Shot With Crimson, page 3
‘Do you travel a lot like this, Miss Tey?’ Lucy Reville asked.
‘No, I can’t say I do. This is my first time on board.’
‘Mine, too. Alma and Alfred have been back and forth …’
‘I wouldn’t say that, Mother! Two or three times, perhaps.’
‘… and even Patricia’s an old hand. She’s been showing me round the ship. Isn’t it exciting?’
‘Yes, it is.’
The girl took her grandmother over to the other side of the room to look at the mural, and Josephine watched them, not in the least surprised to see that the Hitchcocks had raised their child to be confident and curious. ‘I’m surprised to see you here with filming underway,’ she said.
‘My work on Rebecca is done, really, so I’ve taken a few days out to collect my mother and bring her out to stay with us while all this is going on. I’m just relieved that she’s been willing to make the move.’ Alma sighed. ‘Hitch hasn’t been so lucky. His mother is refusing to budge—she says she made it through one war without a scratch, and she’s not about to let this one beat her.’
‘I admire her spirit, but I can see that it must be a worry for you both, being so far away.’
‘Yes, it is. At least she’s agreed to move out to Shamley Green, so she won’t be in the thick of the bombing, but who knows?’ The phrase hung in the air, a simple expression of the uncertainty that everyone was feeling. ‘Would you care to join me for dinner later?’ The invitation came out of the blue, and Josephine wavered before answering. She had expected a few days of peace and anonymity before being thrown into the Hollywood circus, and she was keen to hang on to them. ‘I’d be grateful for the company,’ Alma admitted. ‘Pat and my mother eat early, and if I’m honest, the thought of going into that restaurant and eating alone fills me with dread. Too much time to think, at the moment, isn’t good for me.’ She smiled. ‘It’s short notice, though, so if you have other plans?’
‘Actually, that would be lovely,’ Josephine said, surprised to find that she meant it. ‘I haven’t made any plans, and too much time to think isn’t good for any of us.’
‘Wonderful. Does seven thirty suit you?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘Then I’ll alter my reservation and leave you to find your sea legs. See you later.’
Alma walked off to join her family, and Josephine went back to her cabin to unpack. There was a parcel from Marta in her case that she had been instructed to open on board, and in it she found everything she might need for her first trip to Hollywood, including sunglasses for the pool; a Los Angeles guide book, already marked up with restaurants, shops, and galleries that they must visit together; and two tickets for the premiere of Bette Davis’s new film at the Warner Bros Theater—a fictionalised account of Queen Elizabeth I’s relationship with the Earl of Essex, who was played by Errol Flynn—which Marta knew she would love. As exciting as that sounded, it was Marta’s letter that really touched Josephine, full of the plans and preparations she had made for the time they would spend together. As she contemplated the freedom that the next few weeks offered, away from home and all the responsibilities that came with it, the sense of uncertainty that had been darkening her mood was suddenly exhilarating.
She found the copy of Rebecca that she had brought with her and read for a while until it was time to change for dinner, then headed to the next deck down. The Queen Mary’s main restaurant was known as the Grand Salon, and everything about it seemed designed to live up to the name. Josephine paused at the entrance, which was a vast work of art in its own right, a painting called Merry England, in which idealised aspects of country life over the centuries were depicted in a tapestry style. A pair of elaborate bronze doors, massive in construction, had been incorporated into the painting, appropriately themed around Castor and Pollux, guardians of all sailors.
The entrance should have prepared Josephine for the magnificence of the dining room, but still it took her breath away. The Salon was the biggest room on board, extending right across the ship, with high ceilings and a central dome. Like most of the Queen Mary, the room was characterised by rich polished woods in various autumnal shades, offset here by cream paintwork, tinted with pink at the higher levels, and chairs upholstered in a dark red leather. The restaurant was beautifully lit, and wherever the opulence threatened to become oppressive, a carefully judged plant or vase of flowers added a natural freshness to the space, lifting the mood of the room.
