Duel of Passion

by Madeleine Ker

  `W ell, I'm bored stiff!' There was a glint in Jenny's blue eyes. 'There's a rather gorgeous boy over there. Think I'll just go and ask him for a light.'

  `W hat happened to your lighter?' Sophie asked in all innocence.

  Ìt's just stopped working,' Jenny smirked, taking out a Dunhill and slipping off towards the technician in question.

  `Sophie!' the director carolled. 'Ready for a retake?'

  With a grimace at her cousin's elegant back, Sophie rose to get back into action, this time soaping her throat and shoulders.

  Ìn this sequence we want to emphasise the tactile and fragrant qualities of the product,' he urged, helping her into the lukewarm tub under the baking spotlights. 'It has to feel slippery, slick, soapy. You absolutely love smoothing it over your throat.

  And then the perfume hits you, and you inhale deeply, rapturously . . ?

  Jenny's uninhibited presence distracted Sophie a little from her brooding over Kyle.

  Her dreams, however, were full of him these days. He came to her almost as soon as her eyes closed, warm and real in memories of Caribbean sunshine, his magnificent body naked and eager for her, his lovemaking overwhelming her like the deep blue sea ...

  Sophie was thinking of him when she sat curled up on the sofa next to Jenny, with her heart in her throat as the announcer introduced The Elmtree Road Murders. She was hugging her stomach, which was aching with nerves.

  `W hat are you so jittery about?' Jenny laughed. 'It's all over and done with now.

  There's nothing you can do about anything any more.'

  Ì know. But I'm as tense as though I were going out to do it live at the Palladium!'

  `How many people are watching this?'

  `They predicted around seven million.'

  `Seven million...?' Her cousin shook her head. 'That's a lot of people! I'm going to tell everyone at university that you're my cousin!'

  They both stared at the screen as the film began.

  It was obvious at once that the production department had done a superb job. The Elmtree Road Murders exuded quality right away, from the moody theme music to the s-style graphics of the credits.

  The opening scenes, shot in the Brighton boardinghouse, had a brooding, atmospheric quality. Helene le

  Bon was on screen with one of the male leads. Coming over very cool and graceful, she radiated professionalism to Sophie's eye.

  `Doesn't she look elegant?' Jenny said. Her blue eyes were bright and wide, her golden-red hair glinted in the light. 'She's such a beautiful actress. When do you come on?'

  Ìn the next scene.'

  It was all coming back as she watched, the atmosphere of those summery days in Brighton. The happiness, the pain. She would always feel ambivalent about this film; so much had happened to her during it, and after it, to make her emotional. But looking at the finished product now, she felt a thrill of pleasure at having been associated with such a quality production.

  She wondered with a sudden stab of pain whether Kyle was one of those seven million, watching the screen now, somewhere in London.

  `Sophie!'

  Jenny's scream of laughter snapped her out of her reverie. She looked up, and saw herself. There she was, on the screen. Or rather, there was Maisie.

  Ìs that really you?' Jenny demanded, hands trying to stifle her laughter. 'I can scarcely recognise you! God, I had no idea you'd had to put on so much weight. And that awful hair—they've turned you into a fright!'

  `Yes, I do look rather depressing, don't I?'

  Sophie tried not to wince at Jenny's laughter. Indeed, the black-haired, rotund figure bore hardly any resemblance to Sophie Aspen as she now was. Everything was different, even the movements, the expression on the sallow features, the voice. The glowering housemaid radiated an air of hostility and resentment as a brick wall radiated heat at the end of a summer's day.

  Ì'm not so sure about telling people we're related any more! No wonder you were embarrassed about yourself,' Jenny gurgled. 'I wouldn't have let anyone make me look as awful as that for a thousand pounds!'

  The mixture of feelings inside Sophie was almost too complicated to make sense. She tried to be detached, professional, noting the way the scenes had been cut and edited, trying to pick faults in her own acting.

  But inwardly, a dull, throbbing pain in her heart reminded her of Kyle. Of the way he would have seen her during that week in Brighton.

