Stardust Read online

  But this one Jerome didn’t know. He had never even heard a mention of someone called Sybil Dodona, so his first instinct was that she was a fraud, and that her letter would turn out to be yet another variation of the begging bowl. That is until his skim-reading eye caught a phrase halfway down the first page, which read:

  You must take advantage of a disadvantage now or by the end of the year you will be adrift, and your chance of singularity damaged by your determination to plough a single furrow at any cost.

  That was enough to convince Jerome the letter was genuine. The tone was right, the language confident, and the prediction founded on fact, however speculative. He knew there was an offer on the table from Hollywood for Elizabeth. Not for him or for him and her, at the moment according to their mutual agent the deal was just for her. So perhaps what this stargazer was saying was that what might seem to be a disadvantage now, the point in present contention, could turn out to be one of those much vaunted blessings in disguise.

  He therefore laid the letter out flat on the table in front of him, poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, and began to read it from the very top. It ran:

  Dear Mr Didier,

  You will not know who I am, so I have the advantage of you, because now like millions of others, I know you, and like those millions of others feel, I feel I know you well. There is a fundamental difference, however, because unlike those millions of others, I do know you and know you very well. Please do not be offended. It is my business to know people well, the people I choose to study, and because you are one of the very brightest of stars to rise in our firmament for a very long time I chose to make a study of you the moment I first saw you on stage, in All That Glitters.

  Knowing that you are a busy man, I will not take up your time as so many astrologians (so-called) would with vague and ambiguous predictions designed to suit a general type of person, rather than a single and singular person (such as yourself). I am only interested in your future, and in helping you to make it secure, and as successful as you deserve it to be. I had the infinite pleasure of seeing your Romeo since when I have been even more assured that you will go on to achieve a fame greater than any English actor before you, and greater than any one who will succeed you for very many years. One hundred and twenty-five years to be precise. That is the predicted length of time which will pass from your death until the appearance of another with your special talents.

  And they are special, Mr Didier, this I can tell you, along with many other things, and I can tell you with certainty because our future, contrary to what one of your favourite playwrights believes, is indeed in the stars, and not in ourselves. Your fate is already designed and you must go with it, you must flow with the current, and not try to swim against it.

  This is the hardest part for those without the vision and the knowledge to understand. You will argue if your future is already predestined, then you have no say in the matter, no choice. You are wrong. We are all given free will, we all have a full say in what we do and how we do it. But since we have choice, we must remember that in choosing, there are good and there are bad choices, which is where people such as I may be asked into your lives to help you make the right choice. We can do this, those who are blessed with the ability to read the skies, because we can see what the choices are. I will say nothing more of this, because there is nothing more to be said. It is all in your birth chart, from the moment of your conception, to the moment of your death.

  By now I either have your full attention, or I am lying at the bottom of a waste paper basket, or consigned to the fire. But if I have your attention, I am happier than I have been in a very long time, because at this very moment I can help you, and I know from your chart that this is a time when you desperately need help. I took your chart down last night, as I do every week, or when something indicates that I must, and when I saw the five planets of Virgo, I knew your confusion. Alone you will never make this decision a correct decision. Besides the five planets you have a Full Moon in your opposite sign, and the light which it casts is deceptive. It makes you think you can see the problem clearly, but as I said, the light it casts is illusive.

  The light is so clear, in fact, it makes you think what you want is right, and what else is wanted of you is wrong, because the truth is hidden in those deep dark moon shadows. It is essential you are not deceived and it is equally essential you understand this turmoil you are in can be very easily explained by the presence of those five planets which are busy whirling around Virgo. So if I may advise you, and I can only offer it as advice, but it is good advice, for I can see where you cannot, please:

  You must take advantage of a disadvantage now or by the end of the year you will be adrift, and your chance of singularity damaged by your determination to plough a single furrow, at any cost.

