Angel

The entire unit was present, along with the cast, some of the studio executives, and quite a few civilians. The latter were the people only associated with the movie through their spouses, or nearest and dearest, and whom the producers had included on the invitation list as a courtesy.

Holding drinks in their hands, all were chatting animatedly, mingling together on the biggest sound stage at Shepperton, where the Great Hall of Middleham Castle had been re-created.

Moving forward to join the throng, Rosie saw that the set looked a little different than it had a few hours earlier, when the movie had finally wrapped. The large pieces of medieval-style furniture had been removed, a small combo played popular music in one corner, and the caterers had placed long trestle tables around the sound stage. Covered with starched white cloths, these were laden with food: smoked salmon and poached salmon from Scotland, roast chickens and turkeys, glazed hams, legs of lamb, sides of roast beef, and all manner of salads and vegetables, assorted cheeses, and fancy desserts ranging from French pastries and chocolate mousse with whipped cream to fruit salad and English trifle.

Two similar tables had been set up as bars and were being serviced by a string of bartenders, while dozens of waiters and waitresses were circulating with trays of drinks and appetizers.

A waiter glided past her, and Rosie whisked a glass of champagne off the tray, thanked him, and sallied forth into the crowd in search of Aida, and her assistants, Fanny and Val.

Within seconds she found the producer in conversation with some of the studio brass, and when Aida saw her approaching she excused herself and hurried forward.

Rosie exclaimed, ‘This is some wrap party. Congratulations!’

‘Oh, but I didn’t do anything,’ the producer demurred quickly, ‘except pick up a phone and call the caterers.’

Rosie grinned at her. ‘Of course you did something. You planned all this, so don’t be so modest. And incidentally, what do you have up your sleeve for later?’

Aida gave her a puzzled look. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Last week, over lunch, you told me you’d think of something special, something appropriate, to celebrate Bonfire Night, as well as the wrap.’

‘How about burning an effigy of Margaret Ellsworth?’ Fanny muttered in a low voice, as she sidled up to them with Val in tow.

‘Naughty, naughty,’ Rosie chastised, but her voice was mild and there was an amused glint in her eyes. Glancing at the producer, she went on, ‘What happened about the medieval dress? Did you sell it to Maggie?’

Aida shook her head. ‘No, I gave it to her. And if I live to be a hundred, I’ll never know why on earth she wanted it.’

‘Perhaps to play Lady Macbeth,’ Fanny suggested. ‘It’s the ideal role for her.’

‘Or Vampira,’ Val added, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, faking horror. ‘She’d be perfect for that part, too.’

‘Thanks very much, the three of you!’ Rosie said. ‘That certainly says a lot for my costumes.’

‘Your costumes are never anything but great, the greatest,’ Gavin said behind her, put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. Then he added softly, with a chuckle, ‘Look what the cat dragged in.’

‘I knew I’d find you somewhere around here, Rosie, swilling champagne and living it up,’ an unmistakable English voice said.

Instantly pivoting, her eyes opening wider, Rosie came face to face with Nell, who was beautifully made-up and coiffed and looked band-box smart in a black suit and pearls.

‘You made it, Nelly! How wonderful!’ Rosie exclaimed in delight.

The two women, such close friends for years, hugged each other fiercely, and when they finally drew apart, Nell said, ‘How could I miss this wrap party? It’s my picture, too, isn’t it?’

‘Indeed it is,’ Aida asserted, and stepping forward she shook Nell’s hand. ‘Welcome back.’

‘Thanks, Aida, and I must say it’s nice to see all of you again,’ Nell responded, and she smiled warmly at Fanny and Val, including them in this statement.

Rosie’s assistants greeted her affectionately, returned her smile, and then quickly slid away.

Aida also made a move to take her leave, explaining, ‘I think I’d better go and check on everything. And persuade that combo to play something a bit livelier. Oh, and regarding Bonfire Night, Rosie, I did come up with something. But it’s a surprise. See you later.’ With this comment she hurried off.

Gavin took two glasses of champagne from a passing waitress, handed one to Nell, and immediately the three of them moved into a corner of the sound stage where it was a bit quieter.

Rosie took hold of Nell’s arm affectionately. ‘It’s great to see you. When did you arrive in London?’

‘A short while ago. From Paris.’

‘Oh. What were you doing there?’

‘I had a business meeting this morning. I came in last night on the French Concorde from New York…with Johnny Fortune. He’s in the midst of planning a concert for next spring – the French adore him, you know. Anyway, we had to get together with the impresario involved, but once everything was clarified and the meeting more or less finished, I rushed out to the airport and grabbed the first plane to London.’

‘How long are you staying?’ Gavin asked.

