HANDMAID TO FAME

Wairarapa Times-Age, 13 February 1939, Page 10

HANDMAID TO FAME

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

COPYRIGHT.

BY

BERTA RUCK.

CHAPTER VI. «• Continued. Like a shadow she slipped after him. He had reached the lift; stepped in quickly. It swept .downwards. “I shall just miss him,” thought the anguished Terry; she took to her heels and pelted down the stone steps. She would have missed him but for a detail; the crowd of schoolchildren every evening hung about the entrance to that gaol-like block of film-studios, on the watch for celebrities. They heard someone say ‘‘Goodnight, Tim,” to the commissionaire. As the tall figure in the grey tweeds came swinging out, he was recognised by a score of shrill trebles —

“Mr Lavery !” “There’s Valentine Ly-verry!” “That's him!’’ “There he is. Sir, can I have your autygreff, please?’’ “And me, please?” “Will you write your nime in my book, please?” “An’ mine?” They pressed him close, small eager faces, tiny grubby hands holding up a school notebook, a washing-book, an autograph album of pink-and-blue pages. The market value of this film star’s signature was five shillings to any grown-up who wanted it and who would send this subscription to the Children’s Hospital. Children—they represented something he could never resist. He scribbled “Valentine Lavery” across half a dozen pages. He was handing back the last of the books as Terry, breathless, caught sight of him. “Goodnight!” Then he went swinging on; he was not going to wait for his car. Down the side street he went as though he were a fugitive from justice, with armed warders at his heels, and she saw him spring into the first taxi, on the rank. Terry heard him order. “Drive to the Embankment and—well! Put me down anywhere near the river.” , “The river! Oh!” thought Terry who, all unheeded had been scurrying at this man’s heels. Horror widened tier eyes. Horror blanched her face. Horror caught away her breath as she gasped aloud. Then he did mean that about suicide? She called “Taxi! Swinging into the next taxi on the rank, she ordered the driver to get on as fast as ever he could, after the other one. “Don’t,” ordered Terry, “lose sight of that yellow taxi.” * V # :1! Swiftly the yellow taxi and the following dark blue one moved off down the street of the studios—a mean street of little houses which had been bought up by the film corporation, to make into more studios, and up to the main street, splashed with colour from flower stall’s, and vegetable barrows, crowded with evening shoppers. “Hurry, oh hurry,” besought the girl, who was crouched and quivering in the dark-blue taxi. Let me catch him in time—oh!” Up flashed the stop signals. Lavery’s yellow taxi was ahead, but on the same side. Before she could do so, up flashed the gold signals. On they went. Down the stream of traffic marigold taxi, closely pursued by dark blue. A big red tram swung clanging in between; that was an awfiil moment. The tram swung by The yellow taxi was out of sight. Her driver turned a profile rather like an old ram with a moustache. “I didn't just see, Miss, which way that taxi went.” “To the Embankment. Quickest way you can!” They reached the Embankment’s curving line of lamps reflected in the black water. Ah! There was Vai’s taxi. It drew up. Terry saw the tall figure jump out. She crushed a pound note, which was all she had with her of her week’s salary, into her driver's hand —she darted across the road.

Shadows of plane-branehs danced on the broad shoulders of the man ahead. He reached the wall. He swept off his soft hat, and set it down upon the parapet. “They always do that," thought Terry in anguish, remembering stories of suicide. She was beside the man now. With both hands she clutched at his arm. She heard her own voice unfamiliar, hoarse, crying "Mr Lavery! Oh! Please! Stop!" Valentine Lavery whisked about, sweeping the girl with him, like a kitten that has clung to a skirt. "You mustn’t." she repeated wildly. "Oh. you mustn’t —please!"' In obvious and utter bewilderment the man stared down at that upturned triangle of anguish which was his secretary’s face in the lamplight. "Here, I say. What’s the matter. Miss Grey? Anything I can do?" “It's what you mustn’t do." “My good girl." Like a douche of cold water. “Do you mind telling me what you happen to be talking about?

Never, in all her twenty-seven yeats had Terry Grey felt such a fool. She faltered. “I heard what you said to Mr Lee. I —l couldn't help hearing. •Drive a man to suicide,’ you said. Then I heard you order your taxi to drive to the Embankment, to put you down anywhere near the river. So “You made up your mind at once that I was going to drown myself?” Terry felt as though all the blood in her body had risen into the one hot blush of humiliation that drowned her small face. She drew back, under his half-amused, astounded glance. “Please, forget what I said. _ “Oh why?” he said. “Extraordinarily nice of you to bother about me.

Of course, I can't blame you for misunderstanding. Why everybody on. that unit hasn't gone out and drowned itself or put its head into the nearest gas oven weeks ago. is more than I can tell you. But as it happens that was not what I was after. My brother Jack has got rooms quite close here, and I thought I’d look in and see him. The house is over there; corner of the Embankment. I felt I wanted a breath of air first after the poisonous atmosphere of the film studio, so that was it. What are you going to do, Miss Grey? Can I drive you anywhere?” “No, thank you, oh, no thank you,” said Terry, hurriedly. “I have only got to get home and change. lam being called for—an old friend—coming to take me to the Aidershot Tattoo.” “Oh, is he?” returned Lavery. He guessed that the old friend was the Major-man who had come up and talked to Terry that night at the restaurant. (That was the night that they had run into Flower with the American. It seemed years to Vai since that American had first waltzed away with his exquisite Flower). “Well, I'll put you into a taxi, or you'll be a bit late. Taxi! Your rooms aren’t far, are they? Good. Hope you'll.enjoy the Tattoo; it’s a grand sight. The best ballets could take a tip from it. And I hope it'll keep fine; feels rather like storm in the air tonight.” “Yes,” said Terry, .“it does feel like storm. We shall be under cover, though.” “Good. Well, have a good time. Goodnight,'” said Valentine Lavery, himself again. But no. He was not, Terry thought, his real self. It was as though, while he talked to her, Lavery, was holding back something that would presently break loose.

