Her room looked different. The shutters were wide open. The bed was neatly made. The carnival of her dressing-table possessions, her shoes and clothes and clutter, had been swept clean off the table and floor and everywhere was kempt and bare, and on the luggage-support two shoulder bags were stacked, and Adela, as he entered, was kneeling on a suitcase and tugging around its edges a reluctant zipper.
'Perfect timing,' she said rather breathlessly.
The room was full of her energy and efficiency. Michael had no idea what was going on and stood there openly surprised by this woman who rose to her feet, dusting hands on jeans and flicking hair over her ear.
'Are you leaving?'
'I've been upgraded.'
She sashayed around the suitcase and came up to him. She looked into his eyes with her usual directness, preparing him for the next revelation.
'Shane wants me to join him at the Sirenuse.'
'Join him?'
She smiled. 'He's booked me a room.'
'Why?'
She heard the dismay in his voice. 'Oh.' She shrugged. 'Because he probably thinks an actress of my standing shouldn't be obliged to stay in fleapit hotels.'
She heaved the suitcase on to its wheels, took lipstick from her pocket, presented her mouth to the wall mirror. 'Would you pass up two nights of five-star?'
He walked quickly towards her. She turned and looked at him before he kissed her, a quick, possessive kiss.
'I like it here,' he said.
'Michael.' She touched his chest, intimate but restraining. 'I don't have the choice.'
He hesitated, struck by the tone.
'Shane wants me there because he can't move around freely.'
'He can wear shades! He can wear a baseball cap!'
'He's a very private man.'
'Why should that affect your sleeping arrangements!'
She pouted, topped up the colour of her lips. 'He's a night owl.'
Michael walked across to the window, drawn to daylight. He knew that he was being jumpy and assuming things; and that he distrusted the invigorating effect of Shane's visit on Adela, as if it were more than she could do to conceal her own nerves and was annoyed with him for forcing her to do so.
He had liked it here: the Bohemian quarters above the noisy square.
Her coolness was ambiguous. Perhaps she meant to show that this sort of thing happened in her line of work. She was resolute because she wanted to get a job done. And while it might be presumptuous of a film star to summon her to his own luxury hotel, Adela was too determined to let presumptuousness inhibit her. Michael knew that she had many resources and many imperatives and would handle each new development with tact and charm, and little could be concluded, if he would just stay cool, from the nervousness that a movie star's imminent arrival created; though, looking at the room's newfound order, he saw how powerfully Hammond's stellar magnetism affected other heavenly bodies. Hammond's presence was a lot more irksome than the use of his bankable name. His fame and power gave him rights over people, an edge in personal matters that could not be resisted by those he privileged with his company.
He turned back from the window. She was attaching a slide to her hair, lifting it away from temple and ear so that one saw the soft curve of her jaw. The lipstick anointed her mouth, gave a concentrated stab to the pleasingness of her looks. Even in a sweater and jeans she was fluffily feminine; competent, too. She was very aware of the architecture of her face as it might now be presented to the desk clerk of the Sirenuse, or to the hotel's rich patrons, or to Shane Hammond himself.
He remained by the window as she attached earrings to the picture of her face. He was unused to the hazards of submitting to feeling. He had allowed passion to escape from some inner hiding place and was now vulnerable to anything that might thwart it.
'What were you going to tell me?'
She glanced at him acutely. 'Do I look OK?'
'Of course.'
'How was your meeting?'
'I cut a deal.'
'I'm sure there won't be any problems.'
'There were loads of bloody problems!'
'But with Shane behind you . . .'
'I've never met Shane!' She was trying to take his achievement away. 'He doesn't give a shit about me.'
'You got the deal, Michael!'
'Not on a plate! Those hyenas want my blood.'
She stood up, cradling her arms. 'They're powerless.'
'I had to fight.'
'OK!'
He stared at her. He had endured an ordeal by fire for her benefit.
She returned the look, duly corrected. She had got the message. She raised her eyebrows to move the subject on. 'So it's in the bag unless you blow it with Shane.'
'Blow it?'
She nodded knowingly.
'Am I auditioning?'
Adela was rock-like. 'We are all auditioning.'
He swallowed. He did not like this. He could not endure the idea of being a supplicant, especially to a movie star, however bankable.
'What were you going to tell me?'
She came towards him, bringing herself to the window. She was composing herself; formulating various points, which she would need to state carefully. She had information and wanted to share it for the sake of completeness.
'I've told you my suspicions.'
