Fear In The Sunlight Part 4

'Pleased to see you.'

'Are you? I thought with all the work you'd put into avoiding it that you might not be.' Her voice was gentle, the words a genuine question rather than any sort of reproach.

'It's not that I didn't want to see you. I just thought it would be better to wait a bit, that if we saw each other too soon . . .'

'I might not be able to control myself?'

Josephine flushed. 'No, of course not. I only meant that you and Lydia needed time to sort yourselves out, find out how you feel.' She stopped and bit her lip before she found something even more patronising to say. This wasn't what she had intended, and she wondered what had happened to the wise, funny, eloquent woman who had held so many imaginary conversations with Marta since they had last seen each other. She tried to think of all the things she had wanted to say, but the reality of Marta unsettled her more than ever and her mind was completely blank. In the end, all she could manage was a simple confession. 'I ran away,' she admitted. 'I'm sorry.'

She had expected Marta to press the point further, but she only nodded. 'And how has your birthday been so far?'

The abrupt change of subject floored Josephine. She had taken it for granted that, left alone, they would discuss their relationship and its future a if it had a future a but she realised now that her constant reliance on Marta to articulate feelings for both of them was childish and unfair. For the first time, it occurred to her that of all the obstacles she had placed in their way a Lydia, Archie, family commitments and physical distance a the hardest to overcome was her own selfishness. Livid with herself, she tried to find a way back, but it was too late: the moment had been missed, and they talked about Portmeirion until Archie and Lydia returned with the drinks.

9.

David Franks ran lightly down the steps of the Bell Tower and emerged into the daylight, excited at the prospect of what the weekend held. The sun streaked the cobbles of Battery Square, and there were still plenty of visitors milling around at the outer limits of the village, making the most of their day before the curfew struck and they were shown politely back through the gates, leaving Portmeirion to its nocturnal guests. The character of the place changed completely after seven thirty, he had noticed: as everyone gravitated to the hotel for drinks and dinner, the village became a ghost of its daytime self, its illusions at once more rewarding and more unsettling. Without people to bring it to life, Portmeirion's essentially artificial nature was somehow exposed. Last night, returning to his suite in Government House, he had sat for a long time on a bench in the Piazza, enjoying the peace; it was exactly like being the last person left on a film set at the end of a day's shoot a so much so that, when he finally got up to go to bed, he almost felt that he should turn out the lights.

Now, he leant against one of the small cannons which had been placed in the square to justify its name, and squinted back up at the tower he had just left, admiring the way in which its architectural detail had been deliberately scaled down to make the building appear larger than it really was. There were several examples of this sort of forced perspective all over Portmeirion, and David a whose job it was to create illusions on screen a had a grudging respect for the man who managed it so successfully without the help of a camera. It was an achievement that he would have been proud to call his own had things been different.

He looked at his watch to make sure that the Bell Tower's clock was reliable: no one with any sense was late for an appointment with Alfred Hitchc.o.c.k. He had ten minutes to wait, so he took a carefully timed stroll round the gardens and tennis court, and knocked on the door to the Watch House exactly as the mechanism on the old turret clock kicked into life. When he saw that Hitch was on the telephone, he offered to wait outside, but the director shook his head and waved him in, so David retreated discreetly to the balcony. There was no ethical decision to be made over whether or not to eavesdrop: Hitch's distinctive voice a gruff and deadpan, still faithful to its East London origins a carried easily across the small room, and he made no attempt to hide his part of the conversation.

'I'm not denying it's a generous offer,' he said, with a strained patience which suggested that the discussion had been proceeding along the same lines for some time. 'I'm merely pointing out to you that until I've completed the films I'm contracted to make for Gaumont British, I'm not in a position to consider any offer, generous or not. Forty thousand dollars a picture or four a it makes no difference.'

He fell silent again, and David waited for the next skilful deflection. Hitch turned down at least three offers a month from Hollywood, but there was a growing speculation among those closest to him that it was only a matter of time before he jumped a speculation, and an accompanying disquiet, as the people who relied on Hitchc.o.c.k's career for their own jockeyed with varying degrees of subtlety for a position in the new empire. There were no guarantees, but David was reasonably confident that, after ten years of working for Hitch and Alma, first as production designer and most recently as a.s.sistant director, there would be a role for him in the Hitchc.o.c.k creative circle for as long as he wanted one.

