Murder, Murder, Little Star Page 7

  It was not her problem, Frances reminded herself. She was merely Twinkle's chaperone for the duration of the filming. It was not up to her to pinpoint Laurenda's failings as a mother - even supposing that, having pinpointed them, she could do anything about them. But she found her sympathies increasingly with Twinkle.

  A muted uneasiness seemed to be growing on set. Frances looked around, but could discover no visible cause. The set was quiet - almost deserted. Or was that, in itself, a cause ?

  Surely others ought to be on duty. Not necessarily standing about waiting for Twinkle, but somewhere in the vicinity, ready to come forward and take their places for the next scene. But there was no one behind the cameras, no one on the lights, not even the Continuity Girl was in sight.

  Most especially, Cecile Savoy was still behind her closed dressing-room door. Was she waiting - were they all waiting - for Twinkle's apology before the business of the day could begin? Even Dick Brouder had disappeared. Where had everyone gone ?

  And then, from behind the locked dressing-room door Twinkle's voice rose in a crescendo of screams which sounded as though they would never stop.

  CHAPTER XI

  Abruptly, the set was alive with activity. Dick Brouder, Ilse Carlsson and the Continuity Girl materialized from a darkened corner and converged upon Frances, along with Sparks, Props, First, Mr Herkimer, and a host of lesser lights.

  'What is it?' Mr Herkimer demanded. 'What's the matter now? Trouble, always trouble.'

  'I don't know.' Frances twisted the doorknob ineffectually. 'She's alone in there. There can't be anything wrong. She was all right just a minute ago.'

  'She's screaming for her health, then?' Without waiting for an answer, Mr Herkimer began pounding on the door. 'Twinkle,' he shouted. 'Twinkle, sweetheart, let me in. It's Herkie. He'll take care of everything. Let Uncle Herkie in.'

  The screams continued unabated.

  'Twinkle - ' Frances called. 'Twinkle. Let us in. We can't help you if you won't let us in.'

  Still the screaming went on, hysterical and out of control. It was doubtful that Twinkle was even aware that help was near at hand.

  'Twinkle, darling - ' Mr Herkimer began.

  'Stand back!' Dick Brouder said grimly. He raised his foot and crashed the heel against the lock. Once, twice - the door shuddered. The screaming did not stop.

  Once more - and a splintering sound signalled that the wood surrounding the lock was giving way. A final time - and the door burst open and they surged into the dressing-room.

  Twinkle stood in front of the full-length mirror, her hands over her eyes, her screams still reverberating through the room.

  The others halted just inside the door and stared at her unbelievingly.

  The Victorian costume, which had been a perfect fit yesterday, was now sizes too small for her. The ankle-length skirt was at mid-calf and the full-length sleeves reached just below her elbows. It looked as though Twinkle had grown more than a foot overnight.

  For once in her life oblivious of an audience, Twinkle stood in the centre of her dressing-room and screamed.

  'It's impossible!' Ilse Carlsson gasped. 'Utterly impossible!' She darted forward and seized the hem of the costume she had designed and inspected it closely. Twinkle continued screaming.

  'It's all right,' Frances soothed. She and the Continuity Girl had moved forward together. 'It's all right.'

  'Here - ' Continuity had taken the glass of milk from the dressing-table. 'Have some of this. Your throat will be raw with all that screaming.'

  Either Frances's soothing words, or Continuity's common sense, seemed to get through to Twinkle. The screaming died to a whimper, she kept her hands over her eyes, but she sipped at the milk Continuity held to her lips.

  'It's a joke.' Ilse Carlsson straightened slowly. 'It must be. Look, Twinkle - ' She pulled Twinkle's hands away from her eyes. 'The hem has been taken up, and the sleeves have been shortened. You can see –

  someone did it very quickly using a basting stitch. It wasn't meant to stand up to any sort of close inspection. It was just some sort of joke.'

  'Not a very funny one,' Frances said tartly. The 'joke' had been a body blow at Twinkle's deepest fears: of the inevitable, inexorable process of growing up, of losing her childish charm, with the consequent loss of income, employment, status and any sort of future. No wonder she had not been able to stop screaming.

  Beginning to realize that a cruel trick had been played upon her, Twinkle fought to control her hysteria. Half-whimpering, half-sobbing, she clung to Frances, as though trying to hold on to normalcy, to childhood, to the life she knew.

