HANDMAID TO FAME

Wairarapa Times-Age, 16 February 1939, Page 12

HANDMAID TO FAME

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT COPYRIGHT.

CHAPTER VIII. Continued.

BY

BERTA RUCK.

“Oh, is that it?” said Vai. “Yes, it’s not only the way you behaved yesterday. It’s altogether. It was the whole picture. I told Sydney I told Elmei ” “You told whom?”

“Don’t be silly. You heard, didn't you? Elmer Osgood. He’s got a right to know what’s more or less going on in the studios. He’S been putting enough money in. Very generous he’s been. I said to him you were taking far too much upon yourself. Elmer said, ‘Well, who does he imagine represents the attraction of this thing? Him oi- you?’ Elmer, at the rehearsals, noticed how you cut in on my lines. Invariably. Especially in the love scene, where I let you take my hands. That's MY moment. Ho cuts in. You did, Vai.” “I’ll never cut in again on you, Flower,” Vai said. ' He looked at her. Before it had been a look of appeal. Now, it was another, a much more disconcerting look. It seemed to see right inside that golden head. It saw through her. It summed up, it despised her. Flower's temper flamed up again. That any man should dare to look at her like that. That he should dare! “I’ll say you won’t cut in,” she said, bitingly. “Except for work,” said Vai, “you need not be afraid of my trying to say another word to you.” “What do you mean, except for work?” retorted Flower. “Work? I’m not going to work with you again, thank you, Mr Lavery! I’ve made that clear. Oh, perfectly clear. You know they’re scrapping “Venus Rises.” It's not considered . worth making. It would have been a flop anyway. People would have gone to the opening and come away saying, “Well, anyhow, one could enjoy the Disney!” That was the kind of picture it would have ben. And your doing. I can’t afford to have my career ruined by that sort of thing. Elmer is backing this next thing—this Foreign Legion thing—and I’ve told him who I want to play opposite to and he quite agrees. So I’m telling you, Vai, as a friendly act, before you hear it officially from indifferent people.” “Oh. That’s awfully good of you, Flower.” “Don’t sneer at me. You always did. Your whole disgusting family always did. I was sick and tired of you long ago. You don’t know how to behave to a girl. Why I ever put up with you for all those weeks, I can’t imagine. You don't know how to make a fuss of a girl. The only sort of girl you know how to talk to is that drab dull little creature you pushed in as continuity girl. Better go back to her.” ‘lf you’ve quite finished. There's nothing else,” Vai said, “that you wanted to say to me?” He despised himself even for this, for lingering, drawing out the agony. It was agony, though, to know that she had not only thrown him aside, she had even crabbed his work. Put a spoke in the wheel of his career! Yet I he had deeply and devotedly loved her, so that it was anguish to tear himself away. “You haven’t anything else you want to say to me, I suppose?” “Only one thing. Again, as a friendly act, and that you won’t have to hear of it from strangers. lam going to be married.” “Married.” His voice was completely expressionless. “To?” “Well, I expect you guess,” Flower said with a little artificial tinkling laugh. “It’s to Elmer —Mr Osgood.” “Oh, the multi-millionaire. Quite. 1 congratulate him,” said Flower Armitage’s ex-fiancee, “and may I offer you my .best wishes.” ‘.‘Thank you.” “Good-night.” “Good-night.” He was back at his rooms, hardly knowing how he got there. Here he found a telephone message from Sydney. Mr Lee had rung up to say he’d be glad if Mr Lavery would go round, if he hadn't anything better to do, and have dinner with him tonight.” “Decent old Sydney " Further, Vai found waiting for him, a letter from the Isadora Maurus Film Corporation, confirming, in formal terms, the news which he had had already from Flower. They would not continue with the picture. They enclosed a cheque for his salary. About any further contract Mr Lavery would hear in due course. He knew what that meant. Love had let him down; work had crashed, worries crowded in upon him. Flower, his idol—that was the worst of it, Flower. Flower and that American multi-millionaire. His nerves crashed. Simmonds, coming on some errand to the sitting-room, was told to get out and stay out. “Vary good, sir," said Simmonds. “I don’t want to see your face or anybody’s. Give me forty-eight hours’ peace, can you all. It’s not much that a man asks for. Just peace ” “Very good, sir,” said Simmonds. was himself not inadverse to a spot of peace. “If it’s the same to you, sir. there is the daily woman coming in tomorrow, if it’s not inconvenient, I had thought of asking to go off to see my married daughter in the country; my little grandson ” “Excellent. By all means go.” Simmonds went. Vai Lavery settled down to seek forgetfulness. And the sight that met Terry as she turned up the light was the figure of Vai Lavery slumped down on his sit-ting-room sofa. Murder- —? No. Beside him there

