Miss Glamora Tudor!: The New Chronicles of Barset: Book One Page 3

  The crowd roared. Glamora got up, smiling, and approached the podium. She had not listened to Lord Pomfret’s introduction, partly because she was rehearsing her speech, and partly because she never listened much to anyone. This was all to the good since she might have objected to being compared to a dog and to the fact that Lord Pomfret mentioned none of her films by name.

  “I am so happy to be here and open the Fete,” said the famous actress. “It is always a joy to be able to make so many people happy and healthy and cure them. I hope this great new institution will be a permanent asset to this pleasant community. I am very interested in such things, since you might know that I have once made a film about the great nurse, Florence Nightingale, called The Lamp in the Night, with Hedge Thompson as Edward, the Prince of Wales, who was secretly in love with the great nurse, but was not allowed to marry her because his mother, Queen Victoria, objected. Therefore, I applaud the efforts of everyone involved with the new wonderful enterprise. Let’s have a great Fete, and enjoy ourselves!”

  Some of the people, who did not know that Miss Tudor used the same speech at her last appearance, when she had opened a hospital, might have wondered what Florence Nightingale and her romances had to do with the Fete, but most of the audience roared again with even greater appreciation. What Glamora Tudor said did not really matter. The public adored her all the more; they were so thrilled with their goddess just being there. And we must mention here that “Hibiscus Frenzy” became such a huge success that the American cosmetic firm would eventually hire Glamora to promote their new coloured mascaras, “Blue Enchantment,” “Green Flame,” and “Mists of Violets,” even though this will happen much later and such huge financial transactions are out of the scope of this modest work.

  At this moment a figure was seen running toward the platform. Mrs. Hermione Rivers, realizing too late that she had forgotten to return Merry’s list of Miss Tudor’s accomplishments to Lord Pomfret, jumped into her car and drove as fast as she could to the Fete since underneath her silliness and pretense she was a kind hearted woman and did not want to embarrass either Lord Pomfret or Glamora. She was waving it wildly, but to her disappointment she realized that the damage was done and the people were dispersing to see the exhibits, drink tea, and generally enjoy themselves.

  “Gillie, I am so very sorry,” she gasped, handing him the list. “It’s perfectly all right, Hermione,” he answered. “Gallant the Brave helped me.” He handed the dog’s leash to Miss Bent. Mrs. Rivers seemed confused, but since no one volunteered any additional explanation, she had to accept it. “Let us all go and have tea,” suggested Jessica with tact, looking at Mrs. Rivers’ flushed face. “We will probably run into many of our friends.”

  Edmond, pleased that Glamora forgot to mention him to the crowd, joined Emma with great relief, but for some reason which was not clear to either of them she was not her usual friendly self. Of course, she said to herself, it does not matter at all, not in the least, but it seems a shame that such an intelligent young man should be a slave to the fading charms of Glamora Tudor, who seemed to have no sense at all despite the magnificent costumes. Why did Emma believe that Edmond had succumbed to Glamora’s charms is not clear to us, since he kept coming back to spend as much time as he could with Emma herself and avoided Glamora whenever it was possible to do so. But there is no accounting for what goes on in our minds, over which we have no control at all. And so they started walking toward the tea tent.

  “Lydia, darling!” Jessica suddenly cried, and a beautiful, stately, dark-haired woman turned toward them. Seeing Jessica, Lydia’s face lit with one of her rare and enchanting smiles, and they embraced. Emma was greatly impressed by Lydia’s looks and manners.

  “How wonderful to see all of you,” said Lydia. “Edmond, you must come with me and say hello to Noel. We have not seen you for such a long time.”

  “Miss Tudor, I would like to present Lady Merton to you. Of course, Lydia, Miss Tudor already knows Noel.”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Lydia, shaking hands. “He had told me and I was looking forward to meeting you, Miss Tudor. Noel and I are great admirers of yours.” Which was not exactly true but was the right thing to say, we think. And this just shows how different Lady Noel Merton was from Miss Lydia Keith.

  “And this is Miss Emma Lover, Lydia,” said Jessica. “Aubrey’s cousin. Oh, Noel, here you are. Come and meet everyone.”

