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Emmet Morley stubbed out his cigar. ‘Okay, okay, Miss Warren. Don’t blow your top. We’ll leave it—for now at any rate. Just out of interest, do you remember your parents?’
Debra frowned. ‘Not at all. Why?’ She sounded distrait.
Morley shrugged. ‘Cool it, Miss Warren,’ he advised her sardonically. ‘I have my reasons, believe me, for this interrogation. But I don’t think it would be fair at this time to voice them. I’m sorry, kid, but there it is.’
Debra stood up and walked to the door. ‘Can I go now?’
‘I guess,’ he replied lacontcally, and standing up as well followed her out of the office and across the studio floor again to where Lucy Powell was waiting with the children. She looked bored and impatient, and relinquished her charges with some relief. Then, as Debra was about to suggest it was time to leave, Emmet Morley said:
‘Say, you kids, how’d you like to see your Miss Warren take a screen test?’
Debra turned to him, compressing her lips angrily. ‘Oh, really—’
‘We sure would!’ exclaimed Pete Lindsay, her freckle-faced pupil.
‘That’s for sure!’ echoed the others.
‘Go on, Miss Warren, be a dare-devil!’
‘They may make you a television star,’ exclaimed Sheralyn dreamily. ‘Oh, Miss Warren, fancy working with Ross Madison!’
All the children were enthusiastic, seeing this as an excuse to stay away from school a bit longer. Debra herself was convinced Emmet Morley had deliberately appealed to the children on her behalf because he knew she would have refused had they been alone. As it was, she felt she would look small and petty if she refused. And also she was sure that this was what Morley had wanted all along, but like the shrewd man he was, he had waited until the perfect opportunity presented itself so that she could not refuse.
‘Mr. Morley,’ she began slowly, ‘I really think it’s time we were leaving. I’m sorry, but—’
‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed Emmet Morley, his faint frown an indication that she was annoying him too. ‘What are you so scared of here, Miss Warren? We’re not monsters, we’re only human beings, the same as everyone else.’
‘I … I’m not scared!’ exclaimed Debra furiously.
‘Then what have you to lose? Take the test!’
Debra clenched her fists. ‘You’re … you’re making it practically impossible for me to refuse.’ She glanced round at the children. ‘You know perfectly well that if I do refuse it will seem churlish. Besides disappointing the children!’
‘Exactly. So what are we hanging about for?’ he remarked dryly.
Debra’s eyes met his for a moment, and then she capitulated. ‘Oh, very well. But I still think it’s all rather ridiculous!’
Lucy Powell, who had been standing close by listening, moved nearer to Debra as Morley walked away to arrange for the test. She gave Debra a studied glance, and then said: ‘What gives? Are you some relation of his?’
‘Of course not,’ exclaimed Debra, rather shortly, and then added contritely: ‘I’ve no idea what’s going on. Do many people take tests?’
‘A fair number. But not like this, straight off the cuff, so to speak. There are always hundreds of people, men and women, all hanging around waiting to get “discovered” as they say. But in your case you have the satisfaction of knowing that what’s happening to you is practically a unique experience.’
‘But why?’
‘That’s what I’d like to know. I’ve never known Morley interest himself in unknowns before, except when he expects to make a deal of money out of it.’
Debra sighed weakly. ‘It’s fantastic! Oh, well, I hope it’s soon over.’
‘Pray that it’s a success,’ remarked Lucy sardonically. ‘Have you any idea what you could earn as a television personality?’
‘Money doesn’t interest me,’ exclaimed Debra. ‘At least, only so far as keeping me in food and clothes is concerned. I’ve no aspirations to grandeur.’
‘Amazing,’ remarked Lucy dryly, and walked away, leaving Debra to her own confused thoughts.
In the shortest space of time the studio was cleared and Morley took charge. Debra was amazed at the way he shed his semi-indolent manner and became a veritable tiger when his wishes weren’t carried out instantly. She glimpsed the genius behind the façade and was suitably impressed. The cast of the series were not particularly pleased to be shifted off the set, and Debra felt awful about the whole business. It just wasn’t feasible that Emmet Morley was doing all this because he liked her face, and the reasons hidden were beginning to trouble her.
