Miss Glamora Tudor!: The New Chronicles of Barset: Book One Page 8

  “Aubrey, what do you think of Edmond’s comment about Emma’s flirtation with Noel?” asked Jessica as they were driving back to London.

  “Nothing at all, my sweet,” said Aubrey complacently.

  “You don’t think Noel is up to his old tricks again?”

  “No, Jessica. Emma has just developed a schoolgirl crush on Noel. I noticed it before, but it is of no consequence. He would not be interested in someone that young and unsophisticated. Besides, I believe he learned his lesson after the little affair with Peggy Arbuthnot, or rather Peggy Brandon now. You saved the day when you chastised him.”

  “Frankly, I would rather not approach Noel again on such matters, but since this is concerning Emma…”

  “He is not encouraging her, Jessica. He is innocent this time, and I suspect he does not even notice that she has a crush on him.”

  “So nothing needs to be done?” asked Jessica.

  “Nothing at all. She’ll get over it soon enough. I am sure of it.”

  Glamora was crying. Not the gentle touch of a lace handkerchief to the eyes, but more like a tantrum, with loud sobbing and the occasional stamping of a foot, quite alarming when the foot is clad in a fashionable shoe made of purple suede with a very high heel.

  “Now, Glam, calm down,” said Mr. Goldwasser. He pulled a very clean, large and beautifully folded red bandana handkerchief out of his pocket, looked at it, grinned, and handed it to Glamora. “As we say in Montana,” he added, “there is more than one way to skin a cat.”

  Glamora looked up, rather startled, wiped her blotchy face and said, “But Jake, you are not from Montana, you were born and raised in Brooklyn.”

  “Ah, yes, maybe so, but can’t you see me in a ten-gallon hat?” said Mr. Goldwasser, and proceeded to imitate John Wayne walking toward his horse, ready to ride into the sunset. Glamora laughed.

  “So now that you are calm, do try to be reasonable for a moment,” said Mr. Goldwasser, satisfied with his ingenious performance. “Tell me, Glam, have I ever let you down?”

  Glamora looked affectionately at the mogul. In a million years she could not articulate the thoughts that formulated in her mind at that question, since her vocabulary was severely limited, but for the benefit of our readers we would like to articulate them ourselves. The thoughts proceeded on these lines. “No, Jake, you have never let me down. In the heartbreaking world of show business, built on quicksand and stardust, you have been a tower of strength. In a profession where people cheerfully stab their so-called best friends in the back for the sake of a moment of glory or one more insignificant part in an easily forgotten film, your ethics and moral standards never deserted you, and you have always stood by your true friends.” No, Glamora did not know how to translate her feelings into words, so all she could say was, “No, Jake. You have always been the best of friends.” But knowing Glamora for many years, Mr. Goldwasser understood her meaning and was touched.

  “So don’t worry,” he said. “We have plenty of options.”

  “But Jake, after all the training with Miss Brinton, Hank still can’t dance. He mastered the waltz to some extent, at least he no longer falls down while tripping on his own feet, but when he tried to do the tango just now I lost control… it was monstrous, and you know how I like the tango. I want it to be perfect.”

  “I could release him from his contract, you know, of course paying him handsomely for his sacrifice, and get another leading man within a week.”

  “Oh no!” shrieked Glamora. “It will break his heart! Besides, Hank looks so perfect for the part. Did you notice how handsome he was in his evening clothes?”

  “Very well. Another option is to get a double just for the dances,” said Mr. Goldwasser mildly. “I can film a professional dancer with a similar body type, and then impose Keith’s face on the close-ups.”

  “Now that is brilliant. You are a genius, Jake.”

  “So what else is new,” said Mr. Goldwasser and poured a shot of brandy for both of them from a silver flask, beautifully monogrammed, which he always carried in his pocket and refilled as needed. “So it is settled, love. I’ll speak to Keith and ask Alcott to find a professional dancer right away. Just stop worrying and leave everything to me.”

