I trusted her instincts, but my loyalty to Esmé and my art was greater than my fear. This loyalty, of course, was completely misplaced. I have never ceased to curse my own folly, though she never once reminded me of that warning, in all my years in England. I told her I would consider her suggestions. I would let Esmé decide (I could not, after all, abandon her). There was also the question of Sir Ranalf s partners investing in my Desert Liner. I had more than one career established in Egypt - then a country ripe for every kind of development. Surely I could trust men whose self-interest was identical to mine? I did not know then how many of those business people prefer to talk than act. (Unless of the most hysterical and irresponsible types they are racially conditioned to inactivity. The blood feud and the football match is all that engages them.)
During that boiling May I could see my chance of fame returning. Already history had rolled over my hopes and destroyed a career in Russia, another in Turkey, another in France. It threatened yet another in America. But now I had the chance to redeem everything. Here were wealthy potentates with private fortunes for developing ideas. I would point out the military as well as civilian use of my Desert Liner. Such a juggernaut at the heart of their armies would ensure British dominion over the entire desert as far away as their deeper African possessions.
Mrs Cornelius wished me to abandon that dream (as well as the dream of our screen union) together with my salary and my fiancée? How could I listen? Yet, so great even then was my belief in my old friend that I was prepared to consider flight, as long as Esmé would come with me. By now others were glancing curiously in our direction. Mrs Cornelius became evasive. ‘Well, ‘ave a good time wiv it, Ive. Don’ ketch cold.’ And she stormed towards her tent.
That evening we returned to Luxor and prepared for our evening meal aboard the boat. As soon as I could I took Esmé aside to tell her urgently that she should not do the scene Sir Ranalf suggested. At the station I would get us tickets for Alexandria. From there we would go to Italy, where we had friends. It would not be long before we were returning to America. I said nothing of my own reservations.
To my relief she would have none of my sacrifice! ‘You have set such store by this, Dimka. I could not let you abandon it. I understand the scene is necessary to the success of the movie.’ She giggled. ‘After all, my darling, I am not unused to a few appreciative male eyes.’
I told her, ‘That bad time in your life is a forgotten dream. I promised you need never suffer such awfulness again.’
‘Oh, Dimka, sweetie, it is fun,’ she said. ‘It’s just a jolly game. Sir Ranalf will explain. You mustn’t be so stuffy, darling.’
I was, I admitted, the product of a more upright age, yet I did not wish to seem unadventurous in my darling’s eyes. I required her voluntary obedience. I smiled at her jokes about my ‘stern, old-fashioned face’. She had won me! I saw how, through art, she would not demean herself. I had to add something in reference to Mrs Cornelius’s observation. Foreigners would feast, I said, upon her form.
She laughed. ‘None of them Moslems, Dimka dear.’
Then Wolf Seaman joined us, a bulky vibrating tower, and explained with lugubrious intensity how our film would shock no one in Europe. Without those scenes the story would lack a certain impact. Let us do this, he begged, for the sake of perfection. He did not know of course that Mrs Cornelius, whom he still referred to as his fiancée, was leaving. I made up my own mind. I sought my friend in the cocktail lounge and drew her from the bar into a quiet corner of the deck. With trembling voice I begged her to remain long enough to complete the tomb scene. She was adamant. ‘When I git a sniff o’ somefink narsty, Ive, I’m on me bike. This littel set-up’s gettin’ defnitely niffy. I’m orf while the goin’s good an’ ya’d better scarper, too. Mum’s ther word, eh?’
Of course, I could not betray her. I bowed. I kissed her hand. Then I returned, with some reluctance, to what remained of our fold.
Mrs Cornelius’s disappearance was discovered next morning, as we set up our shots beside the Colossi of Memnon, those strange guardians of a lost road to the barren valleys of the dead. I retired as quickly as possible to the little Greek cafe across the way, which catered to passing tourists. Sitting in the shade with a cup of Lipton’s, I listened to Seaman bellowing as loudly as those legendary Colossi whose voices had howled above the desert winds even when Caesar came here to marvel at the monuments to a conquered past. Seaman delivered a manifesto on the nature of art, the artist, his rôle and rights, his need for order, his own need for us to work as hard as he did, his understanding that punctuality was the backbone of a good movie play. They believed Gloria Cornish had remained behind in Luxor, but I had looked from my window early that morning and seen her, aided by tip-toeing Nubians, heading for the kalash stand at the top of the mooring steps. She was taking the early train to Cairo and would return to England with Major Nye, re-assess her career, and perhaps rejoin me in Hollywood later. She could easily get a job in England on the strength of Social Follies and Lady Lorequer alone. By eleven Sir Ranalf arrived, summoned by Seaman. At first our master seemed as angry as his director but then he had composed himself, going about with his usual authority, calming everyone, white or native alike. It was not, he said, an important issue. Our main footage was shot. Esmé could take a slightly stronger part. No actress, he was sure, and he touched his fingertips to her face, would refuse such a chance. Esmé flushed with pleasure. I must admit I became a little jealous. I left my place in the shade and strode up the path towards them, calling out, ‘Miss Cornish will be ready for us soon, I am sure. Meanwhile, I should remind you, gentlemen, that the story is mine. I will accept no interference. No dilutions.’ Had Sir Ranalf, too, seen Mrs Cornelius on her way to the station? Perhaps while he glanced idly from the window of his hotel, overlooking our boat? He did not say. He was all soft reassurance, affirming our story as a model of the literary art. There was no question of interfering with its fundamentals. But he was a showman - a kind of window-dresser. It was his job to make sure the public would come to see our picture. If they did not come, my message would never be heard. This was a reasonable argument. I was relieved to hear it put this way. Then Sir Ranalf began the rather more difficult task of calming Seaman, who claimed he could not work without his star’s presence. Eventually it was agreed that we shoot all the scenes, with ‘Irene Gay’ heavily veiled, standing in for Gloria Cornish who would be with us the next day when we could shoot a few more scenes. Sir Ranalf reminded us that time was money and since this solution would cost more, no doubt we thought his acceptance exceptionally generous.
Mrs Cornelius did not turn up, of course. After a couple of days, Sir Ranalf s people established that she had boarded the Cairo Express. Whereupon Seaman returned to his cabin and refused to come out. When he did emerge next day he seemed chastened. Sir Ranalf had visited him in the night and brought him to his senses. Thereafter, he was a far more agreeable man. Indeed, his control over the film was almost too light, even lacklustre, on occasions.
The nude scene was tastefully accomplished by daylight amongst the ruins of Karnak. There were, of course, no witnesses amongst the general public and, moreover, the majority of our crew was banned from participating. As Esmé stripped her silks from her body, her eyes yearning towards me, I must admit I was moved to my deepest masculinity. This display aroused an unexpected lust. The beast leaped to fill my skin; a sensation in its own way more intense than those almost savage days of lovemaking experiment in Cairo. The scene could not have been better and was unquestionably of the most superior artistic merit. Seaman was thoroughly satisfied with our work. Esmé, with good humour and her Erdgeist’s love of nudity and natural freedom, made me understand how I had indeed been unnecessarily stuffy. That night my little girl and I continued our scene unobserved. Free from other eyes, she became uninhibited, inventive.