But when it came to the actual test she found it was not at all difficult, after all. She followed his instructions implicitly, and found that once she was actually before the cameras her nervousness fled and she relaxed completely. She didn’t know why, but she felt an affinity with the artificial scenery, the set of a comfortable lounge, and in consequence when she was handed a script she read from it without actually thinking about it. She had always been good at amateur dramatics, and had taken part in several school plays, but even she was unaware that she was particularly good until at the end of her speech the whole studio resounded with the applause of the watching crew.
Hot, flushed and embarrassed, she thrust the script back into Morley’s hand and said:
‘Please, now can I go?’
Morley seemed abstracted, and merely nodded, as though lost in his own thoughts, and Debra made good her escape. She didn’t know why she had this incredible urge to get away, but it was overpowering, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the studio doors swung to behind them.
The children were admiring and loud in their praise, but Debra managed to quieten them. She had no particular wish to remember what had just occurred. She was no stage-struck teenager, and all she could feel was relief that her ordeal was over. She refused to consider what might be behind it all. It had been a strange experience, and she felt uncomfortably suspicious that Emmet Morley would not let her get away so easily. It would be an easy matter for him to find her telephone number if he wanted to get in touch with her.
She shook these thoughts away impatiently. It was no good worrying over something that might never happen. She straightened her shoulders. After all, she would not allow herself to be bulldozed into anything she did not like.
It wasn’t until she was in bed that night and musing over the day’s events that she recalled the words she had spoken during her screen test. Emmet had thrust the script into her hand and she had been too bemused to register what it was. But now she remembered: it had been ‘Avenida’ and the words she had spoken were Laura’s words; Laura, the part which had given Elizabeth Steel her greatest success.
CHAPTER TWO (#u991b8b7d-c88c-57ed-9c77-5c62709fbcf7)
DEBRA poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it through to the wide window seat in the lounge. From here she had an uninterrupted view of the outer waters of the harbour, and at this hour of the early evening it was unbelievably beautiful. The apartment was small, and not always quiet as it was now, the rest of the building being taken up by young people who seemed to spend their nights playing records and dancing, despite the complaints of the landlady downstairs, but the situation made up to Debra for everything else it lacked. She spent hours sitting here, sometimes sketching idly, and sometimes just dreaming, and remembering that in twelve short weeks she would be back in Valleydown.
The prospect of returning to her aunt’s house was not an inviting one. Aunt Julia was not a gregarious person, and did not welcome company in the small house backing on to the river. She was content to sit and knit, and watch television, and sometimes read a magazine. She did a little gardening, complained about the neighbours and the housework, and the cost of groceries, and this was her whole world. In truth Debra had begun to think it was hers too. But this trip had been a revelation in more ways than one. She had met so many people, nice people, who were genuinely interested in her. Back home in England, any friendships she had made were quickly snuffed by Aunt Julia, and Debra had been loath to bring friends to her aunt’s house after Aunt Julia had been rude to a fellow teacher from the school.
She had never had a regular boy-friend. She had occasionally attended lectures together with fellow teachers, some of whom happened to be men, but this was all.
But here, in America, everything was different. There was no Aunt Julia to prevent her making friends, and only the habits of years curtailed her social activities. She was still very shy, and it was difficult to respond naturally to the natural exuberance of her colleagues. And yet she knew that given more time, it would come, if only she had the chance.
She sighed, and lit a cigarette. She didn’t smoke a lot, not at all at home, but she enjoyed a cigarette with a cup of coffee at this hour of the evening. She wondered idly what her life would have been like if her parents had lived. She didn’t know much about them. As long as she could remember there had only been Aunt Julia, and Valleydown. She could vaguely remember living somewhere else, somewhere nearer London, but always with Aunt Julia. Whenever she questioned her aunt about her parents she received no satisfactory answers. Julia seemed to think the fact that they had both died in a train crash was sufficient to tell a lonely child, not understanding that Debra would have cherished every memory she could relate with avid attention.
