She felt her hand caught in his bear-paw grip and murmured something polite, wondering uncomfortably why he kept studying her face, until he said abruptly, "You take after your mother, you know. Used to know her. She was a lovely thing."
Without giving her time to absorb the shock of that statement he swiveled his gaze to Harris. "Is it okay with you if we run a story oil her in Personalities? Cover story, of course. Get the jump on our competitors." He gave an unexpected bark of laughter.
"Didn't think you'd mind, so I told Jeff-where the hell is that son of a bitch?-to try to corner her sometime this evening. That all right with you, Anne Mallory?"
He was the kind of man who would ride roughshod over anyone in any case, Anne thought resentfully, even while she gave him the answer he had already taken for granted.
All this, once she had thankfully escaped Rufus Randall, turned out to be more introductions to more people.
Claudia del Antonini, wearing a daringly backless little nothing that clung intimately to her ample curves, was definitely hostile, although she did manage a polite grimace that was supposed to pass for a smile. Yves Pleydel, standing with his ex-wife, kissed Anne full on the lips and complimented her extravagantly, which did little to improve Claudia's mood.
Karim's uncle, the emir, wore an Arabian head cloth that looked incongruous with his European dress. He was a hawk-nosed, elegant-looking man who was nevertheless polite as he, too, kissed her hand, speaking to her in French, as Karim did. She felt his eyes assessing her all the same. Standing with him, Karim did nothing more than bow politely, even while he gave her a meaningful look that reminded her uncomfortably of her awakening.
It was a relief when the emir detained Harris and Anne was free to wander off on her own, after returning the apologetic squeeze Harris gave her hand.
In her present frame of mind Anne knew exactly where she was headed. To the bar that had been set up against one wall of the room. She had done a good job of acting a part this afternoon, and she deserved her reward for being a good girl.
"Fix me a martini, would you, Dave? Beefeaters-up. And hold the olive."
Webb wasn't here yet-thank God for that. She wasn't ready to face him. Damn him-damn him! She'd been a new amusement, a new tape to add to his collection and Carol's. She didn't want to see Carol again either. Imagining them listening together, laughing, making love against a background of his making love to her. Sick-there were worse words to describe Webb and what he was, and sometime she'd take pleasure in using them all on him-after she'd used him!
"Cheers. You're the first woman I've met who knows how to order a real martini."
For the first time Anne really noticed the man who had been leaning against the bar when she'd come up. A face that was somehow familiar. Florida tan under prematurely gray hair. Sideburns, twinkling blue eyes. She took a sip of her martini, considering him, and he put out his hand rather tentatively.
"I'm Harold Brightman. Have I been too bold?" "Oh, how nice! My new guru. I'm Anne Mallory, and need to be taught how to relax. Hasn't Harris told you?"
He had a friendly, puckish grin. And no reaction to her too-flip speech. "How nice to meet you! And you seem perfectly relaxed this afternoon. Harris only told me how happy he was at having discovered you. And a few other very complimentary things."
The martini tasted cold and good. Very good. Too short, though. She pushed the glass across the bar and Dave gave her a refill without comment, while she smiled at Dr. Brightman.
"Would it be talking shop if I told you I read your book and enjoyed it? My analyst, my old guru, Dr. Haldane, used to quote from it."
He looked pleased. "Well, I'm afraid I was gathering my courage up enough to talk shop and ask you how it felt to be a movie actress. I'm a hopeless movie fan, I'm afraid."
The second martini tasted better, and this time they laughed together.
"Seriously, I can't think why a charming, self-possessed young woman like you should need a-how did you put it?- a guru." Anne heard herself giggle. Oh dear, hadn't martinis always been her undoing? But what the hell!
She slid her glass back to Dave again, recklessly, and said lightly, "But you see, I drink too much at parties like this. And there's really a lot of tension inside me. I keep wondering if I'll ever be able to act. Being a model is another thing-it was almost a game, you know. I don't know anything about acting ... oh damn! Now I am talking shop, aren't I? I'm sorry."
He was leaning toward her attentively, not seeming to mind at all. In fact, he looked flattered. He was a kind man, Anne thought, and she wanted to pat his hand.
