Silverbridge (4 page)

4

T
he shoot was scheduled to go for as long as the light stayed good, but Tracy was finished by five- thirty. Dave called her name as she was walking off, and she changed direction and went to join him by the fountain. “I’d like you to meet Lady Margaret Oliver,” he said. “She’s Lord Silverbridge’s sister and is a great fan of yours.”

“How do you do, Lady Margaret. What a nuisance this must be, having all these people tramping around your lovely garden.”

Lady Margaret’s hair was so blond it was almost white, and her elegant, straight nose was dusted with freckles. She wore jeans, a red sweater, lace-up suede boots, and looked about sixteen. The most noticeable thing about her, however, was that she was painfully thin.

“Not at all,” she replied to Tracy’s remark. “I think it’s great fun.”

Dave said, “Tracy, if you are going to get something to eat at the catering truck, will you take Lady Margaret with you and introduce her around?”

The look on his face said clearly that he knew he was asking a lot, but that he badly needed to ditch this young sister of the owner. Tracy opened her mouth to say that she wasn’t going to dinner, but then she saw the hopeful look in Lady Margaret’s eyes. There was something vulnerable about the girl, and Tracy, who had once wanted to be a high school teacher, changed her mind.

“Of course.” She turned to Lady Margaret, and said kindly, “Are you hungry? Would you like to have dinner with some of the cast and crew?”

The girl replied shyly, “I’m not hungry, but I’d like to meet them.”

Thank you
, Dave mouthed to her, as she prepared to remove Lady Margaret from the area of the shoot. Tracy shot him a look that said clearly
You owe me one,
before she shepherded Lady Margaret away.

“Have you been watching for long?” Tracy asked, as they made their way through the yew-enclosed garden.

“I’ve been watching the whole time,” the girl replied enthusiastically. “It’s so super having a movie made here at Silverbridge.”

“I hope you still feel that way in a few weeks, Lady Margaret. It can get to be awfully old, having strangers in your home all the time.”

“Please call me Meg.” The girl’s sky-blue eyes regarded Tracy worshipfully. “And it may sound idiotic, but I don’t feel as if you are a stranger at all. I’ve seen all your pictures, Miss Collins, most of them more than once.”

“Thank you,” Tracy replied. Normally a comment about knowing her through her movies would annoy her, but there was something about this girl that called forth her protective instincts. So she said, “As such a devoted fan, you have earned the right to call me Tracy.” Greg, the assistant director, was hurrying along the path in their direction clutching his clipboard. He gave Tracy a grin as he went by, and she flapped a friendly hand in his direction. Then she turned to Meg. “How does the rest of your family feel about this invasion?”

“My brother Tony thinks it’s super too. I’m sure we’ll see him sometime during the course of the shooting.” Meg shot Tracy an impish look. “You might even want to put him in the picture. Tony’s gorgeous.”

“If he looks at all like you, then he must be.”

Meg became flustered. “Oh, I’m nothing compared to Tony.”

This unsure girl was nothing at all like Tracy’s image of an aristocrat, and she replied gently, “I think you are extremely pretty.”

Meg shot her a doubtful glance. “I’m not, really.”

Tracy, who rarely
touched people who were not fam
ily, found herself patting Meg on the shoulder. She barely refrained from wincing at the sharpness of the bone under her fingers. “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to accept my word for it, Meg. I have seen and worked with some of the most beautiful women in the world, and, in my judgment, you are a very pretty girl.”

“Well
…
”
Meg said. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

They went up the stone steps together, and the lawn, the fountain, the terrace, and the house stretched out before them, golden in the hazy late-afte
rn
oon sun. “What does your brother, Lord Silverbridge I mean, think about having the movie here?” Tracy asked.

Meg said offhandedly, “Oh, Harry was happy to have the money. And he was very pleased with what the film company did with the gardens.”

Two small birds arose from among the shrubs that bordered the walk to their left, and Tracy watched them fly off over the lawn. “What did the film company do to the gardens?”

“Cleaned them up. The yews needed cutting, the paths needed a lot of work, and half of the fountain jets didn’t work. You also planted all of those marvelous tulips in the front of the house.”

Tracy looked around the lovely property. “I guess the upkeep on a place like this is enormous.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Meg replied. “It’s a listed house, of course, which means that it’s under the jurisdiction of English Heritage. So all repairs have to be done with their approval, which sends the cost rocketing.”

“Why is that?” Tracy asked.

Meg shrugged her blade-thin shoulders. “Because Harry can’t substitute less expensive, mode
rn
materials in the publicly visible portions of the house. For example, we need a new roof, but Harry can’t use mode
rn
tiles. Instead he has to replace the old slate roof as well as the layer of lead and boards underneath. And the gutters have to be iron, not plastic. The whole job will cost poor Harry five times more than it
would cost to reroof with modern
materials.”

Tracy looked at the expanse of the present roof. “Whew. That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Between the rules for upkeep and the death taxes, Harry says the government is out to destroy the whole upper class,” Meg said darkly.

Tracy considered this statement, added it to the information she had received from Jon about Lord Silverbridge’s callous treatment of the model he had broken up with, and came to the conclusion that the owner of Silverbridge was not a very nice man.

When they arrived at the camper that served as Tracy’s dressing room, she invited Meg in to wait for her while she changed out of her costume. Inside, the camper was furnished with a dressing table and mirror, a green corduroy sofa where Tracy could take a nap, and two chairs. It was a utilitarian room, nothing like the luxurious surroundings that Tracy was accustomed to, but then she did not usually work on films with such a tight budget.

When they came in, Gail was sitting on the sofa, tapping away on her laptop. Tracy introduced the two young women, then sat at her dressing table to take off her makeup.

