Page 17 of The Gathering Storm (Morland Dynasty #36)

‘Fond!’ Charlotte brooded a moment. ‘They’re going to live in Ealing ,’ she said at last, as though it was the world’s end.

‘Now who’s the snob? Anyway, your company’s moving to Acton. Right next door.’

She brightened. ‘That’s true. I could pop over after work. I was afraid we’d never see him again.’

`My dear child, you live in Bloomsbury. The Piccadilly Line runs from Russell Square all the way to Ealing.’

‘Basil, you can’t call me ‘your dear child’. I’m four years older than you. You sound like the vicar.’

‘I’ll call you Grandmama if you prefer. I’m sure they’ll be all right,’ he went on seriously. ‘Richard knows what he’s doing. He’s the most level-headed chap I know.’

‘You’re right. Thank you. I feel better now.’

‘I’m more worried about you,’ Basil went on. ‘Engaged to an invisible man, don’t know where he is or when he’s coming back. Or, indeed, what he’s doing .’

She didn’t rise to the bait. ‘He’s earning money so that we can get married.

Don’t try to annoy me about Milo, Basil, because it won’t work.

Oh, did you hear that Henry saw Uncle Jack at Hucclestone?

’ Her younger brother was an engineer apprentice with Hawkers at their Gloster factory.

‘He wrote to say that Uncle Jack urged him to take flying lessons, told him that when the next war starts, they’ll need all the pilots they can get.

When the war starts, he said, not if . What d’you think of that? ’

‘There won’t be another war,’ Basil said. ‘Those old fellows who fought in it can’t let it go, that’s all. It was the best fun they’d ever had in their terribly boring lives, so of course they want to do it all again. But our generation has more sense.’

‘I don’t think anyone would ever mistake you for someone with sense,’ Charlotte said. ‘Ow! That hurt!’

Al Feinstein relit the stub of his cigar and clenched it between his teeth, screwing up his eyes against the rising smoke.

The narrowed eyes gave him a dangerous, calculating look.

He was such a mixture of the crass and the canny, it was hard to say which he really was.

Perhaps, Lennie thought, he meant people not to know, so as to keep them off balance.

In a world that made money from acting, it became hard to tell when anyone was simply being themselves.

‘And she’s staying at your place?’

‘In one of the guest bungalows, quite separate from the house,’ Lennie said. ‘She has her dresser with her, sleeping in an adjoining room. Then there’s her housekeeper Dola and my housekeeper living in—’

Al’s teeth grinned round the stub. ‘I wasn’t questioning your respectability, Len – though it’s as well to be careful. There’s some that’ll always look on the dark side of everything. But your reputation is sound. I was asking how she’s getting on.’

‘She’s doing well. Off the dope, getting her strength back. Lots of walking and swimming and tennis. Wilma’s feeding her up with every vitamin in the book. Steaks, oranges and cod liver oil every day.’

‘Okay. So far so good.’

‘She’s learned her lesson, Al. She just wants to get back to work.’

‘Hmph,’ Al said noncommittally. The stub had gone out again. He took it out, looked at it in disgust, and put it in the ashtray. ‘Cohiba my ass,’ he muttered. ‘Never buy a stogie from a guy you meet at a poker game. Five bucks a box of ten, the robber.’

‘“What this country needs is a really good five-cent cigar,”’ Lennie said, quoting Thomas R. Marshall.

Al looked impatient. ‘Whaddaya wasting my time talking about smokes for? This situation with Rosie is not so good. And this affects you, too,’ he added sharply, throwing a furious look at the other person in the room.

Dean Cornwell’s agent, Doris Forman, allowed the look to bounce off her harmlessly.

She was used to Al Feinstein trying to bully her because she was a woman, but she was a formidable person, not least because of her connections.

She was the sister of David B. Reznik, ABO’s leading film director, a second cousin to Louis B.

Mayer, and the wife of producer Bernard Forman, who was responsible for a string of hits to rival Feinstein’s.

‘I’m just waiting for you to get to me, Al,’ she said comfortably. ‘Take all the time you need.’