She announced herself at the desk, and a waiter showed her to her table, giving her the chance to take in the true scope of the Salon, which she found thrilling and intimidating at the same time. Alma had arrived already and was seated at a table for two by one of the large cylindrical columns that divided the room. She waved when she saw Josephine, correctly reading the expression on her face. ‘Quite something, isn’t it? You can see why I’m glad of your company. I don’t mind the razzmatazz when I’m with Hitch—he plays up to it, as you know—but it’s daunting when you’re on your own.’
‘I’m pleased I’m not the only one who feels that way.’
‘I suspect most of us do, if we’re honest.’
They chatted about the ship while they waited for the waiter to take their order, and as she had before, Josephine found Alma easy, entertaining company, which was just as well: dinner extended over seven courses and promised to last most of the evening. ‘It’s straight to the swimming pool for me in the morning,’ Josephine said, glancing at the dessert that had just been delivered to the next table. ‘A lot of damage can be done in three or four days.’
‘Yes it can, and the food is excellent.’
‘It must be if you think so. Marta tells me that you’re a very good cook.’
‘Oh, I’m just an amateur, but I do enjoy it.’ The wine arrived, and Alma raised her glass. ‘To an uneventful crossing. Marta will be so pleased to see you, although I don’t think she’ll believe you’re really coming until she actually sets eyes on you.’
Josephine had no idea how much Alma knew or had surmised about her relationship with Marta, but Marta and the director’s wife were good friends as well as business associates, so the comment didn’t surprise her. ‘It never seemed like the right time before,’ she admitted, ‘but then I suppose you realise how many years you could waste waiting for the perfect moment. There aren’t many silver linings to another war, but it does focus you.’
‘It certainly does, and it’s funny you should say that, but it feels like we’ve been doing exactly that these past few years—waiting for the right time to try America. I’m not quite sure why it took Hitch so long to visit a country that’s always fascinated him. He could reel off all the train timetables and theatres in New York as a boy, you know—it was as if he knew it would be important to him one day.’
‘And what about you? How are you finding it?’
‘I love it,’ Alma said without hesitation. ‘I loved it from the moment I set foot in it—the weather, the orange blossoms, the freedom. Especially the freedom. There’s no stuffiness like there is in England. I feel we belong there. Even during the brief trip back to collect my mother, it’s this direction that feels like coming home.’
‘I’m pleased for you. The last time we met, you were worried about making the move.’
‘And now I’m worried that we won’t stay. There really is no pleasing me.’ She smiled and paused while another waiter brought the soup and topped up their glasses. Seated here, in the most stable part of the boat, Josephine found it disconcertingly easy to forget that they were actually at sea. ‘Mind you, we should feel at home,’ Alma continued. ‘There was a military-style operation to ease us into things when we first arrived—the best restaurants, ex-pat parties every weekend, lectures and interviews for Hitch.’ She caught the look of horror on Josephine’s face. ‘Yes, I know what you’re thinking, and I agree with you, but we’ve had the chance to find our own rhythm over the summer. There’s a church that suits us in Beverly Hills, and Pat has a wonderful school on Sunset Boulevard. Hitch drives her there every morning. He makes a big thing about Hollywood meaning nothing to him as a place, and yet he shoots yard after yard of home film just riding around in a convertible like an excited kid.’ Josephine listened, picturing the scene and liking the Hitchcocks all the more for their ordinariness as a family. ‘We’ve brought our dogs out here with us, and our maid, and we’ve just found a wonderful German cook called Erna, who can do absolutely anything with pastry. Most importantly, Pat adores it, too. The whole thing has been such an adventure for her. I don’t think we’ve ever been so happy.’
‘It sounds like you’re settled for the long term.’
‘I hope so. We’re going to move out to Bel Air in the autumn. The Wilshire apartments are fine for a while—all mod cons, as you’ll see, and very handy for the studios, but what we actually need is a proper house with a decent kitchen. The devil with a swimming pool, as Hitch would say.’
