Bryony Bell's Star Turn (5 page)

‘“When You Wish Upon A Star”…' she repeated. ‘That is it! Now all I need to do is get Angelina on my side, and we're in business.'

Being careful not to slip, Bryony threw her head back and performed a sedate but triumphant pirouette. As she spun, she picked out one star that was brighter than all the others and when she had stopped spinning she stared hard at it, crossed her fingers, and muttered something to herself.

And as Bryony made her wish she could have sworn that the star sprouted a tail, then shot off to make the wish come true.

‘Breakfast with the Bells, opening titles, take
one
!'

Trish banged her clapperboard and everyone sat nervously at the breakfast table, waiting while the theme music played. As it faded, Trish signalled them to begin.

‘Forget the cameras,' she had told them beforehand. ‘What we want is normal chat, OK?'

The cameras began to roll. An uneasy silence descended. Then everyone began to speak at once. Only Bryony and Angelina, on opposite sides of the table, and with a wall of cereal packets between them, said nothing.

‘Can't wait to see Bryony and Angelina in the Nativity play, can you, Melissa?' Melody said, with a winning smile at camera one.

‘Absolutely, Melody,' Melissa replied, giving her a nudge under the table. ‘I'll bet Bryony's a beautiful Virgin Mary!'

‘Though you can't help thinking, can you,' Melody went on, ‘that it'd be better if Angelina was Mary, because Angelina can
act
…'

‘But of course Bryony can't be the angel, can she,' they chorused, pressing their identical heads together so they fused in a mass of gel, ‘because Bryony
can't sing
!'

They stared expectantly from Bryony to Angelina, hoping for a reaction. Angelina pursed her lips into a magnificent pout, took a swipe at her boiled egg, decapitated it, and plunged her spoon in. A volcano of egg yolk erupted, and she glared down at the flow.

Miserably, Bryony squeezed the milk out of her sodden cornflakes with the back of her spoon. She was aware that camera two was looming, waiting for a close-up on another Angelina-Bryony mega-row. But Angelina, her cheeks glowing red with pent-up fury, refused to rise to Melody and Melissa's bait. The tension in the air could have sliced through a hard-boiled egg.

Suddenly Bryony stood up and held one finger in the air. Staring straight at Angelina, she spoke. ‘As a matter of fact,' she announced dramatically, ‘
Angelina and I
have come up with a fantastically fabulous, humungously heavenly plan that's going to launch Mrs Quigg's Nativity play into the stratosphere.'

She paused dramatically, and Trish signalled to camera one to move in for a close-up.

Angelina's egg spoon landed in the middle of the yellow lava pool. Melody and Melissa dropped their marmaladen toasts sticky-side-down. Emmy-Lou's jaw dropped so far it landed in her Krispy Kubes. Little Bob, who had been about to hammer the top back on the honey jar, stopped mid-swing, and Big Bob, who had maintained a dignified silence till now, muttered, ‘That's my girl!' under his breath.

Only Clarissa kept her cool. ‘Really, Bryony?' she said. ‘And what would that plan be?'

‘Top secret I'm afraid, Mum,' Bryony said mysteriously. ‘Let's just say that this year there's going to be more Christmas surprises than usual.'

She leaned across the table and carefully parted Angelina's braids. Then she put her nose as near to her sister's as she dared. ‘What do you say, Angelina?'

All the Bells watched in suspense. For a few long moments, Angelina said nothing. Then, slowly, her pout began to disappear and very quietly she repeated: ‘A fantastically fabulous, humungously heavenly plan?'

Bryony backed off a little and nodded.

‘You want
me
to help you with a fantastically fabulous, humungously heavenly plan?' Angelina asked again, blushing furiously.

‘You betcha, Angelina,' Bryony replied. ‘Can't think of anyone better.'

Rather tentatively, Angelina rose from her seat. Only the soft
whirr
of camera one's close-up lens broke the silence.

‘And there's absolutely no hypnotism involved?' she said cautiously.

‘Absolutely, positively none,' Bryony assured her. ‘But, with our combined talents, the result will be truly mesmerising.' And she held out her hand to her sister across the great cereal divide.

As if in a daze, Angelina leaned over and gave it a shy shake.

‘Partners?' Bryony asked softly.

‘Probably,' Angelina answered. ‘Once I've heard the plan,' she added, not unreasonably.

Everyone took in a deep breath as Bryony pressed her lips close to Angelina's ear and whispered. In silent suspense they watched a tiny smile appear on Angelina's lips, and as the smile grew wider and wider and she nodded her head more and more enthusiastically, a huge sigh of relief filled the kitchen.

‘Well!' breathed Clarissa as she scraped the egg yolk off Little Bob's forehead. ‘Could this be Peace on Earth at last?'

Camera one panned out and swung to face Trish, who was scribbling on her clipboard and practically drooling with delight. ‘Wow!' she gasped at the great British public. ‘What
can
this fantastically fabulous, humungously heavenly plan be, I hear you ask? Only time will tell. But now,' she announced as she pushed the toaster
aside to reveal a monitor screen, ‘it's time for the very first Star Interview, which I filmed yesterday on location at the beautiful home of Dr and Mrs Ashraf.'

She turned to face the monitor. ‘Here he is,' she went on dramatically, ‘the
inexplicable
…

‘…the
incomparable
…

‘…the
utterly hypnotic
Ken Undrum, Man of Mystery!'

A series of bright-pink concentric circles whirled round the monitor screen and high-pitched, unearthly music played. Then, one by one, the circles disappeared, the music faded, and Ken Undrum came into focus.

