Camellia (85 page)

As Nick led Mel and Miles into the front pew, she saw Conrad in the one behind. The doleful eyes behind his thick spectacles, the severe haircut and dark suit poignantly reminded her that he had adored Helena long before Mel even knew she existed. Somehow it helped to know that everyone in this church was linked by a mutual loss.

The men from the film crew carried in the coffin on their shoulders, placed it on the trestles before the altar and filed into their seats. Mel glanced behind her, stunned by the sheer number of people, all unknown to her. In uniform dark clothes it wasn't possible to separate fans from directors, actors and actresses, or even those who'd flown over from Hollywood from those who'd known Helena as a young girl here in England.

Mel joined in the hymns, the twenty-third Psalm and the prayers dry-eyed, and locked in grief, unable to see anything more than the coffin just a few yards from her. But as the vicar took his place in the pulpit Miles took her hand in his.

She had noticed nothing more than the vicar's voice until now – melodious, and deep with just a trace of a West Country burr. Now she saw he was elderly, small and plump with a shock of white hair and pale-blue gentle eyes.

'Compared with most of you here today, I had only known Helena a short time,' he began, resting his hands on the balustrade of the pulpit. 'I met her here in this church and called on her twice at her home. In the light of this brief acquaintance, it might seem presumptuous that I ask you to put aside your grief and see today's service as a celebration of Helena's life, but I believe that is what she would have wanted.' He paused, looking down at the upturned faces below him.

'Helena Forester was a great actress and singer, who gave pleasure to millions of people throughout the world through her many films. But today I want to take you away from the glitter of Hollywood and speak of the woman, not the big star.'

Mel felt a slight shift in the congregation, almost as if they'd settled back into the pews to hear a story. They were so quiet and still she could hear the many candles spluttering.

'Helena was born in London's East End, brought up in the dressing rooms of a theatre where her mother was a dresser. During the war she faced more hardship than many of us can possibly imagine. Her mother was killed in the Blitz and at the age of thirteen Helena was scrubbing out offices to pay for her keep with her aunt. When this aunt was blinded and her back broken in a doodlebug raid, Helena had to fend for herself.

'I have received a great many telephone calls and letters in the past week from people who knew Helena back in the forties. Many of them were from fellow entertainers – comedians, magicians, singers and dancers – mostly too old, sick or too far away to attend today. But they all felt compelled to share with me their memories of this talented young girl who had performed with them. Helena paid her dues in the entertainment world first by singing in a Soho nightclub, then singing and dancing in revues, variety shows and pantomimes all over the country, before she reached the West End theatres. Throughout all these often humorous heart-warming stories set in a background of hardship and appalling living and working conditions, one thing shone out above everything else – Helena's character.

'She had a big heart. Always the comforter, the shoulder people cried on. A funny girl with a golden voice, who took joy and sadness in her stride, never complaining, steadfast in her fierce ambitions. She was a loyal friend. Many of you here today have told me how she never broke a promise or breached a confidence. But above all else, Helena was courageous.'

The vicar's voice filled each corner of the ancient church. A shaft of sunshine danced down through a stained-glass window and came to rest on a marble statue of the Virgin Mary.

'That courage was put to the ultimate test last week, and proved beyond all doubt when she risked her own life to protect her daughter, Camellia. It is a terrible tragedy that Helena died, and she will be missed by all of us, yet the nobility of her purpose must lift us beyond grief and fill our hearts with love and admiration for her.'

Mel's eyes filled with tears. Both Magnus and Nick had made similar statements, but here in this little church, hearing them from a stranger, they struck through to her heart.

'Banish any feelings of guilt you may have.' The vicar looked directly at Sir Miles and Mel. 'To feel guilt is to demean the sacrifice Helena made so willingly.

'I ask that you join me now in a prayer to celebrate Helena's life. To remember her with love and pride, with gratitude that you were privileged to have known her and above all to honour her courage.'

It was over. The coffin was lowered into the grave, prayers were said and slowly the crowd began to disperse. So many damp eyes, so many hands held out to Mel and Sir Miles in silent understanding and from others emotional words of heartfelt condolence.