  You will know what this means in terms of your life. I cannot. I cannot even begin to guess, but I know from your chart that if you miss this turn, then what you seek and what is your due cannot be yours, ever. While if you take this other path, whatever its immediate disadvantages, by doing this you will achieve your goal in life, and it will not be done at the sacrifice of your ambition.

  Go then, and turn about face. You think your stars say that two into one will not go, but I have seen the heavens, and I can tell you that this is not so. I have seen the night-cloths, and your name is there for you to see, embroidered in stars, but only if you understand that the way to the stars is not always as signposted.

  I shall always be here at hand, when you need me. I do not need to reveal where I am, because I shall know long before you when again you need my direction.

  Jerome looked in at Pippa, but she had fallen back fast asleep, her coffee cup still full beside the bed. She looked so lovely when she slept, so innocent and untroubled, one arm up on the pillow crooked round her tousled head, the other dropped in a loose embrace around Bobby, who woke up briefly when Jerome tiptoed in, before settling back to sleep with a contented sigh.

  He wondered when he should tell her, and how. He knew he couldn’t just announce he was going to do the play just like that, out of the blue and for no reason, not after these weeks of indecision. In the state Pippa was in, the surprise and the shock of his volte-face could well have a detrimental effect on her apparently improving health, particularly if as he already knew to be the case, the play was destined to go out on a tour before coming into town. And Pippa was in no state to tour. Neither was she in a state to be left alone. But equally since the arrival of that morning’s mail, neither could Jerome take the risk of ignoring what was already written, not by Oscar Greene, but way up there above him, up in the stars.

  On the appointed day, a young and healthy woman had said goodbye to all her friends, climbed into her bed and died.

  Carefully Jerome closed the bedroom door shut behind him and tiptoed out to the telephone in the hall. There was only one thing for it, he had decided, and that was to ring Elizabeth. Elizabeth was the friend of both of them. Elizabeth would know the best way to handle it. Elizabeth was the person to ask.

  12

  Cecil was chosen as the herald (Elizabeth’s term), although he himself preferred the term diplomat. To Cecil’s way of thinking there was a tremendous similarity between the life of theatrical agents and those in the diplomatic corps. To him they were both honest men sent abroad to lie for the good of the commonwealth, and this was one of those occasions. Pippa had to be convinced that what he was about to do was for the good of them all, which was something Cecil now believed, thanks to Elizabeth’s powers of persuasion. Happily Pippa took little persuading, although there was one very sticky moment, Cecil always recalled, over of all things her dog.

  The conversation had run roughly along the lines that for Jerome to accept the offer of Oscar’s new play meant going against Jerome’s own judgement, which Cecil did not consider a better one than his, or the judgement of certain other parties. His brief had been to convince Pippa that her husband would rather play in the nt
h revival of The Little Hut On The Mountain all year in Skegness than appear in the West End once more as part of the Didier-Laurence duo, and this he had done, in Cecil’s own opinion, really rather well. If Jerome was going to do Oscar’s new play, it was going to have to be for some damned good reason.

  Cecil had explained the damned good reason, which he felt sure Pippa could help persuade Jerome to see. Hollywood, in the shape of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, wanted Elizabeth and they wanted her badly, but as yet they remained unconvinced about Jerome. This at once made Pippa leap to the defence of her husband and wonder to Cecil what on earth MGM can have been watching if they were convinced by Elizabeth but not Jerome.

  ‘Quite frankly, dear girl,’ Cecil had confided, ‘one gets the rather distinct impression they haven’t so much been watching as listening, what we like to call – if you’ll excuse the vernacular – earholing. When it comes to beautiful and exciting young actresses, the Americans will take things on trust, although I’m inclined to think – and I’m not alone in this – that Americans are simply just inclined to take things. Dog in the manger, you know. I’d rather have it than have you have it even though I don’t know what to do with it now I’ve got it sort of thing. And now they’ve heard of Elizabeth Laurence. In fact all they’ve heard about from their spies here is Elizabeth Laurence Elizabeth Laurence Elizabeth Laurence. And they’ve seen her pictures. Not her movies, her pictures, the photos in the Press and magazines, and they’ve gone, wow! or whatever the latest American word is. Gee whiz, guys, just wait till you feast your peepers on this little baby!’

