101 Pieces of Me (17 page)

But he finished the story for me. “And the man took photographs of you both, on the bed, and David made it look as if you were lovers.” He was on his feet at the gas fire, lighting a spill, fumbling for his cigarettes. “Didn’t he?”

My embarrassment silenced me.

“Clara…” He pondered for a few moments while he lit the cigarette. Then he said in a quiet voice, “You might not understand why David did this, but I think I do. Do you remember what he said to you, if anything? Did he threaten you, for instance?”

“Not threaten, exactly. But he mentioned a woman, and a divorce. And he told me to read my contract and not come near him until it says I have to.”

Aidan looked at me with a sort of half-nervous delicacy. “Ah. Well, it seems to me that the photographs were taken to be used in evidence in a … um, a divorce case, as you say.”

As he said this, suspicion fell on me, and crushed me. “Aidan, whose divorce are we talking about?”

His face was troubled. He took a quick puff on his cigarette, then another one. “Look,” he began, “I am sorry to bring you this news, but as I think you’ve guessed, the divorce in question can only be that of … David himself.”

I
stared at him. “So … just to be clear … you’re telling me that David is
married
?” Anger and embarrassment heated my cheeks and made my heart thud. “Why on earth did no one think to tell
me
?”

Aidan looked profoundly unhappy. “Clara, I swear I did not know, and I’m sure no one else did either. But secret marriage or not, it sounds like he is desperate to get out of it and has involved you in a set-up.”

“What do you mean, a set-up?” My anger was subsiding, but my embarrassment had increased.

“Well, you see,” continued Aidan, “if a man and his wife wish to divorce, there must be
grounds
– cruelty, abandonment, and so on. The easiest one to get away with is adultery, but there has to be proof that one of the parties has committed it. Private detectives in places like Brighton do thriving business ‘catching people at it’. Sometimes it’s real – the wife hires the detective to follow the husband and photograph him with his lover. But usually it’s agreed between the wife and the husband that he will lure an unsuspecting woman into bed with him, or even hire a prostitute, so that his real mistress’s name can be kept out of it.”

My heart was still beating very fast.
Thud, thud, thud
. “So …” I ventured in a small voice, “are you telling me that David not only has a wife, he has a mistress as well?”

“Oh, Clara!” This was uttered as a sigh. “There is more between David and Marjorie than the Atlantic Ocean, you know. They are lovers, and have been for years.”

Thud, thud, thud
. Aidan’s tone was not patronizing, but full of sympathy. He took a resigned breath, and went on. “David has done this so that
your
name, rather than Marjorie’s, will be mentioned in court. You see, a correspondent has to be cited for the grounds of adultery to be proven, and the divorce to be granted. And the photographs do prove that you were there, in a hotel room with David, don’t they?” He considered a moment. “Indeed, the only grain of truth in this whole sorry tale is that
you agreed to go away with him for the weekend
. And how fortunate for him that you did! The little scene he was planning could not be set in motion without its leading lady, could it?”

Thud, thud, thud
. I pressed my fingers to my forehead, as if I could erase my discomfiture by force. No wonder David had been so anxious to secure my agreement! Leaving messages for me at the hotel, rushing to meet me there as soon as I telephoned. And I had thought it was because he was besotted with me! I tried to breathe steadily, but it was no use. I took a few quick steps about the room, my shoes clicking on the polished floor.

“Aidan, for pity’s sake, why did you not tell me the truth about Marjorie when I asked? Of course it would have been heartbreaking, but since my heart is broken anyway, what does that matter? I would not have gone to Brighton, and everything would be all right!”

I thought he would apologize, but all he said was, “For heaven’s sake, sit down. You’re making this look like one of David’s ghastly theatrical scenes; ‘pace about agitatedly, move stage left, say your line, move stage right, adjust the curtains to show nervousness, move stage left, sit down again…’”

“Stop it! Will you just
stop
it!” I cried, as theatrically as any director might wish. “This may be a big joke to you, but to me it’s the…” I floundered for words. “It’s the end of everything. It’s the end of
love
.” My voice faltered. My chin dropped onto my chest. “I was sure David loved me, as I loved him. I know he has wronged me, but I cannot forget what happened between us and how he made me feel.” I raised my head and looked at him steadily. “Aidan, haven’t you ever been in love?”

H
e did not answer. He smoked to the end of his cigarette, stubbed it out and lit another, his face so consumed with concentration I wondered if he had forgotten I was there. I sat down on the edge of the sofa, like someone expecting bad news. Finally, Aidan turned to me. His eyes contained a thoughtful expression; I could not guess what he saw in mine.

