Camellia (64 page)

Magnus listened in horror as she described the spiral she was trapped in. Loss of memory, the spurts of wild elation followed by black depression, and her ever increasing reliance on Edward to hold things together for her.

'When the work dried up in the mid-sixties, he was still there for me,' she said in a low voice. 'Thanks to him, I was financially secure and I could afford to see the best psychiatrist in town.'

Magnus didn't believe in psychiatrists. He couldn't see how the level-headed girl he'd once known could ever need that kind of 'quackery'.

'Did this "shrink" help?' he asked.

'In some ways, yes. He made me look deeply at myself. But as he was so very fond of telling me, I alone had to make the decisions to deal with what I'd learned and for a long, long time I did nothing about it. Those years were my "hermit" period. I rarely left my house and I saw no one. I read books, I swam in my pool, exercised a little, but I was almost suicidal and quite often I got drunk just to black it all out. If it hadn't been for Edward's continuing care and support I would probably have ended it all during one of these benders. Then one day when I'd finally given up hope of ever getting offered another part, Stanley Cubright came to see me with the script for
Broken Bridges.'

'And that pulled you together?'

'It did. As I read it I knew the part was made for me. I had all the excitement I felt when I read
Soho.
Nothing had affected me like that for years. Edward was against it oddly enough. He said returning to England would make me feel more isolated, but for once I didn't listen. I just knew I must come home and make this film. So I accepted the part. And that's where you came in.' She paused, looking hard at Magnus.

'Now could I have possibly said I didn't need or want Edward here with me after all he'd been through with me?'

Magnus hardly knew what to say. On the face of it Edward Manning had been a saint and true friend, yet for all that he knew he wasn't going to like the man anymore than Bonny had done. 'I think you have to take control of your life again,' he said carefully. 'And if Edward is the friend he seems to be, he'll be happy to see you do that.'

'Help me with him, Magnus,' she pleaded suddenly, clutching at his arm so hard her fingernails dug into his flesh.

'You're frightened of him?' he said. 'Why Helena?'

She loosened her grip instantly. 'I'm sorry,' she said blushing and dropping her eyes from his. 'Heavens above, Magnus, you're going to think I'm absolutely cuckoo now, or worse still that I'm going to add to your worries.'

'I don't think either of those things,' he said firmly. 'But I'll offer you a deal.'

'A deal?' she frowned.

'Yes, you help Nick and myself find Mel so you can tell her yourself everything you know about her birth, and I'll help you keep yourself together until you can manage it all by yourself. If necessary I'll even elbow Edward out.'

She hesitated.

'Come on now,' he said more firmly. 'Surely you can do that?'

'There's so much more than I've told you, Magnus.' Her voice dropped to almost a whisper.

Magnus assumed she was talking about herself and Edward. 'You can tell me when you feel up to it,' he said. 'But we can put the business of finding Mel in hand straight away.'

'You don't understand,' she said, her eyes filling with tears. 1 mean about Camellia. You see I can't see her until I'm ready to tell her the whole truth and I don't know if I have the courage for that.'

Magnus turned right round on the seat until he was facing her squarely. He could see panic in those dark eyes, and her lower lip was trembling.

'Is the truth that bad?' he asked, lifting her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet his.

'Yes,' she whispered.

'Will it be worse for Camellia than her hiding out in some strange town believing she's the cause of everyone's unhappiness?' he asked. 'Is it bad enough to deprive her of a man who loves her, a home where everyone cares for her?'

'No,' she whispered. 'I want her to have all that. None of it is her fault.'

'Then you have to find your courage, Helena,' he said. 'Otherwise you and I have no deal.'

She was silent for some time, sitting absolutely motionless. Magnus wondered what could possibly be so bad that she needed so much time to think about it.

'Okay,' she said at length. 'But what I have to tell her is for her ears only. I don't want you questioning me any more. If she chooses to keep what I tell her a secret then you must accept that decision.'

'Fair enough,' Magnus stood up and held out his hand to her. 'Now shall we go and look at that cottage?'