  Indeed it seemed to work, at least at first. The professional was an affected young man who looked well enough and danced beautifully, and the three dance sequences were completed in no time. Edmond was so relieved that he did not have to dance anymore that his deep depression disappeared. He would have been less happy if he had spent some time with Mr. Goldwasser and Mr. Alcott when they viewed the result. It was ludicrous. No matter what they attempted to do, no matter how cleverly the film editors imposed Edmond’s face on the dancing professional, the image had nothing to do with, no resemblance at all, to Edmond’s figure. Yes, the young professional was exactly Edmond’s height and only a little bit lighter, but he looked delicate while Edmond was as solid and as sturdy as a rock.

  “We will have to think of something else, Alcott,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “This won’t do.” And for the first time since the beginning of the production, Mr. Alcott thought he caught a note of anxiety in Mr. Goldwasser’s voice.

  “Plan B, Mr. Goldwasser?” he asked, attempting to lighten the mood.

  “No, the dancer was Plan B,” said Mr. Goldwasser gloomily. I must consider Plan C now, and I am not sure I like it, Alcott. Not sure at all.”

  Chapter Seven

  “This was a very good catch, Miss Merriman,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “Thank Heaven you noticed the blunder in the way we addressed the Viennese nobleman in the script. How embarrassing it would have been to let such a silly mistake get into the film!”

  “This was easy,” said Miss Merriman. “I have lived with the upper classes all my working life, and of course they entertained titled foreigners. I hope I can continue to be of service with more complicated matters.”

  “I have no doubt that you will be able to tackle any issue. Are you enjoying your work here?”

  “Very much,” said Miss Merriman, laughing. “Who would have imagined me, working for the cinema… I wish Lady Pomfret could see all that.”

  “Why not?” said Mr. Goldwasser good-humoredly. “Let’s invite her to see a day in the production, and entertain her for lunch in our makeshift canteen, Hollywood style. I think the shooting of the embassy dinner will amuse her, and there is also an additional sequence by the river which would make any thinking person laugh loudly... though of course our Audience will be crying with deep emotion. If Lord Pomfret is not busy, he can come too, naturally.”

  “He is in London now, but I am sure Lady Pomfret would love to come.”

  Indeed Lady Pomfret accepted the invitation enthusiastically, and it was arranged to send the car to fetch her. The day before the outing Lady Pomfret called and asked permission to bring Mr. Choyce, who for a reason she could not understand continued to express great interest in Miss Merriman’s new job. Naturally, the invitation was extended to the vicar, and Miss Merriman was delighted by the prospective visit. She was particularly happy to show Lady Pomfret, her friend and employer, how interesting this brief encounter with glory turned out to be. And while she did not understand Mr. Choyce’s sudden interest in the cinema, she was always happy to oblige an old friend and looked forward to seeing him.

  Unfortunately, the day of their visit turned out to be also the day Lady Norton decided to drop in and inspect the production. But such are the ways of Providence and we cannot fathom them, only live with them to the best of our ability. Therefore, rather early in the day, Lady Norton sailed in, looking more than ever like an overly-decorated, old-fashioned cab horse, her face-à-main at hand, ready to scrutinize every detail.

  “Hermione!” she bellowed, and Mrs. Rivers, accompanied by the harassed-looking Mr. Alcott, came forward to welcome her great friend.

  “How nice of you to drop in, Victoria,” said Mrs. Rivers nervously.

  “I came to find out when we are goi
ng to Vienna,” said Lady Norton.

  “But we have no plans of going to Vienna,” said Mr. Alcott, surprised. “Why should we go there?”

  “I understood that the story takes the unfortunate, illicit couple to Vienna,” said Lady Norton. “Is it not so in your book, Hermione?”

  “Yes, it is so, and in the script too,” said Mr. Alcott, before Mrs. Rivers had the chance to protest and insist on the purity of the interesting couple. “But we planned to film the walk and the waltz by the shores of the Danube right here on the local river, and then superimpose images that we have in stock.”

  “But I understood you wished everything to be authentic,” said Mrs. Rivers. “I thought…” and she stopped, glancing at Lady Norton.

  “This won’t do at all,” said Lady Norton. “Mrs. Rivers said you are doing everything authentically, and we will all be taken to Vienna to do the scene. Why did you tell me that, Hermione, if it was not in the plans?”

  “Well, Victoria, I assumed they were going to do so,” said Mrs. Rivers miserably. “I really would like to discuss it with Mr. Goldwasser. I will insist on the scene being shot on the shores of the Danube.”