Storm in the air! The storm was not all over ” When Major Clive called at her rooms he found her ready to start at once. “Very refreshing,” he said'appreciatively, “to find a girl there, on the dot, looking every bit as well turned out as these maddening young women who keep a man hanging about for an hour, while they finish titivating. You’ve made yourself extremely pretty!” “Were you speaking to me? I’m glad you think I look all right, Clive.” Clive answered with a compliment born of other days. “You look ripping! Except, of course, that you’re real, Terry, you’re quite up to film-star standard.” Actually it was during these days as continuity girl that Terry had learnt how to make the most of herself. By seeing so much of people in pictures, she had learnt not be be afraid of dress and make up. It was her friend the German make-up man who had given her priceless expert advice about her skin and had substituted another powder for stuff which he made her throw away, because it made her look mauve. It was he who, today, in the lunch hour, had done Terry’s hair. Tonight, however, when a transformed Terry was a credit to anyone who had taken her out, she could not spare , a moment for her looks. Storm in the air Electricity prickled all over her. At the Chinese restaurant where he took her to eat because it would be such a change, Terry scarcely noticed what she put into her mouth. Clive's appreciative glance meant nothing to her. Quite mechanically the girl answered this old friend’s enquiries about her father and the family. “It is better to be an old man’s darling,” quoted Clive, who had a passion for threadbare quotations, “than a young man’s slave. By the way, Terry, how’s work, talking of slavery ” “How do you get on with Your Star" She answered non-committally: “Oh quite well, thank you.” But the words “Your Star” reminded her of Sylvia’s brusque question: “Are you going goofy about your star” Well! Didn’t it look rather like it? Behaving like a lunatic just because I Imagined that the man was going to make a hole in the water? He must have thought I was an idiot —she blushed at the remembrance of that moment on the Embankment. How she had clung to his sleeve, crying “Don't, you mustn't!" How pole-axed with astonishment the man had looked. “What's the matter, Miss Grey?” Awful moment! Clive, over coffee, went on to talk about her young boss. “I must say 1 was quite favourably impressed by him. Not a bit actorish, what I saw of him." “Positively human, in fact,” said Terry, j "Quite. Still, you don't mean to spend the rest of your life dancing ' attendance on him.” | "Oh no! Oh no." said Terry. "1 'shall just get all the experience that seems any use to me, and then leave." "That would be the best solution," she thought. ‘Take it in time. Feeling like that this afternoon —well, I can't cope with it. I shall give in my notice and go as soon as the picture is finished," decided Terry inwardly, and she pulled herself together with the determined little gesture of someone who shuts a door. The stable door, for instance, after the steed has gone. For her thoughts returned to Vai Lavery, even after they got out to Aidershot and the smallest Boy Scout ever seen ushered them into their covered seats. "It would be fun,” she thought, “to be here with him —instead of Clive. Stop that!” she thought. Now the night that Clive took her to the Tattoo was going to go down in the memories of several thousand spectators as “that night of the frightful

storm.” It was the night when no floodlight, no fireworks, no torchlight procession had. a chance against the really first rate display of lightning. Machine gun fire, shouting and loud military music—all were drowned that night in the crash of thunder. Then came the thunder of hearty cheers for the troops who carried on mimic warfare just as doggedly as they would have carried on real hostilities under the thrashing downpour that soaked them to the skin. Medieval trappings and modern uniforms were drenched and darkened by the rain. What had been the grass plain of the arena spread into a chain of lagoons. Still, through these pools the troops marched, stood up to charge, lay down to fire, made their music, galloped. The giant voice of the loud speaker boomed forth at last thanking the audince for the manner in which they had kept their heads and their seats during the storm. A panic might have led to very serious consequences. “Storm’s all over now, Terry,” said Clive with satisfaction. “Thank you so much. I wouldn’t have missed it —it’s all been delightful,” Terry said on the doorstep after Clive had driven her home. “Yes, we must do this again. “All work and no play,’ eh? Mustn’t have that,” said Clive. “And when you make up your mind that you’ve had enough of the film world, let me know. Terry, will you?" “Will you." said Terry, “find- me another job?—a well-paid, amusing one." -Rather! See if we can’t do better for you, Terry, than this. I’ll find you something. Now, run in. girl, and lake oft’ those shoes and stockings. I believe you've got your feet wet when we were finding the ear. Perfectly ridiculous things you women put on your feet. What you want is someone to see you get some sensible shoes. Good-night, my dear! Sleep well. Terry, unlike her usual habit, slept badly that night. The sentences whispered themselves into her ear. ‘ Are you goofy about your star? “What s the matter, Miss Grey?" “I shall give in my notice! Yes. I shall give in my notice! lam not going to lose my head over him like a fifteen-year-old film fan. Tomorrow I shall give in my notice!” (To be Continued/)