'What do you mean he's going? He hasn't said anything to me.' There was a new tone in Hitch's responses and David listened with more interest, wondering who had been reckless enough to plan a future behind the director's back. He leant over the balcony and scanned the quayside below. Two or three bathers were by the hotel pool, but more seemed to favour the small, sheltered coves which punctuated the sh.o.r.eline; a couple of parties had found the energy to take out one of the rowing boats kept for idling along the coast, but most people seemed content to relax on the terraces. He picked up a pair of binoculars which was lying on the red brick and looked across to the island in the middle of the estuary, holding the gla.s.ses first in one hand and then in the other so that the scorching metal did not have time to burn his skin.

'Did you know that Selznick was trying to persuade Jack Spence to move to Hollywood?'

It took David a moment to realise that Hitchc.o.c.k was talking to him. 'What? No, sir, I didn't.' It was only a half-lie. Spence hadn't actually said anything to him but they worked together closely enough for David to know that the cameraman had grown restless recently, and he was far too good for any of the major studios to baulk at exploiting that restlessness. Like David, Spence had arrived on the scene at a time when Hitchc.o.c.k was just beginning to carry enough clout to make his own decisions about who worked with him, and director and cameraman had quickly developed a mutual respect. Now, that partnership seemed about to dissolve into bitter recriminations, with David caught in the middle. He admired Hitch and Alma tremendously and had learnt a great deal from both of them, inspired as much by their diligence, enthusiasm and professional courtesy as by their creativity. Even so, his liking for the couple could not blind him to a certain arrogance in the a.s.sumptions they made. Spence was a free man, not particularly ambitious but proud of his work and with no ties to hold him down; why shouldn't he try his luck in Hollywood?

There had been a long silence and Hitch was clearly expecting him to say something. 'Perhaps it's just a rumour,' he suggested, falling easily into his habitual role as studio peacemaker. 'If Hollywood can convince you that enough of your people are on the brink of leaving, perhaps they think that will encourage you to jump as well.'

He spoke persuasivelya but Hitchc.o.c.k looked unconvinced. Spence's timing was unfortunate: only a couple of weeks ago, Charles Bennett a another of the director's closest collaborators, who had worked on every script with him since The Man Who Knew Too Much a had announced his decision to go to America after one more film. To the director, it must have felt like the end of an era, as the people he trusted conspired to hasten a decision he wasn't yet ready to make. 'And what about you, Mr Franks?' he asked. 'Are you still happy with us?'

'Yes, of course,' David said truthfully. 'I'm not saying I wouldn't like to make a film of my own one day, but I've still got a lot to learn.'

Hitchc.o.c.k nodded thoughtfully. 'What about the future, though? A little bird told me recently that you might draw the line at going back to America as part of your education.'

David looked up sharply. 'Who told you that?'

'Bella Hutton. Is she wrong?'

'Yes, she is. I haven't discussed my plans with her and she has no idea what's in my mind.' He made an effort to keep the anger out of his voice, but it was only partially successful. 'I'm grateful to Bella for everything she's done. She had faith in me at a time when my life could have gone in a very different direction, but these days I stand on my own feet and make my own decisions. That might be hard for her to accepta and I know she has unhappy memories of America, but they're her memories, not mine.'

'It was quite a surprise to see Bella, actually, but it plays into our hands that she's here. There's certainly no love lost between her and Mr Turnbull. Has the star of our weekend arrived yet?'

'Yes, he checked in an hour ago and he's been in the bar ever since, so we'd better catch him while he's still sober enough to listen. Do you want to brief him, or shall I?'

'Oh you do it. I can't bear the man.' Hitchc.o.c.k poured them both a drink and pa.s.sed David's over. 'So a run through it all with me.'

'All right, but we'll have to go outside.' They walked out onto the lawn, and David wondered how Hitch could bear to make so few concessions to the weather; true, he had removed his jacket but he was still wearing a starched white shirt and navy-blue trousers, and just looking at his tie made David's short sleeves and wide flannels feel heavy and claustrophobic. 'You see why we can't use the roof,' he said, pointing out the distance between the Bell Tower and the Watch House. 'The trajectory simply wouldn't work. No one would believe it.'

Hitchc.o.c.k nodded reluctantly. 'And it would have made such a nice scene.' He pouted, and wiped away a mock tear. 'Where do you suggest Mr Turnbull's body should land, then?'

'Over here on the gravel. Apart from anything else, it'll be easier for people to see him a those who follow us up from the hotel.'

'You'll be there to stop them getting too close, though? We don't want anyone to know it's a gag until we've had our fun.'