Helena took his hand and stood up. She smiled and suddenly the years fell away. She looked just the way she had as a young girl, the last time he'd seen her, in the dressing room of the Hippodrome in Catford in 1947. She had been repairing her stage costume, sitting in the corner wearing a shabby sweater and a tweed skirt. He was taking Bonny out for a late supper, planning to tell her it was the end of the line for them because Ruth was expecting Nick. That night he'd wished he had had the nerve to advise Ellie to get away from Bonny and pursue a solo career, yet he knew she was so loyal to her friend that she'd hang onto the bitter end.

'You haven't changed much, Ellie,' he said softly, leaning forward to kiss her cheek, just as he had that last night.

'Nor you, you handsome devil,' she laughed, her dark eyes dancing. 'But before we go gallivanting off to this cottage, I've got a couple of phone calls to make.'

'Dare I go as far as to ask who to?' he said as they walked back across the lawn towards the house arm in arm.

'To a couple of newspapers,' she said, looking round at him with an impish grin. 'One of them must want an exclusive on the faded Hollywood star who wants to find her old dancing partner's daughter.'

'Make sure they go for it and I'll take you out to dinner,' he said. 'If they don't I'll throw you in the swimming pool fully dressed.'

Magnus was still wide awake at two thirty in the morning, his mind churning over everything that had happened during the day. Helena was going up to London the next day for an interview with the
News of the World.
She'd taken the cottage in Kelston for an initial six months' rental with a view to buying it at a later date.

The two-hundred-year-old thatched cottage was delightful, big enough for her to employ a live-in housekeeper if she wanted one, yet not too large that she couldn't live alone in it if she chose. The garden was exquisite with views over open countryside. The furniture, carpets and curtains the owners had left behind when they moved abroad were all entirely in keeping with character of the cottage, yet there were all the modern appliances Helena had grown used to in America.

He was excited by the idea of finding Mel too. It was a far better plan to give Mel a chance to contact Helena without him being involved. That way she wouldn't feel she was being hunted down.

But it was the questions he couldn't ask which were keeping him awake. Helena was frightened of Edward. It didn't make sense if he'd looked after her for all those years as protectively as she said. And even then, it didn't seem quite healthy for a man to bind himself to a woman with such devotion when the relationship was merely platonic: what had there been in it for Edward? And what was it that she knew about Bonny's past? It had to be pretty shocking to have made Helena so distressed. He hoped it wasn't going to make things any worse for Mel.

On top of this Magnus felt a stirring inside himself towards Helena. He could argue with himself that he was an old fool and that she couldn't possibly be attracted to him, but yet when they were in the cottage together, exploring and examining everything, he'd felt absolutely certain her mind was in tune with his.

They'd been standing in the kitchen, listening to the agent explaining how the Aga worked, when she'd suddenly giggled.

'What's so funny about Agas?' Magnus asked her when the agent walked out of earshot.

'Absolutely nothing,' she said. 'I just thought what a perfect excuse it would be to call up and ask you to come round and relight it.'

'You don't need any excuse to get me to call,' he'd said. 'In fact you'd better start inventing them to keep me at bay.'

'Magnus,' she said, tipping her head on one side and giving him that adorable wide smile, 'fate seems to have thrown us together again for some good reason. Maybe this is a chance for us both to grab some happiness.'

Chapter Twenty-Three

'Mel! Wake up!'

She opened her eyes at Conrad's command, saw him standing beside her bed, and closed them again. 'It's Sunday,' she said sleepily. 'I don't get up early on Sundays, especially wet ones in September.'

'You do for something like this,' he retorted and flicked back her curtains. 'Besides it's going to be warm and dry today.'

The excitement in his voice rather than the bright sunshine forced her to respond. She lifted her head from the pillow, groaned when she saw it was only eight o'clock and slumped back, looking quizzically at Conrad. He was dressed in jeans and a checked shirt, flushed and panting as if he'd just run up the stairs.

'It had better be good,' she said warningly, rubbing her eyes.

'It's not just good, it's thrilling,' he replied, thrusting a newspaper into her hands. 'Read it!'