The press had been kept at bay by police outside the small churchyard and they'd gone now.

Miles looked exhausted – not an impressive peer of the realm now, but a tired old man swaying on his feet. He had wept openly throughout the burial, but afterwards he'd bravely dried his eyes and spoken to the many people who came up to him. Nick and Mel took his arms and led him back to the waiting car.

Just as she was about to get in beside her grandfather, she glanced back across the churchyard. Magnus was standing by the grave alone, his head bent to his chest, his shoulders heaving.

'You go with Miles, Nick,' she said, putting one hand on his arm. 'Take Mrs Downes in this car. I'll stay for a minute with Magnus and come back in the other car.'

Nick looked back at his father and his heart swelled up with pain for him. He remembered seeing Magnus like that when his mother died, not knowing what to do or say to comfort him. He had a feeling that Mel would know.

She joined Magnus silently at the grave. He was holding the cards from the flowers in his hands. Always the one person who thought ahead, he'd collected them up for Mel, afraid rain might wash away the messages. Tears rolled unheeded down his cheeks, a terrible forlorn cry of anguish coming from deep in his chest.

The sun was sinking now behind a big yew tree, casting a pink light on the hundreds of flowers and wreaths which concealed the mound of earth ready to cover Helena. A man was standing back by the church, a shovel in his hand, discreetly looking the other way. In the distance she could hear the sounds of cars being started, but here there was absolute quiet aside from Magnus's sobs.

She knew then that he had fallen in love with Helena, and that he'd allowed himself to dream of them sharing a life together. He held himself responsible for Helena's death, just as she and Nick had. But now in a moment of clarity and shared pain, Mel knew that none of them were to blame.

'Come away now,' she said gently as his sobs subsided, slipping her arms round his waist and holding his head against her shoulder.

'Oh, Mel,' he sighed. 'What is there now?'

The wind was cold, whipping round her legs and fluttering the skirt of her black dress. She could remember asking herself that same question when Bee died. She knew now that time did heal all wounds.

'There's you, me, Nick,' she whispered. 'And Sophie and Stephen. Maybe soon you'll have grandchildren. We'll hold Helena in our hearts forever. She isn't gone.'

He straightened up then, wiping his sleeve across his eyes. 'It was picking up these cards that started me off,' he said, holding them out to her. 'So many loving messages. Yet I never said to her what was growing in my heart.'

'Some things don't have to be said,' she said simply. 'Some of the sweetest memories are just a special look, a brush of the hand. She'll know what lies behind our tears and our silences.'

He half smiled. 'I just wish –'

'No.' Mel stopped his words with one finger on his lips. 'No wishes or if onlys. Helena wouldn't want that. As the vicar said, we have to celebrate her life and honour it, thank her too for bringing us back together. Maybe in a week or two we can think of some way to do that properly.'

'You're right, of course,' he sniffed and then put his arm round her shoulder. 'You know even if Helena hadn't finally told us she was your mother, I would have guessed eventually. You are becoming more like her every minute. But we must get back to Oaklands – everyone else will be there by now.'

After the cold wind in the churchyard it was good to be back in the warm. Mrs Downes had called in several local women to get things ready while they were all at the church, and they'd built up the fire in the drawing room and laid out a buffet in the bar.

Mel felt a wave of panic as she walked in with Magnus and Antoine. Except for Conrad, almost everyone mere was a stranger to her. She didn't think she could speak to anyone.

'It's okay.' Nick saw her stricken face and came forward with a glass of brandy for her. He took her jacket and hat from her. 'They are just people who cared for your mother. They all understand you aren't up to talking much.'

Conrad came forward first, silently holding out his arms, his mournful face showing just how much he felt for her.

'You poor darling,' he said hoarsely as he hugged her. 'If I'd known this was going to happen I'd have torn my heart out before showing you that newspaper.'

For a moment she hugged him back wordlessly. She wanted to apologise for not returning his many calls in the last week, for not acknowledging the beautiful letter he'd written, and yet she knew he understood about that dark world she'd fallen into. 'Please don't regret anything, Con,' she whispered against his shoulder. 'You taught me to accept fate, and that's what this is. I'm so very glad I met Helena, even if our time together was so short. And so very glad that I have you as a friend.'

