Roots of Evil(140)

Alice did not often take the children to the studios, but she had taken Alraune with her on that last day, and she had taken Ilena and Deborah as well.

‘To shield you from the besotted Crispin Fane?’ Ilena had said, grinning.

‘Perhaps. It’s nothing I can’t handle,’ said Alice.

‘Serve you right for seducing him when you were bored,’ said Ilena, who knew Alice very well indeed by this time.

‘Well, I couldn’t have known he would be so intense.’

‘All boys of that age are intense,’ said Ilena.

Whatever the reasons, Alraune and Deborah had gone to Ashwood that day. Alice had thought it would be all right; granted it was a murder mystery they were shooting, but no especially gory scenes were being filmed that day, and Deborah, who had been there several times, liked watching the filming and talking to the people who worked at the studios. Alice thought Alraune would like it, as well; she thought he would be fascinated by the bustle and the air of make-believe. And Ilena, who was on leave from the hospital for a couple of weeks, had never been to a film studio; she would enjoy the novelty, and Alice would enjoy giving her this unusual afternoon.

When Conrad said he would come along to collect them all later on, Alice was relieved, because it was unlikely that the besotted Crispin Fane would stage one of his emotional, embarrassing scenes with Conrad around.





CHAPTER FORTY




At first it had seemed all right. Alraune did not say very much, but he sat quietly with Ilena and Deborah, and accepted an orange drink one of the cameramen brought him, and watched everything that was going on with apparent interest.

There was a flurry of extra activity that day because visitors were expected. Alice did not take much notice of the flurry; there were often guests at Ashwood – people who must be flattered and given lush lunches. Sometimes local dignitaries from the nearby town were given a guided tour so that they could feel themselves on familiar terms with the exotic world of film-making, and could report favourably on it to local people.

But she did take notice of the fact that Crispin Fane was here, trailing along in the wake of his employer. There must be meetings with the legal department again; Crispin would be here to take notes as he often was. But halfway through the afternoon he found his way to Alice’s dressing-room while she was changing for the next scene. They were working in the small Studio Twelve and Alice had been allotted a dressing-room that opened almost directly off the main section. It made quick changes easier to cope with and it meant people did not have to wait about for her. Unfortunately, it also meant Crispin knew exactly where she was. He came in without knocking, as if he had a right, which annoyed Alice. What was even more annoying was that he had broken into her concentration. She was no disciple of Stanislavskian method or symbolism but it was distracting to be interrupted immediately before an important scene.

But she said, as levelly as she could manage, ‘Crispin, dear, it’s so nice to see you, but I can’t talk just now. I’m due on the set. And the children are here today.’

Despite herself it gave her a sharp pang to see the disappointment in his face – like a child deprived of a longed-for treat. But the disappointment vanished and was replaced by a petulant anger. Why had she no time for him these days? he said. Why, when they had meant so much to each other? He adored her, he would die for her—


He was overwrought, and in another moment he would tip from melodrama into outright hysteria, but somehow he would have to understand that the brief, rather irresponsible little affair was over. I’ll let him down gently though, I really will, thought Alice guiltily. Regret, that’s the keynote. And renunciation – I can do a good renunciation scene, and it would salvage his pride. She was just saying that they would meet later, when the door opened and Conrad came in.

French farce, thought Alice, torn between despair and a jab of hysteria on her own account. One lover wringing his hands at my feet, another entering upon the scene and registering shock and horror. Except that Conrad would never be shocked at anything and he had known her far too long to be horrified at finding a lovelorn youth in her room. Still, it was to be hoped he would not treat this poor child, Crispin Fane, to one of his grand displays of arrogance and temper.

He did not. He was a professional and he knew that a dressing-room minutes before a performance – never mind whether the performance was on a stage, a concert-hall, or a film-set – was no place for an emotional scene. He said, quite amicably, that he and Crispin should go somewhere else to discuss things; somewhere quiet where they could talk man to man.

It was the ‘man to man’ that tipped the scales, as Conrad had probably known it would. Crispin squared his shoulders and flung back his head – at one level of her mind Alice noted the gesture as rather a good one – and then marched out, head high.

Alice, deeply grateful for Conrad’s tact, got into her outfit for the scene, checked her make-up and her hair, slipped on her shoes, and went out into the main part of the studio. The working lights had been quenched and the heavy spotlights were angled to shine directly on to the small set; they were bright and strong to depict the sunlight of a summer afternoon, and the working areas were swathed in darkness. For a moment Alice had a brief shutter-flash of déjà vu: a darting vision of the compound inside Auschwitz when searchlights had lit parts of the camp with just that harsh brilliance, and when it had been necessary to avoid the unblinking stare if you did not want to be caught…