  'It's quite all right,' Ilse emphasized. She pulled the running thread free and shook down the turned-up hem. 'You see, it fits. You have not changed. The costume has not changed. It is just someone's silliness.'

  Someone's silliness. Someone's unfunny joke. Someone's . . . revenge?

  The thought seemed to catch at several minds simultaneously. Lifting her own head and looking around, Frances saw other heads begin to lift and turn.

  One person was conspicuous by her absence. Only Cecile Savoy had not come rushing to discover the cause of the uproar. Because she already knew?

  Once again, in her mind's eye, Frances saw Cecile Savoy start out of her dressing-room, hesitate in the doorway and move back into the room, closing the door behind her. Because she had seen Twinkle heading for her own dressing-room? Because she knew what was waiting for Twinkle in that dressing-room?

  'I'm okay now.' Twinkle, who had been absently sipping the milk held to her lips by Continuity, pushed the glass away. She glanced around at the anxious faces and grinned wryly.

  'I guess I don't have to apologize to Cecile Savoy now, do I?' she asked Dick Brouder.

  'We'll let it go . . . this time.' He obviously saw little to smile about. 'But, if either of you try anything else ...' He allowed the threat to tail off, possibly because he could think of nothing dire enough to threaten.

  'All right.' Mr Herkimer moved forward and took Twinkle by the chin, tilting her face upwards. 'Fine,'

  he approved. 'You didn't cry and spoil your make-up. We can get on with the shooting.' He looked at Dick Brouder.

  'Not with her.' Twinkle drew back.

  'Perhaps not.' Dick Brouder looked across the set to Cecile Savoy's dressing-room. Tor Torrington was emerging. He met Dick's gaze and shook his head, closing the door behind him with a certain finality.

  'It appears that Miss Savoy has decided to take the rest of the day off,' Dick Brouder interpreted.

  'Where's Julian Favely - ?'

  'Here!' Julian Favely pushed to the front of the crowd. 'Look here, you mustn't blame Cecile. You must admit she's had a great deal of provocation - '

  'Right!' Dick Brouder cut him off decisively. 'We'll shoot the scene with Ram Dass next.'

  'Equity . . .' Mr Herkimer moaned faintly. 'I'll report them both to Equity. I'll take everybody to Equity.

  It shouldn't be allowed. Somebody's got to protect a poor, defenceless producer . . .'

  'There now, there.' Ilse Carlsson continued smoothing the sleeves down over Twinkle's wrists. 'There, you see. It is all right.' She appeared to be speaking to the rumpled cloth as much as to Twinkle.

  'We'll take the scene where you come over the rooftops - ' Dick Brouder turned to Julian Favely. 'No dialogue. You just slip over the rooftops, Twinkle opens her window and lets you in. You can handle that without a rehearsal, can't you?'

  Julian Favely looked at the mock-up of Victorian rooftops built along in front of a catwalk and went slightly green under his swarthy make-up. 'No trouble at all,' he said airily. If he could act half as well as he could lie, he obviously had a brilliant future ahead of him.

  'That's the spirit!' Mr Herkimer brightened. 'We don't want to lose a day's shooting. You can go on with the show, can't you?' he asked Twinkle.

  'I don't have to go up there, do I?' Twinkle eyed the catwalk dubiously. 'I might get dizzy.'

 
'No, no,' Mr Herkimer said expansively. 'We'll shoot you down here on the floor, in the nice little attic room over there. Only Julian goes up on the roof today. He'll come out of that window up there, slide across the sloping rooftops - '

  Julian looked, if anything, rather greener. Frances wondered if he might have a dizzy spell.

  'We'll shoot him from several angles as he crosses, and then we'll cut to the camera down here behind you as you step back from the window and let him in. When we print it, it will look as though it all happened on the same level.'

  'Well... all right,' Twinkle said grudgingly. 'But I'm not going up there.'

  'No, no, certainly not.' Mr Herkimer managed to look as though such an idea had never invaded his mind. 'And when you do go up, we'll have a nice little safety-harness on you so that nothing can go wrong, even if -God forbid - something goes wrong.'

  'What about me ?' Julian asked, as Twinkle went to work on untangling Mr Herkimer's reassurances.

