Secrets From the Past

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Jessica and I both laughed, as we always did when Cara spouted one of Granny’s old sayings.

  As I prepared the coffee I prayed that Jessica did not have that awful disease which had so debilitated our mother. But it was hard to dispel my anxiety, and I found myself thinking the worst.

  PART FOUR

  A Single Frame Tells It All:

  Nice/New York, May/June

  So absolutely good is truth, truth never hurts

  The Teller.

  Robert Browning, ‘Fifine at the Fair’

  Truth stood on one side and Ease on the other; it has often been so.

  Theodore Parker

  Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

  D. H. Lawrence, ‘Piano’

  TWENTY-NINE

  For the first time in some years I was entirely alone at Jardin des Fleurs. Harry was back in New York. Geoff had gone to London to run Global Images. And everyone else had taken off earlier in the day.

  Not too long ago, Zac had gone to Nice to keep an appointment with Dr Biron, who had treated Dad at times, and Cara had rushed up to her two huge greenhouses, built on her hilltop land adjoining the gardens of the house.

  Jessica, needing to keep an appointment at the auction house, had asked Adeline to drive her to the city, and Adeline had been happy to do so. She was going to the market to do the shopping for the weekend anyway, and it presented no problem. Only Raffi, the gardener, was around somewhere in the grounds, plying his trade.

  I was working on the dining-room table, where Zac and I had set up our base. There were masses of photographs for Dad’s war book, and the large round table offered plenty of space, so we had a useful overview of all the pictures.

  The house was so quiet and still it was almost like being in another place altogether. I enjoyed the peace and tranquillity because it was so conducive to work.

  Usually there was noise from the kitchen, when Adeline and her sister Magali were working there, and Jessica, a music lover, frequently had an opera or a movie soundtrack on the sound system. As for Zac, he had at least one television turned on downstairs, and I had come to understand that Cara and I were the two quietest people in the house.

  Zac and I had been concentrating on the photographs for the book for over ten days. Within the first few hours of looking at them properly, studying them, we realized how important they were. Actually, they were extraordinary – dramatic, savage, heartrending and touching beyond belief. Many had moved me to tears, and every single one of them was brilliant.

  Tommy had captured the relentlessness of war, and its evil; counterbalancing this was the power of peace. The photos of the military men and women showed their courage, compassion and great humanity. There were many images of civilians, the ordinary people of the world, which were a tribute to their indomitability and the triumph of the human spirit. Those were uplifting, and needed to be in the book.

  It was obvious that Dad had put a lot of time and effort into the dummy; he had selected the best photographs, had arranged them the way he wanted them to appear in the book. Zac and I only had a few more files to go through, and it wasn’t a daunting task.

  My father had always been efficient when it came to his work. He had identified every shot, left copious notes, and we had been thrilled that we’d been able to move ahead with such speed. Thanks to Harry and his connections, we even had a potential publisher in New York, who was apparently genuinely interested in the book, and this had spurred us on.

  I was sorting through a file marked GULF WAR in large letters when I came across a truly dramatic picture. As I studied it, I suddenly realized one corner of it was stuck to another photograph underneath. After attempting to separate them without success, I went and got a sharp knife from the kitchen, and pushed it carefully between the two pictures where they were attached at the corner.

  They came apart without any damage to either, and I was momentarily surprised to find the photo stuck to the war shot was one of my mother.

  Well, not so surprised really, since there were hundreds of photographs of her in his studio. Dad had obviously been looking at this one of Mom when he was selecting those for his book.

  I gazed at her image – shimmering … incandescent, my mother at her best. I turned it over, and saw that it was stamped with the logo of Twentieth Century Fox; it was obviously a publicity still taken by one of the studio photographers. She was wearing a white dress, and I recognized it.

  I sat back in the chair, still holding the picture in my hand.

  The decades dropped away, and I remembered the day that this particular photograph had been taken.

  Dad and I had gone to the studio to pick Mom up. She was working only half a day, and Dad was taking us both to lunch at the Bel Air Hotel before he left for New York.