Debra shrugged these thoughts away as being disloyal. After all, had it not been for Aunt Julia she would have been in a children’s home, and Aunt Julia had described them in terrible terms, whenever she wanted to frighten Debra into submission for some misdoing.
Footsteps on the stairs outside the apartment, loud and frequent, heralded the arrival home of the three boys who lived in the flat above her. A few minutes later the throbbing beat of a current pop song came clearly from above, and Debra sighed again, and standing up walked back into the tiny alcove which served as a kitchen, and replaced her cup on the draining board.
It was only a little after seven-thirty, and the evening stretched ahead of her. She wondered what she would do. She didn’t much like to go out alone, and she had made no arrangements to meet any of the girls from the High School this evening. She supposed she could go to the movies, but on an evening like this the prospect did not appeal.
Suddenly the telephone rang shrilly, and Debra almost jumped out of her skin. She was still not used to the ubiquitous presence of the telephone, and in consequence usually felt her nerves jangle when its bell broke the quietude of her thoughts. Stubbing out her cigarette, and wondering who could be calling her, she lifted the receiver.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Debra Warren speaking.’
An unfamiliar male voice came to her ears. ‘Miss Warren? Good? I understand you took a party of teenagers to the Omega studios a couple of days ago.’
Debra pressed a hand to her stomach. She had still not quite recovered from that, to her, unpleasant sensation of being thoroughly appraised, and although she had thrust it to the back of her mind, at the man’s words it all came flooding back.
‘That’s right,’ she said, her voice cool. ‘But I must warn you that I have absolutely no interest in any further screen tests or auditions, or anything like that. I’m a schoolteacher, and I have no desire to be a film star!’
The man made a sound which seemed like suppressed humour, and Debra gripped the receiver tightly.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘Whoever you are, get off this line!’
‘Hold on, hold on,’ he said hastily. ‘Look, my name is Dominic McGill, and I want to see you.’
Dominic McGill! Debra’s brain buzzed chaotically. Dominic McGill! She knew that name! Who was he? A film star? No! Her brain rejected this. Where had she seen his name? Recently! She ran a hand over her forehead puzzlingly.
‘I’m a playwright,’ he supplied, as though reading her thoughts.
Of course! Debra’s memory clicked. Dominic McGill, the playwright! That was where she had seen his name—on the script that Emmet Morley had given her to read. Dominic McGill had written ‘Avenida’, the play that when filmed had given Elizabeth Steel her most successful role!
Swallowing hard, she said: ‘I really can’t imagine why you’re ringing me, Mr. McGill.’
‘Can’t you? Well, maybe not, at that. Anyway, that changes nothing. I still want to see you.’
‘And I’ve explained I want nothing more to do with that screen test,’ said Debra quickly. ‘Look, understand me, Mr. McGill, I’m not some stage-struck teenager. Whatever you have to say doesn’t interest me one bit!’
‘Is that so?’ He sounded rather less amicable now. ‘Now, you look, Miss Warren! I have no intention of discussing this matter over the phone. When will it be convenient for me to come round?’
‘To come round?’ echoed Debra in amazement. ‘Surely I can’t make it any plainer. I don’t want to have anything more to do with it!’
‘Miss Warren,’ his voice was cold now, and for some reason she shivered, ‘I mean to see you. Now tell me when, like a good girl!’
‘Don’t patronise me,’ she said angrily. ‘For goodness’ sake! There ought to be laws against this sort of thing. I’m going to hang up now, Mr. McGill. Please don’t ring again!’
And she did so, slamming down the phone with a sense of satisfaction, a malicious kind of satisfaction which she didn’t know she possessed.
Then she lit herself another cigarette, and switched on her television, turning the volume up high to drown the wailing tones of the guitars in the flat above. She was annoyed to find herself trembling, and she shook herself violently. Why had she this awful feeling of apprehension suddenly? Just because a producer had taken a fancy to her and had her tested, it didn’t mean that she was no longer in control of her own destiny. And Dominic McGill! She shrugged bewilderedly. Imagine receiving a call from Dominic McGill! It was all quite fantastic, and quite crazy.