"What you're feeling is perfectly normal, of course, but if you really want to-"
"Anne, here you are! Hi, Hal, glad to find you've met each other." Harris, sounding fussy. Preparing to drag her off to meet more people she didn't really care if she met or not, and just when she had begun to enjoy herself.
"We were talking shop," she said. "Dr. Brightman is going to teach me how to relax-aren't you?"
"Of course I am, if you really feel you need it!"
"Well, I do!"
He smiled at her, raising his glass somewhat regretfully as Harris dragged her off to introduce her to yet another group of people.
IT WAS YVES PLEYDEL'S IDEA to start shooting a few scenes earlier than anticipated.
"It'll keep the crew busy," he explained apologetically, spreading his hands in an expansive gesture. "And it will perhaps provide some entertainment for our guests.
And you, ma petite Anne-you will gain some experience, oui? The scenes between Glory and her stepmother, in the very beginning-they will be easy, for there is very little dialogue that you will have to learn. You are playing a naive girl-young, shy-and it will be mainly 'Yes, madame,' and 'No, madame.' You are not on the stage, trying to project your voice, so you will keep it low and hesitant, you comprehend? La belle Sarah will help you. She is very kind, a great actress. We are lucky to have her."
Anne had to admit that it would give her something to do. She had hardly seen Harris for the past two days-he seemed preoccupied and back to his Harris Phelps, Producer, role. He spent most of his time closeted with Rufus Randall, Petrakis, and Karim's uncle. Business, he had explained to her soothingly. And thank goodness she wasn't supposed to entertain everyone else. They all seemed perfectly content to do their own thing-wandering around the island or driving into town. And Karim hadn't tried to force himself on her again, although whenever she saw him she could sense him watching her-and waiting, as he had promised. The only ones she had really got close to were Sarah Vesper and Dr. Brightman, and she had learned that the method of relaxation he advocated really did help, although she probably would never be as good at it as Sarah was.
In any case, when Yves made his suggestion at dinner, Anne was all for it. She had to get her feet wet sometime, hadn't she? And slashing across her mind was the thought that Webb hadn't turned up yet-she would much rather make her first mistakes without his watching eyes taking away her confidence.
More people were expected to join them. Sal Espinoza and his Anna-Maria-she of the magical hands and the arrogant voice that Anne still remembered with a sense of annoyance. And Jean Benedict, the singer, who was to playa bit part in the movie.
She wondered if Jimmy Markham would really turn up-remembering the way he and Carol had looked at each other on the last occasion she'd met him.
Harris had so many friends from so many different worlds. And I'm not cut out to be an international hostess, Anne thought ruefully. She supposed that the business of making movies, make-believe magic, fascinated everyone, no matter what walk of life they came from or how sophisticated they professed to be. Look at her. She was scared, and excited at the same time. The kid who wanted to be a movie star grown up.
"This is going to be very short, very easy," Yves said soothingly. "Sarah will help you.
Watch her-she will give you your cues. You have not much to say. Try to feel the part of the young woman you are portraying-so young, so reckless, and so innocent at the same time. A protected young woman who does not know much of the world, but is curious. Perhaps you understand the feeling? Forget the cameras, the lights, everyone who will be watching, including myself. You are a girl who is nicknamed Glory, and you are meeting your new stepmother for the first time. She is a stranger to you, but she is nice-quite young, too, in fact. Use whatever mannerisms you think a young girl would use under such circumstances. The downcast eyes, the nervous plucking at a fold in the skirt. Lose yourself in the person you are supposed to be, and if you feel awkward, diffident, shy-that is all right; that is how you are supposed to be!"
The set was an interior scene, for which they were using one of the spare bedrooms.
Anne tried to think of it as another modeling assignment. She had been through Costume (pins, uncomfortable stays that dug into her hips and breasts) and Makeup; she had submitted to Yves's studying her through the viewfinder he wore on a strap around his neck as if she were some strange insect.
But Yves had been very kind, very patient, once the scene had been set in exactly the way he wanted it. And Sarah, too -whispering to her comfortingly, "Just remember, dear, that all of us, in the beginning, started out with no experience at all!"
