There was a faraway expression in her eyes and her face was dreamy and gentle.
In contrast, Heathcliff exuded power, was filled with vigour and strength and lithe animal grace, this despite his agonized countenance which so revealed his own suffering.
Now he stepped forward boldly, fell into her direct line of vision, and immediately an extraordinary change was wrought in her, was so forceful it leapt out at those watching. There was a straining in her, a breathless expectancy, an eagerness, as if Heathcliff brought with him the very breath of life, her life’s blood itself. He was by her side in a few quick strides, emotion spilling out of him. He took her in his arms hungrily, and his anguish and despair were as tangible as her expectancy and hope as he gazed down into her lovely face. And they conveyed the deepest, most intense feelings without uttering one single word to each other. Heathcliff had the first line, and Nick’s face prickled with gooseflesh as it was uttered.
‘Oh, Cathy! Oh, my life! How can I bear it?’
As the scene progressed to its climax, Nick could almost feel the silence around him. It was absolute. He was also aware of the mounting tension on the set, knew that dozens of pairs of eyes were fixed in concentration on these two electrically-charged beings, who were so caught up in a vortex of passion and heartbreak they were oblivious to everything but themselves. They were hypnotic together, held everybody spellbound. Their performance was stunning; it went beyond performing to Nick. He had no words to describe what was happening on the set this afternoon, could only think of it as something quite miraculous.
After another passage of dialogue between Catherine and Heathcliff, during which they had remained virtually motionless, Heathcliff went to stand behind her chair, endeavouring to hide his pain and suffering from her. Then suddenly he was in front of the fireplace, glowering, and turning from her, and Catherine herself had risen, was supporting herself on the arm of the chair, imploring him with her eyes when, finally, his gaze met hers.
Heathcliff swung his head away, brought it back to regard her, the tears streaming down his face, and then—they were in each other’s arms again. Heathcliff began to kiss her wildly, whilst rebuking her in quiet anger, his voice finally falling away into black despair.
‘You teach me how cruel you’ve been—cruel and false. Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me, and cry, and wring out my kisses and my tears; they’ll blight you—they’ll damn you! You loved me—then what right did you have to leave me? What right—answer me—for that poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery and degradation and death and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will, did it. I have not broken your heart—you have broken it, and in breaking it you have broken mine. So much the worse for me, that I am strong. Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you—Oh God! Would you like to live with your soul in the grave?’
And Catherine responded tearfully, ‘Let me alone. Let me alone. If I’ve done wrong, I’m dying for it. It is enough! You left me too. But I won’t upbraid you! I forgive you. Forgive me!’
Heathcliff cried, ‘It is hard to forgive and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands. Kiss me again and don’t let me see your eyes. I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer. But yours. How can I!’ They clung together, their tears mingling.
Nick lifted his hand up to his eyes and wiped the wetness from his own face, and he saw the flash of white here and there, as others on the sound stage did the same with handkerchiefs. Before he could catch his breath, the scene was moving on with gathering momentum. Nelly Dean had come out of the shadows, was warning them that Linton would be returning from church imminently. Heathcliff starts to explain to Cathy that he must leave, for her sake, promises to wait outside her window in the garden. Catherine, sobbing and distraught, clings to him more desperately than before. She implores him to stay, declares she will die if he goes now. Taken by a more violent paroxysm of weeping, she faints in Heathcliff’s arms.
At this moment the door in the backdrop flew open and Terry Ogden stepped into the bedroom.
Nick tensed and clasped his hands tightly together. He wanted Terry to be great, prayed inwardly that he would match the quality of the acting that had gone before. Terry, as Edgar Linton, was the perfect foil for Heathcliff. Nick knew immediately that his Linton would be as compelling and as convincing and as believable as Victor’s Heathcliff and Katharine’s Cathy.
Looking astonished and enraged to find Catherine in Heathcliff’s arms, Linton took a step forward as if to strike the hated interloper, his sensitive ascetic face white and stark, his anger blazing. Heathcliff instantly managed to thwart the attack by placing Catherine in Linton’s arms, begging him to help her. Without another word Heathcliff slipped out through the door.