‘Just a few days. Johnny’s coming in on Thursday morning. He has a concert at the Albert Hall on Saturday night, so I’ve got my hands full. After that I’ll be heading back to New York, once I’ve seen Aunt Phyllis. I’ll probably go on Monday or Tuesday.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Rosie murmured. ‘I’d have been disappointed if you were away when I’m there. We don’t see enough of each other these days, and I was looking forward to spending some time with you.’

‘I know; me too, darling, and there’s no danger of our not seeing each other, Rosie mine. Oh, and before I forget, here’s the spare key to my apartment.’ As she spoke, Nell fished around in her handbag, brought out a key and handed it to Rosie. ‘You know the house rules – make yourself at home and don’t lift a finger. Leave everything to Maria, she’ll look after you beautifully.’

‘Thanks, Nell,’ Rosie said, and put the key in her purse.

The two of them began to make plans for Rosie’s trip to New York, and Gavin took a step backward, wanting to give them space and privacy to talk between themselves for a few minutes.

Propping himself up against a wall, he took a sip of his wine, hoping he would be feeling better soon.

Gavin had not wanted to don the surgical collar for the party, because to do so would prevent him from wearing a tie. But at the last minute he had had to put it on when his neck had suddenly begun to bother him. Because of the bulky collar, he had dressed more casually than he normally did for this kind of occasion, selecting a navy silk shirt, worn open at the neck, grey slacks and a navy cashmere jacket. Now he was glad he had chosen these clothes; they were comfortable, and he felt less constricted in them, despite the surgical collar around his neck.

As he continued to sip his drink, he surreptitiously studied Rosalind Madigan, his best friend and only confidante.

Earlier in the day he had thought she looked excessively pale and overtired, which was one of the reasons he had made such a fuss about the new projects she was planning to take on, now that Kingmaker was finished. But tonight, surprisingly, she seemed refreshed, and there was a wonderful glow about her. The dark rings under her eyes had disappeared and colour flushed her cheeks to a pretty pink. It pleased him that she unexpectedly looked so much better, and then almost immediately he knew what she had done.

She made a trip to Make-up, he thought, that’s the real reason she’s acquired such a peachy bloom in the past few hours. Katie Grange, the head make-up artist on the movie, was noted for her very special talent for giving even the most tired-looking actor a healthy and youthful appearance. Undoubtedly Katie had skilfully applied a few cosmetics, and in so doing had instantly camouflaged those tell-tale signs of overwork, long hours, and perpetual worry which had given Rosie’s face such a washed-out tinge of late.

And she had also visited Hairdressing, he thought, leaning forward slightly, peering more closely at Rosie. She had beautiful hair: it was reddish-brown and fell to her shoulders in glossy, luxuriant waves, and he could see that it had been professionally set and combed by Gil Watts.

No matter, Rosie had benefited from the bit of help from the professionals, and this pleased him no end. She looked better than she had in months, although he had to admit he didn’t particularly like the wool dress she was wearing, mostly because of the colour. It was dark grey, and although it was superbly cut and tailored it was far too dull for her. But then this was something of an old story these days. Rosie was so busy designing costumes for other people that half the time she didn’t pay too much attention to what she wore herself. He liked her best in the bright colours she used to favour when they were kids – scarlet, yellow, blue, and almost any shade of green, which enhanced the colour of her large, expressive green eyes.

Gavin stifled a sigh as he considered Rosie’s problems, the burdens she had shouldered in the past few years. Too many for one person. He was forever telling her this, but she would not listen to him, and the stringent response she usually made invariably ended that particular topic of conversation.

Obscurely, in a remote corner of his mind, there lurked the nagging thought that he ought to shoulder her burdens, indeed must do so, out of love and friendship. But she would not let him; she refused his help, as well as his money. He had made a lot of that from his movies in the last few years, and what was the point of having money if you couldn’t use it to make life easier for someone you cared about. He wished Rosie would take some of it, since it would free her in so many different ways.

Because of her constant refusal to do this, he harboured a profound and permanent sense of frustration, and deep in his gut there existed a gnawing anger with those irritating people she persisted in calling her family. Bums, the lot of them, he thought, the anger flying to the surface momentarily.

Rosie was too good for them, that was for sure.

Rosalind Madigan was the finest, most decent person he knew, had ever known. She did not have one bad bone in her body, was kind, considerate, and generous to a fault. She never said an unkind word about anyone, and was always trying to help those less fortunate than she was herself.

That’s the basic problem, Gavin suddenly thought. She’s far too good – for her own good. But she had been like that as a teenager, usually seeing only the best in people, expecting the best of them. He suspected she would never change. A leopard didn’t change its spots, did it?