Miss Glamora Tudor!: The New Chronicles of Barset: Book One Read online

  The same huge white car used by Glamora in her previous visit to the county stopped in front of the house, and a great many people were decanted from it. Lydia, who expected Mr. Goldwasser to look like a handsome though mature cowboy, dressed in a Western outfit with a ten gallon hat, metal studs spread over his clothes, and pointed-toe boots too, if possible, was disappointed. Mr. Goldwasser was well below middle height, slightly stout, and when he removed his very plain hat, quite bald as well. But when he looked at the company over his half-rimmed, small spectacles which he wore rather low on his substantial nose they were surprised at the sweetness of the smile and the benign expression. As they joined Mrs. Rivers, Edmond, and Noel in the living room, all the necessary introductions were made.

  “So happy to make your acquaintance,” said Mr. Goldwasser in a pleasant bass voice. “So pleased to be in England again. Other than the climate, I simply adore your country.”

  Everyone immediately felt that the cold rain was a personal insult to the wealthy mogul, and wondered how Providence could be so crass as to disappoint such a powerful man, who was also so charming. And we must note here that Mr. Goldwasser’s charm and very strong personality were legendary in Hollywood circles, and many deals were made to his advantage because the other party was swept away by his delightful manners, to its own detriment. But that is the stuff moguls are made from.

  At that moment, Palmer came in and announced, “Lady Norton!” and quickly withdrew. The Dreadful Dowager, for such is the name by which she was known in the county, glided in like a majestic galleon, corseted, dressed, and decorated to perfection.

  “Lady Norton, allow me to introduce Mr. Goldwasser,” said Noel.

  “Delighted,” said Lady Norton, looking at Mr. Goldwasser through her face-à-main. With appealing gallantry, Mr. Goldwasser bowed over the great lady’s hand, to her supreme satisfaction.

  “I am grateful to you, Lady Norton, for your generous offer,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “It will be a joy to shoot in such an authentic environment. It will make all the difference to the film!”

  “I hope you will come after lunch and take a look at the property,” said Lady Norton. “It will give you a preliminary idea of the place’s suitability. But please explain to me, Mr. Goldwasser, how do you film on rainy days? The weather in England is most unpredictable.”

  “My dear lady, these days there is no problem shooting a film even on the darkest day,” said Mr. Goldwasser, looking benevolently at Lady Norton over his glasses. “We employ special illumination equipment that can turn night into day, when necessary. Lady Fitz-Gardner and her young man will always be bathed in golden light, which will make Glam’s hair shimmer.”

  “Have you decided on Miss Tudor’s hair colour?” asked Mrs. Rivers. “Do you remember, Miss Tudor, you did not like the auburn I had originally written in the book, and of course it’s up to you, Mr. Goldwasser.”

  “Bright red,” said Mr. Goldwasser decisively. “Great impact. Auburn is too subdued; it won’t do justice to the passions you express so well in your marvelous book, Mrs. Rivers, which I have so much enjoyed reading. Bright, glowing red, matched with elegant, dark lipstick and the proper clothes, will suit Glam very well; she will have a glittering effect. You shall have the same hair colour Rita uses, darling, but of course you will look a million times prettier than Rita ever could in that colour; she does not have your skin, your eyes. Truly, Mrs. Rivers, you and Miss Tudor are a credit to each other. This will be a film in a million.” It was obvious that Mr. Goldwasser knew how to handle his divas, since the two ladies smiled at each other in the friendliest manner.

  “I like that,” said Jessica. “You will look very well in that colour, Miss Tudor.”

  “I agree,” said Aubrey, immediately turning into Petronius, Arbiter of Elegance to Emperor Nero. “I think it is an excellent choice.” Emma and Edmond were not so sure, both finding the idea slightly alarming, but neither felt equal to expressing their opinion on Miss Tudor’s hair, for their own respective reasons.

  “Everyone, allow me to introduce my secretary,” said Mr. Goldwasser. No one had noticed the quiet figure that stood a little behind, but hearing Mr. Goldwasser’s words, a person stepped out from the shadows. “My new secretary,” repeated Mr. Goldwasser, beaming at him, “Mr. Nestor Bronson Alcott.”

