Page 9 of The Lavender Bride

8

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, DECEMBER 1951

A little bird tells me that Rex Trent is heading home to Illinois for the holidays. Will the budding romance with his agent’s secretary survive the separation or will the English Rose be looking for other company to keep her warm over the festive season?

LOUELLA PARSONS, LOS ANGELES EXAMINER , 24 DECEMBER 1951

The whole flat smells of pine resin. It’s like sleeping in a forest. The beautifully wrapped box sits beneath the Christmas tree. The gift tag reads, To Audrey, Happy Christmas, Rex in the same careful handwriting with which he signed his contract with Crown. I’m disappointed he’s not said ‘love Rex’ or added even a single kiss after his name. There was both on the gift tags I attached to his presents. Was that too forward? Are we not on those terms yet? Or will we never be because he, like Freddie, will never feel like that about me?

Then my gaze returns to the Christmas tree. Would he give me a huge tree plus decorations if we weren’t going out?

I can’t resist the temptation to feel the weight of the box and try to work out what might be inside. As Christmas approaches, the box becomes endowed with significance because if it’s the kind of typical gift you give a woman then that’s an indication of how he feels about me. I need to prepare myself to be only one in a long line of pretty girls who’ve come and gone in Rex’s life. But if it’s something he’s chosen because it matters to me then there’s hope that this relationship is as significant to him as it is to me.

I place the parcel from Esther next to the box, the brown paper drab next to the bright wrappings of Rex’s present. There’s no word from my parents. They have my address but they’ve never used it.

Christmas Eve sees Louella Parsons digging her claws in again. Any pleasure I feel at her referring to my budding romance with Rex is immediately cancelled out by her implying I’m a tart who’ll be looking for someone else as soon as he leaves town. I’m bristling with anger when Dirk arrives. He takes one look at me and says, ‘Cool it, kid. She’s not worth it.’

I wave the newspaper at him as my voice rises. ‘Has Rex seen this? What if he thinks there’s some truth in it? That Louella knows something he doesn’t?’

Dirk hangs up his hat before he turns to me. ‘Rex isn’t going to start thinking you’re a floozy because Louella Parsons drops the hint in her column. He knows 90 per cent of what she writes are lies.’

‘That’s easy for you to say,’ I tell him as I sink back into my chair. ‘You’re not the one she’s implied is a cheap hussy.’

Dirk pops a mint ball into his mouth before he answers. ‘Kid, I’m going to give you the same advice I gave Rex a long time ago. Don’t read Louella or Hedda Hopper or the scandal sheets. While you’re dating Rex, people will have opinions about you. Doesn’t mean there’s any truth in them. Most of the time, they’re only saying what they think will sell more newspapers.’

‘I hate that she gets to say these things.’ My hands splay with frustration. ‘She’s stealing my story and turning it into something else.’

Dirk gives me a long look. ‘That’s the price of fame. If you don’t want it, then don’t date movie stars.’

‘But,’ I sink back into my chair, ‘that’s so unfair.’

‘Welcome to Hollywood, kid.’ His smile is so wry, you could hang a hat on it. ‘Now where’s my coffee?’

Dirk lets me finish at 3.30p.m. and as I go into his office to say cheerio, he takes a box of chocolates from the bottom drawer of his desk.

‘Happy Christmas, kid,’ he says as he hands them over. The box is gold with a gold bow. ‘You’ve more than earned these.’

The praise is as unexpected as the gift. Since our aborted chat about my position at the agency, he’s not said anything at all about my ability to do my job. I thank him, wish him a Merry Christmas and leave. As I put the box in my handbag, I can’t help wondering if his wife Lillian bought the chocolates for me. There’d be a certain irony in that seeing as I bought and wrapped the presents for Dirk to give to her.

* * *

On Christmas morning, I’m awake just after seven. It feels strange to wake up in my own flat with no one else around. There’s a strange ache in my chest this morning that feels a lot like homesickness. I’m not due at Rita’s until eleven so there’s nearly four hours to fill. I tread softly down the stairs from the mezzanine in my pyjamas and switch the radio on. Perry Como is singing ‘Winter Wonderland’, which reminds me of the Christmas of 1938 when it was actually snowy. I was nine, eager, excited and a decent aim with a snowball. Christmas Day was a gift of snowball fights with Freddie and making a lopsided snowman with Esther.