  She had been so unattractive. That was her overwhelming thought. No wonder he'd laughed at her. No wonder he'd found her adoration of him absurd!

  Ànyway,' Jenny grinned, turning to her cousin, `you're not a bad actress, despite that hair. In fact, you're rather good!'

  Sophie smiled wryly, watching herself playing Maisie Wilkin. The intensity of her own performance was impressive, she had to admit that. The little figures on the screen moved and spoke, strutted and fretted. The story unfolded. But Sophie wasn't involved with the plot any more.

  Three weeks. Three weeks without a word from him. If he'd had the slightest intention of seeing her again, he would have been in touch by now.

  Damn that letter; damn her stupid pride!

  If she'd told him who she was, that last night in Jamaica, she might be watching this in his arms now.

  What could his mood be towards her? Anger? Indifference?

  The latter, most likely. If he'd felt a momentary pique at the one that got away, Kyle Hart was the sort of man who would have no trouble finding himself a consolation prize. In fact, he would probably have done so instantly, just to prove to himself that he could do it ...

  Sophie's eyes blurred with tears, the screen becoming merely a dancing square of light. She turned her head aside so that Jenny wouldn't notice. She was experiencing the horrible feeling that she had lost the only man she had ever really cared about.

  The telephone started ringing before the final credits had finished rolling.

  First through were her parents, her mother weepy, even her tough old father husky with emotion. 'You were super, Sophie, just great,' he said. 'You have a real talent, my girl. We're all so proud of you.'

  `W eren't you a little shocked to see the part I was in?' she asked.

  `Shocked? Of course not. You're an actress. And we know what you look like in real life!'

  More professional, but no less enthusiastic praise came from Eleanor Bragg, Sophie's tutor at drama school, who rang immediately afterwards.

  `That was a fine performance for someone as young as you,' she told Sophie. 'I can't think of many young actresses who could have held their own so well, playing against a performer of the calibre of Helene le Bon. As for those courtroom scenes ... I'm very proud of you, Sophie.'

  Jenny cracked the bottle of supermarket champagne that had been chilling in the fridge all day, but they didn't get much chance to drink it. The telephone kept ringing every few minutes. Several friends and colleagues rang in quick succession, some of them people she hadn't heard from in months, and later on Joey Gilmour got through, characteristically outdoing everyone else.

  `You were bloody fantastic,' he boomed down the line.

  `Thank you, Joey,' Sophie said. 'I'm glad you enjoyed it.'

  Ì knew you were perfect for that part. This is your big break, Sophie. From now on, things are going to change for you, believe me! Listen, I think we can forget both John Payne and Franco Luciani.'

  `You do?'

  `W hy should you work for peanuts? If you don't get a really outstanding offer in the next couple of weeks, then I've learned nothing in twenty years in this business!'

  It was two hours before the phone calls slowed down, by which tim e she and Jenny were slightly tipsy, and feeling rather emotionally drained. The last call came at eleven, and was from Helene le Bon, whom she hadn't seen for some months.

  `Helene!' Sophie exclaimed. 'It's lovely to hear from you! Are you still in Scotland?'

  `No, I got back two days ago. I thought I'd wait until the rush was over before ringing you with
my congratulations, darling. I presume the phone hasn't stopped ringing all evening?'

  Èveryone's been so kind.' Sophie, who was herself starting to feel rather weepy by now, had to clear her throat. 'Anyway, as for congratulations, you're the one who deserves them most. You were brilliant.'

  Ì've been in this game a long time. For such a young actress, you achieved something remarkable in that film, Sophie. I hear on the grapevine that the job offers are flooding in.'

  `W ell, not exactly flooding,' Sophie smiled. 'I've had two offers to make films from directors I've never heard of.'

  Òh, I've heard of them both. In fact, I'm a great admirer of Franco Luciani. He's a very gifted young man, you know.'

  Ìs he?'

  `You probably haven't seen Roman Affair, his last film? It wasn't exactly a box-office smash, but it was a very beautiful film. I was speaking to him only last week. He saw you in some of the unedited rushes, after Brighton—he has contacts in the drama studios.'