It sounded idyllic, but there had been no mention so far of her own career. When they’d first met, Josephine had been struck by Alma’s drive and determination, by the sheer joy that she took from the creative partnership that she and Hitch had established. In her own right, Alma Reville had done every job in cinema except starring and directing, starting out as a tea girl at the London Film Company, and excelling even at that. It seemed unlikely to Josephine that she would be content with her roles as wife and mother, no matter how happy they made her.
‘What about professionally?’ she asked. ‘I know you were worried that America wouldn’t allow you to work with Hitch in the way that you could in England.’
‘That’s true, but we’re finding ways around it. Hitch has a fair bit of clout already, and he’s just negotiated his second movie here with Walter Wanger. He made sure they built me into the deal at a decent weekly rate, independent of Selznick International, so I have a separate contract. Joan, too—you know she came with us?’ Josephine nodded. Joan Harrison was the Hitchcocks’ right-hand woman, as good as a member of the family, and the three of them formed a tight-knit team. It was a role that Marta herself could perhaps have had if she’d agreed to move permanently to America. ‘We’ve been working on a new script, ready for when Hitch is done with Rebecca, just like we used to at Cromwell Road, so it’s not as different as I feared it might be—and the view is better.’
The lamb was cooked to perfection and far too good not to finish. By now Josephine was relieved that the remaining courses consisted only of salad, fruit, and ices. ‘How is Hitch getting on with Selznick?’ she asked, curious to have Alma’s take on a question to which she already knew the answer: there had been trouble brewing between director and producer, even before Marta left England.
‘Well, they went to The Wizard of Oz together, but I don’t think they’ll ever be friends.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘They fell out over the script, as you may have heard. David wanted every scene from the book to end up in the film, and Hitch wants … well, you know from personal experience what Hitch wants from a novel.’
‘An author who doesn’t interfere?’
Alma laughed. ‘Something like that. No, Hitch learned his lesson with The Secret Agent. A great novel can cast a shadow over a filmmaker. He’s more interested in taking second-rate works and giving them his own vision.’ If Alma was aware of how offensive that remark was in the present company, she showed no sign of it, and Josephine hid a smile. Privately, she could only wish that her own novels had been as ‘second rate’ as Daphne du Maurier’s. Rebecca had sold nigh on a million copies since its publication the previous year, and it didn’t seem to need Alfred Hitchcock or David Selznick to make it successful. She was tempted to say something out of professional solidarity, but Alma hadn’t finished. ‘They both take movies seriously, though—the form, the language, the storytelling. They’re obsessed by it, and that’s what will make this work. They might come at it in different ways—David works until he drops, and Hitch comes home to a proper meal every evening—but they both live for the film, and that’s the saving grace.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘That, and the fear of failure. Neither of them has the sort of ego that could brook that.’
‘It’s a gamble, though, and I admire your courage,’ Josephine said. The Hollywood studio system was dominated by producers rather than directors, and by stars under contract who reigned at the box office. ‘He’s got to prove himself all over again. If he’d stayed in England, he’d be hailed as its greatest director for years to come.’
‘But he can make better films in America.’ There it was again, the obsession that seemed to sacrifice all in its wake. Alma paused, as if reading Josephine’s thoughts. ‘And he wanted to get Pat and me out,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s worked in Germany enough to know it quite well, and he’s been sure about this war for some time. He wanted his family to be safe, and I love him for that, no matter what other people will say about it back in England. They’ll call him a coward, and that will hurt him.’ She seemed about to say something else, then changed her mind, apparently keen to lighten the mood. ‘Mind you, the making of this film is a war in its own right.’
‘Yes, Marta said things weren’t exactly harmonious.’
‘That’s putting it mildly. Did she tell you about the screen tests?’
‘A little. The last time I spoke to her, you still hadn’t cast the female lead.’
The role of the second Mrs de Winter, playing opposite Laurence Olivier, was rumoured to be one of the most hotly contested in Hollywood. ‘It was eleventh hour, certainly,’ Alma admitted. ‘Hitch was livid to have to sit through all those terrible tests with actresses he knew would be completely wrong, although we all agreed that Audrey Reynolds would have been perfect for the part of Rebecca.’