They talked for a little while, about the restaurant, her engagement to Nick, and his role in
Delinquents,
then Mel felt compelled to go and speak to other people. 'I'll come back to you later,' she said, pressing his hand in hers. 'You mingle too, there are plenty of people here who loved Helena's films as much as you, especially Miles – he'll be pleased to talk to you again.'

It wasn't the ordeal she'd expected. Nick was right, they were just people who cared, and by circulating and having a few words here and there, gradually she found she was building up a picture of who everyone was and what Helena meant to them.

The statuesque redhead, hands laden with rings, was Suzanna Ashleigh from Louisiana, an ex-dancer who had worked with Helena in Hollywood. She greeted Mel with unexpected warmth.

'Helena was a real pal to me when I first arrived in Hollywood,' she confided, in her languorous Southern drawl. 'I was one of those dumb broads they used to call starlets. No talent, just a good body and a pretty face. She always said I reminded her of her Aunt Marleen, and she used to tell me these stories about Marleen's fancy men. She called them Spivs. There was a hidden warning in those tales, a sort of, "listen to me girl or you'll end up washed up in some trailer park". Gee, without her around I would've got in deep trouble too! She was one of the biggest stars at MGM then, but she never showed off. Ya know she lent me one of her evening dresses once. It was gorgeous, white chiffon, made by Myna Lowe, the dame who made a lotta Ginger Rogers's clothes. I was going to a big party and I wanted to look a sensation. Well I looked a sensation all right, but I had one too many martinis and somehow ended up in the pool with it on. The dress was ruined and I thought she'd kill me. But guess what she said when I finally got around to owning up?'

Mel smiled. She liked the woman's frankness. 'Last time I lend you a new dress?'

Suzanna laughed. 'The hell she did! No, she said "Well did you have a good time?" I said I did, but I was real sorry about her dress. She said, "Well, that's all that counts. If I had as many good times as I have dresses, maybe I wouldn't need a shrink." ' Suzanna stopped short and looked a little embarrassed. 'I guess I shouldn't have said that, honey.'

'Yes, you should,' Mel retorted. 'She told me about that, she didn't make a secret of it.'

'Well, all I can say it was a damned shame she kept you a secret,' Suzanna said. 'But I guess that was why she always seemed so sad.'

Rupert Henderson, Helena's young co-star in
Broken Bridges
had no humorous stories to tell. As he spoke of acting with Helena he was struggling not to cry. His angelic choirboy face, soulful brown eyes and storm of blond ringlets were enough to make a woman of any age want to mother him.

'She was such a great actress.' He bit his lip and tried hard to smile. 'But she was a lovely woman too, so generous with her praise, so patient and kind.'

Nick had told Mel a great deal about him. They had crossed paths many times at auditions, and Nick said Rupert was as conceited as he used to be. But he didn't come across as at all conceited to her. He was truly distressed.

'She made it all so easy,' he said wistfully. 'She explained to me all the emotions a woman of forty would feel falling for a lad half her age. The terrible fear of being out of control and of being hurt, the anxiety that her body is past its best and the jealousy when her lover looks at girls his own age.'

Mel guessed he had been a little in love with Helena. She wondered if he had anyone he could shared his grief with. 'What will happen to the film now?' she asked.

He shrugged. 'I don't know, nothing's been decided. All our big scenes together are in the can already, but there's still the whole bit to do when she finds her lover has another younger girlfriend, and her revenge. There was some talk about altering the storyline – something like her being disfigured in an accident, so we can get a stand-in, but I don't like the idea of that.' He broke off, blushing, realising how tactless he'd been.

'I don't think Helena would mind that,' Mel soothed him. 'I think she'd even see the black humour in it.'

'You are very like her.' He ran his eyes over Mel appraisingly. 'Not in looks so much, more your direct manner. I'm glad I met you. Perhaps we could meet for a drink sometime and talk about her.'