Stella, page 18
Everyone in the neighbourhood came to ceremoniously examine it in its, unsurprisingly, mounted position above the mantle-shelf. She would always remember her father’s blank expression as he looked it up and down for the first time. ‘What the flamin’ hell’s all this painting stuff got to do with you?’ he had said to her mother. The next day the canvas was nowhere to be seen, and a part of the frame was being used to support an unsteady table-leg.
Vince pushed a bourbon into their hands. They had no choice on what they wanted to drink: he liked bourbon so they’d have to like bourbon too.
One thing she found that, when in the company of his elder brother, Bernard wasn’t the dazzling, enchanting man of earlier. He became quiet, almost withdrawn. She didn’t need to be a genius to tell that Vince dominated him, and had probably done so since they were children.
They ate a small dinner that was prepared by James, the driver. It was soon apparent that he was as all-purposeful as her Annie. He cooked; he drove; what else did he do for the Goldman brothers? Bring attractive female stars back to this cottage? That thought made her a bit scared – vulnerable. As she pushed away an empty plate she asked, ‘Why is it I get the impression my coming here wasn’t a spontaneous action?’
Bernard shuffled his feet uneasily beneath the table, while his top half – the visible part – tried its best to languish calmly in its seat. Vince became businesslike. ‘You’re a bright kid, so I won’t mess you about,’ he said. ‘I’ll come right to it.’ Bernard nodded in thoughtful agreement, but remained silent. ‘I’m in movies out in Hollywood – where else? I do a lotta directing, but I’ve been given this big break, a chance to produce my own movie. It’s a low-budget deal, but it’s still my own show.’
She tried hard not to appear impressed, but she was impressed. The more she tried to disguise her interest, the more deformed her face appeared. ‘It’s a musical, and it’s going to be called The Last Springtime. It needs an English girl of some talent to play the lead female role alongside the lead male role, to be played by Victor Clayton. You may have heard of him.’
She’d more than heard of him, she adored him. She’d kept his pictures when seeing them in a Screenland magazine in Henry’s office. ‘Louis B. Mayer doesn’t give many second chances at MGM, so understandably I want this movie to work.’
‘And where do I fit in?’ she asked, directly.
‘A few names have been suggested for the role,’ he went on. ‘Gracie Fields was a popular choice. She’s had experience and she’s not a total unknown. But then we decided she’s too hard – too northern. The girl we want must have a soft edge as well as a hard one.’
‘And presumably she has to sing, or you’d have gone for any number of talented actresses.’
‘Exactly so.’
He watched her carefully, looking for any sign, any mannerism that would indicate what she was thinking. ‘Well, what do you say?’ he finally said. He was sure he’d won her over.
‘But I’m northern,’ she explained to him.
‘Yeah, but not like the others. You have physical softness that makes you a suitable choice. I know Mayer will just love you.’
My God, she thought. I’ve spent my life dreaming about an opportunity like this, and now it’s come I’m not certain I want it.
‘So you’re formally offering me this part, then?’
‘Subject to events once we’re over in Hollywood, yes, I am offering you the part in my film.’
She said, ‘And what do you say, Bernard?’ She was beginning to feel very angry with Bernard. His charm had all been an act to present her to his brother merely as a business proposition. ‘I imagine you’ll be pleased you won’t have to bother sending any more flowers?’ she said, cutting him down before he’d had a chance to respond to her question.
‘Vince wanted someone fast,’ he explained defensively. He didn’t want her to misinterpret his involvement in the whole affair. ‘The flowers I sent you I did because I wanted to.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said as if it had been stupid of her not to have realised. ‘And I suppose it was a nice personal touch to help seduce me into coming here.’
‘Now, that’s not true,’ he said, with remarkable firmness for Bernard. But how could he convince her he had genuinely been attracted to her since first setting eyes upon her in Oldham? Yes, of course – Oldham. ‘When I sent you that grey suit,’ he said softly, ‘Vince wasn’t even making his film, then.’