  I’d been to the backlot many times before, and always enjoyed being there, unlike Jessica and Cara, who never wanted to go. I loved the cameras, the giant arc lights, the dolly tracks, the commotion and the excitement; all the marvellous ballyhoo of major movie-making at its best.

  Heather Stanton, Mom’s personal publicist, had been with us that day, and she’d taken us to one of the huge sound stages where Mom was shooting only one scene, and doing some stills. An easy day for her.

  The moment I saw the red light flashing, I knew we couldn’t go inside. They were filming. Once it finally stopped, Dad pushed open the heavy soundproof door, and we went into the enormous sound stage beyond.

  Mom was in the centre of a group of people, and when she spotted Dad and me with Heather, she smiled at them, said her farewells. Then she came hurrying over to hug and kiss me, as she always did.

  It was a well-known fact in our family that the studio heads loved Mom – she was known throughout the business as a real pro. Grandma had told me that Mom was never late, always knew her lines, and got on with it, without any fuss and bother.

  Much later, when I was years older, Heather had confided that my mother wore her enormous fame with great humility, and that this was the reason she was beloved by every crew she ever worked with. And also for her warmth and friendliness.

  I happen to believe that my mother’s understated manner was also due to the many years she’d been in the business. She had been a child star before becoming a megastar, and she carried her fame rather casually – she was so used to it. And she never threw her weight around.

  That day, in the summer of 1986, when we’d gone to pick her up for lunch, she was forty-seven, had recently celebrated her birthday in May. She didn’t look her age, appeared much younger, her beauty and her figure still intact.

  I was five, and attending kindergarten in Beverly Hills. We were living at Mom’s old house, which she had owned since her first marriage, and had kept all those years.

  My mother was shooting several major movies back to back. Her health was extremely good at this time, and apparently she wanted to make the most of it, to make money whilst she could. Jessica and Cara were at boarding school in England, and I had my parents all to myself.

  I could easily recall how they’d spoiled me. When Dad went off to New York, or to cover a war with Harry, Mom and I were alone in Bel Air, which I loved even more. I thought about my early years many times, growing up in Hollywood, and I had nothing but happy memories.

  I’d always loved California, with its marvellous weather, palm trees, lush gardens and beautiful houses, plus its casual, relaxed lifestyle.

  When we were living there in the Eighties, we went backwards and forwards across the Atlantic, from LA to Nice. Sometimes we flew to New York, stayed for a while at Fifty-Seventh Street, and continued on to Nice to spend a summer at Jardin des Fleurs.

  We were gypsies, just as Granny said so many times. Nonetheless, we were much-loved girls, and knew it. Both Dad and Mom were smart about verbalizing their feelings about us, and we responded in kind.

  Once there had been Marilyn and Grace, but bot
h those beautiful blonde stars were dead. Marilyn had passed away in August of 1962 and Grace in September of 1982. Now there was only Mom in that league, and she was the reigning queen at that particular time. The shining blonde beauty; the superstar at the top of her game.

  I let thoughts of those days drift away, and, needing to stretch my legs, I went out into the garden.

  It was a beautiful day. A California day, I thought, glancing up at the perfect blue sky. I walked around the garden where, thirty years ago, Mom had planted palm trees, cultivated the flowerbeds, and flowering shrubs. It struck me again that this garden was very much like the one she had created at her house in Bel Air. I smiled to myself.

  What an incredible afternoon it was. The air seemed to shimmer. The sunlight was intense. I went over to the far side of the lawn, stood looking out at the Mediterranean. Its deep blue vastness, as placid as a pond, appeared to merge into the sky, as if there was no horizon. Stretching into infinity, I thought.

  Suddenly, I swung around as I heard a car coming up the drive. As if from nowhere, Raffi appeared, waving, calling my name, alerting me that we had a visitor.

  I waved back, and walked towards the approaching car. I did not recognize it. Nor did I know who the driver was.

