Clearly, I would not be given more than thirty seconds at a time to question mail-boy, tea-lady, charwoman, or inhabitants of neighbouring offices concerning Fflytte Films’ missing secretary. However, by giving up on a second night’s sleep, I could go through Hale’s files during the night – and I’m sure I would have learnt a great deal, except that at five that afternoon, a team of large men arrived and carted the files off, cabinets and all.
* * *
The advantage of being immersed in a mad flurry of preparation was that I could push to the back of my mind the voyage itself. The disadvantage was that I could push the voyage to the back of my mind.
My own list of Urgent Tasks was necessarily short to begin with, and of the twelve items on it (dress footwear, dinner frock, ammunition, hair-cut, and so on) I only managed to check off half, most of which had to do with clothing.
Hale and I went down to Southampton on the train, he dictating letters to the last possible instant. Which meant that my actual arrival on the docks, standing and looking up at my home for the next few days, came as a dreadful shock.
I loathe ocean travel. After what felt like a lifetime of Atlantic crossings, I had only to glimpse a smoke-stack to be hit by nausea. I pulled the bottle of paregoric from my pocket and took my first swig of many. Not that the drug lessened the sea-sickness, but it did put it at a distance.
Moments after Hale and I set foot on the ship, a tornado of blonde heads descended on us to pelt our ears with questions, complaints, and helpful suggestions. Hale, cowardly male that he was, pointed to me and said, “This is Miss Russell. She’s my new assistant. Introduce yourselves to her. If you have any problems, she’s your woman.” And walked away.
There on the deck, valise in one hand and portable type-writer in the other, still wearing hat and coat, I was verbally assaulted by what sounded like a girls’-school luncheon hall. I surveyed the expanse of young females, decided that these were the Major-General’s thirteen daughters (with maternal chaperones looming in the background), and decided further that I did not need to submit to the assault then and there. I chose one, based on the ill fit of her dress and the impatient arrangement of her hair, and held out the slip of paper with my cabin number on it.
“Can you find that for me?” I asked her.
And bless the child, she turned instantly on the heels of her new, too-large shoes and led the way, the others trailing behind.
At the door to my cabin, I handed my possessions to the attendant and took up a position in the door, to keep the girls from following me inside. I held up a hand. The voices died away.
“If anyone is in need of medical attention, talk to your cabin’s attendant. If your baggage hasn’t shown up, talk to your cabin’s attendant. If you need anything else, I will be on the foredeck in ten minutes. I suggest you wear your coat.”
And I shut the door in their faces.
“Actresses,” I told the wide-eyed young man, and pressed a coin in his hand.
“Yes, Madam. Will your maid-”
“Didn’t bring one, don’t need one.”
“Very well, I shall make certain your cabin is included in the ship’s service.”
“I won’t need that, either. I shan’t be spending very much time down here.”
Hard experience had taught me that the best way to cope with sea-sickness was fresh air, copious and uninterrupted. I planned on establishing a well-wrapped beach-head on the foredeck, out in front of the smoke, and staying there until we docked in Lisbon. If things went well, I could celebrate with a riotous cup of tea and a water biscuit. If not, well, it was the open air, after all.
And, it now occurred to me, although being trapped on the deck might make it more difficult to carry out my investigatory duties, it might have the advantage of discouraging all those yellow-haired young beauties from seeking me out too often. The wind on deck could be chill, and hard on permanent waves.
The initial novelty of Hale’s assistant holding court, as it were, among the deck-chairs meant that when I got to the specified location, my arms laden with fur coat, fur hat, two woollen travelling rugs, three books, a writing pad, mechanical pencil, small tin bowl, and flask of weak tea, almost every one of Hale’s actresses was waiting for me. The questions (and their Greek chorus of echoes) began as soon as I appeared.
“What happened to Miss Johns?”
(“Who?” “Mr Hale’s secretary.” “But isn’t this-?”)
“I don’t know, I was just hired three days ago.” Although I was beginning to suspect why the woman might have run off.
“Will there be a decent band for dancing tonight?”
(“There was a socko band the other night at-” “-oh I saw them coming on-”)
“I don’t know.”
“When will the sun come out?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is there going to be a script for the picture?”
“I don’t know, that’s Mr Fflytte’s decision.”
“Is it true that last spring Mr Hale went to the cinema with Agnes Ayres?”
(“Ooh, can you imagine being her?” “I can imagine being her in The Sheik, cuddling Valentino!” “More than cuddling, I’d like-” “Shh, darling, the children!” “Who are you calling-?”)
“I really don’t know.”
“Did he meet Valentino?”
(Instant silence, as all ears awaited the answer.)
“I don’t know.”
(“I’ll bet he did.” “I heard Valentino was supposed to be our Frederic until Daniel got it.” “Can you imagine? On a ship with Valentino?” “Did you see The Young Rajah?” “Wasn’t he the dreamiest?” “No! Mama wouldn’t let me!”)
“How long before we get to Spain?”
At last, something I could answer. “I think we put in at Coruña the evening before we arrive in Lisbon.”
“Where’s Coruña?”
“In Spain.”
“But Lisbon’s in Spain.”
“No, Lisbon’s in Portugal.”
“Isn’t Portugal part of Spain?”
“No, it’s a separate country.”
“Have you ever met Valentino?”
“Have I- Heavens no.”
“Would you like a table for that?”
“I don’t- What? Oh, yes, that’s very thoughtful of you.” The child in the too-short frock and too-large shoes settled a small table at the head of my deck-chair. I arranged my books, bowl, and flask on it, and thanked her. She appeared to be chewing cud, or some similarly tough substance. “What are you eating?” I asked her.
“Bibi gave me some chewing gum. It’s Doublemint. She gets it from America. Want one?” She held out a packet.
“No, thanks. And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t chew around me.” Not unless you want to encourage me to use that small bowl on the table.
“Okay,” she said cheerfully, and spat it onto the deck. I closed my eyes, and asked her to take it with her and find a wastebin for it.
“When weel we be given a place to rehairse?” I opened my eyes. Neither the questioner’s accent nor her appearance fit our crew – would not fit many places, come to that. She was as tall as I, but dark, her lithe form dressed in what appeared to be stitched-together scarves. She wore a turban-like hat of multiple colours of scarf. Her feet were bare. And blue.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” I asked.
“Graziella Mazzo.” She stretched out an artistic hand. “I teach the girls to dance.”
“Very well. I’ll find out where you can practice, and when.”
The ship’s horn blasted away the next question, and the girls jumped and squealed and rushed off to the rail to watch the lines fall and the land recede. The wind would soon pick up – the rain, too, by the looks of the sky, although the bit of overhang above me should keep the worst of it off. I put on my fur coat, stretched my legs onto the chair, and picked up a book.