She didn’t react for a moment, and then raised her head and stared at him in the eyes. He gave her a sincere and warm smile, and her anger, her hurt, evaporated into relief. ‘And also, I’m not in the film business, I’m in real estate and development. I literally spent my share of an inherited family fortune on a more concrete career.’ He opened his hands and tilted his head. ‘I’m just here taking a holiday.’
Vince gazed on in bewilderment. The relationship between the two had nothing to do with the making of his film. ‘Now then,’ he continued, trying to re-establish some enthusiasm and authority, but as Bernard and Stella clapsed hands he realised he’d lost his audience. Still, he tried. ‘We’ll be taking the Queen Mary on May seventeenth from Southampton to New York. From there we’ll take the Super Chief – that’s a train – right across country, east to west. And then we start on the preliminaries: screen-tests, and so on.’
He looked irritably at the two of them. They weren’t listening to a word. ‘Hey, you guys. Cut out the romantic looks, will ya? We’ve a trip to Hollywood to arrange.’
Bernard said, ‘We won’t be going to Hollywood, Vince. We’ve other plans.’ It was the first time he’d ever stood up to his domineering brother.
The following few weeks glided by in sheer heaven for Stella. She spent a wonderful Christmas Day with Bernard at Bramble Cottage. What had made it all the lovelier was Vince’s absence. He had had to go back to Hollywood early as he couldn’t find a suitable female for the lead role. Mayer had contacted him to tell him to give up looking – they’d have to use an American and dub an English voice on afterwards.
She had regrets about turning down the opportunity, and cursed her decision about twelve times a day, but Mike had cheered her by saying she was too needed in England to be allowed to go gallivanting over to America. And now, with Bernard by her side, she was sure she had everything she could ever possibly need.
He adored her; worshipped her. She was madly and passionately in love with him but also felt a need to protect him. She held the upper hand in their relationship, and he was weak enough to allow it to be that way.
Despite his large frame and outwardly confident manner she knew him to be a vulnerable person, and was sure that if she wasn’t there to control him he’d only end up getting himself into trouble.
Already, he’d mentioned some difficulties he was having on a development in Santa Barbara, north of Hollywood, and that he might have to go over there and try to sort matters out. What mistakes had he made? Who was taking him for a ride over there, if anyone? Did he know what he was doing? His only previous success had been building small blocks of flats in Hollywood which had earned him considerable sums, but had that been luck? Had he just been in the right place at the right time? And if he had responsibilities in America, then wasn’t it unprofessional of him to be romancing and holidaying in England? These were the questions that worried her, and he was evasive when it came to answering them.
Whatever was to come, she refused to allow it to spoil this moment in time together. On the first Saturday in March 1938, at a tiny village not a stone’s-throw from Bramble Cottage, Stella Raven – legally, not in name – became Stella Goldman.
She had no intention of discarding her stage-name; it had taken her too long to bring it to the public’s notice, and now it was there she was going to do her utmost to ensure it was going to stay there.
Out of all the people she loved and worked with, only Sadie and Tommy were not invited. This latest snub hurt Sadie more than any that had gone before, and her parents weren’t left unaffected either. That apart, the Ravenscrofts were very fond of the dashing Bernard Goldman, and when Jack discovered how wealthy he was he rather overplayed his pleasure at the announcement of their wedding. He also got very drunk and maudlin at the reception held at the cottage.
Lilly cried with joy throughout the service, and later described Bernard to Stella as being ‘the most handsome man I’ve ever set eyes on – since yer Dad’.
They went on to enjoy the briefest of honeymoons possible: a weekend – only staying Saturday night because of the show – at Bramble Cottage. It was hardly a honeymoon, as they spent most of their free time there, anyway.
Over the weekend Bernard revealed that he had to get out to Santa Barbara quickly. ‘When I get back, I’ll take you anywhere you want,’ he promised.
