Page 78 of The Gathering Storm (Morland Dynasty #36)

‘No, I’m not hungry,’ she said, and walked away, blindly, just to get away from watching eyes and questioning minds.

Barlow would have read the postcard, of course he would.

She was under no illusion about the interest servants had in the lives of those they served.

They would never open a letter, naturally, but a postcard was fair game.

He would be wondering what there was written on it that made her look like a Greek mask of tragedy.

She walked towards the steward’s room, and changed direction at the last moment to go into the chapel. No-one would follow her there.

It was cold, smelling of furniture wax and damp, and a faint, ghostly odour of snuffed candles.

It was dark, too, with only the glow of the sanctuary lamp, and what little light the stained-glass windows admitted.

Outside it had clouded over, threatening rain.

She sat in her favourite place, at the end of a bench, against the wall where long ago someone had carved the outline of a bear in the stone.

When she sat here, she sometimes wondered who had done it and why, wondered how many other Morlands, in ages gone past, had run their fingers, as she did, over the outline.

In the stillness she felt the weight of the house around her, the watchfulness of her ancestors, whose bones lay in the crypt under her feet.

She had run away, half across the globe, and found Erich.

She could have stayed with him. They could have gone anywhere in the world; but the house had called her back.

She had glimpsed a bright garden; but Duty was the stern sentinel that stood at the door and said, ‘You may not pass.’ Now she would never leave.

In the crepuscular gloom, she heard the message, breathed out of the ancient stones of the old, brooding house that owned her.

Y ou have so much. You must not ask for more.

Be grateful. Take care of what you have.

Do your duty. And then a codicil, even more sobering.

Your concerns are very small and selfish, when war may be coming.

Morlands had fallen in the last war, family and employees and tenants, their bodies left in foreign fields, their names inscribed on the Monument.

She had a little surge of gratitude that Alec was too young to fight.

But there were so many others in her extended family who would be called to go.

She wanted to pray, but she had no words.

It would be dishonest, when her mind was so full of her own troubles.

Lennie came back from a trip to New York to find Rose fizzing with excitement. ‘I’ve got something to tell you!’ she cried.

The first photography of Robin Hood had been going well enough for him to feel comfortable about leaving her for a few weeks.

She had had a couple of scenes with Lord Bedford, and he had asked her whether it was awkward, working with Dean Cornwell again.

‘No, it’s fine,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing between us now – Deanie’s just a friend.

It’s a bit like having a brother opposite me. ’

‘And how is it, working with Dick Randolph?’

The smile disappeared. ‘Oh, he’s all right, I suppose. He’s no trouble .’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Well, just at first he was kind of flirty. Ugh!’ She made a face.

Lennie was amused – and relieved. ‘He’s quite a heartthrob in the cinema,’ he pointed out. ‘Women swoon over him, they say.’

‘But he’s so old! It’d be like kissing your father.’

‘He’s not that much older than me.’

‘Well, he looks it.’

‘Or Van.’

She looked surprised. ‘Woody’s not old . He’s really cool.’

‘If Dick Randolph is bothering you—’

‘Oh, no. He stopped being flirty after the first day. But now he tries to be helpful and “teach me the craft” – as if I needed teaching! At least, not by him. I’ll take direction from Mr Reznik, but not from him .’

‘Hmm. Well, if you have any trouble from him, let me know.’

‘You don’t need to worry about me, Uncle Lennie. I can handle it. And he’s all right, really, just a bit …’ she thought for a moment ‘… pathetic.’

How are the mighty fallen , Lennie thought. It didn’t bode well for the love scenes if the heroine thought the hero pathetic, but it was far better than having her develop a crush for Randolph. And Reznik was a good director – he’d find his way round any problems.

So he went to New York.

And now, arriving back with a present for her – a whole Lindy’s cheesecake in a box – he found her sparkling. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love,’ he said.

‘ No-o! ’ she said, as though it were a totally ridiculous suggestion. ‘I’m going to England!’

‘You are?’

‘We all are. Mr Feinstein wants to do location filming in the real Nottingham Forest. Woody says it’s because George Cukor sent researchers to the actual Verona for his Romeo and Juliet movie, to make sure it was authentic, and Mr Feinstein wants to go one better.

Woody says it’s an Authenticity Auction. He’s so funny.’

‘I’m very pleased for you. It will be a great experience for you to see England – and Nottingham isn’t all that far from Yorkshire where your mother came from.’

Her eyes opened wide – she could make them so big, she looked like a cartoon puppy, and it always made him laugh – and she said, ‘Oh, but you’ll come too, won’t you? Please , Uncle Lennie – oh, you must! It wouldn’t be any fun without you.’

‘Your fun isn’t dependent on me.’

‘It is – a bit,’ she qualified. ‘And, anyway, you’d love to come, you know you would. You had to cancel before because of my trouble, and I feel so bad about that, so now you have to go to show you forgive me. So I don’t have to feel guilty any more.’

Lennie shook his head. ‘It’s always best to put forward one reason and stick to it, rather than throw a dozen out there and not believe in any of them.’

‘I believe in all of them,’ she protested. ‘But if you want just one reason, okay: I want you to come. And you’ll enjoy it.’

‘That’s two.’