He watched her closely. Anything she might say about Shane would be an indirect way of saying things about himself.
'When I was understudying at Chichester, Shane was aloof. Pleasant but aloof. He was like that with everybody. There were several fine women in that production, and he was spoilt for choice, but he seemed . . . uninterested.' She raised her eyebrows. 'I thought he was gay or on sabbatical. But then somebody told me he was dating the daughter of a Labour peer, Carlotta so-and-so. End of story. The next time I saw him was in New York, with Jack, at a party. Jack was embarrassingly thrilled to meet him and did everything possible to get in the way until an American casting agent yanked him off for a dance, and I had Shane to myself, and Shane was asking questions about the BBC and all things British, and running a big spiel about the horrors of Hollywood and laughing at what a cliché he must seem. He told me actors were a fucked-up bunch and that he loathed Hollywood and would be glad to return to the RSC if he could only break the habit of earning multi-million-dollar fees. He really rolled back the frontiers of self-indulgence. I did my incredulous ''Haven't you got everything?'' bit. And then Jack made his way over, and Shane took my hand and said, ''You're very beautiful, but don't marry that man.'' Which I thought was extremely rude and very perceptive.' She glanced frankly at Michael. 'To tell the truth I liked the idea that he could read my mind, because I knew at that party Jack was history.'
He was half puzzled to learn Jack was history then. That had not been his understanding.
'Next time I heard his voice it was 4 a.m. He was very cocky. But of course he made up for it nicely by offering me a part. The implication being that from just one meeting Shane knows I'm right. And he's marvellously low-key, as if the film he always wanted to make would happen as soon as he chanced on the right actress, and now he's found me and, bingo, we're off.'
Michael had so little of the initiative that he thought it better to retain what little he had by saying nothing.
'And then' – she smiled with lovely, candid irony – 'I read the novel and discovered about my character. The love of his life. The woman who teaches Shane what real love feels like.'
'Shane?'
'Shane's character.'
There was a pause.
'Which means, I guess, that he thinks I have a quality which would make me convincing to an audience in that role.' She looked at him flatly. 'And if the audience likes that quality . . . maybe he does, too.'
'Your quality as an actress?'
'What I can do,' she said. 'What I can project.'
'You?'
She looked at him for a long moment. 'Yes, me.'
He let out a long breath. 'Is there no difference between you and your acting?'
She paused a moment, before coming out with proud tranquil assurance. 'I can't put across what I don't feel.'
He nodded, saw the reflection of her back in the mirror. He wanted her to discriminate between appearance and reality, between personal feeling and histrionic effect. She had not answered his question.
'He called several times after that. Usually with a pretext. Maybe he was reassuring himself. Or rehearsing. He's very method. And every time I try to be as relaxed as possible. The funny thing is, when we have these conversations it's like I'm the only person in the world he can talk to. When he heard about the problems with the option he was stricken. He's so determined to make this movie. So fixated. The story is a personal thing with him. Love and impossible love and, well, he's going to be very bound up with whoever plays Anna.' She cast her eyes down and then aside. 'That actress has to do it for Shane.'
He was immersed in the implications. All this uncertainty stemmed from his decision to lie, from his desperate neediness, more desperate than ever.
'Do what?' he said, softly.
'Oh.' She shrugged. 'Make sparks. Be his idea of a perfect woman. You see, he's discovered me. He thinks I'm it. No one else in Hollywood is going to offer me a movie like this because nobody else believes in me on the big screen. I have to live up to that.'
He nodded. That much was intelligible, though he wondered where acting stopped and life began. Perhaps a man like Hammond made no distinction between the emotions of living and performing, but Adela should. She was intelligently self-aware.
'So you see, there are two angles here.' She looked so furtive, so thorough in her sounding of the matter before them. 'Either he's just intense, the great thespian brewing up vibes for his next star performance, in which case I play my part and keep my job. Or–' She turned towards him, tossed her hair back, parted her lips in high oral coquetry. 'He's using the film as a pretext for something more personal.'
He looked at her. What gave him most pause, the thing that checked his response, was that Adela had kept this information to herself from the day of their first meeting. And while that meant her depiction of Hammond's interest had been economical, it also meant that his 'encounter' with her had managed to happen despite her little secret, suggesting that she was not entirely consumed by the idea of Hammond's interest.
He went across to the bed and sat down; allowed a tired sigh to escape from his body. 'You think Shane needs all this pretext to make a pass?'