Josephine smiled, appreciating a backhanded compliment: the character of Max de Winter’s dead first wife never actually appeared. ‘I gather Vivien Leigh was quite keen to play opposite Larry,’ she said wryly.
‘Absolutely desperate—insisted on testing twice. David took a risk on her for Scarlett O’Hara, and it’s paid off, but she’s completely wrong for this—far too strong and charismatic.’
‘That must have called for some careful diplomacy.’
‘It did, but David’s hoping to find something that they can work together on.’
‘Even so, I bet Larry will make things uncomfortable for a while. He’s much better when he’s getting his own way.’
‘Aren’t we all! You know him, then?’
‘Not very well, but our paths have crossed. He was in a play of mine—Bothwell in Queen of Scots.’
‘Yes, of course. I’d quite forgotten he was in that. How did you find him?’
‘Charming, if a little sure of his own opinions, and that was five years ago now. He’s had Wuthering Heights and an Oscar nomination since then, so I wouldn’t be surprised if all that brooding on Penistone Crag had turned his head.’
‘He does seem very well suited to moody scenes, both on and off camera. Personally, I rather got the impression that he was relieved to have some time apart from Vivien, but of course he can’t say that.’
‘So who has got the part?’ Josephine asked, curious to know who had triumphed.
‘Joan Fontaine.’ Alma made an expression of distaste.
‘You don’t approve?’
‘Not at all. She’s far too coy and simpering for me. I can’t stand the woman’s voice—it’s so irritating. I would have preferred Anne Baxter—she did a very touching screen test. She’s only sixteen, but she had a lovely, natural quality, and I think audiences would have adored her. Or Margaret Sullavan—she’s such an intelligent actress in whatever she does.’
‘Didn’t she play Mrs de Winter on the wireless?’
‘With Orson Welles, yes, but David is smitten with Joan, and so Joan we shall have. He thinks he can pull off the same coup with a wild card that he has for Gone with the Wind. Personally, I have my doubts.’
The only time that Josephine had seen Joan Fontaine’s acting was in a film with Fred Astaire, where she had been charmingly inept as his dancing partner. It was hardly a comparable role, but Fontaine had somehow managed the trick of being passive on the surface without ever coming across as a victim, and Josephine could see why Selznick might cast her as the shy, awkward second wife.
‘Still, at least it will give Hitch a chance to prove that he can build a performance.’ Alma sighed, unconsciously laying bare the ruthlessness of the film world. If Fontaine failed, it would be her own fault, and she would be pilloried for her lack of talent. If she was a success, it would be down to Hitchcock’s direction of her. Suddenly Josephine was glad to be a writer and out of harm’s way, even if it did mean relinquishing control over her work.
‘And Mrs Danvers?’ she asked. Manderley’s housekeeper, obsessively protective of de Winter’s first wife and determined to intimidate his second, was one of the most memorable things about the novel, and her portrayal was likely to make or break the film. Josephine had been casting her mind over the actresses she knew, wondering who could pull it off, but so far she had failed to come up with anyone. When Alma responded, she saw it instantly.
‘Judith Anderson. If you saw Macbeth at the Old Vic, you’ll know her, too—she and Larry were playing opposite each other.’
‘Yes, I remember. She was wonderful.’ Perhaps it was the role Josephine had seen her in, but Anderson gave the impression of being strong, formidable, and ruthless, and would be perfectly cast as Fontaine’s tormentor. Josephine listened as Alma reeled off a list of the other actors who were already hired, struck by how many of them were either British or had worked extensively in England. This might be Hitchcock’s first American film, but at least he would feel at home with the cast, and she wondered if that had been a deliberate strategy to give him the edge in any power struggles with producer and crew. ‘Perhaps it’s as well that the war has closed our theatres,’ she said. ‘It sounds like everyone’s over there.’