She crossed to the mirror and studied her face seriously for a minute. What was there there to attract such interest? She wasn’t particularly beautiful. Since arriving in San Francisco she had seen dozens of beautiful girls, with much more clothes sense than she had. Besides, surely the fact that she herself wasn’t interested would be enough to put them off.
She grimaced at herself mockingly, and then picking up the book she was reading, she subsided on to the couch, completely ignoring the television.
About an hour later her doorbell rang. Frowning, she put down her book and glanced at her watch. It was almost nine. Immediately she felt nervous. Who could be calling on her at this hour? She crossed to the door, and without unfastening the bolt, she opened it to the width of the chain catch.
A man stood outside. He was tall, very lean and tanned, as though he spent long hours in the open air, with hair of that particular shade of ash-blond as to appear silvery in some lights. He was not handsome; his features were hard and craggy, but he had very light blue eyes, fringed by dark lashes, that seemed to penetrate Debra with their intensity, and she felt a shaky feeling assail her lower limbs.
‘Y … yes?’ she said, keeping half behind the door.
‘I’m Dominic McGill,’ he said, in a quiet voice. ‘Can I come in?’
Debra’s fingers tightened on the door handle. ‘No,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘We … we said all we had to say over the phone.’
‘No,’ he shook his head, ‘We didn’t. Now, open the door.’
His voice was still quiet, but his blue eyes had narrowed and Debra felt suddenly afraid. After all, who did she really know here, in San Francisco? A few teachers at the High School. Her landlady? Who would miss her if she disappeared?
‘Please,’ she said, running a tongue over her dry lips, ‘go away. I … I don’t want anything to do with it. I’m sorry if you’ve had a wasted journey.’
‘Open the door,’ he repeated, ignoring her pleas.
Debra closed her eyes momentarily. ‘And if I don’t?’
‘You will.’
She glanced back at the telephone. ‘I could call the police.’
‘You could be dead before they arrive,’ he remarked, as though he was discussing the weather.
‘Oh!’ Debra pressed a hand to her mouth.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, open the door,’ he said coldly. ‘You have nothing to fear from me.’
Debra unlatched the door with shaking fingers, unable to resist any longer. She opened it wider, and he stepped inside, into the light. Then, as before with Emmet Morley, she saw his sudden shock of recognition, before he controlled his expression.
She saw now he was a man in his late thirties, dressed casually in a turtle-necked navy blue sweater over grey pants, a grey car-coat over all. She thought he was very attractive, and stifled the idea. But there was a kind of animal magnetism about him that was hard to ignore. Whatever kind of life he had led, it had not been always easy, she thought. He was no soft-skinned drone; and this was part of his attraction. He would not be a man to play around with—in any way.
‘So,’ he murmured, ‘you are Debra Warren.’
Debra did not reply, but merely stood there rubbing her elbows with the palms of her hands nervously.
‘Emmet tells me you made a good test. And you read part of Laura’s script from “Avenida”.’
Debra shrugged and nodded.
‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘are your parents living?’
Debra shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Don’t give too much away,’ he remarked dryly, lighting himself a cigarette. ‘Who were they?’
‘I never knew them. I … I suppose my father was my aunt’s brother, as our names are the same.’
He studied her thoughtfully. ‘And you never knew Elizabeth Steel.’
Debra stared at him exasperatedly. ‘Oh, not that again!’ she exclaimed. ‘How would I know Elizabeth Steel?’
He ignored her question and said: ‘Where do you live?’
‘Didn’t Mr. Morley tell you?’ she asked sarcastically.
‘Yes. But you tell me.’
Debra exhaIed irritably. ‘Valleydown, in Sussex. Don’t tell me you’ve heard of it!’
Again he ignored her outburst, much to her annoyance.
‘How old were you when they died?’