  “Nestor?” cried at least three people in unison, the surprise making the whole company forget its manners.

  “I am sorry, but it really is my name,” said Mr. Alcott. “An old family name.” He was a tall, well-built young man of about twenty-eight or thirty, with dark hair and a romantically pale face. He wore large tortoise-shell spectacles, a very neat business suit, and his hair was plastered carefully to his head with brilliantine, every hair in place. To complete the picture of a young and successful American businessman, Mr. Alcott was clutching a briefcase of immense proportions, decorated with brass studs and buckles, or whatever such fittings are called.

  “What a bizarre coincidence,” said Mrs. Rivers. “But I see it as a very good omen; when I picked the name Nestor Chardonay for my hero, I thought it was rather an uncommon name, but here you are! How long have you been with Mr. Goldwasser, Mr. Alcott?”

  “I find it interesting that no one commented on his other two names,” interrupted Mr. Goldwasser. “He is a distant relation of the great Alcott family.” But most of the people present were not reared on the works of either Bronson Alcott or the well-loved authoress, his daughter Louisa May, so regrettably they did not show much interest in that.

  “I just started to work for Mr. Goldwasser before we came to England,” Mr. Alcott answered Mrs. Rivers’ question. “I had applied for the job some time ago, so I was delighted to receive the sudden telephone call. This is a great opportunity for me to study the film industry from close up, as they say.”

  “So you have a particular interest in the cinema?” asked Noel.

  “Oh yes. I am not quite sure in what capacity I see myself in the future, Sir Noel, but I am thrilled with my current job.” The young man vanished behind his employer, and lunch was announced.

  When they gathered around the big table, Emma turned to Edmond, who was sitting on her right side. “I managed to speak to Mr. Goldwasser a great deal in London,” she said happily to Edmond. “He is very kind. He thought my plan of studying in Paris was excellent, and suggested that after I complete my studies, I should write to him and he will arrange an apprenticeship in GMG! Can you imagine?”

  “That is wonderful!” said Edmond. “Truly the perfect plan. The great GMG! What a marvelous apprenticeship it will be. I would love to visit you in Paris, while you are studying!”

  “That will be lovely,” said Emma. “We will have such fun. And after lunch, you must speak to Aubrey about your plays, now that you have officially met.”

  “Indeed I shall if he is not too busy,” said Edmond, a little timidly.

  “I will make sure of it,” said Emma.

  After lunch, the company sat in the drawing room. Noel handed excellent brandy all around to complement the coffee which Palmer had brought in, looking like a wounded princess gasping her last in the service of her country, but Nestor refused politely.

  “Thank you, Sir Noel, but I never touch alcohol, I only drink orange juice when I want to celebrate,” said Nestor. “I find it invigorating.”

  “Orange juice?” said Aubrey, amused. “Fancy that” Just like Gussie Fink-Nottle!”

  “Who is Gussie Fink-Nottle?” said Nestor. “Never met him.”

  “No, no, you could not meet him in person. He is a character from P.G. Wodehouse Jeeves books. He only drank orange juice, and when someone spiked his glass with a lot of whisky or brandy, I don’t remember which, he behaved very strangely and did things completely out of character. It’s very funny.”

  “It happened to me, once, when the fraternity fellows spiked my orange juice for a joke. I also behaved out of character,” confessed Nestor.

  “What did you do?” asked
Edmond curiously.

  “I do not remember what I did,” said Nestor, “but I was later told that I flung my jacket and tie away, danced on tables, and apparently I also attempted to dance on the walls like Fred Astaire. Things like that.”

  “Do you generally dance well?” asked Mr. Goldwasser.

  “Yes, I do dance reasonably well when I have the opportunity, but this was quite different.”

  Mr. Goldwasser laughed. “We love P.G. Wodehouse in Hollywood. He wrote for us for years. And on top of that, he happens to be one of my two favourite British authors.”

  “Who is the other?” asked Mrs. Rivers curiously, wondering if she knew the lucky favourite personally.