“Yes, I have been in love,” he said. “I too have discovered that even if the object of one’s passion does not return it, the passion remains unaffected. And even if they misbehave, it is not automatically extinguished. Love is not subject to the usual rules of engagement. It is not organized, like war between nations, or a game of cricket. It is the stirring of deep emotions and includes the pain of having them stirred.”

My heartbeat had slowed during his silence, but now it gathered pace again. I had never heard such words from him before. The grip in which he usually held his feelings had loosened: now, perhaps, whatever lay in his heart was on the edge of release.

“Of course,” he went on, “I understand that an attachment such as you felt for David cannot vanish upon the instant of betrayal. And I am contrite at my flippancy. It is a habit of mine to joke in order to avoid admitting some things are serious. I should curb it, I think.” Unexpectedly, he took my hand. His touch was familiar from the many times we had been in a “clinch” on the film set. I was comforted by it. “I must impress upon you how deeply I regret keeping the truth from you,” he continued. “But I had no idea of the depth of your feelings for David, or that things had gone so far with him. I imagined, along with everyone else at Shepperton, that it was a flirtation.” He was smiling one of his humourless smiles. “Actually, I did broach the subject with Robert once, but he said, ‘My dear boy, if the director’s having a bit of fun with the leading lady, that’s hardly news, is it?’ And he was right, after a fashion. It was not my place to preach to you, so I said nothing.”

I was too crushed to speak. Aidan took a long drag on his cigarette and thought for a moment, then he added, “If we had known he was married, you may be assured we would have warned you.” He gave me a rueful look. “They may be louche, or degenerate in their habits, or vain, and they are definitely tiresome, but film people are generally more moral than they would have you believe. And I did, if you remember, ask you to be careful of yourself.”

“But I did not understand what you meant!” I protested. “I assumed you were jealous!”

“So you thought I had designs on you myself?” He blinked rapidly while he breathed smoke. Crestfallen, he let go of my hand. “You must have a very low opinion of me.”

I did not know what to say. My opinion of Aidan had been revised so many times in the last hour, I no longer knew what it was. “I just wish you’d
told
me,” I said softly.

“So do I, Clara,” he said with feeling. “God knows, so do I.”

A
idan insisted I sleep in the only bedroom, while he settled down on the little sofa – uncomfortably, I was sure. I slept as if I had been beaten over the head and left for dead. Aidan did not wake me. When I eventually appeared in the sitting-room at half past twelve the next day, bathed, and dressed in my only remaining clean blouse, he handed me a buff envelope and said, “Have a look at that while I make some breakfast. Then get your hat and we’ll go out, shall we?”

I went to the window and looked at the street, which daylight had revealed to be a mews behind large houses, narrow and cobbled, with a gutter down the middle. The envelope, which was unsealed, contained a collection of folded papers. The stiff cream paper reminded me of the correspondence I’d received from David Penn Productions, and when I held the title page to the light I realized why. In my hands was Aidan’s contract.

“Why have you given me this?” I asked when he came in with a tray of tea and toast.

“Because I’m assuming you haven’t got yours about your person.” He put down the tray and straightened up. “You didn’t drink the tea I made for you last night, you know. Don’t you like my tea?”

“Oh … last night!” I shrugged helplessly. “I was beside myself. I did not know what I was doing. The tea was probably as delicious as the soup, but I forgot all about it. Sorry.”

Aidan smiled, and nodded towards the contract in my hand. “I reckon your contract is much the same as mine, though you probably get paid more than I do. You said last night that David told you to read your contract, so maybe if we read mine, we can work out what he meant.”

This was obviously a good idea. “Thank you, Aidan,” I said, hoping he would believe I was sincere. “You’ve helped me more than you needed to, you know.”

He put his hands in his pockets and raised his thin shoulders in his nervous way. “I believe our American friends would say ‘Aw, shucks, ma’am’ in this situation. So put it on the table and let’s look at it.”

H
e poured the tea and we began to read through the contract, sipping solemnly, nibbling bits of toast. I could not understand any more of it than my own. “It’s all in legal language,” I said. “You’ll have to tell me what it means.”

“I’m not sure I know,” mused Aidan, scanning the pages. “But the bit I’m looking for … ah, this might be it.” He put down his cup and used a corner of his slice of toast to point to a section at the bottom of one of the pages. “Here. I bet you’ve got the same clause in yours. I am under contract to ‘make such public appearances as deemed necessary by the producers for advertising purposes’,” he read. “And in fact, Clara, since I signed this, I’ve had to sign another agreement to the same effect or risk being sued. I was only sacked from the filming, not the subsequent appearances for advertising purposes.”