Edgar, his gestures gentle and tender, endeavoured to revive his wife, murmuring words of comfort and love to her, as though tending a child. Slowly she came round, and, opening her eyes, she regarded Linton with vagueness. Linton, filled with anxiety and apprehension for her, appeared to have forgotten all about Heathcliff. His face mirrored his joy as he observed a spark of life in Cathy, and he began to kiss her forehead, clasping her to him, his face pressed into her hair.
‘Cut. And print,’ Mark’s voice echoed sharply around the sound stage.
Startled, Nicholas sat bolt upright and blinked rapidly. He glanced about, saw that everyone else was momentarily taken aback, directed his eyes towards the set again. Katharine and Terry, frozen into their positions like statues, were staring out at the sound stage, their eyes seeking Mark expectantly.
Victor, who had exited through the door in the backdrop and walked around the set, was standing to one side of the sound stage. He was the first to break the silence.
‘Is that it, Mark? Just one take?’ he asked, unable to disguise his incredulity. ‘You did say cut and print, didn’t you?’ he went on, heading towards Mark poised near the camera.
‘Yes, my dear Victor, yes to all those questions,’ responded Mark, his smile faintly superior. ‘It was a perfect master shot. I doubt that any of you will be able to top yourselves. Certainly I’m not even going to have you try. Why tempt providence. So… I think we can move along and do the close-ups now. Katharine’s first, then yours, Victor, and finally Terrence’s. And do let us hope you will all emote as impeccably as you did for the master so that we can make this a wrap today.’
Patronizing bastard, Nick thought, fighting a cigarette and settling back in the chair.
***
‘I’d like to write an original screenplay for you and Katharine,’ Nicky said. He was stretched out on the sofa in Victor’s dressing room, his hands behind his head, his legs crossed at the ankles, and there was a thoughtful look in his eyes.
Victor, who was hurriedly discarding his costume, glanced across at him. ‘I recognize that intense expression of yours, Scribe. You’ve got an idea on the burner and bubbling already. Am I right?’
‘More or less. I have to refine the story line a bit… Anyway, what do you think? Do you want to make another picture with the lady?’
‘Sure, why not?’ Victor had stripped down to his underpants and he reached for his towelling bathrobe. Seating himself at the dressing table, he began to clean off his make-up, and continued, ‘I have that old commitment to Fox to fulfil. The screenplay they just sent me is not too bad. I’d like you to read it some time in the next few days, give me your opinion. I’ll make my decision based on your feelings about the script. I’d be doing the Fox picture in Texas and Mexico, while Katharine’s working on the Beau Stanton comedy. I’m free after that, so it would dovetail very well.’
‘What’s the Fox picture? Not another Western, for Christ’s sake.’
‘What else, baby.’ Victor looked at Nick in the mirror. ‘I’ve been wondering what to do with Katharine. If I don’t star in
something with her, then I’ll have to find a suitable vehicle for her talents, one we can produce under the Bellissima banner. Or I’ll have to look for more loan outs. Now, if you come up with a screenplay for the two of us, that’ll solve my problems. I’m pretty sure I can make a deal with Monarch. I told you, Hilly’s indicated he’d like to continue our relationship.’
Nick sat up and swung his legs to the floor decisively. ‘I have a great idea for you and Katharine. A contemporary story. Romantic. Glamorous. Highly dramatic though, not comedic. I’ll toss it around for the next few days, develop it further, and if you like the sound of it I’ll do a treatment for you.’
‘Okay, Nicky, you’re on.’ Victor stood up, went to the wash basin, rinsed his face and combed his hair. He began to dress in his own clothes, talking about the events of the past few hours, purposely changing the subject, knowing Nick would resist any further questions about his intended screenplay. He was always reluctant to discuss plot until it was entirely clear in his head. ‘I’ll tell you this, Nicky, you could have knocked me down with a feather when Pierce settled for one take on the master shot, and let’s face it, he was pretty easy-going about the close-ups.’
