.
Today would be a long one.
* * *
Lena entered Roy’s Diner, took off her coat and removed the scarf from her head. Outside the rain pelted, dropping the temperature but upping the humidity. She didn’t dare glance in the mirror as she was in no mood to deal with her unruly red curls. Looking around the crowded room, she spotted Yvonne and her other best friend, George Barrett, in a booth. Making her way over, she sat next to Yvonne and let out a long sigh.
‘Still gainfully employed?’ asked George.
‘You would know as you’re always up on the latest gossip,’ she said.
‘Why yes, that is correct.’
When Lena had first met George, he was an intern in the screenwriter’s office, fetching coffee and filing papers that would be forgotten in a week’s time. It had been Lena’s first day and she had become hopelessly lost, scooting from one place to the next, petrified she’d be fired before lunch. She’d rounded a corner in a rush and had crashed into George, sending his boss’s script flying across the pavement. From the goodness of his heart, George had taken Lena under his wing and they’d become steadfast friends. It had been a delight to watch George move up the ladder so quickly to become one of the studio’s most sought-after screenwriters.
‘How did it go?’ asked Yvonne.
‘It was the worst day of my life.’ Lena hung her head.
Yvonne placed her hand on Lena’s. ‘It was my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you.’
‘It’s all right, really,’ said Lena. ‘I shouldn’t be so easily swayed. Besides, I’ve always wondered where those dresses went to.’
‘Such a waste,’ said Yvonne.
Meryl, the waitress, appeared with a tray of hamburgers, milkshakes and a salad. She gave Lena a wink and handed her the salad and a shake.
‘Extra banana in your shake today.’
‘Thanks?’
‘Don’t look so surprised, sweetheart. I could see the cloud of sadness following you through the door. Hopefully comfort food will make it all better.’
‘Thank you, Meryl.’ Lena took a sip. ‘It’s delicious.’
‘You’re welcome, honey.’ Meryl went back to the kitchen.
‘So,’ George shoved a fry in his mouth, ‘are you going?’
‘What?’
‘Going to the party?’
Lena put her fork down. ‘No.’
‘Are you crazy?’ George’s high-pitched voice carried through the diner and caused other patrons to turn and stare. Leaning towards her, he whispered, ‘Are you crazy?’
‘The invitation has to be a mistake,’ she said.
George’s eyes met Yvonne’s.
‘What?’ asked Lena.
Yvonne drew her lips into a tight line and George shook his head.
‘What?’ she said loudly.
Yvonne said between clenched teeth, ‘You have to tell her.’
‘Tell me what?’
George rolled his eyes. ‘Okay. But you cannot breathe a word.’
‘About what?’ This was painful.
‘I snuck your name onto the list,’ he said.
‘What? That could get me fired!’ A thin film of perspiration broke out on her body and her stomach muscles tensed. ‘I feel sick.’
‘No!’ George reached over and grabbed her hand. ‘It’s all right, don’t worry. It was just one of those chance things. I had to deliver some scripts to Cooper but he was out and so was his secretary. The list was on the desk and …’ He shrugged.
Lena slapped her hand against her forehead. ‘G
ood grief, George. There’s no way I can go under false pretences.’
‘Your name is on the list now—’
‘No,’ she said with force, then softened her tone. ‘Look, I really appreciate your intentions, but it’s not right that I go.’
‘Hollywood’s biggest directors and leading men will be there. It’s a treasure trove of potential for you. What have you always told me?’ he asked.
‘Carpe diem—seize the day.’
‘Then do it.’ Yvonne’s perfect red lips formed a large smile. ‘Do you want to be second fiddle? Haven’t you always said your time to make it big is limited?’
Lena scrunched her napkin. ‘I’m not getting any younger, I know. Going to this party just feels dishonest and I don’t want to win a role because I was in the right place but not invited.’
‘Well Jeanne’s never had a problem with gatecrashing parties to meet people who will further her career,’ said Yvonne.
‘Jeanne and I are different people,’ said Lena.
‘You two used to be peas in a pod,’ said Yvonne.
Lena concentrated on pushing the salad around the plate. ‘Just leave it be.’
Yvonne looked at George.
Lena dropped her fork. ‘Seriously, you two! Why are you ganging up on me?’
Yvonne faced Lena. ‘You deserve just as much as Jeanne—and then some. You are a good person and you should take advantage of the opportunity that has landed in your lap.’
‘An opportunity that was forged.’
‘Creatively added,’ George said.
Despite her sombre mood, Lena laughed. ‘Thank you.’
‘For?’
‘Thank you both for looking out for me.’
Yvonne put her arm around Lena and pulled her close. ‘We’re family.’
‘We are indeed.’
CHAPTER 4
1950 – Hollywood
George held out his hand and helped Lena out of the car. Her friends had done a brilliant job convincing Lena she should attend the party, although now, dwarfed by Stuart Cooper’s towering pink mansion, she doubted her decision. Since arriving in Hollywood three years prior, Lena had tried to get over feeling like an imposter and acknowledge that she was finally living her dream of being an actress. Although some days it was harder to believe than others. Today was one such day.
The Cinema at Starlight Creek Page 3
