Fame (39 page)

‘It’s an investment.’

‘In what? Penury? Jago doesn’t even play the piano. And look at all these flowers! It’s like Elton John’s funeral in here.’

Vivianna’s exquisite brown eyes welled up with tears, shining like two pieces of amber in a stream. ‘Don’t even joke about funerals,’ she whispered sombrely. ‘I don’t think you realize how close to this poor JJ is. You have no idea of the pain of a broken heart, Letitia. You’re too cold and English, just like your father.’

It took every last ounce of Tish’s self-restraint not to slap her mother round her perfect, high-cheekboned face. How
dare
she criticize Henry! Not to mention preach about broken hearts, she who had shattered her poor husband’s heart into a million tiny fragments, not to mention the damage she’d done to her children.

‘I’m not cold,’ said Tish through gritted teeth. ‘I’m practical. Somebody has to be. At the rate you and Jago are spending, Loxley’ll be bankrupt again before Christmas. If you had any idea of the work I’ve put into turning this place around, clearing our debts, starting the repairs …’

‘You see?’ said Vivi triumphantly. ‘
You
were spending money on improving the house. And that’s all I’m doing, darling. I’m just trying to do it with a little colour, a little
life.
Would you really begrudge your poor brother that?’

It was pointless talking to her mother in this mood. If she hurried, Tish could probably collar one of the Harrods drivers outside and get hold of Vivianna’s order number, so she could arrange to have the goods returned next week. By then, with any luck, the novelty of playing Jago’s Florence Nightingale would have worn off and Vivi would have returned to Rome, where she could waft around looking glamorous and spend some poor besotted Italian count’s money rather than her children’s inheritance. Mrs D would have to oversee the pick-up, of course. Tish would be in Oradea by then, back in her normal rhythm: work at Curcubeu and the hospital, school runs with Abel, coming home to the morose, disapproving Lydia.
No, I really must give Lydia the boot.
The thought of returning to her old battleaxe of a nanny was almost as depressing as saying goodbye to Loxley.

Tish ran out into the driveway but it was too late. The Harrods vans had gone.

From an upstairs window, she could hear Jago moaning, like an actor in a bad B-movie practising his death throes. She didn’t for a moment buy his heartbroken schtick. Sabrina had been an infatuation, a status symbol. Nothing more. At worst, Jago’s ego had been bruised, although admittedly in his case that was probably akin to a vital organ. Not in a million years could Tish ever have seen her brother and Sabrina Leon making old bones together.

Viorel and Sabrina, on the other hand, made a far more plausible match. There had been a chemistry between them from the beginning; they were like two sides of the same rare, beautiful coin.
It was only a matter of time before this happened
, Tish thought. But, try as she might to talk herself out of it, the truth was that the thought of Vio and Sabrina together made her feel depressed.

I’ve lost perspective
, she told herself firmly.
That’s all it is.
The drama of this summer and the film shoot had distracted her, consumed her when she ought to have been thinking about her own life, her own future. Viorel would go back to his world of premières and red carpets, and Tish would go back to her world of hospital wards and frozen pipes, and all would be right with the world.

Just at that moment, Abel came hurtling out of the house and coiled his arms around Tish’s legs. He’d grown noticeably taller over the summer, Tish realized, and his face had matured too. It was less rounded, less generically babyish. He was more of a boy now. Suddenly Tish could picture him at eight and twelve and seventeen. She felt a wave of love engulf her.

‘Hello, sweetheart. What have you been up to?’

‘Nothing,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s boring without Viorel. Has he called?’

‘No, sweetie,’ Tish said gently. ‘He will though, I’m sure, once we get home to Oradea.’

It was strange that Vio hadn’t telephoned since leaving England. Tish tried not to mind. Perhaps he’d decided it would be best all round if Abel forgot about him and they all moved on with their lives?

Perhaps he was right.

‘Come on,’ she said, her voice heavy with forced heartiness. ‘Come and help me finish packing. You can jump on the suitcase while I try to zip it.’

Back at the Schloss, the entire set was abuzz with excitement about Viorel and Sabrina’s new red-hot love affair.

It was tough to keep anything on the down low on location at the best of times, but when it was a romance between a movie’s two stars, and when neither of them could keep their eyes off each other, never mind their hands, it was a lost cause.

