The Angel Tree (21 page)

‘If you really feel you’re up to it, then I will, yes.’

‘As long as you swear to me that it will be everything. No holds barred. Only then will I be able to believe it
is
real, and not my imagination playing tricks on me. The whole
truth, please,’ Greta entreated. ‘It’s the only way.’

David wished he could have a whisky, but as it was only three o’clock in the afternoon he resisted. Greta must have sensed his reluctance, because she said, ‘And I know already that
some of it’s dreadful, so there’s no need for you to worry about shocking me.’

‘Okay, then.’ David capitulated with a sigh. ‘So you’ve said you remember coming to London. Do you also recall me getting Cheska an audition for her first
film?’

‘I do, yes. Go from there, David, because that’s where it all begins to get hazy . . .’

Cheska

London, June 1956

Sometimes Cheska would have a dream. It was always the same dream, and she would wake shaking with fear. The dream always took place in a big, dark wood with lots and lots of
tall trees. There was a little boy in the dream who looked just like her, and she played Hide and Seek with him through the trees. There was sometimes an older man there too, who always wanted to
hug the little boy but never her.

Then the dream would change and it would become night. The older man, whose breath smelt horrid, would force her to look inside a coffin at the little boy. The little boy’s face was white
and his lips were grey and she knew he was dead. The man would remove the boy’s clothes then turn to her, and the next thing she knew
she
was wearing the clothes. They smelt fusty
and a big spider would climb up the front of the jacket towards her face. Then there was a tap on her shoulder and she’d turn round and stare into the frozen eyes of the small boy, who seemed
to appear from the shadows of a small fir tree, his body shivering with cold as he reached out to her . . .

Cheska would wake up with a cry and reach out for the lamp that sat on her bedside cabinet. Switching it on, she’d sit upright, staring around at the familiar, cosy room, reassuring
herself that everything was exactly the same as when she had gone to sleep. She’d find Polly, who’d usually be on the floor by her bed, and hug her, her thumb going guiltily into her
mouth. Mummy kept telling her that if she continued with such a babyish habit her teeth would stick out and her career as a famous film star would be over.

The dream would eventually fade, and she would lie back on her pillows and stare at the pretty white lace canopy that hung above her. Her eyes would close and she’d drift back to
sleep.

She didn’t tell Mummy about the dream. She was sure Mummy would say she was being silly, that dead people couldn’t come back to life. But Cheska knew they could.

At the tender age of ten Cheska Hammond was one of the best-known faces in Britain. She had just completed her seventh film, and in the past three her name had been above the
title. Film reviewers had nicknamed her ‘The Angel’ early on in her career, and it had stuck. Her new picture was due to be released in four weeks’ time and Mummy had promised she
would buy her a white fur coat to wear to the premiere at the Odeon in Leicester Square.

Cheska knew she should enjoy the premieres of her films, but they scared her. There were always so many people outside the cinema when her car drew up and big men had to escort her inside very
quickly through the surging crowd. Once, a lady had grabbed her arm and tried to pull her away from her mother. She had been told later the lady had been taken away by the police.

Mummy was always telling her what a lucky girl she was: she had as much money as she’d ever need, a beautiful apartment in Mayfair and a mass of adoring, devoted fans. Cheska supposed she
was, but then she didn’t really know any different.

During the making of her last film,
Little Girl Lost
, which was set in an orphanage, Cheska had made friends with one of the children who played a minor role. The girl, Melody, spoke in
a funny accent and Cheska had listened in fascination as she told her about her brothers and sisters. She said she slept with her sister in the same bed because there wasn’t enough room for
separate ones in their small flat in East London. Melody told her of the naughty pranks her four brothers got up to and of the big family Christmases they had. Cheska listened, enthralled, thinking
of the elegant – but rather dull – festive lunches she and Mummy usually spent with Leon and Uncle David.

Melody introduced her to some of the other little girls and she discovered that they all went to stage school and had lessons together. It sounded like fun. Cheska herself had one crusty old
tutor called Mr Benny, who taught her as often as her filming commitments allowed. She’d sit with him in her dressing room at the studio or in the sitting room at home, writing out reams of
sums and learning dreary poems off by heart.

Melody gave her bubblegum, and they’d had a competition behind one of the scenery flats to see who could blow the biggest bubble. Cheska thought Melody was the nicest person she’d
ever met. She’d asked Mummy whether she too could go to stage school with the other children, but Mummy had said that she didn’t need to. Stage school taught you how to be a star and
she – Cheska – was one already.

Melody had asked her once if she’d like to come back for tea at her house. Cheska had been so excited, but Mummy had told her she couldn’t go. When she had asked why not her mother
had set her mouth in a hard line, the way she did when Cheska knew her mind was made up. She’d told her that film stars such as Cheska couldn’t make friends with common little extras
like Melody.

Cheska wasn’t sure what ‘common’ was, but she knew it was what she wanted to be when she grew up.

Melody’s time on the film set had ended and she had gone back to school. The pair had swapped addresses and promised to write to each other. Cheska had written numerous letters and given
them to Mummy to post but had never received a reply. She missed Melody. She was the first friend she’d ever had.

‘Come on, darling, time to wake up.’

Mummy’s voice broke into her dreams.

‘We’ve got a busy day today. Lunch with Leon at twelve, and then to Harrods to pick up your new coat. That’ll be fun, won’t it?’

‘Yes, Mummy.’ Cheska nodded half-heartedly.

‘Now.’ Her mother walked towards the large fitted wardrobe that took up an entire wall of her large bedroom. ‘Which dress would you like to wear to lunch?’