Fumbling in his pockets he produced a crumpled piece of paper. ‘I’ve got the name of some country inn here; it’s apparently worth a visit.’ He studied the piece of paper. ‘Here we go; it’s called “The Partridge”.’ He folded the paper badly and returned it to his pocket.
‘Then let’s spend the earlier part of our honeymoon night at “The Partridge”, then,’ she said.
She tried to put a brave face on for him. But it was difficult, knowing that his ship sailed the next Friday. He said, ‘That’s settled, then. We’ll go and try it out. Who knows, it could be the high spot of the whole area.’
So they tried it out. And it was.
Chapter Fourteen
Tommy cut through a piece of Sadie’s home-baked fruit cake. It made as much impression as a spoon on a piece of solid oak. ‘Think this cake’ll have to be chucked,’ he shouted to her from the kitchen. She came in.
‘Don’t waste it. Give it to the birds.’
‘The poor sods’ll never take off again if they eat this.’
‘No swearing, Tommy Moran,’ she scolded.
‘Sorry,’ he said, insincerely. He didn’t mean to sound insincere, but it had grown that way because he was always apologising. ‘I’ll find something else we can nibble at with our cuppa.’
‘I’m not hungry, pet,’ she told him.
‘You’re never hungry, these days,’ he commented. Tommy had been worried about her for some time, now. She hadn’t been eating properly for months. At first, he thought it was due to her upset over Stella – the way she had virtually ignored them when they’d taken all the trouble and expense to go and see her in Manchester – but now he wasn’t so sure. She was very thin, whatever the cause. Maybe it was his own fault. Most things were his fault, or so Sadie told him. Maybe he shouldn’t have made such a big fuss over giving up the three-piece suite in choice of seeing Stella’s show. Thinking back, he had gone on about it quite a bit, especially when it had turned into such a disappointing reunion.
As if hearing his thoughts, she said, ‘I wish I was still working with Stella.’
How many times had he heard that recently? He’d lost count. ‘Well, you’re not, and that’s the way it is. You’re not even in showbusiness any more.’ His words were so firm he nearly made himself jump.
Sadie took a sip of her tea. She grimaced. Tommy had put too much sugar in it again. He was forever putting too much sugar in her tea. She turned towards him and said meaningfully, ‘Sometimes I wish it really could be, you know.’
‘You mean, us not married, and all?’ he said, deflatedly.
‘No, you know what I mean.’
‘All I know,’ said Tommy, ‘is that she’ll never forgive us for getting wed and breaking up the partnership. That partnership was her life at that time.’
‘Of course she’ll forgive us,’ said Sadie, but she didn’t sound too convinced by her own brave words. ‘Maybe I should go and visit her. That could help sort things out with us. I mean, there has to be more to this life than the flamin’ cake shop.’
‘It’s a good wage you earn at that cake shop, young lady—’
‘Oh, shut up, Tommy. You sound more like Mam and Dad every day.’
He was dumbstruck. What was getting into her? She was changing all the time, and not just in the physical sense. ‘She’s a solo performer now, Sade,’ he pointed out, less sympathetically than he otherwise would have. ‘She’s also a star and she doesn’t need her sister following her about.’
Sadie gave him a piercing stare. ‘You’re cruel and you’re a liar.’ She threw a tea towel at him and stormed out into the garden.
When the season ended in April – a very long season, indeed – Stella forgot to give her routine sigh of relief. It was probably because she was so distracted by other things, such as how her husband was getting along in America.
As it happened, Bernard was getting on disastrously. He had got down to business the moment he arrived in Santa Barbara and called on all his various banking contacts to ensure that, at the very least, they would stand by him through to completion of his development project. He hadn’t anticipated spending so much on construction costs with the apartments and incurring so many small bills that, when pooled together, totalled a fair amount. His feasibility study hadn’t shown the many pitfalls that had later been revealed.