'Of course. It'll be easy to cut them off at the gate by the Bell Tower. Except for the steps up from the terrace, it's the only entry point to this courtyard. No one will be able to see that his bruised and broken body is neither bruised nor broken.'

Hitchc.o.c.k looked sceptical. 'Unless the idiot moves.'

'I think the amount you're paying him to lie still will do the trick.'

'Good. I'll gather everyone together on the terrace at around midday. Mr Turnbull will be in the Bell Tower by then?'

'Absolutely. If he stands on the fourth level a under the bell, where the brick changes to stone, see?' Hitchc.o.c.k nodded. 'If he stands there and leans out a little, he can be easily spotted from the front of the hotel, and he can see you. All you need to do is draw attention to him a couple of times to make sure everyone knows he's up there.'

'That's easy enough.'

'Then we need to make everyone believe that he's jumped. When you're ready, give Turnbull the signal.'

'Which is?'

'Oh, something simple that's plain enough for him not to miss. Why not just stand up? That's ordinary, but there's no mistaking it from a distance and it will tell him it's time to make his way down the steps and take his position outside. When you see he's gone from the balcony and you're sure everyone's looking at you, just tell them what you want them to believe. By the time we get up there, it'll look as if everything's happened exactly as you said.'

'Turnbull will be there by then?'

'Yes, I've timed it. It takes two minutes to get up here from the hotel, plus an extra few seconds for the shock to register with everyone. Turnbull will be able to get down those steps easily in that time, even if he's had a couple of drinks. And the other advantage of having his body on the gravel is that no one will see him getting into position. It's a blind spot from anywhere but here.'

'Splendid. You've thought of everything.' Pleased, he slapped David affectionately on the shoulder and turned to go back inside. 'It's his most appropriate role yet, don't you think? Whoever would have imagined that Leyton Turnbull would stage such a dramatic comeback so late in his career? Bella will be livid. She's worked so hard to destroy him.' He glanced at David, trying to gauge his reaction, but David pretended not to notice; he was determined not to lose his composure again. 'And there'll be a full supporting cast for dinner?' Hitchc.o.c.k asked, when he saw that David wasn't going to rise to the bait.

'Oh yes. Everyone's here now.'

'Excellent.'

'At least, everyone I know about.' Just because David was party to most of the director's jokes, it didn't rule out the possibility that there would be a little surprise or two planned for him over the weekend: Hitch was nothing if not egalitarian in his manipulation of people's lives. The director raised an eyebrow and smiled, but gave nothing more away. 'You haven't said anything about what you intend to do afterwards,' David said as they walked back across the gra.s.s towards the Watch House.

'Sit back and watch, Mr Franks. Sit back and watch.'

'But what do you hope to get out of all this? It's a lot of trouble to go to for a gag.'

'Call it an experiment in guilt and fear. Put simply, I want to know how people will behave when they think a man's death might be their fault.'

It was always a mistake to second-guess. .h.i.tchc.o.c.k's motivations, but his reply genuinely surprised David. 'Why would they think that?' he asked.

'Because by the time Mr Turnbull goes to bed, he'll have been insulted, humiliated or threatened by everyone around that dinner table.'

'You can't rely on that, surely? Astrid Lake doesn't seem the type to bully anyone. Spence wouldn't think he was important enough to make the effort, and even Bella . . .'

'Yes?'

'I know she loathes him, but squabbling over a dinner table is a bit beneath her.'

'Is it? We'll see. And I'm touched by your faith in human restraint, but I'm afraid I don't share it.' He gave David a wry smile, and there was a flicker of challenge in his eyes as he sat back down under the shade of the loggia roof. 'Perhaps we should have our own little bet? That drawing you admired last time you came to dinner in Cromwell Road a the Sickert that's hanging in the hall.' David nodded. Art was. .h.i.tchc.o.c.k's most expensive indulgence, and he had an enviable collection of paintings, drawings and sculpture a bought, as a rule, to celebrate the success of a particular film. 'If anyone shows the sort of self-control you credit them with tonight, the picture's yours.' He held out his hand to shake on the wager. 'Alma is exempt from the agreement, of course. A gentleman should never bet on his wife.'

'It's too easy, sir. All I have to do to win is keep my mouth shut.'

'But you won't.'

He spoke with a confidence that disarmed David. 'What do you want from me if I lose?' he asked cautiously.

'Whatever you choose to give. That's for you to decide.'

David accepted the gamble but felt strangely apprehensive as he stood to leave. 'I'd better go and find Turnbull,' he said, picking his keys up from the table. 'Just to make sure he knows what he's doing.'