  “Indeed,” said Lady Norton imperiously. “I never put up with broken promises. Besides, I am convinced it was part of the contract. Young man,” she turned to Mr. Alcott, “please bring the contracts here immediately.”

  “But Lady Norton, the contracts are in London, in a safe,” said Mr. Alcott, “secure in the lawyers’ office. I cannot produce them right now.”

  “Don’t be impertinent, please,” said Lady Norton, looking at him through her face-à-main in her most intimidating fashion, making Mr. Alcott quail, which of course was exactly what she had intended, then snapping it shut. “Furthermore, I assume you mean solicitors, or barristers, since we don’t use such derogatory terms here. Lawyers, bah!” Mr. Alcott bit his lips and managed not to lose his temper.

  “Where is Mr. Goldwasser?” asked Mrs. Rivers.

  “He went with Miss Merriman to Wardrobe, to inspect the new gown that has just arrived for Miss Tudor. He wants to be sure it is appropriate for the Embassy Dinner we are filming today, and it really arrived at the last moment.”

  “That is another matter I am not entirely happy with,” said Lady Norton. “What is this woman doing here? She is not a part of this production.”

  “Miss Merriman is advising Mr. Goldwasser on points of English etiquette,” said Mr. Alcott, “since Miss Brinton had to go back to America for a short while.”

  “I should think my advice would be sufficient,” said Mrs. Rivers. “Don’t you agree, Victoria?”

  “As a matter of fact, Hermione, I don’t agree with you wholeheartedly,” said Lady Norton. “I think someone of my rank and experience would be more appropriate to give advice on etiquette. As you know, I was lady-in-waiting to Queen Alexandra, not to mention my husband’s title. You may have developed some wrong ideas about etiquette after spending so many years writing about the love life of middle-aged women. Not entirely proper, I sometimes suspect.”

  Mrs. Rivers was about to explode, but happily at this moment, Mr. Goldwasser returned with Miss Merriman, both quite pleased after having looked at the gown and deciding that it was truly perfect, which could have been expected as it was created by one of the greatest costume designers in Hollywood. Just then, Lady Pomfret and Mr. Choyce emerged from the huge white car, Miss Merriman went to greet them, and soon they joined the group. Mrs. Rivers and Lady Norton were talking at the same time, making considerable noise.

  “What is it all about, Alcott?” said Mr. Goldwasser over the din.

  “They want to go to Vienna,” said Mr. Alcott resignedly.

  “Why?” asked Mr. Goldwasser, surprised at the turn of events.

  “Mrs. Rivers feels it is more authentic to film there, and Lady Norton thought it was in our contract,” shouted Mr. Alcott. The ladies went on talking at the top of their voices and neither of them was listening.

  “I see,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “Ladies, ladies! Please allow me to speak. If both of you wish to go to Vienna, and for these excellent reasons, I will be happy to oblige. Mr. Alcott, would you kindly arrange it?”

  “What size will our group be?” asked Mr. Alcott, rising to the occasion.

  “Just large enough to film the Last Waltz on the shores of the Danube,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “We should go next week, I think. Make sure about the transport of the proper filming equipment.”

  “Will do!” said Mr. Alcott cheerfully, happy to see the resolution of this tense moment.

  “On another topic, a friend of mine, who is an avid gardener, mentioned he wanted to read your book, Lady Norton,” said Mr. Goldwasser.

  “Which one, Mr. Goldwasser?” Lady Norton asked eagerly. Since both her books were dreadfully dull and could only be published by a vanity publisher, she was not used to such flattery. “Did your friend wish to read Herbs of Grace or Along My Borders?”

  “I think it was Herbs of Grace, but why take a chance. You must tell me where I could purchase both books and I will send them to him in Hollywood.”

  “I will personally autograph them, Mr. Goldwasser, if you wish,” said the Dreadful Dowager graciously.

  “That will really make my friend happy, Lady Norton. Thank you,” said Mr. Goldwasser.

  “Hermione,” said Lady Norton majestically. “I apologize.”

  “No need, Victoria,” said Mrs. Rivers politely, if somewhat too sweetly for comfort.