  “Mr. Somerset Maugham,” said Mr. Goldwasser reverently. “He simply writes for the cinema, even though of course he does not know it. The scripts you can write from his plots, the scenes you can shoot directly from his descriptions – there is nothing like that anywhere. But we also have films made about the hero of Mr. Wodehouse, Bertie Wooster. Very good films.”

  “If you could call Bertie Wooster a hero, exactly,” said Aubrey. “He is not quite heroic…” with which comment we heartily disagree, remembering the dangerous affair of the stolen cow creamer, and the legendary clash with Mr. Spode over the fate of the elusive Matilda – but our readers must do their own research on the subject, or we would divagate for hours, even if we don’t start commenting on our own deep and abiding love for Mr. Somerset Maugham.

  Aubrey looked at Nestor as if appraising him, and suddenly said to Edmond, in a very quiet voice, “Keep this point in mind, my boy. Keep the orange juice in mind. It may come handy someday if you script it properly.” Edmond looked at him in total bewilderment. How orange juice would fit within any of his future plays, he could not tell, but he trusted Aubrey’s sense of drama implicitly, and so decided to think about it as a plot for something or other, and make a point of rereading the Wodehouse books that dealt with the unlucky Gussie Fink-Nottle.

  “May I speak to you privately for a minute, Mr. Clover?” Edmond said a little nervously.

  “Yes, of course. I understand you are interested in writing plays,” said Aubrey, who had now turned into a benevolent uncle, happy to take his favourite nephew into the family business.

  “Very much, sir,” said Edmond nervously. “I wanted so much to discuss it with you. I greatly admire your plays.”

  “I am gratified to hear that. Have you completed your university studies?” asked Aubrey.

  “Yes, sir, last year.”

  “What did you read?”

  “Classics,” said Edmond.

  “Excellent,” said Aubrey. “I believe that this is the best preparation for a writing career. The thing to do now is simply to write, and write a great deal. I will be happy to look at your plays, make suggestions, and give you some hints. When I feel that one of the plays is ready for the stage, I’ll take it to the right place and introduce you. Have you got some income that will allow you to concentrate on your writing, or would you have to find a job? I may be able to help you if you need one.”

  “Thank you, sir, you are very kind. But I have made enough money filming Fever in Peru to last me through two years, if I am careful. Is this enough time?”

  “Yes,” said Aubrey. “If you don’t write a reasonably decent play in two years, you should discard the notion of being a playwright. But you will write a good play, I am certain of that.”

  “The only problem is, Mr. Clover, Miss Tudor wants me to act in her next film. If she convinces Mr. Goldwasser, I am doomed. I simply don’t know how to extricate myself.”

  “That is not too terrible a fate,” said Aubrey. “You will make more money, which would allow you to live more comfortably while you write, which, believe me, is a very good thing. And how long would the filming take? Four, five months? This is not an obstacle to any of your plans.”

  “So you don’t advise me to make a fuss, Mr. Clover?”

  “Certainly not. Miss Tudor wants you for this film, so you must act like a gentleman and comply with her wishes. And anyway, I have an idea that you may be released from this obligation after all.”

  “Really? How?” asked Edmond curiously.

  “Just a hunch, my boy. Just a hunch,” said Aubrey mysteriously. “We shall see. And don’t worry. Either way, I will help you with your plans. All shall be well.” And Aubrey became Nostradamus, the Man Who Could Predict the Future.

  Edmond felt immeasurably better after his conversation with Aubrey. He still would rather not do the film, but he realized that he was acting in a silly and childish fashion. So he went happily in search of Emma, to tell her all about it.

  In the meantime, Lady Norton and Mr. Goldwasser sat talking about the business part of shooting the film in her conservatories, but since we know nothing about the fees and contracts for such important deals, we are not prepared to describe them. When all was settled to their satisfaction, and the names of solicitors exchanged, Lady Norton said, “Yes, Mr. Goldwasser. We should drive to my house on your way to London and you can get a preliminary idea of my conservatories. We shall have plenty of light for hours.”

  “Indeed,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “I admire your efficiency and business sense, Lady Norton. You would have done well in Hollywood.” Lady Norton seemed to be gratified by the idea, which to the rest of the party seemed only too hilarious, and nodded her head graciously in acknowledgment. “We are going to desert you early, Lady Merton,” Mr. Goldwasser continued, turning to Lydia. “But I sincerely hope you will allow me to call on you again.”