‘There was no reason for him to be anything else,’ Nick said. ‘You were all superb, Vic. And despite the headaches you’ve had, you’ve got one hell of a picture in the can.’
‘Mmmm. Let’s hope so.’ Slipping his tie under the collar of his pale blue shirt, Victor knotted it carefully, peering into the mirror. ‘And as far as this afternoon goes—well, the pleasant working atmosphere certainly sets the right mood for the wrap party.’
Nick regarded the mountain of boxes near the door. He said, ‘I see you’ve been your usual extravagant self. Gifts for the cast and crew?’
‘Sure. And they’ve all earned ’em, kid.’
‘What did you select for Pierce? A gun or a bottle of arsenic?’ Nick asked, grinning wickedly.
‘No, as a matter of fact, I bought him a camera.’
‘Christ, you didn’t, Vic! That’s sort of double-edged, isn’t it? Like telling him point blank he ought to go back to being a cameraman.’
‘Come on, Nicky, I’m kidding. I must admit I did consider it though. A camera would have been a nice little tongue-in-cheek dig. There were times on location when I was ready to scream from frustration. Mark had Ossie linger over some of the landscape shots for hours. To me, a tree is a tree, a sky is a sky.’ Disgust trickled onto Victor’s face. ‘That’s often the trouble with directors who’ve been cinematographers. They think every shot must be a work of art, a painting, or so it seems.’ Victor lifted the jacket of his grey pin-striped suit off the hanger, slipped into it. ‘In any event, I bought Mark a pair of gold cufflinks.’
‘And Katharine?’
‘A diamond bracelet.’
Nick let out a long low whistle, registered amazement. ‘Pretty ritzy gift, maestro. I hope Francesca won’t be jealous.’
It was Victor’s turn to look astonished. ‘Why should she be? Ches isn’t that kind of girl. Anyway, she knows Katharine’s earned it.’ He turned to the mirror again, fiddled with the grey silk handkerchief in his breast pocket, remarked, ‘Apart from being a true professional and a really disciplined actress, Katharine’s made other contributions. I never told you, but it was she who persuaded Terry and Mark to do the picture, when I was having trouble getting them to sign. I think she deserves a special token of my appreciation.’
‘I’ll be damned,’ Nick muttered. ‘I mean about her influence with Mark and Terry.’ He was surprised, although he knew he ought not to be after the things Jake had said about Katharine. It seemed the producer had been right on target.
Victor said, ‘Besides, I gave Francesca the pearl choker she was wearing on Tuesday evening. I’m sure you noticed it. But did I have a problem getting her to accept it!’
‘Why?’
‘She said her father would disapprove of her taking expensive jewellery from a man, even if it was a birthday present, which it was, of course, for her twentieth birthday.’
A small smile tugged at the corner of Nick’s mouth. ‘She would say that. No gold digger, she. And tell me, sport, how did you persuade her?’
Victor laughed. ‘I also went out and bought gifts for her father and Kim, as an expression of my gratitude for their help on location, the use of the castle. By giving them presents at the same time, the pearls seemed impersonal and very legit.’
‘The choker suited her. She looked particularly lovely on Tuesday. That girl’s got it bad, Vic. She’s very serious about you. Very serious indeed.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Victor muttered, scowling, and turned his back on Nick abruptly. He began to shuffle through the papers in his briefcase, obviously disinclined to continue the conversation.
This laconic, even dismissive, response, with its hint of indifference, confused Nick, and he stared at Victor’s broad back, a frown crossing his face. Before he could stop himself, he exclaimed, ‘Aren’t you serious about her?’
‘How the hell can I be serious about her, Nicky? I’m still married to Arlene!’ Victor’s voice, rising angrily, sliced through the air like a blade, and he kept his face averted, cursing Nick under his breath for broaching this particular subject. Nick’s sharp intake of breath and strangled exclamation caused him to glance over his shoulder. He glowered at the writer, asked tersely, ‘Or had you forgotten that impediment? There are also a lot of other major complications, many to do with Francesca herself. Furthermore, I still have plenty of worries about the picture, so romance is hardly on my mind now. Capisce?’