Dorian wasn’t sure how to react to the blossoming relationship. He was delighted Sabrina had called time on her fauxmance with Jago Crewe. He’d become very fond of Sabrina over the past few months, but Dorian also knew her faults and weaknesses intimately, and he was by no means sure that Viorel was the ‘steady ship’ Sabrina needed. On the surface, she and Vio Hudson might appear to be similar creatures: both preposterously beautiful, talented and vain, both ferociously ambitious. But Sabrina’s ambition, like her arrogance, was powered by a deep-seated insecurity. Her confidence was an act. Viorel’s wasn’t. Hudson wanted adulation, but Sabrina needed it. Big difference.

Whatever misgivings he had about the wisdom of the romance, however, evaporated when he watched the chemistry between them on set. Sabrina and Viorel barely needed directing any more. All Dorian had to do was switch the camera on and leave them to it. Which was a good thing, given the huge amounts of mental energy he was expending on Chrissie.

Ever since he’d forgotten to show up for their romantic kitchen supper, Dorian’s marriage had begun unravelling at a frightening pace, like a dropped reel of cotton bouncing uncontrollably down a mountainside. What worried him most was that it wasn’t the usual fireworks. Dorian was used to Chrissie’s tantrums, to her throwing things and acting out, either by reckless spending or by hurtling headlong into another disastrous affair. He hated the drama. The affairs, in particular, hurt him deeply. But it was an enemy that he understood and that he knew how to fight. This new Chrissie – sad, silent, uncommunicative – was an unknown entity, a shadowy figure in the woods. She wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t touch him, wouldn’t engage in any way. When Saskia was with them, Chrissie would talk only to her daughter, referring to Dorian in the third person as ‘Daddy’.

In the past, their marital arguments had given Dorian the stomach-churning adrenaline rush of charging into battle. This was more like guerrilla warfare: the slow, sickening fear of walking along an empty road, wondering when a home-made bomb might blow you to pieces. As a tactic it was highly effective, leaving Dorian in a permanent state of nervous exhaustion. He tried everything to snap Chrissie out of it – cajoling, pleading, bribing, ignoring; but it was as if she were in a trance, as calm and unmoving as a stone. In the end, he returned to putting in long days on set, simply because he didn’t know what else to do with himself.

One baking hot Friday afternoon, two weeks exactly since Sabrina and Viorel had become an item, Dorian surprised the crew by opting to re-shoot a couple of the outdoor Heathcliff and Cathy scenes they’d done at Loxley Hall. If the camera got in close enough, the Derwent and the Bistrita could easily be made to look like the same river, and the late summer Transylvanian light was so perfect, it seemed a shame not to attempt some re-shoots now that Sabrina and Vio had both raised their game.

Viorel for one was delighted to be out of doors for a change. The atmosphere inside the Schloss was so close and tense, it was a relief to look up and see sky. It was still incredibly hot, though, in the high nineties. Slipping off his boots and socks between takes, Vio dipped his feet luxuriantly in the cool river water, lying back on the bank and closing his eyes while he wriggled his toes in pleasure.

‘Want some company?’ A shadow fell over his face. Viorel opened his eyes and looked up at Sabrina. With the sun behind her, her features were dark and indistinct, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

‘Sure.’

He tried not to feel annoyed. They were together 24 / 7 now, working on set all day and making love all night. He’d been enjoying a few, precious minutes to himself when she’d come over and found him.

‘The scene works much better out here, don’t you think? I feel like we were sleepwalking through those lines back in England.’

‘Mmm.’ Vio was still trying to focus on how incredible the cold water felt between his toes. ‘I guess.’

Sabrina straddled him, blocking his sun. ‘You were amazing, my darling, as always.’ She bent low to kiss him, her tongue darting between his lips, passionate and hungry. ‘You totally nailed it.’

Vio kissed her back, absently slipping a hand around the back of her neck. Sabrina lay her head down on his chest with a contented sigh. Since they first slept together, it was as if a switch had flicked inside her. Gone was the combative, prickly diva of old, the insecure Sabrina, always ready to hit back first, always spoiling for a fight. In her place was a serene, contented, actually really sweet girl. The change was reflected not just in her behaviour, but in everything: her expressions, the way she moved, even the way she dressed off set, all floaty flowing skirts and messy hair. Even her voice seemed softer somehow and more mellifluous.