Adela was silent for a moment. 'I don't think there's too much difference between how he feels about work and how he feels about life. A romantic, I guess.'
'He's a star, for heaven's sake. He can have anyone!'
She was grand. 'Oh, not anyone!'
'Why doesn't he take you to an expensive restaurant?'
'Screen gods move in mysterious ways.'
He was forlorn. 'You mean he's playing some kind of game?'
'He's rich, famous, probably miserable. How am I supposed to know what's going on in his mind?'
'It's you that talks to him!'
'Yes, and I'm telling you my hunch!' She frowned. 'After all, he's coming to Positano!'
Michael took this in slowly. Things were cast now in a queer light. The information he had received, it was so very unrelaxing.
'Why are you telling me this, Adela?'
She raised her eyebrows at his tone. 'Because it's going to have an effect on things.'
Michael waited, heart beating hard. He never knew quite what it was possible for her to say next.
She came towards him, rested her delicate hands on the strap of a bag.
'I'm going to have to be charming, you see. You'll have to let me play my part.' She watched him closely.
He laughed nervously. 'What does that mean?'
'Oh.' She widened her eyes. 'That you make allowances for me.'
He was transfixed.
'I must live up to Shane's expectations.'
The emotion he felt was very unpleasant.
'It wouldn't do to be indiscreet.'
'Indiscreet?'
She was not untroubled. 'We have to keep mum. If what I say is true, we can't let Shane see that his chosen actress is' – she raised her eyebrows – 'you know . . .'
He made no reaction.
'We can't risk alienating him.'
He nodded, beginning to doubt her integrity. Such tact was no more than deception. He spoke gently. 'But nor should you risk alienating the producer.'
She frowned. 'I'm telling you so you won't be alienated!'
'Adela!'
'I know it's awkward!'
'Awkward!' The word did not go far enough, not by a long way, was completely inadequate.
He looked at the floor. This conversation was absolutely not to his taste. 'What will you do?'
Her face lightened and she strolled across the room as if dress-rehearsing the idea. 'The obvious thing is to say I'm still in love with Jack.'
Michael recognised the excuse. 'Which he knows isn't true.'
She turned and came back the other way. 'It's a neat way of not rejecting him.'
'He'll like the challenge.'
'It buys me time.'
'A day or so. It won't get you through the shoot.'
'And it has the advantage of mirroring the story in the novel.'
'Until the characters elope.'
She was thoughtful.
'And have their love affair!'
She seemed absent-minded, distracted.
He rose from the bed and moved towards her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, looked feelingly into her eyes.
'It needn't be complicated. Be up-front with him. Let him know about us casually.'
'Us?' It was less of a question than the voicing of a vague notion, the sense of which she could not fully feel.
'You know what I mean,' he said experimentally.
He saw that she did by the sudden steadiness of the look she gave him, offering her honesty, full access to the conundrum as it struck her. She breathed in and squeezed his hand.
'Inadvisable.'
'Isn't it better to be honest than to play out a charade?'
'And risk losing everything?'
'If Shane has any class he'll respect your feelings.'
'Shane's class is one thing. It's his ego I'm worried about.'
He was impatient. 'Either he wants to make the film or he doesn't.'
She stared at him with sudden, terrible anguish. 'If I reject him, he'll cast someone else!' She bared her teeth and looked away, almost devastated by the thought.
Michael was shaken. It was as though she had revealed herself.
'He has absolute power over my career. My only power is over his emotions. That,' she said vehemently, 'is why he wants me. Why he's prepared to make me. Because at some level I've got something he wants, and this film is a route to that!'
Michael paled. She had spelt it out.
'Michael!' She grabbed his hand, brought herself tightly into his clasp. 'I have to carry this. Trust me to do it for both of us.'
He felt something precious slipping away from him.
'You mean sleep with him?'
Her breath was hot on his skin. She squeezed his hand between the prayer of her palms, urged it against her breast. Her eyes scan-searched his face, seeking him out, as though his response were the only one that mattered. 'It won't come to that.'
He gazed into the depths of those eyes, unable to believe his relationship with Adela had reached this point. There was yielding and pleading in the cast of her upturned features, a loveliness in the rounded cheekbones, forgiveness in the lips, conscience in the wide openness of her brow, youth in the natural, abundant hair. The nape of her neck was silky warm to his fingers.