Because of the excellent response he’d received from the banks when developing in Hollywood he’d expected an equal response to the Santa Barbara project. It didn’t follow, and he should have known that it wouldn’t. ‘You’ve over-reached yourself,’ he was successively told. What’s the old saying about banks? They give you an umbrella when the sun’s out, then take it back in when it’s raining. ‘Hollywood’s the draw of southern California. It was good business developing and speculating there. But Santa Barbara? Forget it. It won’t overspill that far. You’ll never shift the majority of those apartments at the right kind of price. You’ll end up either lumbered with them or having to sell them for peanuts.’
That was how five consecutive meetings with five different banks had concluded. With each rejection he’d felt himself die a little bit more.
What do I do, and what do I tell Stella? That was all he could keep thinking.
It wasn’t just the loss of money: there were the legalities of it all. How did he stand when he couldn’t even pay off outstanding debts without making further loans? And that’s to say nothing of completing the whole project. Several of the apartments had already been sold prior to completion. The money had been received and immediately ploughed straight back into his dwindling business.
Will this mean I’ll get sued? he wondered. Of course I’ll get goddamned sued.
Sitting over a quadruple bourbon his face was suddenly distorted with a spasm of despair and his hands tore at his hair. For a moment it was possible to glimpse the natural man, impulsive, keenly sensitive. The next, the mask of the calm cool American businessman was replaced.
I’ll survive, somehow, he thought. And it was a brave thought – for someone on the verge of bankruptcy.
As it was to happen, Bernard was destined to be a fortunate man, although he wasn’t to know this for a further eight anxiety-filled days. They were days during which he contemplated all the options that were open to him. Finding that suicide looked the most promising he felt even more depressed than before.
It was pride as much as anything that made him refrain from taking so drastic a measure: that, and the fact that he didn’t like the sight of blood; especially his own, though, if dead, he wouldn’t have been able to see too much, but Bernard didn’t think like that.
While Santa Barbara would never make him a good, or even bad, profit, two men came to his rescue who could perhaps see the potential of being associated with a ‘suit and tie’ man of good standing: a man, that with their financial support at this awkward juncture, could benefit them in the future on more successful development projects.
Messrs Harper and Drewitt were informed of Bernard’s plight through one of the banking executives who had initially given him little sympathy. Maybe this executive had time to reflect on Bernard Goldman as he drove home that night, and began to feel a little guilty for being so cold to the entrepreneurial American, and could only clear his conscience by giving him a small piece of indirect assistance. And he was genuinely sure that if anyone could or would help Goldman, it would be Harper and Drewitt. Both these men had professional backgrounds and knew when, where, and how in the speculative world of real estate.
Over an arranged lunch on the eighth day of Bernard’s nightmare the two gentlemen offered him their support and full backing to see the Santa Barbara project through, though several times pointing out how careless it had been of him to take the success he’d found in Hollywood to an area relatively disconnected from that glamorous place. Bernard now knew better than anyone just how careless he’d been. These same two men would also one day be partly responsible for the building of Bernard’s small empire.
Stella, meanwhile, was oblivious to all of this. She had returned to her London flat with the ever-faithful Annie. All that worried Annie was how, when Mr Goldman returned home, the three of them would cope with being squashed up together in the flat. It did threaten to be a shade over-cosy.
A dinner date with Mike Farrow informed Stella of her possible future plans. He told her, while they sipped from balloons of brandy at the El Rico club, ‘There’s a strong possibility – nothing confirmed yet, mind – of Henry putting on one of the largest, most spectacular variety shows to hit London.’
‘And?’
‘And there could be a strong possibility – though again, nothing has been—’
‘Oh, stop dawdling, Mike, and tell me,’ she urged, impatiently. She hated waiting for exciting news.
‘Well – he could want you to star in it.’
Unconsciously, she pulled at strands of hair while her mind raced ahead. ‘But remember, you know nothing of it until he mentions it,’ reminded Mike, who could see his minority shareholding in the company rapidly becoming an even smaller minority shareholding.
