HANDMAID TO FAME

Wairarapa Times-Age, 17 February 1939, Page 10

HANDMAID TO FAME

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

COPYRIGHT.

BY

BERTA RUCK.

CHAPTER VIII Continued.

“Nobody knows. You had better see Mr Lee about that. There’s no reason why the Isadore Maurus people shouldn’t keep you on for continuity work, Miss Grey. In fact, I should think they would be very glad to do so.” “They ?” You don’t really mean, do you,” took up Terry, “that you don’t want me any more?”

“I tried to explain on the telephone last night. I’m afraid I didn’t make myself clear.” “Yes, but—l didn’t think you meant that you didn’t want me. I had hoped,” said Terry, with a little smile, “that I was giving satisfaction.” “Good heavens, it isn’t that you’re not. Lord, Miss Grey, I don’t know how to explain to you how grateful I am. You’ve been splendid always. Not only that business with young Guy, but always—it’s only. I don’t know how I shall be getting on. I —You know this picture’s scrapped?”

“I was afraid it might be.” “And I’m not getting the next contract on which I banked.”

“What? You’re not going on with Isadore Maurus?”

“They,” he said, “are not going on with me!”

She had not meant to mention Flower’s name.

It : broke from her “Miss Armitage 9”

‘Ah yes, she’ll be working for them all right,” Lavery returned, brightly. Altogether too brightly. “She’s signing on for another two pictures, I believe. She’s lucky with them, you know.” Could Flower have meant that about telephoning to the news agencies?

“Was? Was?” “Yes, that’s off./ I thought I’d tell you as a friendly act, before you heard from strangers ” Terry looked sharply at him, odd, he .looked. “She’s going to marry Osgood, you know, the American multi-millionaire. Er ”

Quite suddenly Lavery sat down on the arm of a chair.

“Goodbye, Miss Grey—thank you so much- ”

He seemed to crumple. She heard him say —“I’m done!” “Mr Lavery! You must pull your self together,” exclaimed Terry Grey She thought rapidly “What a number of things are now happening to me for the first time. Last night for the first time a man told me he wanted to marry me. Later on, for the first time I put a man to bed because he was in the same state as Mrs Brown’s buried husbands. And this morning, for the first time, here 1 am talking to a man like a Dutch uncle —or aunt.” She echoed “Done? I never heard anything so ridiculous. You're only thirty-three ”

“People’s lives are often over long before they’re dead,” was Valentine’s cheerful reply. "The mistake is that they can’t die then. Look here, Miss Grey, can you be bored —have you time to listen to me? It isn’t often that I feel I must talk about myself."

“It is often that you’ve been allowed the chance, I know,” Terry said. Terry hoped that she was not going on feeling so much more kindly towards him. Otherwise all' the good work —would be undone —meaning the good work which had been done by her feeling so repelled and so disgusted last night that she had been put permanently and completely off this man.

She could not help remarking “All the time I’ve known you, Mr Lavery, you have either been working like a black at your profession or worrying about what you can do for other people. Time you did talk about yourself for a change. Go on.”

An extraordinary quarter of an hour followed —that is it would have seemed extraordinary to any of Vai Lavery’s colleagues and men friends had they heard him pouring out his heart. He told Terry all about the first time he had met Flower. It had been on location in the Italian Alps. A good deal of the time it had rained, and they had gone for walks in the rain and they had found queer delightful little' inns where they’d had delicious peasant dinners, and then it had been fine again and there had been marvellous bathing in the lake, the whole six weeks had been a slice ot idyllic life stolen from the Gods, they had come back engaged, and Flower and he had continued their lovemaking in London—but she was never the same Flower as she had been during those lovely, sun-drenched weeks in the mountains.

Some people are only their true selves at sea, others in the mountains, hosts of people don't live their real lives except in the country—-— ’’ That record.

“Town destroys some people. Flower now, the real Flower, was killed by luxury and living at extravagant hotels, eating at expensive restaurants, and meeting all sorts of good-for-nothing rich people ” “Meaning,” thought Terry, patiently listening, “meaning that American.” “I don’t suppose Flower will ever be, now, the women she might have become—” that, thought Terry is the one thing that is cheering him up. “But I’m boring you with all this.” “Not at all. Go on, I don't mind. I’m interested," declared Terry as millions of women give out every day. And presently he had stopped for the moment talking about Flower, to this subject he would return, she knew, again and again, but for the moment he left off describing his bad luck in love. He went on to talk about his crashed career.

Terry remembered that the first time she had sorted this man’s correspondence he had noticed fewer fan letters.