She listened to the two girls talking behind her and compared their backgrounds. Gail had been bo
rn
in Puerto Rico and brought to New York when she was two. Her parents had struggled to put her through Catholic schools, and after high school she had taken a secretarial course at Katharine Gibbs. She had been working at NBC when Tracy met her and offered her a job. She was smart, funny, extremely competent, and intensely loyal. Tracy considered her a friend.

Meg had been brought up in the palatial surroundings
of
Silverbridge, yet it was Gail, the kid from Spanish Harlem, who had self-confidence.

“What a great job you have,” Meg was saying. “How does one go about getting a job like yours?”

“I did a secretarial course after high school, Lady Margaret,” Gail replied with cool politeness.

“A secretarial course? But that sounds like such a bore.”

“It is necessary to acquire certain skills in order to find a job like this, Lady Margaret.” Gail’s voice sounded even cooler than before.

Tracy actually felt a pang of pity for Meg and swung around on her chair. “Have you finished high school, Meg?”

Meg began to pick at her sweater. “We don’t call it high school here. And I still have a year to go. I’ll probably go back in the autumn.”

“So you’re not going to school now?” Gail asked.

Meg stood up. “Enough about bloody school! Are you sure you want me to go with you to dinner, Tracy? If you don’t, I’ll understand perfectly.” Spots of color stained her too-prominent cheekbones, and she was twisting her hands together.

Tracy said, “Of course I want you to come. All I have to do is get into my jeans and we can go.”

There was a screen at the end of the camper, and Tracy went behind it to
change. Gail hung the Regency-
style dress carefully on a portable rack, and then the three young women headed for the caterer’s truck, where the second sitting of dinner was being served.

The sun was still out, but there was a distinct chill in the air, and Tracy was glad of her wool sweater. She collected her filled plate from one of the caterer’s assistants and walked to one of the two dining buses parked nearby.

Twenty or so people were gathered around the table inside, and a loud chorus of greetings went up as Tracy came in. Elsie Anway, who was playing Tracy’s maid in the film, called Tracy’s name and gestured to the two empty seats next to her. Gail took a single seat between two electricians, and Tracy led Meg to the chairs next to Elsie. Before she sat down, she announced, “Listen up, everybody. This is Lady Margaret Oliver. Her brother owns this place. She’s having dinner with us, so behave yourselves.”

Laughter came from all around.

Meg’s cheeks were flushed with color and her eyes were bright as she took her seat between Tracy and Elsie. She had consented to accept a bowl of soup from the caterers and placed it carefully on the table.

“This is quite some place your brother has here,” Elsie said amiably.

“Thank you,” Meg replied. “It’s so super getting a chance to watch you film.”

Liza Moran, who was seated a little way down the table, said, “Is Lord Silverbridge interested in filming, Lady Margaret?”

“I don’t think so,” Meg replied cautiously.

“You ought to get him to come along to the set one of these days,” Liza said. “I think he would find it enjoyable.”

“Harry is very busy.” It was the first time Tracy had heard that note of aristocratic reserve from Meg.

Conversation flowed easily around the table, and
Meg listened with obvious fascination and did not eat her soup. Tracy suspected that the girl was anorexic, which perhaps accounted for her being out of school.

Elsie also noticed Meg’s lack of appetite and said in a motherly way, “Don’t you care for the soup, Lady Margaret? I’m sure the caterers have something you would enjoy.”

“The food is fine,” Meg replied with a trace of annoyance. “Don’t worry about me, I never eat much.”

Tracy was finishing her coffee when a horse van came into sight through the windows of the bus. It veered off the main drive shortly after it emerged from the trees, and she asked Meg, “Is that the way to the stables?”

“Yes.” Meg had been listening to the banter between two of the audio men, but she turned her attention to Tracy. “That’s probably Gwen Mauley’s horse. She’s sending him for training with Harry.”

“Mauley,” Tracy repeated thoughtfully. “I’ve heard that name before.”

“Gwen’s father is Robin Mauley, the big real estate pooh-bah.”

“Oh, yes. I saw him at the hotel the other evening.”

“Gwen rides dressage, and she has been training with Harry for six months.” Meg’s eyes sparked, and she added disapprovingly, “Personally, I think she’s more interested in Harry’s title than she is in his teaching.”

The electricians sitting around Gail got to their feet, prepared to go back to work. Tracy caught her secretary’s eye and motioned very faintly with her head. Elsie said, “There’s cake for dessert.”

“None for me, thanks,” Tracy said. Gail was moving
toward the bus door, and Tracy stood up. “I want to go home and put my feet up. I’m tired.”

Meg gave her a hopeful look. “Will I see you tomorrow, Tracy?”

Tracy considered her expression, th
e
n said, “Come and watch me film.”

“I’ll do that,” Meg replied, and for a moment her flashing smile made her seem as pretty as she would be if she were not so painfully thin.

Meg remained at the table until everyone had finished, watching her soup congeal in front of her and listening to the crew joke around. When she finally returned to the house, she found her eldest brother in the kitchen, microwaving the dinner Mrs. Wilson, the daily woman from the village, had left for him. His two Springer spaniels were eating out of large china bowls and didn’t even look up when she came in.

“You should have eaten off the catering truck, Harry,” she said as she went to the refrigerator and took out a bot
tl
e of diet soda. Two large windows, which were set above eye level, let the dying light into the room. “I did. They have buses fitted up as dining rooms. It was super.”

Henry Oliver, fifteenth Earl of Silverbridge, poured himself a beer and sat down at a large scrubbed oak table. “What did you eat?” he asked casually.

“I had some soup.”

He frowned.

The microwave beeped. “I’ll get it,” Meg said, and lifted the plate out, peeled off the plastic wrap that covered it, and put it in front of her brother. He began to eat hungrily.