The scene was Abid's conservatory. Steam swirled round Ken, who sat surrounded by tinsel-decorated palm trees, wearing a white suit with a red carnation in the buttonhole. He was sipping a bright-turquoise cocktail, and his red moustache had been waxed into points for the occasion. On his knee sat three white rabbits, one of which was delicately nibbling the carnation.

‘Look!' Bryony whispered to Angelina. ‘It's Lily!'

The camera switched to Trish, who was also looking exotic in a red sequined dress and matching beaded skullcap.

‘Welcome, Ken,' she said. ‘We're honoured to have you at our first Breakfast with the Bells Star Interview!'

Ken took a sip of his cocktail. ‘Delighted, dear lady, I'm sure,' he smiled, as he dabbed his moustache with a pink silk handkerchief. ‘Fire away.'

And the interview took off. Ken reminisced about his glory days on Broadway, describing vividly the spectacular illusions he and The Great Ronaldo had performed and, to Bryony's relief, he was careful not to mention hypnotism. Then the camera turned back to Trish.

‘Broadway is certainly beckoning again, Ken,' she said earnestly. ‘But I believe you have a very special reason for being back here in England?'

Beads of perspiration glistened on Ken's forehead. ‘Indeed, Trish,' he nodded. ‘For although my career is once more at its height…' he paused, picked up Lily, and kissed her pink nose, ‘…you see here before you a haunted man.'

‘Do go on,' breathed Trish.

In answer, Ken stood up, closed his eyes and began to sing, and as the strains of the now-familiar song filled the kitchen, Bryony walked round to squeeze into Angelina's chair and
clutch her arm. And, hidden from all cameras and prying eyes, Angelina clutched Bryony's arm too.

‘
When you wish upon a star
,' Ken sang in his rich baritone voice.

‘
Makes no difference who you are
When you wish upon a star
Your dream comes true…
'

Then he stopped, opened his eyes, and turned a tear-moist face to the camera.

‘But alas,' he said, simply and sadly, ‘my wish remains but a dream.'

There was a short silence. The screen became hazy, and in the background violins discreetly took up the melody of Ken's song.

Misty-eyed, Ken turned to camera and from his breast pocket he withdrew the little picture in its gold, heart-shaped frame. The faded image slowly expanded to fill the screen.

‘It was on an evening like this, many, many years ago,' Ken said in dream-like tones, ‘that I first set eyes on the woman who was to steal my heart forever. I was a young magician, just starting to make my name on the Broadway
stage, and she…' he paused, overcome with emotion, and took a sip of his cocktail before continuing, ‘…she was Cornelia Merryweather,' he said at last. ‘The English Nightingale.'

Bryony dug her nails so hard into Angelina's arm that Angelina winced.

‘And that was her song.' Ken clutched Lily tightly to his breast. ‘She was standing on a balcony above a rose garden, her Titian red hair glinting in the moonlight, singing in her sweet, liquid voice. Even the stars seemed to be
listening. And…' he breathed finally, ‘…she broke my heart forever.'

‘So…' Trish said carefully, ‘…things didn't work out?'

Ken's whole body was racked by a great sigh. ‘Cornelia was as beautiful and as fragile as an English rose,' he said, replacing the picture in his pocket. ‘But alas, not mine to pluck.'

‘She was promised to another?'

Ken nodded into his glass. ‘Engaged to an English banker,' he said sorrowfully. ‘A much safer investment than a Man of Mystery. I wished upon a star that night,' he concluded softly, ‘but the wish never came true.'

Angelina pressed her mouth close to Bryony's ear. ‘But Mrs Quigg's name's Nell,' she hissed. ‘I heard Mrs Ogilvie call her that.'

‘It
has
to be her,' Bryony hissed back. ‘The hair, the Nightingale, the song – you bet your life, Angelina. Mrs Quigg is Mr Undrum's lost sweetheart, or my name's not Bryony Bell.'

The monitor screen was fading back to the pattern of concentric circles, and a full orchestra had taken up the ‘When You Wish Upon A Star' music. Bryony and Angelina whispered excitedly together as Trish brought the show to a close.

‘But what about
Mr
Quigg?' Angelina said. ‘Mr Undrum's got no chance if he's still around.'

‘You've got a point there,' Bryony said thoughtfully. ‘We need to find out if he's still on the scene before we spill the beans.
And
we need to be certain we've got the right Nightingale…'

The cameras pulled away for the final long shot of the waving Bells. The closing credits rolled, and Trish skipped delightedly round the table, hugging everyone in sight and telling them how absolutely fabulous they'd all been.

Bryony waved as enthusiastically as she could, but she was twitching with impatience. She couldn't wait to see Abid.

‘You don't suppose Mrs Quigg watches breakast TV?' Angelina whispered.

‘We'll know soon enough,' Bryony whispered back. ‘Though somehow Mrs Quigg doesn't strike me as the breakfast-TV type.'

When the final tearful hug had been given, a very emotional Clarissa peeled herself away from Trish and shepherded the little 'uns off to get ready for school. ‘So what
is
this Christmas surprise, Bryony?' she asked as she passed. ‘We're all dying to know.'

But Bryony and Angelina shook their heads in unison. ‘You'll have to wait till the Nativity play to find out,' Angelina said.

‘We'll give you a clue though,' added Bryony tantalisingly. ‘It's something
you
usually do!'

Clarissa considered this. ‘Not going to sing ‘Big Spender' in gold lamé frocks, are you?' she said at last.

But Bryony and Angelina only smiled mysteriously and shook their heads again.