Cheska sighed. Lunches with Leon were long and boring. They always went to the Savoy and she had to sit quietly while Mummy and Leon discussed important business matters. She watched as her
mother opened her wardrobe door to reveal a selection of thirty party dresses, all handmade for her from the finest silk, organdie and taffeta and wrapped carefully in polythene. Her mother pulled
one out. ‘What about this? You haven’t worn it yet, and it’s so pretty.’

Cheska stared at the pink dress with its layers of net petticoat peeping out from underneath the skirt. She hated wearing these dresses. The net made her legs itch and left red marks round her
waist.

‘You’ve got a pair of pink satin slippers somewhere that will match beautifully.’ Greta laid the dress on Cheska’s bed and went back to the wardrobe to hunt for them.

Cheska closed her eyes and wondered what it would be like to have the whole day to herself to play. The exquisite doll’s house with its beautifully carved wooden family sat on the floor of
her room, but she never seemed to have a moment to enjoy it. When she was making a film she was driven to the studio at six o’clock in the morning and they would rarely arrive home before
half past six at night, when it was time for tea and a bath. After that, Cheska had to finish her homework, then practise her lines with Mummy so she was word perfect the next day. Mummy had said
it was the gravest sin to forget a line on a take and, so far, Cheska had never ‘dried’, as so many of the adult actors did.

‘Chop, chop, young lady! Your porridge will get cold.’

Greta pulled back Cheska’s bedcovers, and the girl swung her legs over the side of the mattress. She put her arms inside the dressing gown her mother was holding out for her and followed
her from the room.

Cheska sat at her usual place at the large, polished table in a corner of the sitting room and surveyed the bowl of porridge in front of her.

‘Do I have to eat this, Mummy? You know I hate it. Melody says her mother never makes her have breakfast and . . .’

‘Honestly,’ said Greta, sitting down opposite her daughter. ‘All I ever hear is “Melody this” and “Melody that”. And yes, you do have to eat your
porridge. With your busy life, it’s important you start off the day on a full stomach.’

‘But it’s yucky!’ Cheska stirred her spoon in the thick mixture, picked up a dollop and let it drop back into the bowl. It splashed onto the table.

‘Stop that, young lady! You’re behaving like a little madam. You’re not such a star that I can’t put you over my knee and give you a good hiding. Now eat!’

Cheska sullenly spooned the porridge into her mouth.

‘I’ve finished,’ she said after a while. ‘May I please get down now?’

‘Go and get dressed and I’ll be along shortly to brush your hair.’

‘Yes, Mummy.’

Greta watched as her daughter stood up and walked out of the room. She smiled benevolently at the receding figure. Apart from the odd small tantrum, which was only to be expected from a growing
girl, Cheska really did behave like an angel. Greta was sure her impeccable manners and politeness had helped in her climb to the fame she now had.

Cheska was a star because she had a beautiful, photogenic face and talent as an actress but also because Greta had instilled in her that she must be one hundred per cent disciplined and
professional when she worked. It might have been Cheska’s money that had bought their large, beautifully furnished Mayfair apartment and wardrobes full of clothes, but it was Greta who had
guided and shaped her daughter’s career. At first she’d had to steel herself to be more assertive when she met with studio executives or directors but, driven on by fear of going back
to the life they’d led before, she’d learnt quickly. On the whole she’d surprised herself at how well she’d adapted to her role as Cheska’s manager.

It was Greta who had taken the decisions on which scripts she should accept, knowing the kind of film that would show her daughter to the best advantage, and her instincts had always been proved
right. She’d also become adept at getting the best financial deal. She’d ask Leon to go back for more money, saying she wasn’t prepared to sign the contract on Cheska’s
behalf unless the studio offered what she wanted. A tense few days would follow, but the studio would eventually agree. Cheska was an asset they wanted to keep at any cost, and Greta knew it.

Her hard bargaining had made her daughter extremely wealthy. They lived very well and were able to buy whatever took their fancy, although they didn’t spend anywhere near as much as Cheska
earned. Greta had carefully invested the rest of Cheska’s money for her daughter’s future.

Greta’s difficult past was now a distant memory. She had dedicated her life to Cheska’s career, and if she’d toughened up in the process, was that such a bad thing? At least
people no longer ignored her, or walked all over her, as they used to. She still experienced private moments of doubt and regret about the lonely path her personal life had taken, but to the
outside world she was now a force to be reckoned with. She controlled one of the hottest properties on the British movie scene. She was the mother of ‘The Angel’.

Occasionally, Greta would wrestle with a stab of guilt when David asked her if she thought Cheska was happy. She would become defensive and tell him that of course she was. What little girl
wouldn’t be, with the amount of attention and adulation she received? After all, wasn’t David a big star, too, and hadn’t he enjoyed achieving his goal? David would nod his head
slowly and apologise for questioning her judgement.

Greta picked up a movie magazine from the table and flicked through the pages until she reached the large advertisement for
Little Girl Lost
. She smiled as she looked at her
daughter’s vulnerable face. In the picture she was clutching a threadbare teddy and dressed in rags. Yes, this would bring them in by the droves. Which reminded her: she had a meeting later
on with Mrs Stevens, who ran Cheska’s fan club. They had to decide which still they would use from the new film to send out to her army of fans.

Greta shut the magazine with a sigh. No wonder there had been no men in her life for such a long time. Even if she’d wanted it to be different, organising the schedule of a famous movie
star was a full-time job and then some.

Cheska was her life, and there was no going back now.

David was up at the crack of dawn. No matter when he went to bed, which, once he’d wound down after a performance, could be extremely late, he always woke up on the dot
of six thirty.