Nick was silent. In all truth he was astounded, not only by Victor’s actual words and his curt delivery, but by his unusually aggressive manner. After a moment, Nick said, in a low, dismayed voice, ‘Yes, I understand, and no, I hadn’t forgotten you’re married. But you are shaking free of Arlene, and you seem pretty damned hooked on Francesca to me.’ Nick’s shoulders lifted in a half shrug, and he muttered, ‘Sorry I asked, Vic.’
‘That’s okay,’ Victor replied in a milder tone, swinging around and leaning against the wardrobe. His mouth tightened imperceptibly and he sighed, and then his expression softened, and he said slowly, ‘I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, Nicky, or snarled like that. Sorry, kid, I guess I’m all tensed up this week. End of picture nerves. Let’s go down to the sound stage and have a drink. I could use one, and they’re probably waiting for me before they can start the wrap party.’
‘Sure, Vic.’ Nick pushed himself up from the sofa, managing a smile.
The sound stage had acquired a more festive appearance. Long wooden trestle tables had been covered with pristine white cloths. All were laden with bottles of liquor, champagne and soft drinks, and there were plates of assorted cheeses, devilled eggs, game pies, thin sandwiches and a variety of other canapés. A number of waiters and waitresses hovered behind them, ready to start serving, and two bartenders busied themselves polishing glasses. All the cast and crew had assembled, were clustered together in small groups, talking amongst themselves, obviously awaiting the arrival of their star.
Jake said, ‘There’s an empty table for your gift boxes over there. Why not distribute them after the first drink? I think they’re all raring to go, anxious to toast you.’
‘Sure,’ Victor said.
The chief stagehand broke into the refrain, ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow’, and everyone joined in as Victor strode into their midst, radiating his immense and charismatic charm. Instantly he was surrounded by his colleagues, who were shaking his hand, slapping him on the back, and generally showing their affection and admiration for him. That he was extremely popular there was little doubt.
Nicholas Latimer hung back, preferring to remain on the sidelines. He was no longer much in the mood for a party, felt put out with Victor. Although they had had their disagreements and arguments in the past, these had never been of a very serious nature, nor long-lasting, and certainly Nick had never had an occasion to think
badly of Victor. That he was doing so now filled him with discomfort, made him feel vaguely disloyal. And yet it was impossible to deny he was annoyed with his friend. I’m also disappointed in him, Nick acknowledged. Normally he paid no attention to Vic’s philandering, since he himself tended to be equally opportunistic when it came to women. But Francesca—she was different. If he understood this, then surely Vic did too. He’s being unfair to the girl, Nick muttered under his breath, and his fierce protectiveness of her, which had developed steadily as he had come to know her better, automatically surfaced. He thought suddenly of his sister; Francesca had always reminded him of Marcia, with her sweetness and innocence, her gentle ways, her straightforward nature. Familiar sorrow stabbed at him, and he closed his eyes, holding himself still, waiting for it to pass.
Over the last few months, Nick had come to accept Marcia’s death, but there were odd, unexpected moments when he experienced feelings of loss. He knew he would never be quite the same again. Something youthful had gone out of him. He had always had a devil-may-care, irreverent attitude to almost everything in life, the one exception to this rule being his work. But lately his angle of vision had shifted direction, and his natural flippancy was tempered now by a new sobriety.
Opening his eyes, he looked across at Victor, studying the actor with objectivity. It was then he realized he had been slightly shocked by his friend’s cold dismissal of Francesca, especially in view of the circumstances. Being gallant, and a trine close-mouthed about some things, Victor never indulged in locker-room gossip about the women in his life, and so he had confided relatively little about their relationship. But Nicky knew that they were having an affair. Despite his affection for Vic, which bordered on adoration, Nick had to admit that for once he was on the woman’s side.
Jake Watson, who was standing near one of the bars, caught his eye and beckoned. Nick strolled over to join him, and Jake said, ‘You’re looking down in the mouth, bubeleh. Come on, have a drink. What would you like?’
‘Vodka on the rocks with a twist, please.’