  THIRTY

  The moment I viewed the car up close, I knew exactly who the visitor must be. Allen Lambert. Jessica had mentioned that he had a passion for vintage cars, and now I was staring at an old but highly polished light blue Jaguar parked in our driveway. It had to be his.

  A moment later a man alighted, lifted his hand in greeting. I waved back and walked towards him. He reached into the car, took out a bouquet of flowers and headed down the garden path.

  There was a genial smile on his face; he was fair of colouring, rather nice looking, and casually dressed in an open-necked blue-checked shirt, beige slacks and a navy blazer.

  As we both drew to a standstill, he thrust out his hand. ‘I’m Allen, and you must be Serena.’

  ‘I am, and it’s lovely to meet you finally. I’m sorry I’ve not been around. When you came to see Jessica last week I was in Nice.’

  He smiled again, his blue eyes sparkling. ‘How is Jessica? I just got back from London at lunchtime, and I thought I’d pop up for a little visit.’

  ‘She’s fine, but I’m afraid she’s not here at the moment. She went to the auction house for a while.’

  ‘Oh dear, how silly of me not to think of phoning her there. Quite frankly, it never occurred to me she’d be at work.’

  I noticed the flash of disappointment in his eyes, the way his expression changed, and I said, ‘Come on, let’s go to the terrace and wait for her. She won’t be long.’

  ‘Well, all right, if you’re sure she won’t mind …’ His voice trailed off, and he now seemed somewhat hesitant about hanging around.

  ‘Of course she won’t. Anyway, she’s probably on her way back already. Adeline was going to pick her up, once she’d finished shopping. I’ll give Jess a call on her cell phone, find out when she’ll be back.’

  ‘Good idea,’ he said, his face instantly brightening.

  We went up the steps to the terrace. I said, ‘Sit down, Allen, make yourself at home. I’ll go and grab my phone.’

  He nodded, offered me a warm smile. I already had the feeling that Allen Lambert liked my sister a lot, and that there was much more to this relationship than I’d realized. I was pleased as I hurried off. Once I was in the dining room I searched for my phone, and soon found it under a pile of photographs. I dialled Jessica’s number and she answered immediately.

  ‘Hi, it’s me,’ I said. ‘Where are you, Jess?’

  ‘Almost home. Why?’

  ‘Allen Lambert arrived here a few minutes ago. Apparently he just got back from London, and he decided to pop up and see you. At least that was the way he put it.’

  ‘Oh God,’ she muttered, and I heard her long sigh echoing down the phone.

  ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you want to see him?’

  ‘I do and I don’t.’

  ‘Now you’re the ditherer, like I was about Zac.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I like him, Jess. I’ve only spent a few minutes with him, but he’s so nice, very genial, and he’s got an open, honest face. Actually, he’s quite … dishy,’ I finished, meaning this and thinking: so much for Cara and her opinion.

  ‘Yes, I agree, but I feel awkward when I’m with him at the moment,’ Jess explained.

  ‘In what sense? I’m not following you.’ I was surprised by her comment. Jessica was normally at ease with everyone.

  ‘I haven’t told him about inheriting osteoporosis from Mom, that I’m taking medication. But I think I should be honest with him, don’t you?’

  ‘I do, yes. You should tell him if you plan to continue seeing him.’

  ‘I’d like to … but he might not want to see me,’ she murmured, suddenly sounding doubtful and a little sad.

  I knew exactly where she was going with this, and I said firmly, ‘You must explain it, Jessica, and take your chances with him. If he feels he can’t cope, then he’ll obviously back off, move on. And good riddance to him. You don’t need a wimp, do you?’

  She burst out laughing. ‘Oh Pidge, there’s nobody like you! And you’re right, a wimp of a man is no good to any woman.’

  ‘Listen to me. I don’t think Allen will be put off. He doesn’t seem the type to me,’ I asserted. ‘Besides which, osteoporosis is so treatable today, with all the new drugs available. I’m not trying to make light of it, I know it’s worrying. But you must remember that Mom developed the condition nearly forty years ago, when she got pregnant with you and Cara. Things were a bit different then.’