Chuck MacNamee joked with Vio about it. ‘Whatever you’ve done to her, man, keep doing it. I actually heard her say “thank you” to Deborah today, and to Monica in make-up. At least, I thought I did. Maybe my ears need syringing.’

There was no doubt Sabrina had changed for the better. But the suddenness of the transformation unsettled Vio. Partly because he did not relish the idea of being responsible for someone else’s happiness. Pursuing his own happiness was a full-time job. But also because, part and parcel with Sabrina’s new kindness and thoughtfulness to others, was a clinginess so at odds with the feisty girl he’d come to know that he wasn’t sure how to handle it.

In bed, thank God, the wildcat Sabrina remained. Vio had a crisscross of livid scratch marks on his back to prove it, and sex was as explosive and exciting as he had ever known it. But as soon as they were out of the bedroom, Sabrina got that doe-eyed, stoned-with-happiness look, and Vio could hear the sombre thud of jail doors closing.

Unable to recapture his inner calm of a few minutes ago, Vio opened his eyes and looked around him. They were shooting in a wildflower meadow. An army of buttercups cascaded down to the river bank, shielded by swaying grasses and flanked on either side of the field by a tall row of shady oaks. He’d been determined to dislike Romania, the people, the countryside, even the Rasmirez Schloss. It was the country of his birth that had rejected him, after all, and Vio was passionate about how little he owed it. But it was hard to find fault with such an idyllic setting on a cloudless summer’s day like today. While he was drinking it in, two figures appeared at the top of the hill, silhouetted by the blazing sun. It was a woman and child, and for a split second Vio’s heart instinctively soared:
Tish and Abel!
Then he realized that of course it couldn’t be them, and the bubble of joy burst like a pricked balloon.

I miss them
, he realized with a pang. Four times since he’d been in Romania he’d picked up the phone to call Abel. But four times he’d chickened out, unable to face the sadness he knew he’d hear in the boy’s voice. He and Tish would be leaving Loxley soon themselves, and Viorel was sure that as the date for their departure grew nearer, Abel’s anxiety levels would be rising.
If I call, it might give him hope. He’ll want me to help, to convince his mother to change her mind.
If Viorel had learned one thing about Tish Crewe over the last two months, it was that ‘the lady was not for turning’. And certainly not for being turned by him.

The child on the hill was coming closer now, skipping towards the set. It was Saskia, Dorian’s doll-like daughter, and the woman with her was the nanny. Throwing her arms wide, the little girl ran towards her father, staggering drunkenly down the steep hill before launching herself upwards into Dorian’s arms for a hug.
Sweet
, thought Vio.

Over on the set, Dorian thought his daughter was pretty adorable too. Pressed against his, her cheeks felt as round and warm as two doughballs, and she smelt of sugar and sweat and general summer stickiness that instantly took Dorian back to his own childhood.

‘Are you nearly finished, Daddy? I made a mermaid town; can you come and see it? Can you come and play mermaids?’

‘I can very soon, honey,’ said Dorian, straightening the pink silk bow in Saskia’s hair. ‘I’ll take a break here in half an hour, and we’ll play, OK? Promise.’

‘Half an
hour
?’ moaned Saskia. ‘That’s almost a whole day.’

‘No, it isn’t, princess.’ Dorian laughed. ‘Rula can play with you for a little bit, before I get there.’

‘I’m bored of Rula,’ Saskia pouted.

‘Ask Mommy then. Mommy loves mermaids.’

‘Mommy’s asleep,’ said Saskia.

Dorian frowned, handing his daughter back to her nanny. Chrissie was taking to her bed more and more during the days. She was clearly depressed, but refused to see a therapist or even talk about it with Dorian. Without Tish to confide in, Dorian had even turned to Sabrina for advice.

‘You’re a woman,’ he began inauspiciously, cornering Sabrina after breakfast.

‘How sweet of you to notice.’

‘You know what I mean,’ said Dorian awkwardly. ‘I need some advice. How do I get Chrissie out of this funk? I know she’s mad at me, but it’s been weeks. I’m really worried about her.’

Sabrina’s suggestion was to get her out of the Schloss. ‘It can’t be easy, having all of us hanging around like a bad smell for weeks on end. She probably feels she
can’t
talk to you, like she has to schedule an appointment or something. That pisses women off.’