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Debra compressed her lips. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Come on. When?’
Debra squared her shoulders. ‘Now look here,’ she said. ‘You’ve come here, practically forced your way in and asked a lot of questions for which you’ve received answers. Now this is all! Do you understand?’ Her green eyes were blazing, and he seemed lost in some speculative study. Then he shrugged, his eyes cold.
‘You look here,’ he said, in a quiet voice that emanated suppressed violence. ‘Sure I’ve come here uninvited, sure I’ve asked you questions, and can you say in all honesty you don’t know what in hell I’m talking about?’
‘Of course I can!’ Debra felt something suspiciously like tears behind her eyes, pricking uncomfortably. ‘If I knew what it was all about, maybe I’d be able to tell you what you want to know. Because it seems obvious to me that you want something that at present you’re not getting.’
‘You’re damn right,’ he muttered, his blue eyes piercing her cruelly. ‘I really believe you’re on the level!’
Debra was breathing swiftly. ‘For goodness’ sake,’ she exclaimed, ‘get to the point!’
‘All right, all right, I will!’ He flung his cigarette out of the half-open window, staring momentarily on the midnight blue scene below him, lit like stars with the myriads of lights of the city.
Then he looked back at her. ‘All right, Miss Warren. You can have it straight. Elizabeth Steel may have been your mother!’
For a moment there was silence in the apartment, and then Debra gave a nervous laugh. ‘You must be joking,’ she exclaimed.
He shook his head, and said: ‘Say, do you have anything to drink around here?’
Debra shook her head. ‘Only Coke.’
He smiled sardonically, and for a brief moment she could not drag her eyes away from him. Then she hunched her shoulders and looked towards the kitchen. ‘Do you want some coffee?’
He shrugged, and then tucked his fingers into the back waistband of his trousers, walking across to the television, and switching it off firmly. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘let’s have some conversation. What do you really know about your parents?’
Debra twisted her fingers together. ‘Before you start asking questions, let me ask one,’ she said. ‘Why are you so sure I might be Elizabeth Steel’s daughter? Where’s the connection?’
He put his hand into his inside pocket and drew out a wallet. From it he extracted a photograph which he handed silently to Debra. She stared at it in amazement. She might have been looking at a photograph of herself. But this woman’s face was older more mature, and yet, basically, there was little difference. The hair, the eyes, the whole expression, was emphatically identical.
‘I see,’ said Debra, breathing shakily. ‘Now I understand.’ Then she looked up at him. ‘Even so, it’s possible for anyone to have a double.’
He lit another cigarette before answering. ‘Sure it is, and that’s why Emmet wanted to test you. I guess he thought that if you were conceivably some relation of Steel’s it would show.’
‘And?’
‘Well, let’s say the resemblance was sufficient to warrant further investigation.’
Debra brushed back her hair from her eyes, feeling bewildered. It was like some crazy dream, brought about by the disturbing affair at the studios. This couldn’t actually be happening to her. Her parents had been English, they had been killed in a train crash when she was a baby. She could not possibly be Elizabeth Steel’s daughter.
‘This is ridiculous,’ she said unsteadily. ‘My parents died in a train crash years ago. If I was Elizabeth Steel’s daughter why was I brought up in England? And who is Aunt Julia?’
Dominic McGill put the photograph back in his wallet, then he said: ‘Elizabeth Steel was English, even though she made her greatest impact professionally in the States. It’s quite possible that your aunt—did she bring you up, by the way?’ and at her nod, he continued: —‘it’s possible that your aunt was Elizabeth’s sister—or I should say is her sister.’
‘That sounds unlikely.’
‘I agree. It is unlikely, but I find in this business the unlikeliest things can happen.’ He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘What are you thinking? That you wish you’d never gone to the Omega studios?’
‘How did you guess?’ Debra managed a small smile.
‘But why? For most girls it would be a dream come true?’
‘If it is true, why didn’t Elizabeth Steel bring me up herself? And why have I never heard of her from Aunt Julia?’
Dominic McGill shook his head. ‘I can’t tell you that. Not at the moment, anyway. Her producer, Aaron Johannson, knew her longest. He might know. Unfortunately he’s out of the country at the moment, filming on location in Spain. But when he comes back …’
‘Mr. McGill,’ Debra chose her words carefully, ‘even if it’s true, that I am Elizabeth Steel’s daughter, what then? What will it achieve to know the truth?’
‘Look, Miss Warren, when Steel died she left a small fortune. She had no apparent next of kin. The money is in trust.’
Debra shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t want the money,’ She shivered. ‘If that’s the whole point of this enquiry, then forget it. I have enough money for my needs.’