Al stabbed a forefinger as thick as a Cohiba and much the same colour at the newspaper lying on his desk. ‘What I need is some constructive suggestions!’ he bellowed. ‘God damn it, they’ve only been married a year. It was billed as the greatest love story since – since—’

‘Antony and Cleopatra?’ Lennie suggested helpfully.

Feinstein was sidetracked. The finger now poked at Lennie.

‘You’ve said a bundle, Lennie my friend.

That’d make a great movie! It’s got everything – doomed lovers, Roman soldiers, chariots, pyramids, a snake!

And it’s never been done! You can’t count that Blackton one-reeler in, what was it, 1908?

With Florence Lawrence!’ He sidetracked himself again, staring into space.

‘My God, she was a gorgeous gal! Could act, as well. Signed with Universal eventually, and they nearly killed her – a stage fire got outta hand, burned off all her hair, and she got a fractured spine when the set collapsed.’

‘Yes, I read about it,’ Lennie said.

‘Then those shysters wouldn’t pay her medical bills, the bastards – pardon my French, Doris.

Not one dime. Wonder where she is now? It’s a great idea, Tony and Cleo,’ he said, his focus returning to Lennie, ‘but we got to get outta this hole we’re in first. Rosie and Deanie.

Doris, your boy done her wrong. Whaddaya gonna do about it? ’

‘He doesn’t want a divorce,’ Doris Forman said, with an air of getting her bid in first.

Al was half out of his chair, shouting, ‘I don’t give a rat’s ass what he wants! Who does he think he is? I eat punk actors like him for breakfast!’

‘He could be the next Clark Gable,’ Doris said calmly.

‘In his dreams he could! He’s milquetoast. Rosie carried him in Falcon , and you know it.’

Lennie winced, not wanting to get into this kind of exchange.

There were enough hard feelings flying around Hollywood without adding to them.

‘I think there has to be a divorce,’ he said, in a level voice, ‘for both their sakes. There’s been too much publicity for them to get back together with any credibility, even if Rosie was willing.

Let them move on. Get them both talked about with new partners – at a very respectable boy-and-girl-next-door level, I mean.

A clean divorce without rancour is the best solution all round. ’

‘I agree,’ said Al. ‘I don’t like divorce, it stinks, but in this case it’s the best option. They’re both young, youngsters make mistakes, it’ll be easier forgotten if it doesn’t drag on.’

‘It’s not going to look good for Dean if she makes out it’s his fault,’ said Doris.

‘It is his fault,’ Lennie pointed out.

‘There are faults on both sides,’ Doris said, giving him a look that said, Don’t mess with me, buster . ‘Things could come out she mightn’t like. For instance, why has Michael Rosecrantz dropped her if she’s the innocent party?’

Lennie gave her a steady look in return. ‘A clean, speedy divorce. Otherwise Rose might be forced to look for an annulment, on the grounds of non-consummation.’

Feinstein thumped his desk. ‘Ha! He’s got you there, Dorrie! You don’t wanna open that can-a worms! No reason a virile young man wouldn’t want to do the business with a gorgeous gal like Rosie, is there? Or is there?’

Doris was thinking furiously. As Al drew breath to speak again she held up her hand, stopping him, while she calculated.

‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘A clean divorce – without recriminations on either side. No leaking little innuendoes to the mags! They made a genuine mistake, found out they didn’t suit, no alternative but to split, going their own two ways but still the best of friends.

And no financial settlements, either way.

No strings. They’ve both got their careers to support them. ’

‘What about Roselands?’ They had bought the house between them.

‘Sell it, split the cash fifty-fifty.’

‘Suits me,’ said Lennie.

‘Al?’

‘Deal,’ said Feinstein. ‘Let’s get our lawyers on to it, make it watertight. We don’t want anything coming back to bite us in the ass five years down the line.’

Doris stood up. ‘I’ll talk to Dean. You’ll talk to Rose?’ she asked Lennie. ‘Is she getting another agent? No offence, Len, but she needs someone who knows what they’re doing.’

Now, how could I possibly take offence at that? Lennie asked himself. ‘As soon as she’s ready to start work again, I’ll see she signs on with somebody.’