  'Where's my safety-harness?'

  'You don't need one, my boy.' Mr Herkimer slapped him on the back. 'Sure-footed as a mountain goat.

  This will be child's-play to you. Didn't your agent tell me you used to do mountain climbing?'

  'No,' Julian said tersely.

  'I'm not going up there today or any other day,' Twinkle announced coldly.

  'We'll worry about one day at a time!' Tor Torrington had come up behind them. Oddly enough, he did look worried. Perhaps he was afraid that Cecile Savoy had walked off the set for good.

  Taking advantage of Twinkle's preoccupation, Continuity had thrust the glass of milk to her lips again and Twinkle had taken several more sips before realizing what she was doing and thrusting the glass away.

  'I don't want that junk!' Twinkle protested.

  'That's all right.' Dick Brouder was prepared to make a concession. 'You've nearly finished. No more milk till tomorrow now.' He looked at the group still milling around in the dressing-room.

  'All right,' he ordered. 'Let's get to work.'

  Next morning, unsure of Laurenda's state of health, Frances reported directly to the hotel suite. Twinkle seemed glad to see her although, in what Frances was coming to recognize as her usual way, she tried to hide the fact.

  'Oh, Frances, thank heavens you've come!' Laurenda was more forthcoming. 'Now both of us can travel down with Twinkle today, and you can keep her safe in case anything happens to me. I'm not feeling at all well. I wonder if, maybe, it's the water? It's got a funny taste.'

  'It's hard water, that's all,' Frances said. 'It's perfectly safe.' As would Twinkle have been, even by herself in the company car. Laurenda had not worried about sending her off alone yesterday.

  The telephone rang just then. Laurenda answered and did not appear happy with what she heard. 'The car will be late picking us up,' she complained to Twinkle. 'It seems they picked up Cecile Savoy first and took her down. But there was a delay and they won't get here for a while yet.'

  'They took her down ahead of me ?' Twinkle's eyes narrowed dangerously. 'But I'm the Star.'

  'Cecile Savoy has to be on the set ahead of you,' Frances reminded her.

  'Who told you so?' Twinkle appeared to have been struck by a new thought. One which sharpened her face and shadowed the feral features. 'Who was it?'

  'Why, I believe it was First,' Frances said, startled. 'He was kind enough to explain the regulations about children appearing in films - ' She broke off, realizing abruptly that Twinkle had not been addressing her.

  ' Who?' Twinkle insisted, glaring at her mother. 'Who was it on the telephone ? Who ?'

  'Why . . . why, baby . . .' Laurenda backed away from the seething fury confronting her.

  'Who?'

  'It... it was the Director . .. that's all. . .' Laurenda had backed up against the wall and she cringed there.

  'Only the Director . . .'

  'It was Dick Brouder - that's who!' Twinkle quivered with fury. 'Dick Brouder! '

  'Well, he is the Director, baby - '

  'That does it!' Twinkle snarled. 'You're not coming with me today - you're staying here!'

  'But, Twinkle - ' Her mother began an automatic protest, clearly without any real hope of being allowed to finish it. She halted even before Twinkle cut in.

  'You're staying here!' Twinkle ordered. 'Besides - ' she cast a quick sideways look at Frances, as though suddenly remembering her presence. 'I need some new clothes. A skirt and a couple of tops - you know. I haven't got time to look for them myself. You'll have to find them for me.'

  'I guess you're right.' Laurenda surrendered like one long accustomed to losing, who only put up a brief initial battle for the sake of appearances.

  'Frances can take care of me okay.' Twinkle was prepared to be magnanimous in victory. 'Can't you, Frances ?'

  'Quite possibly,' Frances said dryly. It occurred to her that Twinkle was about as much in need of care and protection as a sabre-tooth tiger - that is, back in the era before sabre-tooth tigers became extinct.

  'Sure, you can,' Twinkle said. It was obvious that she, too, drought Frances redundant. She could look after herself better than anyone else could. The jungle was her natural habitat.

  Frances surveyed her critically. Had Twinkle grown - just slightly - since yesterday? Not to the grotesque extent that Cecile Savoy's altering of her costume had suggested, but -just slightly?

  'What's the matter?' Twinkle asked abruptly, alert to the faintest hint of criticism in the air.