  Ì was wondering how he'd heard of me.'

  `W ell, he was very struck by the Elmtree Road footage. He seemed to think you had exactly the quality he was looking for in his next picture. He'll be be even more struck now and, frankly, I couldn't think of two people who would go better together. Have you read his script?'

  `Yes, I have.'

  `W hat's it like?'

  Ìt's very good. I didn't think it would suit me, but, having read it, I was seriously considering doing it.' Ìn my humble opinion, darling, he's just the right

  man for you. I expect he isn't offering very much?' `My agent thinks I can get more.'

  `Darling, of course you could. But money isn't everything—certainly not in this game.

  Now, listen. We're having a little party tomorrow night. A lot of the cast from The Elmtree Road Murders will be there, and so will Franco Luciani. He's very keen to talk to you. Will you come and meet him?'

  Ì'd love to come!'

  `Good. I'm so looking forward to talking to you. I think Franco Luciani is in for rather a surprise when he meets Maisie in the flesh!' Helene laughed mischievously. 'He doesn't know that you don't look like Maisie anymore.'

  Ì hope he doesn't want me to go through all that again,' Sophie groaned. 'I don't think I could!'

  `He'll be quite happy with you as you are,' Helene promised. 'The address is seventeen, Cadogan Gardens. Come around eight, and wear something shimmery. I'm dying to see you again. I've missed you.'

  Ì've missed you, too, Helene. Oh, by the way—my cousin is staying with me at the moment—'

  `Bring her with you, darling, of course. I'd love to meet her. What's her name?'

  `Jenny.'

  `Tell her I'm looking forward to talking to her. See you both tomorrow?'

  Sophie rang off after a few words of goodbye, and told Jenny about the invitation.

  Òh, I'd love to meet Helene le Bon in person! Will there be lots of gorgeous males?'

  Ì expect so,' Sophie nodded. 'Helene knows everyone in the profession.'

  She was definitely intrigued at the prospect of meeting Franco Luciani, the young Italian director who had taken such a fancy to her.

  In the midst of her excitement, it suddenly occurred to her that there was someone else that she and Helene had in common. Kyle.

  Helene would probably know where Kyle was, and what he was doing. She would be able to ask her tomorrow. If she dared.

  If she dared? With a pang of grief, she realised that she couldn't go on like this, not any longer. She thought of nothing except Kyle, day and night, and if he didn't get in touch with her, she must get in touch with him.

  She couldn't live in limbo. She had to know how he felt about her, whether he'd been serious in Jamaica, whether there was any chance of their getting together again.

  If there wasn't—well, she would somehow have to come to terms with that. But she must know, one way or the other.

  Her mind was made up. She would find out where Kyle was from Helene tomorrow night, and then she would go and see him.

  cadogan Gardens, Sophie reflected the next evening, was exactly the right sort of address for someone like Helene. Glitzy, expensive, central, it was just a stone's throw away from Sloane Square, located between some of the smartest schools in London and a set of Third World embassies.

  Number seventeen had a beautiful neo-classical façade, and the pavement outside it was crowded with Rolls-Royces and Jaguars. All its windows were blazing, and the sound of music drifted through the summer evening. Helene's 'little party' was obviously going to be a lavish affair.

  Sophie paid the cab-driver, and they walked up the stairs together. Jenny was in one of Sophie's dark evening

  dresses, and looked, Sophie thought, ravishingly pretty in it, w hile Sophie herself had obeyed Helene's order to wear 'something shimmery'. The silk blouse and metallic -

  print red skirt showed off her tan to perfection, and, though she was wearing the minimum of face-paint, as she had on that last night in Jamaica, she felt she looked as glamorous as she ever would.

  They were met in the hall by Helene herself, looking radiant, and obviously delighted to see them.

  `Sophie, you look utterly delicious, darling! So brown and slim and lovely! Wait till the rest of them see you. And you never told me you had such a pretty cousin. So pleased to meet you, Jenny. Now come up, and have some champagne ...'

