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after all, she obviously caught the cold when she was working for us.’

      ‘She says she sounds much worse than she feels, but personally I think she’s down with a bad bout of the ’flu.’

      ‘She is back in London, though? You reached her at the house here?’

      ‘Yes, and not to worry, old chap. I’m sure she’s being properly looked after. By the daily cleaning woman. A Mrs Moggs. It was she who answered the ’phone. Very reluctant to get Francesca out of bed. Sounded motherly and capable.’ Jerry rubbed his hand across his chin thoughtfully. ‘Poor kid, I’m sure she did get a chill up on those moors. Very bleak, and the weather was raw. Maybe I should send her a basket of fruit from Bellissima Productions. That would be a nice gesture, don’t you think?’

      ‘Good thought, Jer. Get one of those fancy, super-de luxe jobs from Harte’s in Knightsbridge. Now, did Jake tell you about the meeting this afternoon? I’d like you to be there, incidentally.’

      Jerry was flattered by this invitation and he smiled broadly and exclaimed, ‘He told me about the meeting, but not that you wanted me to come along. Delighted to do so, old chap. I was going out to the studios, but there’s no urgency about that trip. And incidentally, Victor, congratulations on signing Mark Pierce. To be honest, I never thought you’d get him. He’s a difficult bugger. In fact, I told Jake a few weeks ago that, in my opinion, you were barking up the wrong tree. Just goes to show, you never know in life.’ Jerry stared hard at Victor, his eyes narrowed, inquisitiveness flicking into them. ‘How the hell did you get him?’

      Victor smiled lazily. ‘I charmed him,’ he answered cryptically. How could he properly explain all the ramifications, and Hilary Pierce’s willing complicity in Katharine’s convoluted schemes and manipulations? And there was no question in Victor’s mind that Katharine had been extremely manipulative. However, she had achieved the desired results and he was disinclined to probe her modus operandi. Besides, she herself had been vague, even uncommunicative, except for saying that Hilary was the key, insisting that he sign Mark’s wife to do the clothes. Since Hilary Pierce was undeniably talented and enjoyed a fine reputation in the field of theatrical costume design, he had readily agreed. However, this long histoire would sound decidedly peculiar to an unimaginative and prosaic guy like Jerry Massingham, who was evidently more at ease dealing with columns of figures and budgets than people. Victor cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, Jerry, I missed that. What did you say?’

      ‘I was just wondering out loud what the meeting was about, and who’s coming.’

      ‘You, of course. Jake, Mark, and the casting director. We must make our final decisions today … about the overall casting,’ Victor said. ‘I’ve also asked Nicholas Latimer to sit in, since Mark might have some script questions. I want to get everything buttoned up today. You do know I’ve signed Terrence Ogden to play Edgar Linton?’

      ‘So Jake said, before you arrived. Terry’ll be good. I’ve always said he had real film potential. It’s a pity he’s only made one before, and that it was a flop. Perhaps that’s why he’s been less than eager to attempt another.’

      Both men turned their heads and glanced at the door, as Jake Watson, grinning hugely, hurried in, closing the door swiftly. He leaned against it, and it was obvious he could hardly contain himself. ‘I thought Hilly was going to keel over when I told him about getting a suite at Claridge’s, Victor. He’s scurrying around right now, trying to produce an additional office for us.’

      Victor’s mouth twitched. ‘Let’s hope it’s large enough.’

      Jake gaped at him. ‘Oh no, Victor! You wouldn’t!’ He began to laugh. ‘You wouldn’t dare refuse it, say it was too small, insist on the suite … Would you?’ Jake knew the answer almost before the question had left his mouth. He had worked with Victor on five pictures, and they were old friends. He was therefore more than acquainted with his sense of humour, his mischievous penchant for making the top brass squirm, especially those who were arbitrary and pompous, as Hilly was pre-disposed to be.

      ‘I just might,’ Victor’s black eyes were twinkling with mirth. ‘Give him a run for his money. He begged, literally begged for WH and he hasn’t stopped griping about the costs ever since. It would behove him to put his own house in order. Jesus, the waste here is unbelievable.’ Faintly, at the back of his mind, Victor heard an echo of Mike Lazarus’s words. That son of a bitch was right in many respects, he told himself, recalling the critical comments Lazarus had made about the motion picture industry. Victor looked at Jake. ‘But running the London offices of the Monarch Picture Corporation of America is Hilly’s problem not ours. Right?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I made a few notes when you were both out. I’d like to review a number of things with you before I leave.’

      For the next half an hour the three men discussed a variety of matters pertaining to the production and were able to come to several decisions, some only tentative, because Mark Pierce, as the director, would have to be consulted. Along with Victor, he would have the final word on major points. But they were able to cover most of the details regarding the second unit; review the credentials of various other set designers, as well as Harry Pendergast, whom they all agreed sounded the best; touch on appropriate composers for the musical score; also arrive at possible dates for the start of principal photography.

      As the discussion drew to its conclusion, Victor said, ‘Well, that’s about it. I think we’re pretty well prepared for this afternoon. Also, by then I’m hoping we’ll have a decision from Ossie Edwards. Mark has talked to him several times, and I think he’ll come with us. He’s the perfect cameraman for the picture, in my opinion.’ He stood up, stretching.

      Jerry said, ‘Yes, I agree. And he’ll be in his element in Yorkshire. He’s got a painter’s eye for landscapes.’

      ‘And beautiful women,’ Victor retorted.

      ‘Well, I’m going back to the hotel. I’ve a few things to take care of States-side.’ He paced across the room, paused to pick up his trenchcoat, flung it over his arm. ‘Claridge’s. At three. See ya, boys.’ He gave them a jaunty grin and left.

      When Victor stepped into the street, he saw, much to his relief, that it had finally stopped raining. He looked up and down, and spotted Gus leaning against the car, which was parked a short distance away. Gus straightened up when he saw Victor, rushed to open the door and asked, ‘Where to now, Guv?’

      ‘Back to Claridge’s. Thanks, Gus.’ Victor had one foot inside the car when he changed his mind. ‘No, on second thoughts, I think I’m going to walk back. I’d like some fresh air. I won’t be needing you until this evening, Gus. Why don’t you check in around four o’clock though, so I can tell you my plans.’

      ‘Right you are, Guvnor.’

      Victor stepped back, and as Gus pulled out and drove off he gazed admiringly at his new Bentley Continental drop-head coupé, a recent purchase. It had been expensive, he had to admit, but it was worth it, a gorgeous piece of machinery with its glazed claret finish, pale buff-coloured hood and white-wall tyres. And it was a dream to drive with its automatic gear shift and fluid fly wheel. Victor prided himself on two things: his impeccable taste in automobiles and his keen and discerning eye for thoroughbred horses. He preferred his cars and his horseflesh to be graceful, sleek and fast, and as smooth as velvet.

      Reaching Curzon Street, Victor turned left and headed towards Berkeley Square, intending to do a full circle around Mayfair before returning to the hotel. But he drew to a sharp halt when he passed the end of Chesterfield Street. Impulsively, he thought: Maybe I should drop in on Francesca, to check that she really is all right. No harm in that, surely. He turned smartly, retraced his steps and walked leisurely up the street, but as he approached the house he found himself increasing his pace. It had suddenly occurred to him that if he did stop by to see her, she would be annoyed, would regard it as an intrusion, a breach of etiquette. The English were so damned peculiar about certain things. He remembered Katharine’s constant mutterings about good form and bad form. To arrive on Francesca’s doorstep unannounced would most certainly be

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