  Emma looked at the tall, graceful, elegant figure and knew at once that she had lost her heart for all eternity. Noel shook her hand kindly, and without paying much attention to the pretty child said something pleasant which Emma could barely hear because of the pounding of her heart. They strolled toward the tea tent, and every moment that passed strengthened her conviction that Noel was the most wonderful, amusing, entertaining, charming, and sophisticated man she had ever met. She fell in love in the most respectful way, of course, and continued to greatly admire Lydia’s august beauty and calm ways. But perhaps, Emma thought timidly, Lydia is too remote, too much like the Goddess Diana, whose toga Emma always found fascinating, to really give the charming and gregarious Noel the kind of attention he needs? Does she succeed in amusing him? Is he happy and well-looked after? Life is so complicated, Emma thought, sadly. Though what were the complications she was thinking about we cannot imagine, and she probably did not know either.

  Chapter Three

  “We must have someone place two tables together,” said Mrs. Rivers, who had quickly recovered her composure. It was a little difficult to arrange, since the only tables that were of the same height were used for tea urns, plates, and other paraphernalia. However, the lady who ran the tea tent asked the two boys who were her special helpers to put the urns and crockery on some crates and push the two tables together. She then served them a surprisingly good tea and even allowed them to judge for themselves how much sugar and milk they each wanted to use. Suddenly Lord Pomfret noticed an impressive presence, august if somewhat disheveled, standing not too far away from their tables. Immediately he rose, and with his usual courtesy went to invite Mrs. Morland to join them. She was delighted to do so since she had lost Lord Stoke, who had brought her to the Fete, to a cowman from a village some distance from Barchester. Or, as cook, Rita, and the housemaid would say, a foreigner, and it would not help one bit if they knew how perfectly cow-minded he was, or even the best authority on contagious abortion in his village, because it stood to reason that a foreigner was a foreigner.

  “How delightful, Mrs. Morland,” said Jessica. “I was hoping to run into you. And I would like you to meet Aubrey’s niece, Miss Emma Lover, who has been reading about Madame Koska since she was ten years old.”

  Mrs. Morland, flustered as usual when anyone mentioned her books in public, shook hands kindly with Emma who was speechless with reverence and awe.

  “I am very happy that you read my books,” said the famous authoress. “You would not know it, of course, but I really started to write by accident, because my husband died and I had to earn money to educate my four sons. However,” she added with genuine surprise, “why do you like them?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Morland, the clothes!” Emma said breathlessly, forgetting her shyness since she was discussing her favorite subject. “I adore the clothes you write about. I have been dreaming about some of the creations Madame Koska’s mannequins wear.”

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Morland thoughtfully, sticking a wayward tortoise shell pin more securely into her hair. “When I started writing, I researched the reading public’s taste and found out that the best selling subjects were racing, murder and sport, but that most women preferred reading about clothes to all other subjects. My first secretary, Miss Todd, decided to work for me for this reason, even though she had an offer to work for a real author, Mr. George Knox, who writes scholarly biographies, and whom she later married anyway.”

  “I think you are a very real author, Mrs. Morland,” said Emma shyly. “Your books are much more interesting than any biography. I do no
t much care for a story about someone who had died hundreds of years ago. I can see Miss Tudor’s films if I want history, and at least she wears those wonderful costumes so it’s less boring. I just love your books, Mrs. Morland.” Naturally, at that, Mrs. Morland flushed and lost a few hair pins, but at this time she was claimed by Lydia, and Noel, who up to this moment was doing his best to carry on a flirtation with Miss Tudor, turned to speak to Emma. Glamora was a disappointment to him, her flirtation technique was heavy-handed, self-centered, and she was utterly lacking in the necessary lighthearted touch as possessed, for example, by his old friend Lavinia Brandon. Therefore, he did not mind talking to the pretty child. They carried on an interesting enough conversation about Aubrey’s plays, of which they both were very fond.