'Something about Nick again?' She was suddenly wide awake and sat up eagerly, buttoning up her pyjama jacket. A couple of months ago she had read an article in a magazine about the making of a film for television called
Delinquents
in which Nick was co-starring with Daniel McKinley, a young actor who seemed to get his photograph in the papers almost daily. She hoped this was going to be Nick's big chance to prove himself.

'No it's not Nick,' Conrad smiled ruefully. 'But I think it might be even better than that.'

Conrad's Supper Rooms had been open now for six months and although they hadn't become a Mecca for the arty Chelsea set as Conrad had originally hoped, they were very popular with the young middle-class people who had moved into Fulham in the 1972 property boom. Conrad found these materialistic people stultifyingly boring. They seemed unable to talk about anything but investments and he sniggered at their clone-like tendency to turn their homes into identical Laura Ashley showrooms with waxed floors and stripped pine furniture. Yet however dull these people were, they appreciated good food and wine, tipped well and kept coming back.

It was hard for Conrad to accept his customers weren't ever going to be exciting and that every night couldn't be the party he had once envisaged, but he consoled himself that at least he was making a good living. He could afford to employ a daily cleaning lady, a student to wash up at weekends and a waiter. And besides he had Mel, and she was worth a crock of gold.

Hardly a day passed without Conrad thinking how lucky he'd been to find such a gem. She remained cool and calm no matter how busy they were, with an ability to plan and think ahead which astounded him. They could work together as a team without any battle for supremacy, understanding each other's strengths and weaknesses. While Conrad was the ideal host, using his charm and warmth to make sure even the most sober of diners had a memorable evening and ate and drank far more than they intended, he wasn't always so good at serving people quickly or totting up their bills correctly. Mel responded intuitively at such times, slipping into the restaurant to lend a hand, and while he continued to charm and entertain, she would have a table cleared, the desserts ordered or a bill prepared without undermining him in any way.

Yet it was Mel's companionship he valued above all else. Although he was a gregarious man, liked by almost everyone who met him, he had never formed such a close relationship with anyone, man or woman, before. He could be himself with Mel. She alone knew his inadequacies, his failures with women and the sad parts of his life he had tucked away, just as he knew all her secrets too. In many ways they were alike: they'd both had a troubled childhood and painful adolescence, both quietly hungered for love and affection and though outwardly they seemed outgoing and sociable, they shared the same deep need to be alone at times.

As the months passed they had slipped into a comfortable oneness. In the mornings while Mel prepared the dishes for the evening, Conrad stocked up the bar and did any necessary shopping and accounts. They kept the afternoons free for Conrad to work on his book while Mel transformed the little backyard with flowers, or lay reading and sunbathing.

Sundays, by mutual unspoken agreement, had become their special day. If it was warm they would take off in Conrad's Mini for a walk in the countryside, or a trip to Brighton. Sometimes they visited friends they'd made in the restaurant. On dull days it was a museum or art gallery or just a boozy lunch in one of the riverside pubs, then home to snooze in front of the television.

Conrad had woken before seven this morning, and seeing bright sunshine after several days of September rain, had decided they should make the most of it. It might be the last chance this year to spend a day outside in the country.

He had got up and dressed, then gone out to buy a newspaper. His plan was to come back, prepare a picnic, then wake Mel with a cup of tea and discuss where they should go.

But while queuing for his
Observer
in the busy newsagents, he saw Helena Forester's picture on the front of the
News of the World,
and a wave of nostalgia made him buy that too.

Helena Forester's face had evoked afternoons spent in the cinema as a student, and later on when he was a young schoolmaster. Musicals were Conrad's secret vice. Some of his more macho student friends and the other masters at Marshfield might have ridiculed him for wallowing in such frivolous nonsense, but he just loved those beautiful costumes, extravagant sets and dance routines. It was a harmless vice and far more enjoyable than solitary walks, or lying cloistered in his room reading. But most of all it was Helena Forester's face and wonderful contralto voice that had thrilled him. Sometimes he even wondered if it was her luscious full lips and dark flashing eyes that had spoiled other women for him. After her, real women paled in comparison.