“Don’t imagine it’s all happened at once. I’ve felt it coming on. Believe me, Miss Grey, the first person to know when an artist is not as good as he used to be, it’s not his director, not his friends, not his public, it’s himself. They say that an ageing beauty is the first women to spot the wrinkle and the grey hair. Perfectly true. I knew that in the 'Love Planet’ my performance was not so hot. I’ve been falling off for quite a while. I’ve noticed my presscuttings. Straws show which way the wind is blowing, said this favourite, sadly. Even my fan-mail —not so many of them.” It was rather horrible. “I’ve had a lot of success. I’m only telling you this to tell you about it. I’ve had a marvellous success; unexpected. I’ve had a marvellous time in love. All that in Italy; pretty wonderful while it lasted. I should think I had crammed into the time between twenty-six and thirty-three all the wizard times that most men can lay claim to by the time they're sixty. It’s been concentrated. Now it’s come to an end. That's why I said I was done. You looked shocked at me. It’s true, I’m afraid, for all that. I shall have to pick up what I can get in the way of small parts. Thank goodness I got my mother an annuity, and young Guy is settled, and Madge's husband has got that partnership. Thank goodness all that happened before iny star set. “Now look here,” said Terry. “I think I’ve let you have your say out, and now listen to me. Will you? I shan’t take so long to say it. It’s only this. This is the interval. You have got to stage a come back.”

“Child,” he said gently. “It’s very easy to talk.”

“But. you’ve got to act. You’ve got to get yourself out of this nervy, harassed, under-the-weather. condition,” Terry said. Again adopting the Dutch Aunt role. “What you must do is go away for a holiday.” “Where? Don’t,” he said bitterly, “suggest the Italian Alps, will you?” “No; I won’t. Why don’t you try Rumania, or Dalmatia, or Austria.” “Yes,” he said. “All beautiful countries, but not much fun going anywhere alone. Look here. What about that, Miss Grey? What’s your name; yes, didn’t I hear that little girl at the studio the one who was stand-in for Flower call you by your Christian name. Tery, isn’t it. Short for Theresa. Rather pretty. Terry, listen From the little you’ve let me know about yourself you’re rather alone in the world, aren’t you? Well, now I am. Why don’t we see what kind of a fist we can make of it, together?” She looked at him, opening her eyes. “Why,” wondered Terry, “is he making all this fuss of calling me by my Christian name and by asking me to go and look after his correspondence abroad instead of here? He can’t mean anything else, can he, possibly? I must be going mad to think of such a thing. He simply, can’t mean that.” Now, as it happened, that was exactly what he did mean. He said: “I've liked you ever since you came here first. Don’t you remember when I told you about that worrying letter, and we’ve got on well. We talk the same language. We’ve got to know’ each other's ways working totogether day in and day out. Up to all hours at that infernal studio, And you do like me, you were upset. I shall never forget how upset you were that time you thought I was going to chuck myself into the river. “Well, mutual liking, tastes in common, the same view-point—not a bad foundation, really, for a marriage?” “Marriage?” echoed Terry Grey looking completely dazed. Lavery could not help smiling into that astounted girlish face. “Yes. That is what I said. Why do you look like that?” He added something which he immediately afterwards regretted. “Haven’t you ever heard a man ask to marry you before?” “Oh, yes,” Terry took up promptly. “I have.” For the first time, perhaps, she felt really grateful not because it was the right thing, but grateful from her heart to dear, conservative prosy old ‘Clive of India.’ “Mr Lavery, a man asked me to marry him only last night.” (“Taking away my reproach,” thought Terry. “Now taught that one off.’’)

“Last night? What? Do you mean I did. when I didn’t know what I was doing—No. no, now I’m dropping another brick. Believe me, 1 didn t mean that!”

Both of them laughed a little, and tension was relieved. “Don’t apologise,” said Terry. “Quite another man did ask me to marry him. Only last night.” “I’m late then ”

“No. It’s not that. 1 told that man what f tell you, said Terry. I said I wasn’t a marrying sort of girl, that I didn’t want it, that I should be much happier staying as I am!” "Do you mean that you won’t marry me? Won’t you?” “No, thank you, Mr Lavery,” said Terry promptly. * >!> * * Only Terry herself knew what it cost Terry to say that. Two nights ago she had reminded herself that in fixing her absurd affections on this man she had merely been a child that cries for the moon. Now here was the moon, falling into her lap. Incredible luck. Here was handsome and attractive Valentine Lavery, the beloved of thousands of attractive girls who would give an ear for the privilege of speaking to him. actually proposing to her, uninteresting, plain little Theresa Grey with whom nobody yet have ever been in love. (To be Continued.)