‘I’d like to take her on myself, but I don’t think it’d be wise for me to rep both of them. Michael’s crazy,’ she added shortly. ‘That gal’s going to be big.’ And with a nod to each of them, she went out.

Feinstein fumbled in his drawer and pulled out a box of cigars, offered one to Lennie, who shook his head, and went through the business of clipping and lighting it. Lennie didn’t know if it was one of the so-called Cohibas, but it smelt like a lit garbage heap.

‘Now,’ Al said, when he’d got it going, ‘talk to me about Rosie. We got to get her back in harness soon as possible.’

‘I agree. She needs to work to keep her out of trouble. A big, meaty part – something like Falcon .’

‘Yeah, another historical,’ Al mused. ‘She looks good in all that gold stuff, big skirts and headdresses and all.’ He drummed his fat fingers on the desk. ‘You got my juices going with that Tony and Cleo talk.’

‘Rose is too young. Cleopatra was a mature woman – in her forties, I believe.’

‘Hell, that don’t matter. In Hollywood she can be any age you like. We could call it Queen of the Nile. ’

‘Good title,’ said Lennie, cautiously.

‘How about,’ he wrote it across the air in block capitals, ‘ Queen of the Nile , with Rose Morland as Cleopatra and Leslie Howard as Mark Antony?’

Lennie winced. ‘Mark Antony was a highly successful, battle-hardened Roman general. Do you think perhaps—?’

‘You could be right. Needs someone a bit more – rugged . Less polite. Less British.’

‘I still think Rose is too young for Cleopatra. When she has a few more movies under her belt, she could come back to it. The story will still be there.’

‘Hmmph. But we gotta get something big, sweeping, epic for her. What else you got in British history?’

‘What about the civil war?’ Lennie hazarded.

Al gave him a boiled look. ‘I said British history.’

‘They had a civil war as well. Cavaliers and Roundheads?’

‘Oh, yeah, I heard o’ them.’ He chomped on the cigar. ‘I like it. The guys with the long hair and the lace, and the other guys with the buzzcut and the bad attitude. Who won in the end?’

‘The ugly ones.’

’But all the time you want the pretty boys to win, I love it.’

‘Two families on opposing sides, the son of one falls in love with the daughter of the other.’

‘Your basic Romeo and Juliet.’ Al nodded, almost gleeful. ‘Is there a book?’

‘There is one I know of, called The Leopards and the Lilies . By Celia Hardwick. It’s a famous novel back in England.’

Al thought. ‘Is that too much like The Falcon and the Rose ?’

‘It’s a reference to the English royal flag. The lilies are the fleur-de-lys, and in heraldry, lions can only be called lions when they are rampant, otherwise they’re called leopards, so since the English lions are passant regardant they’re—’

Al waved all that away. ‘We can talk about a title later. Get me the book – better still, give me a précis and get the book to the writers.’ He gave Lennie one of his narrowest looks, though the cigar wasn’t in his mouth at that moment.

‘You’re gonna want to put some money into this, aren’t you, my boy?

This one’s a banker. Rose on horseback – they rode horses in those days, right? ’

‘Horses everywhere,’ Lennie agreed, amused.

‘Any battles?’

‘As many as you like. Lances, bows and arrows, swords. Cavalry charges.’

‘Yeah.’ Al sighed with satisfaction, seeing it in the air in front of him. Then his gaze sharpened again. ‘You’re gonna want to make a big, fat investment in this, I know it.’

Lennie didn’t say yes or no, but he knew he could not leave Rose in her present fragile state, or indeed before the divorce had gone through.

Work was undoubtedly the best thing to put her on a steady course, and he would have to stay at least until she was properly engaged with a new project.

A sweeping, epic civil-war movie with her as star would be a terrific boost to her career – as long as she didn’t fall for whoever they cast opposite her and start another foolish affair.

He would need to stay involved with the film until he was sure she was all right.

And that was going to mean putting some money into it.

But Al Feinstein was a sharp operator, and he was not wrong.

As an investment, it seemed like a sound one.

England – the real one, where Yorkshire and Morland Place and Polly were – would have to wait.