was a glass shattered to pieces. Th< sight of it gave Terry pause again Then, shaking her head she gave t little laugh, partly of relief. Than! God it wasn't that sort of poison. She had not really thought that it would be Not again would she fear suicide foi this man who had quite enough ir his life to drive him to take that way “But the idiot,” she thought giving t sniff, “first dopes himself with whisky then passes right out. She picked uj: the scattered fragments of the glass which had fallen from Lavery’s hand a beautiful old cut-glass, thhvfooted “A wine glass broken in the house i.s supposed to bring luck. This doesn’l look much like it,” thought Terry Raising her voice she called “Simmonds?" There was no reply. Simmonds al that moment was sitting happily in a Thames-side cottage, the home of his married daughter. Simmonds, in shirtsleeves and with his feet in a pair ol extremely comfortable red-felt bedroom slippers, was holding forth on the doings of those who governed this country, in a voice let loose and unrepressed; the voice that neither the employer of this excellent manservant nor the secretary of his employer, had ever heard. There was no calling ol Simmonds away from this blessed holiday for the next forty-eight hours. “He sent Simmonds away, on purpose,” Terry accurately guessed. “Well, this means more handmaiden’s work for me.” Having covered him up to his chin she found that his feet in their silk socks were unprotected’. She rummaged in his wardrobe, fetched out a fleecy overcoat, which she threw over them—less in sorrow than in anger. “I’m thoroughly disgusted with you,” she tossed at the unconscious form. “Now sleep that one off. I don’t care if the house burns down over your head.” The sound of her own voice in her own ears gave Terry pause. What if the house did burn t down in the night—who knew if something might not happen to him up here. Nobody within call? Who, for instance, had known that last night the whole of the Isadora, Maurus studios would be struck by lightning and burn down. “I can’t risk it, little as you’re worth it.” , ■ i She cast one last exasperated glance, She went back to the cupboard. “I wonder where Simmonds keeps extra blankets., I could runupage round and find clean sheets and. get Simmonds’s bed. \ ! “Well! Whatever next!” The daily woman had come in and stood there dust-pan and brush in hand. “Miss Grey? Anything the matter?” “Mr Lavery’s not very well.” Terry explained, sitting up. “I came in last night and found him—ls Simmonds there?” “Not a sniff of him, Miss,” said the daily woman, whose name was Mrs Brown. “Sorry about all this. Well I know what is is, Miss. Having buried two husbands like it myself.” Terry was thankful that this being so no further explanation need be made. “Good thing you came in, Miss, wasn't it? Dear me. Whatever would they do without us. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll make you a nice cup-er-tea. Him, too, p’raps!” “I’d leave him.” “Rightchar, Miss.” Terry, having finished her tea, took a bath and re-dressed. Miss Brown prepared a breakfast on one tray for Miss Grey, on the other for Mr Lavery. With a philosophic remark of “You never know when gentlemen want something to eat, Miss, they’re mostly ready for that!” Mrs Brown returned with the news that Mr Lavery seemed more himself again now, like. “He was ever so surprised when I told him that his young lady secretary had bin here all night—and said he would be very much obliged, Miss, if you would wait until he was dressed ’as he wanted to speak to you.” “Right,” said Terry, and made a hearty breakfast. She was feeling distinctly happier than she had felt for hours. “It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good, as Clive would say,” thought Terry as the cleared tray was taken away again by Mrs Brown into the kitchen. “Tins lias cleared the air. To think that I should ever imagine I was beginning to feel at all “goofy" as Sylvia calls it, about the man Lavery. Heavens, having seen him as an inert, rumple-head-ed object with his face slipped and his dress-tie under his ear, no woman in the world could ever have any illusion about him again. This has put an end to that. Grand! All I feel like is some school mistress waiting to interview some inky child who has thoroughly disgraced itself, its form and its school, and to which I shall give a proper ticking-oil. Firm and composed, Terry waited. Vai Lavery looked really ill, and not in the way that last night would have accounted for. No more than inert, rumple-headed object, whose face had slipped when his senses left him, he was turned-out with as much caie as for the set, in his light-grey tweeds, his cloud-grey tie. Fresh from his bath ami shaved, there surrounded him that very heartening aura of lavender and tooth paste. “Miss Grey—"

“Mr Lavery. Are you all right?" “Perfectly, thanks,” said he, with a twisty little smile. “1 say. I can never apologise enough to you for last night. “Please don’t say a word,” said Terry, kindly, but reserved— hoping she spoke as that schoolmistress would have spoken, for indeed her heart was melting to this weary and unhappy looking young man, “What would you

like me to do this morning? There'll be nothing further doing at the studios of course, until ’’ (To be Continued.)