Dominic McGill looked exasperated. ‘Oh, don’t give me that,’ he said, raising his eyes heavenward. ‘Look! Okay, I guess the knowledge that your mother may have abandoned you at birth isn’t pleasant hearing, but at least have the sense to realise that if there is any money it’s yours to use as you like.’ He drew deeply on his cigarette. ‘Besides, that’s not all. Aaron is on the point of remaking “Avenida”. Can you imagine the impact you would make in that part?’
‘Me?’ Debra looked astonished. ‘I can’t act!’
‘Anybody can be a film star,’ replied Dominic McGill laconically. ‘They’re not all Oliviers, you know.’
‘Does it occur to you that in spite of all this I may be happy as I am?’
McGill’s eyes were derisive. ‘You really are quite a girl, aren’t you?’ he mocked her. ‘The only woman I’ve ever met who is actually not curious! Do you mean to tell me you can go back to—what was it—Valleydown, and forget everything I’ve told you? Won’t it ever trouble you that I might just be right?’
Debra turned away. She couldn’t take it in. She couldn’t be Elizabeth Steel’s daughter. She just couldn’t. But as she tried to find some truth in all that she had been told certain things came back to her; her aunt’s refusal to discuss her parents; the pathetically little she knew about them; and most of all, Aunt Julia’s hatred of all things American.
She turned back to McGill. ‘So,’ she said, ‘if I do accept all that you’ve told me, what then?’
Dominic McGill’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well, now, I guess we wait until Aaron comes home. And then it’s up to you. Can you dismiss it all?’
Debra felt the hot tears pricking at her eyes. ‘You know I can’t,’ she cried tremulously. ‘Oh, why did you have to come here, why did I ever arrange that visit to the studios?’
‘The astrologers would likely call it fate,’ he remarked lazily. ‘Calm down, kid, it’s not the end of the world. It may be the beginning of yours.’
‘I was happy, I was,’ she cried, staring at him with wide eyes. ‘You’ll never believe me, I know, but I’m not cut out for this sort of thing. I never wanted to be anything than what I am!’
‘A schoolteacher!’
‘Don’t say it like that. I like working with children.’
‘You don’t look much more than a kid yourself,’ he said.
‘I’m twenty-two,’ she replied indignantly.
‘A great age,’ he remarked sardonically. ‘Oh, to be twenty-two again!’
‘I’m sure you don’t mean that.’
‘You’re right. But even at twenty-two, I didn’t have that dewy-eyed innocence. God, if Steel was your mother you’ve a hell of a lot to learn.’
He walked to the door. ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday. I guess you won’t be working.’
‘I … I have a baseball match to attend in the afternoon,’ she said quickly.
‘High livin’,’ he mocked, his expression amused. ‘Okay, make it Sunday. At least that will give you a couple of days to cool down. I’ll pick you up at eleven in the morning, right?’
‘Why?’ Debra stared at him.
‘I have something to show you,’ he replied casually, opening the door. ‘Don’t worry, honey. You may find something in all this to enjoy.’
‘But—’ Debra linked her fingers. ‘I’m sure there ought to be something more than this to say. I mean, how do I know you are who you say you are?’
He grinned then, a completely charming relaxation of his features. ‘Honey, no one would dare to impersonate me!’
Then he closed the door behind him, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She ran to the door, but as her fingers closed over the handle she found she could not turn it. It was no use calling him back. It was her problem, and no one else’s, and her heartache if it turned out to be true. What kind of a person was Elizabeth Steel to turn her back on her own baby? Had she never had any curiosity about her own child? Did she have no desire to see her, developing into a child, and then … But her thoughts were brought up short. Elizabeth had been killed when she was only twelve years old. Might she have changed if she had lived? Would she eventually have acknowledged her offspring?
And on the heels of this thought came another: if Elizabeth Steel was her mother, who was her father? Was she illegitimate? Was that why so little interest had been taken in her? Oh, God, she thought, feeling sickened. ‘It couldn’t be true,’ she said aloud, as though by voicing the opinion, it negated it.
But the fact remained that there was a faint, yet sturdy, vein of authenticity about the whole affair. So many things linked together, most particularly her aunt’s attitude.
And yet why should her aunt act that way? Why pretend she had no mother, even if that mother refused to acknowledge her? There were hundreds of children in similar circumstances, living with relatives because their parents hadn’t time for them. It didn’t make sense.
When she went to bed that night her thoughts were no further forward. She felt a healthy resentment towards Dominic McGill for coming here so arrogantly, and brutally destroying her peace of mind. She was also aware that she had never met a man like him before. He could be hard and cold, yet when he smiled he had the charm of a small boy. A man of moods and complexes, completely outside her comprehension.