  Naturally Pippa had wanted to know why they hadn’t had the same reaction about Jerome, and Cecil had sighed and shaken his head and explained that the people who feasted their peepers were almost exclusively men, the sort of men who preferred, like most men, to feast their peepers on women. Of course, they had sent copies of Jerome’s films to MGM, but that was just coals to Newcastle. The last thing film makers wanted to do at the end of their day was to sit down and watch some other film makers’ films. No, the only chance they had of getting Jerome considered as seriously as Elizabeth was being considered, was to get him seen in something good, and preferably doing it the day after tomorrow.

  Everyone knew there was only one option, and that was to do Oscar’s play. This would get him seen, Cecil would see to that. He would invite all the American talent scouts he knew, and he would make personally certain they all saw Jerome, who would be (no guessing) superb in the part. However, Cecil had explained to Jerome (he had explained to Pippa), that should the Americans consequently take as active an interest in him as they had in Elizabeth, this would in no way entail any sort of partnership deal. Cecil would make sure of that. He would make personally sure of it. If Jerome was wanted, it must be, it had to be only for himself. For the last time Cecil had explained to Pippa that he had explained this to Jerome, but it seemed Jerome still needed convincing, and the only person who could do that final convincing was Pippa. The vote on that had been unanimous.

  They were practically home and dry. Cecil had seen that, he sensed his careful persuasion had won the day, and he could go and collect on his ticket. Which he was just about to do when the subject of Bobby had come up.

  ‘Just suppose,’ Pippa asked, propped up against her pillows, looking for all the world like something from a pre-Raphaelite painting, ‘suppose Jerome does get an offer from Hollywood, and has to go and make a picture there.’

  ‘Or several,’ Cecil had carelessly added, immediately regretting the indiscretion.

  ‘Exactly,’ Pippa had pounced. ‘Or several. That would mean we’d have to go and live there, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Good heavens, Pip – not for ever!’ Cecil had laughed, trying to brush such a thought under the mat. But Pippa was nothing if not persistent.

  ‘But even if it was for three months, six, a year say. I mean I wouldn’t stay here.’

  ‘Of course not. That would be the last thing Jerome would want.’

  ‘I know,’ Pippa had fallen silent then, pulling her knees up under the covers to hug them. ‘So what would I do about Bobby, Cecil? I couldn’t kennel him, even if it was only for three months say. And I couldn’t take him, because of the quarantine laws. So what would I do?’

  Cecil had felt a sense of absolute outrage welling inside him, and he had very nearly wondered aloud and really quite passionately (for Cecil) that Pippa wasn’t serious – that she wasn’t really prepared to jeopardize her husband’s career for the sake of some flop-eared, tangle-haired, overactive mongrel who had once cocked his leg against Cecil’s best Daks casuals? But instead he had held his breath, and kept quiet for a moment, as if giving the matter his most serious attention.

  ‘Bobby could stay here,’ he had finally suggested. ‘Miss Toothe could look after him.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Cecil. Miss Toothe doesn’t like dogs. Particularly small, hairy, black mongrels who eat secretarys’ walking shoes.’

  ‘Someone will look after him, Pip. We’ll find someone.’ Although for the life of him Cecil hadn’t at once been able to think of anybody. ‘That really isn’t a problem.’

  But from the look on Pippa’s face, and her increasingly glum expression Cecil had realized that indeed it was.

  ‘My mother.’ An inspired notion, Cecil thought, if ever there was one.

  ‘She’d never keep him in, Cecil. He’d keep running home. Rather where home used to be. He’d keep running back next door.’

  ‘We have a big empty chicken run,’ Cecil had remembered wishing to curtail this increasingly dangerous conversation. ‘He could live indoors in the boot room at night, and Aggie could let him out every day in the hen run. He’d be perfectly safe, I promise.’

