Golden Fever

‘Of course this isn’t all of it,’ the young porter, dressed in a pure white uniform, explained as he unloaded her case from the trolley. ‘This suite used to be five rooms, two bedrooms with adjoining bathroom, and a lounge area, but for practical purposes it’s been divided into two suites with one bedroom each and a small lounge area.’

Clare looked about her admiringly, loving the charm and elegance that oozed out of the original woodwork that had gone into the ship’s building in the early thirties.

‘Some of the furniture is original too.’ The porter saw her appreciative looks.

She smiled at him, unconscious of her glowing beauty her long legs in the high-heeled sandals, the slenderness of her waist emphasised by the wide belt, the latter also showing the fullness of her breasts and her shapely hips. She wore little jewellery, a slender gold chain about her throat, a matching bracelet about her wrist, and of course her engagement ring.

‘But not the television,’ she teased huskily.

‘No,’ he smiled agreement. ‘Although most people expect them nowadays. I hope you enjoy your stay with us, Miss Anderson.’

‘I’m sure I shall.’ She tipped him, closing the door behind him as he left with Harvey to show him his room.

Jason had chosen the location spots, and he had chosen well, she could see that. The film, the story of a couple, an English girl and a German man, who met on this ship during the pre-war years and fell in love, only to meet again fifteen years later, when Caroline was married to someone else, would be better for being filmed on board the actual ship. Of course some of it had been changed over the years, and would have to be mocked up or filmed in a studio, but the majority of filming could be done here, on the Queen Mary, the very ship where the romance was supposed to have taken place.

Jason Faulkner wasn’t just the director of the film, he was also her co-star, would play the part of Gunther to her Caroline. She had filmed only once with him before, when he was the star and she had only a very small supporting role. But even then she had found him unfailingly polite, with a patience and tolerance for his fellow actors that made working with him a pleasure. The preliminary work they had done on the film so far had been made easier because of his complete professionalism.

A knock sounded on her door just as she was considering taking a shower. As she had guessed, it was Harvey.

‘I’ve ordered you some tea.’ He came in without being invited, sitting down on the sofa. ‘Good God, what’s that?’ He looked aghast at the fireplace.

Clare had to smile at his expression. ‘One of the original electric fireplaces, I believe,’ she drawled.

Harvey frowned. ‘Have I got one in my room? I suppose I have. I didn’t take the time to look. Do you think it works?’

‘I have no idea,’ she shrugged, each movement made with unconscious grace. ‘But I doubt if it would ever be needed here even if it does.’

‘No,’ he acknowledged ruefully. ‘By the way, there was a message for you at the desk.’

‘There was?’ she said sharply.

‘Mm. Apparently the whole cast is to meet in the Windsor Room at two o’clock.’

‘The Windsor Room?’

He nodded. ‘It’s two floors down, on R Deck—I checked.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t get over the fact that this is actually a boat.’

‘Ship,’ Clare automatically corrected.

‘Ship, then,’ he shrugged. ‘Do you know we actually move up and down with the tide? I thought the damned thing would be secured somehow, but I’m told we’re floating in forty feet of water, with a draught of thirty-three feet. I wonder if you can get seasick without even moving …?’

‘Oh, Harvey,’ she burst out laughing at his woebegone expression, ’don’t be silly!’

‘Well, I feel as if I’m swaying all the time!’

‘That’s probably the flight,’ she teased. ‘A couple of hours’ sleep and you’ll feel fine.’

‘No time for sleep.’ He stood up decisively. ‘A shower and a change of clothes, lunch, and then you have to go to the Windsor Room.’

‘You don’t have to accompany me to lunch,’ she excused gently, seeing that he did actually look a little pale. ‘We can meet at dinner time.’

He seemed to hesitate. ‘It’s only twelve now. I don’t like to leave you on your own all that time.’

‘I won’t be on my own,’ she smiled. ‘By the time I’ve showered and had lunch it will be time to go to the meeting. I’ll probably rest myself after that.’

‘Why not rest for an hour now?’ Harvey suggested. ‘You have a couple of hours, and you can get a snack lunch in the Capstan Restaurant later.’

She gave him a puzzled look. ‘You seem to know a lot about the ship considering we’ve only been here a few minutes!’

He gave a sheepish smile. ‘I read up on the Room Service while I was in my room. I happened to see the different restaurants on board at the same time. I thought I might just have a sandwich in my room.’

‘Good idea,’ she nodded. ‘Maybe I’ll do the same.’

But when it came to it she didn’t feel like staying in her room. Her shower had refreshed her, her hair was newly washed and gleaming, her dress a deep shade of pink, off the shoulders, resting provocatively on her uptilted breasts. Her legs were bare, deeply tanned, the pink of her high-heeled sandals exactly matching the colour of her dress. As a child she had hated her height, always being taller than her classmates, but now it was a definite asset. Most of the popular actresses of her generation seemed to be taller than average, a new era in sex symbols.

She hated that description of herself, but was well aware of the fact that the media referred to her as such, that some even compared her with her still popular mother.

The latter she detested even more than being referred to as a sex-symbol, seeing no resemblance between her slender coolness and the kittenish image her mother cultivated.

At times she even managed to forget Carlene Walters was her mother, and she felt sure she had tried to do the same thing. After all, when you had stopped ageing at thirty-six it was a little hard to admit to having a twenty-three-year-old daughter. Her press releases always claimed she had been a child bride, but even so …

Damn! She hadn’t wanted to think about her mother, had studiously avoided doing so on the flight over here. Why on earth Harvey had had to call her she had no idea. No, that wasn’t strictly true. She did know. Her mother was still the undisputed Queen of Hollywood, and Harvey hoped to use her influence while they were here.

She couldn’t altogether blame him, after all it was his job to see that her career reached its highest pinnacle. But she drew the line at asking her mother for anything. She had reached this stage in her career, and she wasn’t being conceited when she knew that she was quite successful, without any help from her mother, and she would continue to do so.

She could hear someone moving about in the adjoining suite, whistling to themselves as they seemed to be preparing for lunch. Thoughts of the latter reminded her that it was almost one o’clock, and it was some time since she had eaten anything but plane food.

The Capstan appeared to be quite busy, but the boy at the door found her a vacant table near the window. The view of the harbour was breathtaking, with ships waiting in line to dock.

Clare had quite a view of Long Beach from the porthole windows in her suite on the other side of the ship, everywhere looking very white and clean from here, the sea a greyish-blue, and several people were out in speedboats when she had last looked out.

A young boy came to take her order, and she looked up and smiled at him, the smile deepening to sympathy as he recognised her and instantly dropped the menu on the floor.

He fumbled picking it up again. ‘I—Sorry.’ He licked his lips nervously. ‘It was just that for a moment you——’ He frowned, shaking his head. ‘You are Clare Anderson, aren’t you?’ he queried disbelievingly.

Maybe she would have been wiser to have eaten in her room after all; she didn’t relish the thought of being on show as she ate. If this boy had recognised her then other people would too.

She didn’t bother to look at the menu, neither confirming nor denying the boy’s statement. ‘Could I have a chicken salad?’ she requested softly, finding the boy’s stares a little unnerving.

‘I’m sure you could,’ he nodded eagerly. ‘Are you here with the others making the movie?’

‘Yes,’ she sighed, realising he wasn’t going to give up.

He nodded again. ‘There are several other people in here that are going to be in it too. I’m David, by the way. If you need anything, just ask.’

‘Thanks, I will.’

She accepted the offered coffee, glad when David at last left. By tonight she was going to be dead on her feet; the time difference would have caught up with her by then, although right now she didn’t feel too bad.