Not Without You (25 page)

On the fourth night, dinner broke up earlier than usual. The party had begun to disperse anyway; there was an ungodly start the following day. I’d been sitting between Conrad and June, as ever, exchanging funny stories about our co-stars, swapping cigarettes, stealing sips from June’s unending supply of Gimlets, when Katie appeared, holding a telegram.

‘For you, Miss Noel,’ she said, smiling shyly. ‘Hope it’s good news!’

I snatched it from her and she looked surprised. I read it, my heart racing; any communication from the outside world seemed sinister, threatening to me.

I smiled, and let the telegram drop to the floor. ‘Oh, thank God,’ I heard myself say. I turned to Conrad, who was whispering something in Jerry’s ear. He sat upright.

‘Everything all right, Eve dear?’ he said.

‘Gilbert got the part!’ I said. ‘Oh, it’s such wonderful news!’

‘That’s great,’ said June. ‘Just great. He’ll be terrific. He sure can act, your husband. And no one deserves it more’n he does. Hey, Rudy! Another over here, please, my friend.’

‘What’s the good news?’ Jerry said, standing up to leave. I slid the telegram across to him and he peered down to read it. ‘That’s wonderful, Eve. You’ll miss him though, I guess?’

‘How so?’ I said.

Jerry was patting his jodhpurs for his key. ‘Three months’ shooting in the Nevada desert – I don’t envy him that, at least.’

‘Three
months
?’ I frowned; perhaps I’d got it wrong. ‘It can’t be for three months. He’ll be – that’s for ever.’

‘Didn’t he tell you?’ He took my silence as the answer he needed. ‘Sorry, kid. It’s a real long shoot. They train ’em up almost to pilot-level standard, that’s why. It’s gonna be as realistic as any battle. That’s the whole point of it.’ He shrugged. ‘I’d have loved to direct it, but Refford got there first, and I can’t say I’m sorry now. Lot of macho egos and a lot of guns and bombs – not quite my thing. Not any more.’

I was barely listening. Three months. Why hadn’t Gilbert said so? Perhaps he didn’t know. It was such a long time to be apart. I didn’t want it; these few weeks were long enough. I kept thinking, if we could spend more time together, living a quiet, cosy life, we’d find ways to bridge the gaps between us. Three months with Gilbert shooting a war movie in the desert wasn’t going to bring us any closer, was it?

And then I cursed myself, for being so damned selfish. He’d hardly had work the past few years, let alone a part worthy of him, and Earl Somers – the young idealistic peer who gets caught up in the hell of war – was perfect for Gilbert. Although I couldn’t help wondering, as I’d read the script, how they’d address the fact that Gilbert was nearer fifty than the twenty-four indicated on the list of characters.

‘Any reply?’ Katie said nervously.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Katie.’ I recovered myself. ‘Here.’ I scribbled my reply on the bottom of the form, and handed it back to her:
So pleased so proud give him all love his delighted wife
.

As I watched Katie trot back towards the hotel, I realised I meant it, too. I wanted to be a wife. I wanted to be consumed with love, to adore him the way he needed to be adored. I didn’t want this … this polite, careful existence in which the two of us seemed to tread so carefully, all the damn time, until Gilbert snapped, like he had the morning I left. I wasn’t this girl back in London; there I was messy and loud and I had a dreadful coral scarf knitted by Clarissa, with more holes in it than a fishing net. I had black hands from fingering the coal in the tiny flat, and I was thin and pale and ungainly and … full of something. Urgent, Miss Gauntly, my voice teacher had said. I didn’t feel urgent in Los Angeles. I felt … slightly dead. Silly thing to say, you can’t be slightly dead. But I did. As if little by little I were slowly shutting down.

‘One more drink to celebrate, honey?’ a voice said, and I looked up and saw June.

‘Sure,’ I nodded. Conrad got up to leave, putting a hand on each of our shoulders. ‘See you tomorrow, girls,’ he said, as June and I settled into our seats by the wide window ledge, staring out at the starry sky; the reflection of the fire in the leaded windows, the scent of summer blossoms floating in from outside.

‘You must be relieved, yes?’ June said. She gave me a quick, appraising stare.

‘I am,’ I said, closing my eyes briefly. ‘It’s wonderful. I’m going to miss him, though. It’ll be awfully difficult.’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. She stabbed at the quarter of lime in the bottom of her glass with a plastic cocktail stick. ‘They’re often better out of the way, you know. I mean, husbands.’

