The Twilight Hour (25 page)

twenty-five

WE WERE TO MEET HUGH AND RADU FOR DINNER.
The table was booked for seven-thirty. It was not worth going home to Notting Hill, so I stayed late at the gallery. Noel had gone to Suffolk to see the Mavor family about the paintings: ‘Just to make sure – I don't trust that old Mainwaring woman. I have to be sure it's all legal.' Glamorous Kay always left on the dot of five.

Alone, I sat at Kay's desk and stared at my reflection in the plate-glass front window. It was an odd sensation to be seated in this glass box, seeing only my reflected self, yet visible to any passer-by, as much on view as the two paintings on the white walls. Not that anyone passed down the side street. Daylight was fading –
l'heure bleue
, the twilight hour. It was very quiet, almost eerily so. I could hear the sound of traffic from Piccadilly, but it was a distant murmur, more like the sea sighing on Brighton beach than a busy roar.

I had nothing to do downstairs so I went up to my little office and busied myself with some filing. There was also a call to make – an appointment with an artist – but he was out, or didn't answer his phone.

The peal of the bell was so unexpected I almost tripped as I scurried down the narrow flight of stairs. The door must not have been locked, for Radu stood in the middle of the room. He held a large bouquet.

‘Dinah!' His smile assaulted me. He held out the flowers. ‘For you – a beautiful woman must have flowers. So wonderful to see you.'

He looked very rich. The soft sheen of his camelhair coat spoke of that utopia beyond the ocean: America, the land of plenty. His air of wealth made the smart little gallery look almost tawdry.

I gazed at the blooms: wonderful, scented out-of-season lilac, tulips, yellow roses. I brought them to my face and drank in the scent.

‘Lovelier than ever, Dinah.' He took a step towards me.

I moved away from him towards the stairs, but I knew I could end up backed into a corner. I laughed. It was intended as a disavowal of his compliment, but it sounded simply nervous. ‘Radu! Why are you here?' It sounded stupid.

‘How did I know
you
were
here
?' He moved still closer, looked me up and down, stripping me naked of the red suit I couldn't help being so glad I was wearing. And, as unwelcome as it was powerful, the old sensation surged up. My entrails melted. I was quite accustomed to men pouncing, to their clumsy and sometimes crude attentions. I could cope with all that. This was different: a man I distrusted, but to whom I was madly attracted.

I stood poised for his embrace, but instead he moved away. ‘May I –?' He gestured to the sofa and then sat down without waiting for my permission.

Now I felt humiliated. I'd betrayed myself. He
knew
.

‘We are meeting with Hugh and your husband,
n'est-ce pas
?' he said, as though nothing had happened. (And nothing
had
happened.) ‘I suggest to collect you. Sit down,' and he patted the sofa beside him. ‘There is so much we have to talk about. So many things have happened. Gwendolen and Stan are married! You know, I long to hear about that.'

I couldn't bear it, I couldn't bear to stay alone with him in the empty gallery, wedged as it was between the bomb-damaged building on one side and the bomb crater on the other. ‘Why don't we go for a drink,' I cried brightly. ‘There's a nice little pub near here.'

I collected my coat and we stepped outside. He stopped by the bombed-out shell next door. ‘Look – that is beautiful, I think.'

Between two steep houses there was a gaping cavity where a bomb had fallen and now the stagnant black pool of an emergency water tank filled the space. Radu peered down at it; then his gaze moved upwards to the walls where a patchwork of papers, paint and panelling survived as ghosts of the rooms that had been destroyed. There was even part of a staircase still attached to the walls and you could see the gallery fire escape hanging jaggedly in mid-air where it had been broken and twisted.

‘Can you imagine,' he murmured, ‘that would make a wonderful scene for a film … if only my next film could be here.'

He held my arm rather too tightly as we walked along Jermyn Street. I was weak at the knees. I tottered along. But I was safe now. Yet I wanted to cry.