'Take this with you.' Hitchc.o.c.k collected a book from the bed and threw it over to him. It was a proof copy and there was no cover ill.u.s.tration to indicate what it might be about, but David glanced through the opening pages, intrigued by its unusual t.i.tle. 'A little holiday reading for you a it looks like this will be our next project if the Madame gets her own way.' They exchanged a glance that suggested she usually did. 'You'll see it opens with a death. I've been thinking while I was sitting on the balconya we could even do that scene here. The tide goes out so quickly once it starts. Imagine the water receding to reveal a body lying on the beach, a woman in a swimming costume, her white bathing cap picked out in the sun. There's a belt next to her, curling snakelike in the sand as the last of the water drains away a and we know immediately that it's been used to strangle her.' David looked out across the estuary, and the image was as clear to him as if he were looking at a photograph. 'Two girls come out of the hotel, dressed for an early-morning walk across to the island. It's the perfect day a carefree, hopeful, innocent. Then they spot the body, seagulls circling overhead. They open their mouths to scream, but all we hear is the frenzied screeching of those birds.'

There was nothing quite like being around Hitchc.o.c.k when his imagination was given free rein, and David lived for the excitement of moments like this. No one ever really believed the director when he said that the most rewarding part of any film for him was the preparation, but it was true: a meticulous planner, Hitch put all his energies into storyboarding a picture, developing the script and conceiving the special effects; after that, the filming itself was a matter of routinea and to say he sometimes looked bored was not an exaggeration. 'Whose body is it?' David asked, already drawn into the story.

'An actress.' He pursed his lips. 'Yes, I know, there are moments when we all feel that way. But it doesn't really matter who the body is a we won't be using much of the rest of the story. There are a couple of characters worth keeping: a young girl, a wrongly accused man, a tinker. We'll have to do some work on him.'

'A tinker?'

'Yes. A tramp, a gypsy, a gentleman of the road. Whatever you want to call them.'

'You want to make a film about a wrongly accused tinker?'

David's incredulous tone seemed to amuse Hitchc.o.c.k. 'No, it's not the tinker who's wrongly accused a it's the love interest. But the tramp's vital to the outcome, so we have to get him right. Do you remember how much research we did on Blackmail? How we plagued Scotland Yard to get the proper procedures for arresting and charging a man?' David nodded. 'Well, it paid offa and this has to be the same. I might even do it myself this time. I could find out what really happens when a tramp spends a night in a hostel.' He must have seen the look of disbelief on David's face, because he addeda 'I'm not joking, you know. It might be fun to be an actor for a bit. What do you think? We could do it together, perhaps.'

'I think the genuine article might consider you a little too well fed to be convincing.'

Hitchc.o.c.k roared with laughter. 'Yes, you're right, of course, and I'd never have the willpower to be credible.' He walked David to the door, and it was a relief, suddenly, to be leaving. 'Don't tell Mr Turnbull quite everything, will you?'

'Of course not.'

'And make sure Bella's invited to dinner.'

David closed the door behind him and walked back to the darkness of the Bell Tower, where he could sit for a moment without anyone seeing him. He closed his eyes and the anger began to subside. When he opened them, he saw a trickle of blood on the pages of the book and realised that he had been clutching his keys so tightly that the metal had pierced his skin.

10.

Josephine walked along the coastal path, a little way behind Marta and Lydia. The well-trodden route skirted the edge of a vast woodland area and was lined on the seaward side with sloe bushes, whose fruits were just starting to form. Marta was quiet, she noticed, while Lydia chatted easily about anything that came into her head, and Josephine found her presence unexpectedly rea.s.suring: left alone, she and Marta had behaved like strangers afraid of getting to know each other, and the distance between them hurt her more than she had ever imagined it might.

She glanced through the rich green of rhododendron leaves into the sun-streaked darkness of the woods and marvelled at the way in which a even on one of the busiest weekends of the year a Portmeirion's network of woodland paths and beautiful garden walks meant that there was always peace to be found somewhere. Idly, she picked a sloe from one of the bushes and crushed it between her fingers, glad of the time to think. Perhaps she had been wrong to avoid Marta so resolutely over the last few months. If they had seen each other more often, this paralysing shyness might never have developed, or would at least have been resolved by now. Letters were all very well but a pa.s.sionate and eloquent though they were a they had allowed her to intellectualise her love for Marta, almost as if it were happening to someone else. But looking at her now, Josephine could no longer hide behind words and reasoning. Her longing for Marta was the most intensely physical thing she had ever known, and it left her feeling needy and exposed.