There was a little pause, and then she laughed, to show it was a joke, and I joined in with her, my laughter a little too loud.

We had a couple of drinks and talked about nothing, this and that. I walked back to my lodge under the almost-black sky, deep, deep blue pricked with thousands of stars.

As I fiddled with my key, I heard a sound in the bushes by the lodge ahead of mine, a groaning, then a rustling. I jumped, and tried not to scream, but a short, high gasp came out of my mouth. Two figures sprang up from the bench outside the door.

‘Conrad! Hello!’ I called, then stopped. ‘Oh, I—’

Conrad and Jerry were standing next to me, guilt written larger than life on their faces. Jerry’s hand was still on Conrad’s hip; I looked down, then saw what state Conrad was in, and turned away, giving a short wave, my cheeks burning.

‘Night,’ I called softly, not wanting anyone else to hear. ‘See – see you tomorrow.’

‘I—’ Conrad began, pulling away from Jerry and coming towards me. He looked horrified; Jerry hung his head, shaking it and muttering to himself. ‘Eve—’

I smiled at them both, shook my head. I wanted to say,
It’s fine, it’s no problem, your business not mine
, so I winked at them, but then I thought that might look too salacious, so I nodded again. ‘Bye, dears.’

Once inside I leaned against the door, smiling to myself. Jerry and Conrad! I wondered if this was an ongoing relationship, or whether I’d interrupted their first tryst, and ruined the start of something special. It made sense, the two of them together – why hadn’t I thought of it before? Though immediately following that, it struck me there was no way it could ever come to anything, not in Hollywood, especially not for Conrad, kind sweet Conrad. Unhooking my dress, and slipping off my heels, I put my dressing gown on, shivering slightly; it was several degrees cooler up here than in Los Angeles, and always chilly at night. I could hear the rush of the river below us, the crackle of the fire the maid laid in my room every evening. And waiting for me I had a new Georgette Heyer, wrapped in brown paper and sent over last week from England by the publishers, no less.

I sat at the dressing table and ran my fingers over my set of brushes, a wedding present from Gilbert: black ebony, my married initials –
E. N. T.
– inlaid with mother-of-pearl. I picked up the nearest brush and stared at my reflection in the three-way mirror as I started to brush my hair. My face stared back at me, three different angles. Eyes, tired blueish smudges underneath them. The eyebrows, perfectly shaped, the widow’s peak just a fraction off (it had to be retouched with black eyeliner every time my make-up was refreshed: the price of perfection). I was thinner than I had been, older, more sophisticated I suppose, but I didn’t know.

Then I looked away, because I hated having to look too long in mirrors. It made me wonder if I was looking at myself, or the wrong version of me. Sometimes Rose herself smiled back at me, and seemed about to speak. Sometimes I didn’t know myself and it made me feel strange, odd.

Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I brushed my hair with such viciousness my scalp tingled. Then I realised I could hear something else above the fire and the river below. There was a noise, a quiet tapping, so soft and subtle it didn’t make me jump, just eased gradually into my consciousness. I tightened the knot of my gown around my waist, and stood up. Which one of them would it be, come to beg my discretion? I opened the door with a ready smile.

A blast of sharp night air sent the flame in the grate shooting high, and sparks flew.

‘Don,’ I said, clutching onto the door.

I remember even now being utterly floored at the sight of him, his presence in front of me. He stood in the doorway, coat over his arm, suitcase in one hand. He raised his hat.

‘I’m sorry for the hour,’ he said. ‘I – listen, Rose. I wanted to apologise. And say goodbye. I’m going back to LA tonight.’

‘Now?’ I said.

He nodded. His jaw was black with day-old stubble. ‘Jerry loaned me his car. He’s a good guy, Jerry.’

‘He is,’ I said.

I watched him carefully. The lines under his eyes were etched into his skin like river through land. He looked so tired. So – beaten down. I knew he was sober. But I didn’t know what to say, and I still didn’t feel like making it easier on him.

‘Where have you been, these last few days?’ I said. ‘I thought you’d disappeared.’

He cleared his throat. ‘Cold turkey,’ he said. ‘Holed up in my room. Jerry threatened to throw the key away but it didn’t come to that. Not a drop of liquor since that night. It’s almost all gone.’ That explained the worn, strung-out appearance. I wondered how hard it had been.

‘Are you – all right?’ I said.