We reached the pub. It had only just opened and only a couple of lonely drinkers sat in odd corners. Radu didn't ask me what I wanted, but fetched me a sherry. ‘This was always your favourite drink, I believe.'

I was touched he remembered, and now we were in the safety of the pub I did want to hear his news. I wanted to know why he'd come back. He swirled his whisky around in its glass, watching it as he did so.

‘So Gwendolen is married to Stan.' He drank and stared moodily at the floor. ‘I turn my back for five minutes –' He turned to me with his false, flashing smile. ‘But that is the way with you women. The treacherous sex.'

‘For goodness' sake, Radu, she thought you'd gone for good.' I almost mentioned the suicide attempt, but thought better of it.

‘I am glad for her, it is for the best. For me it is not so good; for my work. But to be truthful,' (Are you ever? I thought) ‘perhaps it is true, that I wanted to get away. Gwendolen, you know, she is … such a strange woman. You, Dinah, you are open, you are lovely, you are generous, you love men, I know that, but she …' He shook his head. ‘She is like a clenched fist.' He clenched his own hand into a tight ball, but not before I'd noticed the manicured nails. Effeminate – but
he
wasn't. ‘Tight like this. I sometimes think she has a heart of stone. But what am I to do, Dinah?' He moved closer to me, always that little bit too close. ‘I have the perfect film for her.
House of Shadows
has done so well in America,
Be Still My Heart
will be a huge success too. First they say they do not want Gwendolen, they have to have a big star, Rita Hayworth, perhaps, but now they see my films are such success – I can do
anything
. I can have my own star. I have the studio in the palm of my hand. For now. I have to seize the moment. Americans are impatient, they always want the newest thing. So tell me, Dinah, how can I persuade her? Or perhaps I should say, how can I persuade
him
? The good Stanley. He won't let her out of his sight, I think.'

Surely Radu was wrong there, for if Gwendolen wanted to go to Hollywood, Stanley would be powerless. His plan for Brighton studios would be a candle in the sun compared to Hollywood. ‘He can't leave his business interests for any length of time, but if she wanted to go, how could he stop her? He'd do anything for her.'

Radu smiled. ‘Is that so? Poor Stanley. So – I have to try to think of some way,' he said softly. ‘Why did she have to marry? In Hollywood they are very virtuous, very moral. A peculiar morality. You can divorce, you can divorce and be married ten times, but a married woman, or an unmarried woman living openly with a man – that will never do. Marriage is the thing. Even a homosexual must be married.' He drank off his whisky, sprang up and waved a large, white five pound note across the bar. A fiver was such a grand gesture. And how opulent he looked in the shabby little lounge. One or two drinkers had trickled in by now and they looked so seedy by comparison; grey and stringy with austerity, while he was rosy with steaks and Californian sunshine.

Two sherries! I'd better be careful; it would never do to get tipsy, I didn't trust myself not to say or do something foolish if it went to my head. Radu took out a cardboard box of oval Turkish cigarettes. Intrigued, I took one. We both lit up. I liked the taste. ‘So if I am to have her in my film,' he continued, ‘it is better if Stanley comes too. But then perhaps they will think we are
ménage à trois
and that will not do either.' He smiled. ‘The only way would be for her to divorce Stan and marry me. And after all,' he murmured, ‘I do not want to marry her. Even to live with her again, no, never. Is it terrible I say this? But Gwendolen, she is an ice queen, you know.' He shrugged. Now he seemed weary. ‘Who knows? But what am I to do? I feel I need her for my movie, and she has brought me good fortune, but still I think she is bad luck. She is – well, you know my country is the land of vampires, Transylvania. I think Gwendolen is somehow a vampire in a way.' He shrugged. ‘Life is impossible sometimes.'

What could I say? There was a little silence, but I felt quite comfortable with him now. ‘And what of Pauline?' he said abruptly. ‘How has she taken to this marriage?'