  For some reason, Edmond felt irritated. What was Noel, who to him seemed to be an older uncle, doing? He was much too charming, much too interested in Emma, and he seemed to look steadily into her eyes! This is ridiculous, thought Edmond. Noel is old enough to be Emma’s father, he should not lead the innocent child on like that! But it seemed that Emma not only did not mind, but kept looking back at Noel with admiration, and listened to his amusing conversation with a rapt smile. Disgusting, thought Edmond. I must put a stop to this before it’s too late.

  “Emma,” he said across the table. “Would you like to take a turn on the roundabout after tea?”

  Emma hesitated. She wanted to spend as much time as possible with the object of her admiration, but she also adored the roundabout.

  “How I used to love it,” said Lydia wistfully. “I always insisted on bagging the ostrich. Now it just makes me sick.”

  “I’ll ride the ostrich for you,” said Edmond gallantly. “And Emma can take a horse, or the cock, if she likes.”

  A strain of roundabout music wafted through the air. “Would you believe,” said Lydia to Noel, “they are still playing the same song? Do you remember, Noel? It’s ‘Farewell, my Bluebell.’” She sighed.

  “Yes, my love,” said Noel. “And it escaped your attention a little while ago when they played my own favourite, ‘The Honeysuckle and the Bee.’ I’ll never forget how sick I was when you made me and Hilary Grant ride in the swan, and that delightful song went on and on, and you and Delia Brandon rode your birds wildly.” Lydia laughed and felt better, for her present life with Noel and the children was far better than the past, whatever nostalgia tries to dictate to us, and it generally succeeds in making us unhappy, for no reason at all.

  “I can’t bear the roundabout either,” said Glamora Tudor to Lydia. “As a young girl in London I used to love it, and my friends and I would ride as long as our money lasted. I suppose one grows out of it as time goes by.” As she spoke her eyes grew dreamy, thinking about the young, poor, aspiring actress with nothing but her beauty and her determination to take her into fame and fortune, which despite her lack of education and being not too bright, she had gloriously achieved. And that is something that is worth the respect of all thinking persons, even if we do not admire the films themselves.

  After making a very good tea, Edmond and Emma rose and went to the roundabout. Glamora looked after them, her expression blank but a little sad. Since Miss Merriman was not there, no one seemed to notice, which was probably a good thing.

  The roundabout had been working merrily from a very early hour, when Mr. Packer’s helpers carried in the ostriches, aeroplane bodies, cocks, horses, swans, and all the other animals, vegetables, and minerals that comprised the bestiary, and attached them to the brightly polished spiral brass poles. It presented a very cheerful sight, and when Mr. Packer poked his head out of his oily machinery to take the money, Emma was delighted to see that the ostrich and the cock, side by side, had no riders and looked just as if they were waiting for Emma and Edmond to ride them into the sunset.

  “I much prefer riding a bird,” said Emma, “or a horse. I am not too fond of the boats.”

  “Neither am I,” said Edmond, looking at the swan, which was really a kind of a canoe with a swan’s head and shoulders growing out of its prow. “I suppose it is meant to be romantic, but I think it looks silly. And away we go!” The music started again, and sounded just as happy and enticing as it did so many years ago when young Lydia Keith was having such a fine time on the roundabout.

  “Interesting,” said Jessica to no one in particular. Everyone was reading the mail at the breakfast table, except Glamora who, as usual, was having her breakfast in bed.

  “What is interesting, Jessica?” asked Lord Pomfret curiously. Even though he had become very friendly with Jessica and Aubrey, he still imagined that the famous actress and the playwright led a mysterious and intriguing life, and to tell the truth, so did Lady Pomfret.

  “This is a letter from Aubrey. He has signed a contract with Goldwasser-Mammoth-Guttenberg Studios. I am impressed; working with the great GMG is going to be rather thrilling.”

  “What are they producing for Mr. Clover?” asked Mrs. Rivers curiously. “And Miss Dean, are you going to be in it?” If she felt a little envious, it did not show at all, much to her credit.