‘Jerry had them send me up food and leave it on the porch. I worked on a couple of new scenes. And when it got real bad, I’d pace around, and smoke, and howl at the moon, like the lone wolf I am.’ He shook his head and smiled. ‘So I’d like to think. No, Rose – I was an ass the other night,’ he said. ‘In fact, I’m an ass in general. I tried to write you, but it didn’t come out how I wanted it to.’ His smile was bitter. ‘I can’t say what I need to when I have to. You most of all. I’m a phoney. Anyway, I saw your light was on and I wanted to say sorry before I go.’

‘It’s fine,’ I said inadequately. ‘I just hate to see you like that, that’s all. I don’t know you.’

He gritted his teeth. ‘They want me to fail, and sometimes it’s easier to just give them what they want,’ he said. ‘But I’m not making excuses. It’s my weakness. I have no one to blame but myself, and I swear to you, I won’t ever touch another drop again.’

‘Swear it to yourself, not to me,’ I said.

Don ran his fingers over the felt of the hat in his hands. ‘I have you in my head as this symbol, Rose. A symbol of what I don’t deserve. And so seeing you is sometimes hard for me.’ His voice was low, cracked. ‘You have to understand this – I don’t ever want to cause you any harm. Or embarrassment. Or damage. To your beautiful gloves.’

He produced a new pair out of his coat pocket. I tutted in annoyance, my hands still clinging to the half-open door.

‘You didn’t need to do that,’ I said: ever a child of rationing, waste or duplication seemed so unnecessary to me. ‘Where on earth did you get them, Don? There’s nothing around here for miles.’

He smiled then, the edges of his eyes crinkling just a little. ‘I wanted to. It’s my penance. Goodbye, Rose. I have to go. It’s a long drive.’

He waggled the gloves in front of me. I reached out one hand and took them. He lifted his hat again, and turned away, and I closed the door again.

I sat back down at the table, and picked up the brush.
E. N. T
. I stared at it, at myself, in the mirror, and then I carried on brushing. But then suddenly I stood up, plucked the key from its hook, and raced out into the night. The wind was fierce, but the sky was still clear, a huge April moon golden in the black sky among the stars. I ran towards the main building, my hair flying behind me. I didn’t know what I would say. All I could hear, all I could feel, was the insistent
thud-thud-thud
of my heart beating.

He was climbing into the car, which was resting under a large, dark tree. I pulled him by the arm, and he closed the door. ‘Don’t go,’ I said. I put my finger to his lips. ‘Come back with me,’ and I took him by the hand back to my lodge, and we closed the door behind us.

Perhaps it was the air, perhaps it was the full moon. Perhaps it was something amongst us all, seeing Conrad and Jerry kissing. Perhaps I felt the normal rules didn’t apply. I don’t know. I only knew I loved this man. I couldn’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes; I had to hold him, be with him, make him smile. I didn’t know then how great the grip of his addiction was, and I wanted to try and make things better.

The glow of the fire warmed us as I took off my dressing gown; it slithered to the floor, and then my underthings, and I stood before him, our shadows leaping against the old photos on the wall, his silhouette incongruous with its trilby and coat, next to my nudity. I removed his clothes, piece by piece. I smoothed my hands over his tired, sweet, handsome, sad face, and then we climbed onto the bed, together, and held each other, totally naked, just feeling our skin meet, touch, against the crisp white sheets. He held me in his arms, and he was so warm, and he didn’t smell of anything but Don this time, just Don.

He held my head in his hands, staring at me, and then he kissed me, and as he did he gave a sigh, deep in his throat, like a moan. Then we kissed again, and started to touch each other, and I wanted to hold his hands, his body, every part of him. I felt I knew him so well already, yet hardly at all. I lay back against the pillows and he parted my legs, and touched me, kissing all of my body. I felt like crying; a wave of sadness that hit me, hard. He did too. We didn’t say anything. When he entered me, it felt as though it was the first time. Honestly and truthfully, as if I had never had anyone before, and I held onto him, as if clutching on for dear life. I felt dizzy, alive, terrified – and happy. The hair on his arms, on his chest, was dark; his skin was tanned and smooth to the touch. He moved inside me, and I pushed up to meet him, to feel him, as deep as I could. And feeling was so wonderful. Feeling something at last, falling, falling, falling. Don. Don, my Don.

We slept afterwards, and I woke once and moved onto his chest, so he held me through the rest of the night. The embers were barely alight. One log glowed, in the corner of the grate.