She rolled over in her bed, punching her pillow into shape angrily. Whatever came of all this, whatever truths were uncovered, Dominic McGill was merely interested in her as Elizabeth Steel’s daughter, and as such, a possible asset to the remake of his famous ‘Avenida’. She must never, at any time, start thinking of him as a friend of hers.
CHAPTER THREE (#u991b8b7d-c88c-57ed-9c77-5c62709fbcf7)
ON Saturday afternoon at the baseball game, Debra was surprised to be approached by David Hollister, the school principal. Hollister, a man in his early forties, was a bachelor, and had taken a friendly interest in Debra’s career since her arrival at Filbert. He had made her feel welcome, and was more than willing to listen to any problem she might encounter.
Debra, used to the stiff formality of an English headmistress, had been astonished when the principal addressed her as Debra from the start, and introduced himself as David. In consequence, although she liked talking to him, she had been inclined to aloofness, unable to wholly lose her normal detachment when speaking to him.
Today, however, after yesterday’s revelations which had cost her a night’s sleep already, she was more relaxed, and she smiled when he said:
‘I think you’re beginning to like our national sport.’
‘I am,’ she agreed, nodding. ‘Particularly when our side is winning. Pete Lindsay is in my class.’
‘Of course he is,’ said the principal reflectively. ‘But tell me, Debra, what is all this about the Omega Studios, and Dominic McGill?’
Debra was taken aback. ‘You … you know?’ she exclaimed.
‘Of course. How do you imagine they got your telephone number?’
‘Well, from the book, I suppose,’ murmured Debra awkwardly. ‘You mean they rang you?’
‘Exactly. It was obviously the most satisfactory way. But anyway, enough of that, what exactly did he have to say to you? Or is it too private for me to know?’
‘Oh, no—that is—well, actually, what did they tell you?’
‘Dominic McGill rang me. He told me he wanted to get in touch with you. Something about a screen test at the studios. Was that in the itinerary, by the way?’
‘Of course not.’ Debra was blushing furiously. ‘You must think me a stage-struck teenager!’
David Hollister gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Hardly that, my dear, but I must confess I was disturbed when I found that a member of my staff had been taking a screen test.’
‘I was practically forced into it,’ replied Debra quickly. ‘Mr. Morley, Emmet Morley, that is, one of the directors—’
‘I have heard of Emmet Morley,’ remarked Hollister dryly.
‘—well, Mr. Morley said he wanted me to take a test, in front of all the children. Naturally, they would have been disappointed if I had refused.’
‘Yes, I can see that,’ he nodded. ‘But even so, it must have occurred to you that it was hardly what was expected of you.’
‘I know, I know.’ Debra compressed her lips. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘And is that all there was to it? This screen test?’
Debra’s colour deepened. Somehow she didn’t want to have to tell him about everything else, not yet. It might not be true, and it was nothing to do with him, however friendly his interest might be.
‘Well, I suppose so,’ she temporised.
David Hollister studied her confused expression. ‘Dominic McGill—whom we have all heard of; a man with numerous plays and films to his credit: who lives an entirely different life from any you have known, or me, for that matter; this man takes the trouble to find out your name and telephone number from the school principal, just because you’ve taken a screeen test that has apparently been successful! My dear Debra, the mind boggles!’
Debra stared miserably at her fingernails. ‘Please, Mr. Hollister—David, then,’ as he protested, ‘don’t ask me any more now. There is more, I admit it, but just at this moment I don’t want to say any more.’
Hollister looked a little annoyed, but he shrugged his shoulders and ran a hand over his thinning brown hair. ‘I can’t make you, of course.’ he said slowly. ‘But if I were you, I would think carefully before getting involved with a man like McGill. At the moment, he’s only a voice over the telephone; when you meet him you may be able to understand what I mean.’
‘Oh, but …’ began Debra, starting to tell him about McGill’s visit to her apartment, and then she stopped.
Misunderstanding her, Hollister continued: ‘I know you’re going to say you can take care of yourself, but really, Debra, the film world is a very big jungle, swarming with wild animals. It’s kill or be killed, and quite frankly, I don’t think you have the proportions of a lady-killer.’
Debra smiled at his humour, but said nothing.
Hollister offered her a cigarette, and when they were both smoking, he said: ‘I’d like to think you’d think of me as someone you could turn to, if you found yourself out of your depth.’
‘Thank you.’ Debra felt grateful to him.
‘Well, as I’ve said, be careful. Remember what I’ve told you. No matter how much they flatter you, don’t be misled.’
‘I … I won’t,’ murmured Debra, wishing now he would let it go. But instead he returned to the subject of Dominic McGill.
‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘do you know much about McGill?’
‘Practically nothing,’ replied Debra truthfully.
‘Then remember, as a jungle animal, there is no one more dangerous.’
Debra drew on her cigarette to avoid a reply, and he looked at her a little irritatedly.