The silence that surrounded them was void of forward momentum. They had reached a centre-point, a moment that was still. He held her close, felt the fluff of her jersey on his palm, breathed in the exhalation of scent from her skin. He had become too quickly attached to Adela. Circumstance had accelerated their romance beyond the normal speed of development, heightening chemistry and complexity, intensifying emotions before it was possible to resolve the ambiguity about whether the film was an excuse for an affair, or the catalyst for true love. Michael craved for the latter to be true though it was too late to judge and too soon to know.
'What if I fall in love with you?' He was surprised to have said it.
For a moment she was strangely absent. 'And what if I fall in love with you?'
He was almost moved, though possibly he was meant to be moved.
'Why would you?'
She did not catch his meaning.
'Date Shane and you'll be at all the right parties. You'll be on magazine covers.' He could not restrain himself. 'And where your career is concerned you have to be smart.'
'I have to be smart,' she said angrily, twisting away from him, 'because I've got no heart, no feelings. I'm just a desperate actress ready to shag anybody who'll put me up for a job. Is that what you think?'
He absorbed her anger, wanting to believe it.
'D'you know what it's like being an actress? D'you know what it's like being sized up by directors and then passed over, auditioned and rejected, patronised and sexually harassed, made to feel like you're meat on a hook? You have no idea what we go through! What we wouldn't do to escape the cattlemarket soullessness of being in competition with thousands of other talented good-looking women, struggling for a living. Don't you see what a break this is for me? It's divine intervention. The chance of a lifetime! And what I need from you is a little understanding and flexibility about what I need to do for both our sakes. God, if this film gets made I don't want an egomaniac fucking actor on my hands. Give me a break. I don't deserve your moral superiority. I'm trying to make something work.'
He was always impressed by her when she was pushed to the limit, as though it were her fate to be unfairly suspected by people and her burden to have to defend her integrity with outbursts so forceful nobody could doubt her.
'And what about him?' he said, on top of it now. 'If he's serious about you?'
She screwed up her face. 'Would you rather I deceived him or you?'
'I'd rather you deceived no one.'
She hesitated for a second and then found the answer. 'We don't have the choice.'
This was it, he thought. His feelings were the best thing about him, not to be trammelled or squandered. He hesitated and then came out with it. 'If you are prepared to deceive one of us, why should either of us trust you?'
She frowned, as though she had not foreseen the angle and it checked her.
'How do I know,' he said, his moment of truth come round at last, 'that you aren't playing me along till the film deal's signed?'
She crumpled on to the chair in the corner, legs drawn together, head flopping on a hand.
He felt that he had betrayed her trust but knew the feeling of unkindness was the only alternative to suspicion and anguish and he was not deterred by the awkwardness of it.
There were glittering tears in her eyes. She shook her head slowly.
He pitied her; but even her silence was ambiguous.
'You don't know you're born, Michael Lear.'
'I know one thing. If Hammond's after you, I'm not producing this film.'
Her face was so pained.
'Somebody else can have a go at Hilldyard.'
Her hair wept over the chair-arm. 'Oh, I wish I hadn't told you!'
He sat there, gaunt with sorrow for himself, for Adela.
'Christ, we've only slept together once. How can you load me up with all this obligation?'
It was a fair question and he could not help seeing things from her point of view. The perspective changed things, required honesty. He spoke quietly because he wanted to sound definite. 'You're my redemption, Adela.'
'What?'
His heart fluttered with the nearness of confession.
She rose forward in her chair, curious and distraught at the same time.
He felt overcome by the need to be honest, because honesty would shed light over everything, and Michael was exhausted with the murky and uncertain and it struck him with an adrenalin twist in the heart that he had no idea how she would react.
'What are you talking about?'
He adjusted his position so he could look her straight in the eye. He wanted to make his confession as a gesture of trust, to show her that they both deserved honesty. The words would be simple, would go to the heart of the matter like the edge of an axe.
'I haven't got the rights.'
Her eyebrows sailed up in unconcealed astonishment.
'He changed his mind.'
'Oh my God!'
'Nothing I could say would persuade him.'
She shot to her feet, electrified. 'You lied to me!'
He flinched at the accusation.
'After all this talk of deception you lied to me about the option!'
'You gave me no choice.'
'To get me into bed!'
'To stop you leaving!'
She had the tempestuous colour of an enraged heroine, as though she were throttled by impossible confusions of feeling. And yet it was not rage he saw, but overwhelmed horror.
'Oh fuck! Oh Jesus!' She pounded the travel bag. 'Michael, you are utterly insane!'