I open the curtains to see the sun rising over Downtown and for once, it makes me sigh. I love Los Angeles but Christmas in sunshine will always feel strange.

I make myself a pot of tea and switch on the Christmas tree lights but even they fail to make me feel festive. I wrap my arms around my chest to keep in the longing. Quite what I’m longing for I’m not sure. Home wasn’t like they sing about in the songs and I don’t want to be back in Sheffield with my family, tiptoeing around to try to avoid upsetting Father. I do want to belong somewhere with someone, though, to have a true home where I can be absolutely myself. Could I have that with Rex? Logically, I know it’s far too soon to be wondering and yet he’s already shown more kindness than I’m used to. The Christmas tree, in all of its glittery glory, is a more tangible statement of festive cheer than ever happened at home.

It takes huge self-control but I open the parcel from Esther first. Inside is a yellow cotton cardigan which she’s knitted herself. It’s got a wide welt that nips in at the waist and pretty pearl buttons. I’m touched that, with two small children, she’s found the time to make this. I rest my hands on it as though Esther’s touch will come through the yarn she’s knitted. There’s an envelope with a drawing of a Christmas tree that four-year-old David has coloured in for me, wrapped around a photo of my niece and nephew. David, standing proudly beside his two-year-old sister, Ruth, who’s still at the adorably chubby stage. A tear streaks down my cheek, followed by another one. They’re growing up so fast and I’m not there to see it.

I pour myself more tea to steady myself before I pick up the present from Rex. I peel away the beautiful wrapping paper and reveal a box with the word ‘Leica’ on it. I gasp. There must be some mistake. Leica makes excellent cameras but they come with a very hefty price tag. He couldn’t have, could he? With a fluttery feeling in my stomach, I lift the lid and, beneath layers of tissue paper, is a beautiful camera. I lift it out, marvelling at the efficient grace of it. It’s the camera of my dreams if I’d ever dared to dream that big.

Next to it is the instruction manual which I’m definitely going to need, a leather case and two rolls of film. I put it in its case and then carefully place it on the coffee table, lining up the film next to it. I’m both shocked and thrilled that he’s given this to me. I’d not thought he’d taken much notice when I’d mentioned camera club but he must have squirrelled the information away. Thinking of him going to the shop and asking for a camera brings a warm glow to my chest. This must mean he takes us seriously. This is a present from the heart, an unbelievably thoughtful and generous gift.

But there’s a tightness in my chest that I can’t explain. The presents I gave him are pretty paltry compared to this. I hope he’s not disappointed this Christmas morning when he finds he’s only got a cashmere scarf and a pair of gloves from me.

I stare again at the camera. It’s beautiful but it’s too much. We’ve only been out a couple of times and he barely knows me. This is the kind of gift you’d give after years together, when you know that person inside out. I’m still barely certain that we’re dating and it’s unsettling to be the recipient of such generosity.

I stand up and walk to the window, brushing against the lower branches of the tree as I pass. The needles prickle through the fabric of my pyjamas. The sensation shocks me out of this daze of surprise. I need to speak to him. I have to thank him for this incredibly generous gift but I have no way of contacting him until he’s back in Los Angeles. I sigh out a long breath. This is why he’s so confusing! He’s given me this extravagant yet perfect present but not left me his parents’ address or telephone number. If we were truly dating, wouldn’t I have a way to contact him to say thank you?

* * *

Christmas at Rita’s is like being enveloped in a warm hug for the entire day. This is family life like I’ve never experienced it. There are jokes and banter between the four siblings, grandchildren running about and more food than I’ve ever seen on one table. I wear the cardigan from Esther which Rita compliments me on. I take the camera to show her and her eyebrows shoot up before she gives a long whistle of appreciation. ‘Your beefcake did good!’

I grin as pride engulfs me. She thinks he’s mine! If Rita, who’s the wisest lady I know, believes that, then isn’t it time I stopped worrying? I need to let the past go and start enjoying the here and now with Rex.