  “They will turn his play Dance We Shall into a big production musical,” said Jessica, laughing. “I can’t imagine how, but why not? Their largesse is legendary. As for me, no, I won’t be acting in it. They need a real movie star, who is used to such productions. Aubrey can become anything he wants, he is a chameleon, so he would fit in with these film moguls. But I am incurably The Stage, to my detriment, I suppose. So Sarah Siddons, little Henry and I will have a marvelous American vacation when Aubrey starts working on the film, and then spend some time in my parents’ house. And another thing. Mr. Goldwasser is coming with Aubrey to England. He has some business here, unrelated to Aubrey and his play.”

  “Will he stay with you?” asked Emma, visions of long and interesting conversations with the film mogul already gleaming in her eyes. In the brief moment that had passed between her question and Jessica’s answer, she distinctly heard Mr. Goldwasser, who for some reason looked exactly like Cary Grant, say, “Miss Lover, you must come to Hollywood. I am sure Miss Edith Head would love to hire such a talented young designer as yourself, and even though she may not be working for us right now, she will be thrilled with you. And in addition, I will personally introduce you to the GMG design department. Your future is secure.” Of course Emma would hesitate demurely and explain that she had not as yet completed (or really, even started) her professional training and education, but Mr. Goldwasser would dismiss her scruples, place a trunk call to Mrs. Goldwasser in Hollywood (who looked like Doris Day and was dressed in a long, green chiffon negligee), and arrange to have Emma stay with them at the mansion whenever she came. Her dream was cut short just as she was stepping into the heart-shaped swimming pool, of course made of lavender and green marble, by Jessica’s good- natured laugh. “No, Emma, of course I will offer him hospitality, but I suspect that people like Mr. Goldwasser stay at the best hotels in London,” she said, “but yes, darling, you can meet him if you wish.”

  Emma was so thrilled by this new opportunity that she immediately decided to sacrifice not only her deep love and commitment to Noel Merton, but also her constant and irrational irritation over Edmond’s slavish attachment to Miss Tudor. A heavenly romantic thought crossed her mind that as a victim of love’s cruelty she would renounce all personal connections and devote her entire life and energy to Her Work. But immediately she thought that this sounded like something Mrs. Rivers would say, so she dismissed it. Though why she thought Mrs. Rivers sacrificed anything to Her Work is not clear to us. Mrs. Rivers dearly loved her children, Julian and Phoebe, constantly meddled with their lives, and liked her husband in a rather detached way, so no one could say that she had renounced anything. Still, having discouraged such thoughts, Emma happily accepted Edmond’s offer to take some sandwiches and go for a long walk, promising everyone that they would be back for tea.

  Lord Pomfret apologized to the ladies and explained that he had to go
to an urgent meeting, but would be back for tea, too. They did not particularly mind, since we all know that ladies, even though they like and respect the gentlemen, are much happier left to themselves, so they can talk about sensible things. However, this time the ladies dispersed to their various occupations as well. Mrs. Rivers disappeared to devote some time to her writing, and Jessica went to her room to answer Aubrey’s letter. So when Miss Tudor came down, no one was there to observe her habitual grand entrance other than Miss Merriman, who was peacefully having another cup of tea.

  “Everyone had to leave for various obligations, Miss Tudor,” she said. “May I offer you a cup of tea?”

  “Yes, thank you, Miss Merriman,” said Glamora. “I always like a second cup of tea in the morning. I have never acquired a taste for morning coffee, despite my long stays in America, where they take it for granted that you want coffee first thing in the morning. They do have divine breakfasts there, though.”

  “I quite agree,” said Miss Merriman. “Tea in the morning is my preference as well. A cup of coffee is very nice after dinner, though. And speaking of America, Miss Dean has just received very good news from Mr. Clover. He has signed a contract with Goldwasser-Mammoth-Guttenberg, and they are going to produce a musical based on one of his plays. Also, Mr. Goldwasser himself will be travelling to England with Mr. Clover, for some other business.”

  To Miss Merriman’s amazement, Miss Tudor did not show the slightest sign of surprise. “Yes, I know all about it,” said Miss Tudor. “I have had a communiqué from Mr. Goldwasser already and he is thinking of casting me in Mr. Clover’s film, Dance We Shall. I know Mr. Goldwasser well, by the way. He produced the two science fiction films I told Miss Lover about.”