He flinched again but honesty had given him strength and he made no half-hearted attempt to cut in. Her panic was the fright of an actress whose great chance is threatened. He expected as much and would let her burn off the shock before calming her down and moving her into the reality of the situation.
She subsided on the edge of the bed in a hair-torn weep of anguish. 'Shane will go ape.'
'Not if you don't tell him.'
'We can't not tell him!' Her face collapsed with the awfulness of it. 'Oh Michael, what have you done!'
He rose slowly. He was ready to tell all.
'I've organised the elements. Bluffed and lied and done a deal with the agents. Shane's coming, and I'm about to find out whether this wonderful project is for real. If it is, I'm lined up for three-quarters of a million dollars and a producer credit.'
'You what?' Her jaw dropped.
'If Shane and I agree.'
She was delirious. 'You don't have the rights!'
'I'll get them.'
'What?'
He had the initiative now and he could see in her eyes a total dependency on what he would say next.
'I've learned something about James.'
There was a pause. She seemed to respond.
'You have?'
He frowned.
She came like quicksilver off the bed, stood before him. 'What?'
'You don't need to know.'
She was instantly fascinated, her mind grappling with the implication. 'You wouldn't?'
She had understood instantly.
He gave a half-nod. 'It would be the end of our friendship.'
Adela averted her face, shocked by the realisation of many things. Michael could tell that he was being re-evaluated and that she saw what he proposed from his point of view, even from Hilldyard's. She would also sense that if Michael proposed something like this, he meant to execute it; though with no certainty of success. Of one thing only could he be certain. The endeavour was unconscionable, steeped in betrayal and dishonour.
'I owe Hilldyard everything.'
'Yes.' She was almost depressed now.
There was a pause and he saw her brow tightening. She knew what was coming.
'I can only sacrifice his commitment for yours.'
Her features were in shade now, and the light through the window was tinted with blue.
'I can swap his love for some kind of chance with you. But to betray him just for . . .'
She captured her face in her palms and sat liquidly down on the end of the bed. He remained standing, watching the effect of his words.
She looked up at him with piteous incredulity. 'You'd do it for me?'
He knew what the answer was but his certainty seemed strange. To say that he was in love with her was to say nothing. Adela was his salvation, although it was not a salvation he would have on any terms. But he would do surprising things, and what he needed now was a view of her hand. He wanted the truth in so far as the truth could be compressed from his relationship with Adela. That would be his only insurance.
'For you, yes.'
'But, Michael.' She laughed nervously. 'How can you be so sure about me?'
'It's proving to be hard.'
'How can I . . . I can't make promises.'
'I don't expect promises.' He was soft. 'But if you think there's nothing between us, what I have to do would be on your conscience.'
'Oh.' She drooped.
'He's an old man.'
She sighed deeply.
'I'm asking you to be frank.' He realised he was calm.
'And if I leave you in six weeks?'
He looked at her keenly. She was open, natural. It was an idea she could contemplate generically.
'Then we'd better part now.'
She caught his eye. She saw that honesty had given him power, that he had entered into the situation on his own terms and that it was for her to meet him on the terms he sought. For a moment, she looked as though she had no choice, but then seemed to understand what that would mean. He saw her examining her conscience, as if there were too many feelings to be sounded, as if this final question eluded calculation and Adela could only respond to the challenge by impulse.
'I won't leave you,' she said.
'Come tonight.' He swallowed.
She was unprepared.
'After your dinner with Shane. Come to my hotel.'
'Michael, don't be silly! I haven't seen him in ages! He'll probably keep me up all night.'
'Come when you've finished.'
'It's far too risky!'
It was the only proof he could think of.
'Make an excuse.'
'Don't you trust me?' she said.
'I will then.'
She looked about her, filled with the drama of it, as though the moment of truth were something one had to endure whatever the consequences.
'I'll keep the option agreement until 2 a.m. If you haven't come by then, I'll tear it up.'
She looked at him in a certain way. She was learning new things about him. For a moment she simply digested the ultimatum, taking in its pressure and adjusting to the new demands on her resourcefulness. And then she tossed her hair back and started gathering her things.
Together they hefted her case and baggage and made their way along the corridor and down the stairs.
Outside it was dusk, and the hybrid illumination of the lanterns and the failing sky cast a strange light on the street.
He dropped her case inside the porch of the Sirenuse Hotel.
'I'll see you later,' she said, deferring the kiss but smiling. 'With the option agreement this time.'