  “We will be delighted to have you whenever you are free,” said Lydia, who took a genuine liking to the mogul. “And Miss Tudor, I am counting on seeing you soon, too. I plan to ask Lord and Lady Pomfret for dinner, since Lady Pomfret is looking forward to meeting you.”

  “That would be lovely,” said Glamora. “I was truly sorry to miss her when I stayed at the Towers. Are you also planning to ask Miss Merriman, Lady Merton? She and I have become such good friends.” For Glamora sensed, without quite understanding why, the bond of sympathy between Miss Merriman and herself, which was more genuine and kinder than most of her relationships.

  “Oh, yes, of course, I will make a point of it,” said Lydia.

  “Glam told me quite a lot about this marvellous Miss Merriman,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “I would love to meet her.”

  Glamora held Edmond’s arm and swept him into the white car, with Mr. Goldwasser and Nestor in her wake, and they drove away, following Lady Norton and her chauffeur in the elegant old black Rolls Royce. Mrs. Rivers left in her own car, since she was well behind with Her Work and needed to devote the rest of the day to it.

  Lydia returned to the drawing room, a little let down by the suddenness of her guests’ departure, and joined Noel, Jessica, Aubrey and Emma as they were finishing their coffee.

  “Well, Lydia, what did you think of Mr. Goldwasser and the interesting Mr. Alcott?” asked Aubrey.

  “I like Mr. Goldwasser very much,” said Lydia, “but Mr. Alcott had little to say for himself, I am afraid. I don’t find him particularly interesting.”

  “He has potential, my love,” said Aubrey. “Have you seen films where the girl, who has appeared plain and not too interesting throughout the whole film, suddenly takes off her glasses, shakes out her hair, and instantly turns into a ravishing beauty?”

  “Why, yes, I have seen many films like that,” said Lydia. “It’s a common cliché.”

  “If you washed out the horrible brilliantine from Alcott’s disgustingly slicked-down hair, removed his huge tortoise shell spectacles that make him look like an owl, and changed his unremarkable business suit into something dashing, possibly slightly disheveled evening wear with his white tie undone, he would be so handsome and romantic that I could cast him as one of my leading men,” said Aubrey decisively.

  “I think you have something there,” said Jessica, closing her eyes and trying to visualize poor Nestor with fluffy h
air and no glasses. “Yes, he has a good physique, tall, broad-shouldered, and if indeed you made these changes in his attire… I wonder why he does not do all that and try to be an actor. Do you think he secretly cherishes such an aspiration, all the time trying to hide it under the guise of a businessman?”

  Aubrey became mysterious, inscrutable, and all-knowing, but he did not answer directly or even give a hint of his thoughts and plans.

  Chapter Five

  Leaning elegantly against a palm tree, Lady Fitz-Gardner took a lace-edged handkerchief from her beaded silver purse and touched her lovely eyes, then shut them wearily, the lavender eye shadow quite visible in Glorious Technicolor. The audience would be expected to share her feelings and agree that life was a burden, that it was pointless to be a magnificently beautiful woman, with a title and a fortune and an impressive social circle, and wear silver shoes and a white silk dress cut on the bias and flowing like a dream, if you did not have Love. How could a woman face life when her husband was always busy, always making money, while all she wanted was to dance with him?

  Lady Fitz-Gardner was entirely hidden from any curious eyes, except those of the millions who were to see the film, by the lush vegetation of Lady Norton’s conservatory; she was subtly lit by a single ray of golden light that shimmered on her brilliant red hair. The light was produced by a natural-looking, high-voltage lamp, if this is the correct scientific term, and it is doubtful that any moon could have ever been so utterly obliging. Suddenly, a soft sound made her turn her head and look through the white gardenias, some of which were expertly created from highly convincing white paper, since, as we all know, gardenias don’t always oblige with the right number of flowers even in the best conservatories. She saw a young man standing with his back to her, lighting a cigarette. She heard him sigh softly as he was gazing at a magnificent red rose.