‘No, because you enjoying it is why I want you to come. You’ve been so good to me, looking after me all these years. It’s time you had a bit of pleasure.’

‘Looking after you is a pleasure. But now I’ve had a chance to get over the shock, I think I would like to see England again.’

She whooped. ‘Oh, I’m so happy! I’ve got to ring Woody and tell him.’

She clashed in the doorway with Wilma, who had emerged to see what the whooping was about. Rose squeezed past her. ‘I’m so excited!’ she cried, and disappeared.

Wilma gave Lennie a very old-fashioned look. ‘It ain’t good for that girl to get her own way all the time.’

Lennie cocked his head. ‘You know what she’s excited about?’

‘It ain’t difficult knowing what’s on her mind. She don’t exactly hide it. And she ’s got to go where she’s told. I don’t know any reason you got to go. She don’t need looking after any more.’

‘I’m not going to England to look after her. I’m going because I want to.’ He studied Wilma’s expression. Her lower lip was sliding out further every instant. ‘It’s not the season for fog over there. And no ship has gone down since the Titanic . So I’m not going to get pneumonia or drown.’

‘There’s more ways of not coming back than fog and icebergs,’ she said mysteriously.

‘Would you like to come with me?’ he said. ‘You’ve never been out of the country, have you?’

‘No, sir, I have not, and I ain’t going to start now.

You go to England if you have to, Mr Lennie, but I’m stayin’ right here.

I’ll look after things so’s it’s all here for you to come back to.

So’s you got the choice.’ And she turned and went back to the kitchen.

Lennie thought he’d miss the slip-slop sound of her movements if she ever left him.

And then he thought, England! So green and beautiful, it made your heart ache just to look at it.

Sherwood Forest. He didn’t know it, but English woods were lovely, intimate and charming, not like the great wild forests of America. It would be nice to see Sherwood Forest.

And he could pretend all he liked, but he was just delaying thinking about Polly.

It would be more than nice to see Polly, even if he was only Cousin Lennie to her now.

Just to see her again – and dear old Morland Place, which held so much of his heart.

He felt as though he had been in exile, and was being allowed a chance to go home.

Home! He realised now that that was what Wilma feared – not that he’d die, but that he’d stay there. She was so smart, it was frightening.

Lennie came across Al Feinstein on the back lot, standing in the sunshine in his shirtsleeves, hands jammed into his pockets as usual, talking to the assistant producer, Dorothy Fitch.

He broke off when he saw Lennie coming, removed his hands from his pockets and made an expansive gesture.

‘So, Len, you’ve heard? I see it in your face. ’

‘You’re taking the company to England?’

Dorothy turned to him. ‘I’ve been saying, we could find a suitable forest right here in California. And a castle facade can be built on the lot for next to nothing, out of plywood and papier-maché.’

‘Small thinking!’ Feinstein dismissed her argument. ‘This movie is gonna be big, the biggest thing since Cleopatra and twice as good, and we’re not gonna stint on it.’

‘We’re not?’ Lennie said wryly. As a major shareholder, much of it was his money.

‘Don’t worry,’ Feinstein said, patting his shoulder.

‘It’ll all come out of budget. This is advertising, Len – you got to advertise, these days.

And it’ll cost a lot less than Selznick’s dumb “search for Scarlett” stunt.

Which, by the way, is a total crock, because I hear on the grapevine he’s already got an unknown English actress tucked in his top pocket, not that he’s letting on.

Those screen tests are totally phoney. Not like our trip to Merrie Old England!

See the difference? It’s already catching the headlines.

“ABO to Major in Authenticity” – Motion Picture Journal .

“Feinstein backs the Real Deal” – Movie Mirror .

We’re knocking Selznick and MGM outta the park.

’ He slapped himself on the chest in congratulation.

‘The old man’s still got it. Gone With the Wind !

’ he said witheringly. ‘Kinda title is that? Sounds like a plug for Andrews Liver Salts!’

‘What’s the plan, then – going to England?’ Lennie asked, knowing a smokescreen when he saw one.

Feinstein raised his hand placatingly. ‘Controlled, every inch of the way. Small cast, just the principals, small crew. We’ll recruit technicians and extras over there.

Much cheaper. Six weeks’ location shooting in July and August – the weather’s more reliable then.

Right, Dotty? Get over there, get it done, get back.

Nottingham Forest, the real one. Authenticity. ’

‘The forest is not a problem,’ Dorothy said, looking anxious, ‘but we’re having trouble finding the right castle.’

‘England’s lousy with castles,’ Al objected.

‘Yes, but most of them are ruins. And owned by some obscure branch of the British government, which adds to the difficulties and the paperwork. I’ve got an agent over there looking, and he says there’s one in Scotland that might do, but that’s a long way from Nottingham, and he says the roads are bad. ’

‘Scotland can be hard going,’ Lennie agreed. ‘I’m sure there must be one nearer than that.’

‘The problem is, we need one with a working drawbridge for the siege scene. Honestly,’ she turned back to Feinstein, who met her with a stony face, ‘we ought to think about a back-lot facade.’

Lennie suppressed a smile. ‘You want a privately owned castle with a drawbridge, not too far from Nottingham? I think I know just the place.’

‘You do?’ Dorothy said, hope struggling with doubt in her expression. ‘How do you know about it?’

‘I used to live there,’ said Lennie.