Marta chose that moment to turn and wait for her, and her timing was so uncanny that Josephine could almost believe that she had spoken her thoughts aloud. She felt herself blush, and Marta smiled. 'Penny for them,' she said, but the playful look in her eyes made it clear that she didn't need to pay to know what Josephine was thinking. 'And I'll go higher if pushed.'

'No prizes for guessing that one, surely,' Lydia said, squeezing Josephine's arm affectionately. 'She'll be plotting how best to tackle the Hitchc.o.c.ks. Any suggestions?'

'Do it quickly.' Marta pointed up ahead, to where a small white terrier was standing belligerently in the middle of the path, barking fiercely. 'I'm sure that's one of their dogs.' They cleared the trees and walked out onto the headland that formed Portmeirion's most southerly point. 'Yes, that's Alma on the rock.'

Josephine shaded her eyes from the sun, and looked with interest at Alma Reville. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but it was something far more daunting than this pet.i.te young redhead, dressed unconventionally in a perfectly tailored trouser suit. Alma had a camera, and was engrossed in taking a photograph across the water. Much to Josephine's relief, the director's wife seemed far more interested in the composition of her picture than in anything going on around her. 'At least she hasn't seen us,' she said, turning to go. 'If we head back now, we won't have to speak to her.'

Lydia caught her arm. 'Why on earth don't you want to speak to her?' she asked, making no effort to hide her astonishment.

Josephine knew her behaviour was absurda and she didn't need Lydia to point it out, particularly in front of Marta. 'Because I'm not in the mood,' she said stubbornly. 'It's far too hot to hagglea anda anyway, I don't want to have to think about it today. Being forty's bad enough,' she added, trying to make light of her nerves. 'At least let me deal with one crisis at a time.'

'Don't knock forty,' Marta said, winking at her. 'You know what they say.'

'And if you pull this one off, it'll be the best birthday present you've ever had.' Lydia turned conspiratorially to Marta. 'For G.o.d's sake, darling, talk some sense into her.'

Josephine looked defiantly at Marta, daring her to take Lydia's side. 'We could just say h.e.l.lo,' Marta suggested diplomatically. 'You won't be able to avoid it at dinner, and it might be less of an ordeal if you break the ice now, when she's on her own.'

'I suppose so,' Josephine admitted, although her inclination was still to put off the moment for as long as possible.

'And I honestly think you'll like her. Anyway, from what I can see, you're not bothered whether this happens or not so you've got nothing to lose. Let Alma do the running.' Marta grinned. 'Just sit back and enjoy being courted.'

'Not everything in life works like that,' Lydia muttered. 'Sometimes a little effort goes a long way.'

'And sometimes things will happen if they're meant to,' Marta countered.

'I'm not sure your blase outlook on life necessarily applies to the film world.'

'Which you know so much about, of course.'

'Oh, let's get it over with,' Josephine said hurriedly, keen to stifle an argument which was no longer about Alma Reville. In any case, the matter had already been taken out of her hands. Another dog a a spaniel a lay at Alma's feet, offering nothing more energetic in the heat than a lazy wag of the tail; when it struggled to its feet, the movement seemed to be more noteworthy than all the terrier's efforts at attention, and Alma turned to see what the fuss was about. She waved when she recognised Marta and came over to greet them, slinging the camera casually over her shoulder.

'I'm afraid you've caught me in the middle of some shameless sightseeing,' she said, and Josephine detected the faintest trace of a Midlands accent. 'These gardens are magnificent. I don't know whether to despair or be inspired; it puts my efforts to shame.' She kissed Marta on both cheeks and waited for her to make the introductions. Her enthusiasm was attractive, and Josephine liked her instantly for her lack of affectation; most people in her position would feel obliged to play up to the role that her husband's fame had forced on her, but there was a quiet self-confidence about Hitchc.o.c.k's wife which made that unnecessary and which, Josephine suspected, rarely looked to anyone else for approval.

'Miss Tey a it's lovely to meet you at last,' she said. 'And you, Miss Beaumont. My husband and I saw you in Out of the Dark at the Amba.s.sadors earlier this year. I hoped I might have an opportunity to tell you how much we enjoyed it.'

Lydia looked pleased, if a little taken aback. 'You're part of quite a select band,' she said dryly. 'We only ran for a fortnight. But I'm glad you liked it.'

'Yes, very much. And we loved Richard of Bordeaux, of course, but there's nothing very select about that a half the country must have seen it.'