All she had to do was to pretend that Yves Pleydel was just another photographer telling her how she should stand or sit, what kind of expression he wanted her to wear. "Smile, Anne! Twirl around to make that gorgeous long skirt flare out over your ankles. Come on, you can do better than that! Try dreamy -wistful ..." And she was used to onlookers-the crowds who gathered to stare when she was modeling, say, in Trafalgar Square or balanced precariously on the edge of the fountain in Piccadilly Circus.
"Yes, madame," and "No, madame." If her voice sounded low and hesitant, the mike would pick it up anyhow.
It wasn't too hard after all; and when it was all over, Yves kissed her hand, his voice jubilant. "You see? I am never wrong in my predictions. Only two takes, and for a novice, that is exceptional! You are going to be magnificent, ma cherie. And tomorrow you will watch some of the others, so that when your turn comes again, you will be much more confident."
Sarah Vesper kissed her, too. "You were wonderful, Anne. And now that we've got that behind us, I think we could both use some refreshment, don't you?"
Harris, after giving her a preoccupied hug, went off with his friends again. All those meetings-it really seemed to be business and not entirely pleasure that had brought all those friends of his here. Anne decided to go along with Sarah and Dr. Brightman, who would help them both unwind, as Sarah put it. Better than trying to evade Karim, who had come up to whisper to her significantly that he could hardly wait for their scenes.
What had started out as a gray morning had turned into a sun-speckled afternoon.
Brightman chose a place where a large flat rock looked out over the Ocean.
Anne turned her back to the ocean, watching rather enviously as Sarah Vesper, slim and straight-backed in her blue denim slack suit, was able to sit cross-legged with no apparent effort. With her head thrown back and her hair knotted at the nape of her neck, she looked like a Buddha statue-a study in concentration. And all it took for Sarah was a few whispered words, Hal Brightman's hands touching her shoulder for an instant. With her eyes closed, the lines in her face seemed to smooth out almost miraculously until she looked like a young girl.
"How long does it take? I mean, it can't be as easy as it looks, can it?"
This was the first chance Anne had had since the evening they'd met to really talk to him alone-Sarah, lost in a trance, seemed not to be there at all.
He smiled deprecatingly. "That really depends on the subject. The willingness to let go and to absorb."
"But .. ."
He said gently, "I can help you, Anne, if you'll let me try. But there's a different technique for everyone, and in your case I'd like to begin by going back."
"Back? Back where?"
"You said something about a recurrent, frightening dream yesterday. And you must know that such dreams have a great deal of significance." He shrugged. "A dream of drowning-and you're very uneasy about this place, aren't you? Yet you were brought up here. Surely all the memories could not have been unhappy?" Before she could say anything he leaned forwards, his voice earnest. "Going back, Anne, simply means to go backwards in time-perhaps under hypnosis. And then, once you understand the traumas of childhood and the leftovers from other, previous lives, then you can understand as an adult. It'll be like a slate wiped clean-and all you write on it from then on will be the real, uncluttered you. Your present and your future will be controlled by you, with your new knowledge and understanding of yourself.
Meditation isn't easy. It needs strength of mind and concentration, and the strength has to come from within yourself. If there are barriers, there-"
"Is it okay if I join in? I just got in, and they told me you might be out here. Traveling always makes me so damn uptight."
The girl who sauntered up had a black mane of hair flying in the wind. Her fists were stuffed into the center pocket of a faded sweatshirt, her faded blue jeans were unhemmed and dirt-rimmed at the bottom, and they clung to her slim-hipped body.
"I'm Jean Benedict," she said simply as she dropped down easily into a lotus position, not waiting for Dr. Brightman to answer. "I've been into yoga for a long time, and I guess that's what kept me sane. But it always helps when there are other people you can touch minds with." Her shoulders lifted, unbound breasts straining against thin cotton. "They want me to do this short acting bit, you know. And suddenly I'm scared shitless. What the hell do I know about trying to be someone else, when all this time I've been trying to learn about being me? I don't know!"