  ‘I know. Okay, I’ll tell him. I’ll be home soon.’

  Allen was standing near the balustrade on the terrace, staring out at the Mediterranean, and he swung around as I walked onto the terrace.

  ‘It’s a magnificent view from up here,’ he said. ‘Just tremendous. And what a beautiful sight the bay is today – so inviting, with all the sailboats bobbing around out there. I’m sorry Jessica is a bit restricted by the cast on her leg. It would have been nice to go sailing this weekend.’

  ‘Oh, so you like puttering around on boats as much as she does, do you?’ I asked, studying him with growing interest.

  ‘I do indeed. I’ve been a sailor since I was a kid, following in my father’s footsteps when I was growing up here. He kept a boat in the port and I inherited his love of the sea.’ Allen laughed and added, ‘I tend to be a bit of a workaholic, Serena, and it’s been important for me to have another interest, one that gets me away from my desk.’

  ‘I know what you mean. Anyway, I just spoke to Jess on her cell, and she and Adeline will be here in a few minutes.’

  He nodded, suddenly looking much more cheerful. ‘How’s your photographic book coming along?’ he asked, and sounded genuinely interested.

  ‘Very well. Zac and I are excited about it. Dad did a lot of work on the dummy before he died, and that’s made our job much easier. Zac’s in Nice, but he’ll be back soon, too. Hopefully we can all have tea together.’

  I went and sat down under the umbrella and placed my cell phone on the table.

  Joining me, Allen said, ‘I was so sorry about Jessica’s accident, and that she had to cancel the Easter lunch. I was very much looking forward to meeting you and Zac. She’s told me a lot about the two of you.’

  I grinned at him. ‘I do hope she left out the bad bits!’

  ‘Of course she did.’ He leaned back in the chair, and stared off into the distance for a moment. ‘How’s Cara?’

  ‘Fine. She’s another workaholic, and I expect she’s up at the greenhouses at the moment. Or seeing clients. But she’ll probably be back for tea. It’s a bit of a ritual here on Fridays, with the weekend about to start.’

  He leaned across the table, and pinned his deep blue eyes on me. ‘I have the distinct feeling Cara doesn’t like me.�
��

  ‘I’m sure you’re wrong,’ I answered swiftly, immediately hoping to dispel the impression he had. I wanted this rather nice man, who was interested in Jessica, to feel welcome in our family.

  I added, ‘Cara’s much more reserved than Jessica. Even though they are twins, they have different personalities. And she’s been somewhat sad since Jules was killed.’ I made a small grimace. ‘You do know her fiancé was killed in a skiing accident, don’t you?’

  ‘Jessica told me. I was sorry to hear about it. What a tragic thing to happen.’

  ‘I think you’re just picking up on Cara’s sadness in general, and that curious reserve of hers. She’s much less outgoing than Jess, you know,’ I continued, feeling the need to explain further.

  ‘I’m glad I brought it up. You’ve made me feel better,’ Allen said, glancing towards the French doors leading into the peach sitting room. ‘I think Jessica’s arrived,’ he announced, suddenly happy. He rose. ‘Should I go and greet her? Bring her out to the terrace? I’ve been a bit hesitant about trying to help her, Serena, she’s so terribly independent.’

  ‘I know, but go ahead, go and get her!’ I instructed, sounding a bit bossy.

  Allen was smiling broadly as he walked through the peach sitting room, obviously anxious to see my sister. I liked him, and I felt he wasn’t the type of man to be deterred by anything, least of all an illness that could be properly treated today. There was something very genuine about him.

  As they came out onto the terrace, I thought how good they looked together. Allen was tall, like Jess, and well built, and he seemed to be protective of her. They had similar interests, from what she had confided earlier. They both loved movies, the theatre, music and opera. And he himself had just told me how much he enjoyed boats and sailing, just as she did.