‘Pauline?' I hadn't thought about her for weeks – months. Only now did I recall that we hadn't seen her at Embassy Court. ‘We went to see them – they live in Brighton now, you know. Pauline wasn't there – she must have been out.'

He was gazing at me again, and in order to move on to safer ground, out of the erotic zone, and also because I'd known ever since he'd materialised in the gallery that I'd have to ask him, I said: ‘Did you ever see Colin in Bucharest?'

‘Colin?' I'd startled him. ‘It is terrible what has happened to him.'

‘He was in Bucharest briefly at the end of the war.'

‘Is that so? There were a few Englishmen there before I left, there were several in fact. We believed them to be British intelligence. I seem to remember one of them disappeared. Rumours were flying around. It was the Russians, it was some remnant of the Iron Guard, it was – who knew who it was. It was a very volatile time.'

‘I wish we'd talked to you about this earlier.' But we'd been too distrustful of Radu to question him. Anyway, until I'd read Colin's letter, we'd had no questions to ask.

The letter had upset Alan. It had upset him so much.

Radu placed his hand over mine. ‘I think this is difficult time for you.'

I nodded, close to tears.

‘I think Colin thought – thinks I am some kind of swastika-brandishing Nazi. But believe me, Dinah, this was never true. It is true I went to Berlin, that I was still there after Hitler came to power, but it quickly became too difficult. Very soon I left. They were only making kitsch – saccharine romance, stupid comedies.'

That was what Colin thought
House of Shadows
was, of course.

Neither of us said anything for a while. Finally he looked at his watch: ‘I think it's time we go to the restaurant.'

It was a peculiar evening. Hugh dazzled us with descriptions of Hollywood, of eternal sunshine, azure swimming pools, tufted palm trees like elephants' tails, giant cocktails and outsize sandwiches; but Radu protested. ‘LA is not a city, it is just a vast, empty suburb with a million eerie winding roads with no pavements! No cafés – no street life – no
streets
! And their peculiar social customs! They are unbelievably provincial. They eat at five in the evening – four sometimes – and get to the office at eight in the morning. And then everything is new and nothing is original.'

‘That's hardly the way to encourage Alan and Dinah!' joked Hugh. He was looking particularly pale and elegant. His cigarette at an angle, his pin-stripe suit immaculate (no more old sweaters and tweed jackets), he looked very much the Englishman in Beverly Hills, Michael Wilding, only with straight hair. Yet he seemed a little shifty and uncomfortable.

They were trying to persuade Alan to join them, but I wasn't sure if it was serious. They held their cards close to the chest, hinting and bluffing. Hugh seemed almost to be teasing, tantalising Alan. Alan fidgeted and frowned. He hated to be played with, yet I could see the lure of Hollywood had grabbed him.

The thought of suddenly moving to
California
– it was a dream, it was unimaginable, I couldn't believe in it for a second. And yet … wouldn't it be rather heavenly?

But Alan said brusquely: ‘It's impossible for me to make any commitments until Colin's appeal has gone through. I'm the only friend he's got.' He looked darkly at Hugh – Hugh, who'd abandoned Colin without a second thought.

A nerve flickered beneath Hugh's left eye and his glance shifted about all over the room, anywhere away from Alan. ‘At least he got leave to appeal. That's good news, isn't it.'

‘The lawyers aren't too hopeful it'll succeed.'

‘God! But surely they aren't going to hang an innocent man.'

‘I wish I shared your optimism.'

Radu said: ‘What would happen if this appeal succeeds? They will look for someone else, I think, another suspect.'

Alan frowned. In the uneasy silence I wondered why Radu had said that. He'd left the country as soon as he could, as soon as he'd finished the film. Why should he be bothered about another suspect?

Alan said: ‘I don't really care as long as Colin gets off.'

But he did care. We were desperate, after all, for precisely that: for an explanation that would free Colin.

And maybe we almost had it. But tantalisingly, it wasn't quite within our grasp.