  “I forgot myself when I said such a dreadful thing and I take it back,” said Lady Norton, even more imperiously. “Of course you are entirely capable of answering any question of etiquette.”

  “Such a little matter is of no importance between good friends,” said Mrs. Rivers.

  “And I have enjoyed many of your books, Hermione. You write extremely well.”

  “Thank you, Victoria. That is gratifying.”

  Thus spoke Nation to Nation, and both ladies, arm-in-arm, nodded royally to the group and walked away, to everyone’s relief.

  “You handled them admirably,” said Lady Pomfret, who had rather enjoyed the scene. “I should take some lessons in diplomacy from you, Mr. Goldwasser. Asking her for the books was a masterful technique.”

  “My dear Lady Pomfret, you are the soul of graciousness,” said Mr. Goldwasser gallantly. “But if you needed any lessons, which of course you don’t, you already have the best instructor by your side. No one can be more diplomatic than our dear Miss Merriman.” He looked with frank admiration at the object of his affection, or at least that was what Mr. Choyce thought as he stood by, never saying a word.

  “So what will you do in Vienna?” asked Lady Pomfret.

  “We’ll shoot a couple of scenes under Mrs. Rivers’s eye, and entertain Lady Norton lavishly in one of the finer restaurants,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “GMG can easily afford the short trip, and I like to keep the peace as much as possible. Shooting this film is becoming more difficult than I have expected, but we have saved a great deal of money by doing it here, so I might as well oblige the ladies. Will you come and see the shooting of the Embassy Dinner? It is about to start now.”

  He led his guests into Lady Norton’s formal drawing room, an enormous room that had been once used for balls. It was cleared of all the furniture, and instead a long table stood there, taking up almost the entire length of the room. It was set with crystal, silver, gold and shining white linen, and the flowers, in subtle white and yellow arrangements, were breathtaking, and more importantly, did not clash with Glamora’s gown. The food was already on the plates and the wine poured into the glasses. Glamora Tudor stood at the end of the table, gazing at the arrangement without any expression on her perfectly made-up face, and looking absolutely ravishing in her sea-green lace, her red hair up-swept into a high chignon and topped with an emerald-studded tiara. Edmond, equally magnificent in tails, stood by her side.

  “I hate green, Hank,” she suddenly said.

  �
��It suits you very well,” said Edmond. “You look very nice.”

  “Green does not go with my eyes,” said Glamora. “Ah, never mind. Who cares…”

  A large number of extras, most elegantly dressed as well, filed in, settling in their places efficiently and with well-rehearsed speed. Glamora and Edmond sat at one of the long sides of the table, almost in the middle. Everyone started to eat and talk cheerfully.

  “Lady Fitz-Gardner,” said Edmond in a deep, hushed voice, “we must talk privately.”

  “Must we?” said Lady Fitz-Gardner. “Why, Mr. Chardonay?” She raised her eyes to his, and then lowered them seductively, though of course quite chastely, to her glass.

  “I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you,” said Mr. Chardonay. “Will you come with me for a stroll on the shores of the Danube when we are free to leave this dreadfully tedious place?”

  Lady Fitz-Gardner looked wearily at the golden plates, masses of flowers, and expensive jewellery worn by her fellow guests. Seeing this Look, the audience would immediately realize that she, too, thought the Embassy Dinner was Dreadfully Tedious. What matters a dish of pink salmon prepared by an international chef and served after an appetizer of caviar and champagne, each bottle costing more than the average filmgoer’s monthly rent of a small flat in London? What value is the strand of the most amazing emeralds on Lady Fitz-Gardner’s neck? No, ten minutes of romance by the shores of the Blue Danube were so much more, so much more…

  “I will,” said Lady Fitz-Gardner. “My husband, as you know, is currently in Milan, on his new Tiger Lilies venture. So I am not needed this evening.”

  “Not needed?” repeated Mr. Chardonay in a hollow voice, looking passionately into her eyes. “This is a sad and inaccurate statement, Lady Fitz-Gardner, but I must let it pass…” and laying down his fork and the special fish knife with a mother-of-pearl handle, he sipped his wine. He had only toyed with his food, never really eating it, which is what the audience would expect from a love-struck, romantic hero. A healthy appetite would be totally inappropriate.