  'Nothing.' Once again, Frances was conscious of the knife-edge Twinkle balanced on. Twinkle, who had alienated so many people during the brief course of her career, who was surrounded by so many ill-wishers ready to cheer should she plunge forward into disaster.

  'So, okay.' Twinkle still regarded her uneasily, as though conscious of unsaid things hovering in the air.

  She seemed about to ask another question but, before she could formulate it, the telephone rang again.

  'Yes? Hello?' Laurenda sprang to answer it, with more animation than she had shown yet. Her troubled face cleared as she heard the message relayed from the other end.

  'Oh, fine,' she said enthusiastically. 'That's just lovely. Thank you so much.' She replaced the receiver and turned to face her daughter.

  'It's all right, baby,' she said. 'The car is downstairs right this minute. You and Frances can get along now.'

  CHAPTER XII

  'She isn't coming!' Twinkle said, stepping out of the limousine and sweeping past Dick Brouder in a manner curiously reminiscent of Cecile Savoy's.

  Dick Brouder stared after her, flexing his fingers unconsciously. His gaze seemed to focus on her neck.

  'Laurenda had to stay in London to do some shopping today.' Frances tried to smooth over Twinkle's rudeness. 'Twinkle needs some new clothes.'

  'Twinkle needs - ' Dick Brouder broke off and smiled tautly at Frances. 'Right,' he said. 'We'll try to get that scene between her and Cecile done today. If you'll check with Ilse and Continuity on costume details, I'll get Twinkle rehearsing it.'

  He walked off jauntily. Of course, the scene was going to have to be shot some time - and more than one remaining scene called for Twinkle and Cecile Savoy to appear together. It was probably as well to get them back to work as soon as possible. But Frances had the feeling that Dick Brouder was going to enjoy Twinkle's discomfiture today.

  In the event, all went smoothly. In her way, Twinkle was as much of a professional as Cecile Savoy in hers. And the antagonisms bristling just beneath the surface were, as Morris Moskva had prophesied, all to the good where the script was concerned. Miss Minchin and Sara Crewe faced each other, crossed swords, thrust, parried, and - when the scene was over - the entire technical crew burst into spontaneous applause, the rarest and highest accolade film stars could achieve.

  Cecile Savoy bowed to the assembled technicians and - after a fractional pause - to Twinkle, in the best curtain call manner. Twinkle, after a barely more fractional pause, did the same. She was learning fast
and the lessons could only improve her.

  Frances saw Dick Brouder and Tor Torrington exchange surprised glances. Evidently, neither of them had thought to see the day when Twinkle would modify her naturally churlish instincts once the cameras had stopped turning.

  In a farther corner, Mr Herkimer beamed as though he had engineered the change in her attitude himself.

  Cecile Savoy and Twinkle bowed frostily to each other once more and turned away to their separate exits. At least, no one had raised the question of either of them apologizing to the other, and so it seemed they were prepared to ignore the past and begin again. Perhaps, in some odd way, the off-camera scene they had just carried out was a mutual apology.

  'I was proud of you!' Frances said impulsively, as they entered the dressing-room.

  'You were?' Twinkle seemed startled. It was obviously not the sort of remark that came her way often.

  'You were really splendid,' Frances insisted. 'You both were.'

  'Oh.' Whether it was because genuine praise was so unusual, or because Cecile Savoy had been included in it, Twinkle had an unwonted attack of modesty. 'Well, it was a good scene,' she said. 'It was so good nobody could have loused it up, really, not even if they'd tried.'

  'Don't tell me! I can't have heard right!' Morris Moskva, entering the dressing-room behind them, stopped and stared at Twinkle. 'You're not sickening for something, are you? You don't sound like

  yourself at all.'

  'I never said all the scenes were good!' Twinkle counter-attacked immediately, but Frances had to admit that there had been provocation. 'Only some of them. In fact, maybe that was the only one. And that was practically word-for-word from the book.'

  'Don't tell me you read the book!' Morris Moskva took a step backwards. 'A whole book? And without any pictures in it, even?'

  'I read,' Twinkle said angrily. 'I read a lot more than people think I do. I'm not stupid, you know. Even if I do work for Herkimer-Torrington.'

  'How did you like the book?' Frances intervened hastily, trying to defuse the situation. 'What did you think of it?'