  The big drawing-room was crowded with people, talking and laughing, and Sophie's entrance caused a sudden uproar among the babble. For a breathless quarter of an hour she was enveloped by friends from the Elmtree Road set, congratulating her on her performance, and wide-eyed at the transformation she'd been through.

  Ì don't believe it,' Lionel Jakobson gasped. He had played one of Helene's three husbands, and Sophie had got on well with him. His eyes, already rather bulging, were popping out of his florid face. 'We had no idea you looked like that under Maisie!'

  `This is the Ugly Duckling turning into a swan, with a vengeance! ' One of the other male leads, Julian Pike-Ashmore, made Sophie a mock obeisance. ' "You walk in beauty," my dear, "like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies." May I beg a kiss?'

  `Have you seen this?' one of the women asked, holding out a copy of The Times, folded open at the television page. The article about The Elmtree Road Murders was short, but enthusiastic. After praising the script and the director, Percy Schumaker, it went on to single out some of the performances, starting with Helene's.

  About Sophie, the writer said, 'The performance of newcomer Sophie Aspen, playing the difficult role of Maisie Wilkin, was one of the highlights of the film. She managed to combine the roles of victim and victimiser very convincingly. This young actress has a bright career ahead of her.'

  Percy Schumaker himself was present, too, and came over to greet Sophie. He was very flattering about Sophie's contribution to the film's success, and dropped various hints about possible further opportunities to work with him in the coming year.

  It was an exhilarating occasion, and Sophie had to leave her cousin to manage as best she could for a while—rather a new experience for Jenny, who was used to being the centre of attention.

  After fifteen minutes Helene approached, with a tall, olive-skinned man in tow. He was very handsome in a refined, rather sensitive way, and had intense, bright brown eyes.

  He smiled warmly as Helene introduced him.

  `Sophie, I want you to meet Franco Luciani. He wouldn't believe that you were really Sophie Aspen when he first saw you. Franco, you're face to face at last with Maisie Wilkin.'

  `No. This is not Maisie. Wilkin.' He had a charming àccent, but spoke fluent English.

  'This is somebody very different from Maisie Wilkin.' He kissed Sophie's hand, and held on to it in both of his as he straightened. 'I do not know which to compliment you on first, Sophie: your performance in The Elmtree Road Murders, or your appearance tonight.' His brown eyes gleamed appreciatively as he looked her up and down. 'May I say that both, in
their way, are quite unique!'

  `You're very kind,' Sophie laughed, colouring.

  Ì'll leave you to it,' Helene said, melting away.

  Sophie looked up shyly at the good-looking Italian. But you didn't think I really looked like Maisie, did you?' she asked.

  `W ell ..' His full mouth curved into a smile. 'I knew you were heavily made-up. But I have to confess I didn't think you were so very beautiful, which I now see you are, or so charming, which I now also perceive.' He released her hand at last. 'When I saw the raw tapes of you playing Maisie Wilkin, I felt at once that you were the right actress to play Marjorie in The First Day of Autumn. My reaction to seeing those tapes was that an actress of your age who could play so difficult a role as Maisie could do anything. I was looking for someone young, and at the moment there is rather a shortage of gifted young actresses. You had the vulnerability, and yet the strength, that I wanted. But when I saw the full performance last night—' he shook his head '—it was breathtaking.

  During those final scenes, in the courtroom, I was holding on to my seat. One might almost have thought that you weren't an actress at all, but someone expressing a real hurt, a real anger.'

  `W ell,' Sophie said, thinking wryly of what had happened to bring out that performance, 'I'm glad I was convincing.'

  `The only factor that bothered me was the Marjorie is meant to be very beautiful, while Maisie was ..'

  'Not very beautiful,' Sophie supplied, as he hesitated diplomatically.

  Franco Luciani laughed quietly, showing even white teeth. 'Shall we say that Sophie Aspen is closer to my idea of Marjorie than Maisie was. With both talent and beauty on your side, I am more determined than ever that you must play Marjorie'

  Ì'm very flattered,' Sophie murmured.

  `Do you like the script?'

  `Very much indeed,' she nodded. 'It's beautifully written, and I'm thinking about it very hard.'