  ‘You’re very sweet, Cecil. And I’m sure he’d be fine—’

  Cecil had got to his feet quickly before the ‘but’. Good, he had said, but all this was something they could discuss, if and when. It was nothing insurmountable. There was an answer to everything. And the most important thing was to get Jerome to do the play, agreed? Pippa had nodded. Of course, she had said. Yes, Cecil was right, it would be terribly unfair if Elizabeth got the chance to go to Hollywood and Jerome didn’t, provided it was something Jerome wanted. Oh yes, Cecil assured her, remembering just in time the small box of chocolates he had purchased for Pippa and placing them beside her bed. This was certainly something which Jerome wanted, while thinking to himself that if it wasn’t, Jerome could go and find himself another agent, if all Jerome Didier wanted to do was stay in England and fool around in the theatre.

  He was quite sure of that? was Pippa’s last question. Because if they decided between them that Jerome should do the play, there were to be no strings, and it had to be something Jerome wanted.

  You know Jerome, Cecil had said with a smile as he pulled on his brand new calf-skin gloves. Jerome only really ever does what Jerome really wants.

  It was surprising how readily Jerome had conceded. Pippa had expected more of a fight. Not that she had been the least bit contentious, nor had she advised him one way or the other. All she had done was put the case to him, just as Cecil had put it to her, with nothing added, one way or the other. Jerome had baulked, of course, but only at the unfairness, at why Hollywood should be prepared to take Elizabeth on trust, as it were, while he had to go through some sort of public audition. He didn’t have to, Pippa had reminded him. There was no compulsion for him to do so, unless he really wanted to go to Hollywood. Did he want to go to Hollywood? Well, of course he did! Didn’t any actor with sense! Even if he didn’t know what was on offer? Pippa had reminded him of what he was always reminding her, that any play or film that he did he would do so only after the closest consideration, and for his own reasons. Jerome had his own reasons. England alone could never make him a major international star. He had to go to Hollywood. He knew that now, whereas he hadn’t known that before, not in his salad days, when he had thought all you had to do was good work and do it well and fa
me and success would be the natural concomitant. No, damn it, sooner or later he had to go to Hollywood, and it might as well be now, particularly since to combat the menace of television Hollywood had sacrificed quantity for quality, and was making pictures such as The Bridge on the River Kwai, Twelve Angry Men, Paths of Glory, and The Defiant Ones. Yes, of course Hollywood was the place to be.

  England didn’t matter any more?

  Of course England mattered! But think! Think what could be done! And think what could be asked! With one, two or even three internationally successful films under one’s belt! Think! Think! We could take a theatre! Put in our own company! Do a season of plays we wanted to do!

  Who’s we?

  Us, Pickle! (Pickle was Jerome’s new name for her.) Everything I do and everything I think about doing is not for me! It’s for us, my darling girl!

  Then you must do the play.

  Yes. Yes, I suppose I must. As long as you’re quite sure—

  It’s nothing to do with me, Jeromeo. (She smiled, took both his hands, and kissed his fingers.) You mustn’t make it anything to do with me. The choice has to be yours.

  I think I have to do the play.

  I think you have to as well. But that’s only a feeling, not an opinion.

  Jerome had then turned over one of her slender hands and buried a kiss deep in the palm.

  I don’t think we’ll be sorry, Pickle, he had whispered. I shall bring you the heavens’ embroidered cloths. I shall spread them under your feet.

  I’d rather have your dreams, she had whispered back.

  You have my dreams, Pickle. I’m just going to turn them into the heavens’ cloths.

  What about Bobby? she asked. What about Bobby?

  First things first, he’d whispered back, now taking her to him in the bed, both naked. First let them see me, let them take notice. Don’t worry about Bobby. I’d never let anything happen to Bobby. You mustn’t worry about a thing. Just fall back, lie back in my arms, let me kiss your white neck, and don’t worry. There is nothing to worry about, my Pickle. I am going to spread the cloths beneath your feet.