Consider Her Ways (14 page)

And as evidence of the faith created there were the bottles and pots, sachets and tubes of Letitia Chaline Beauty Ancillaries gracing shop windows, dressing-tables, and handbags from Seattle to Helsinki to Lisbon to Tokio, and even subtly discoverable, though at a price and in shades several years behind the rest of the world's fashion, at such places as Omsk. Elegant Chaline shrines, stationed with a good sense of real estate value, gleamed seductively in New York, London, Rio, Paris, Rome, and a dozen more leading cities, the administrative centres of an empire which had hated rivals in coexistence, but no more worlds to conquer.

In the offices and salons of these buildings the work of calling beauty into existence went on in a state of nervous torque, for it was always possible that on any day Letitia Chaline herself (or Lettice Scheukelman, as her passport described her) might drop from the sky with scourges, and a cohort of efficiency experts. And yet, in spite of system and pressure, it seemed that the limit of expansion other than the little fillips gained by gobbling up an occasional small rival, had been reached – at least, so it had
seemed until Letitia's daughter, Miss Cathy Scheukelman (or Chaline) married an impoverished European, and so became Her Highness the Grand Duchess Katerina of Marinstein.

Cathy had not actually seen Marinstein before she married it, and when she did, it came as something of a shock. The castle had a fine romantic manner, but was about as comfortable to inhabit as a suite of caves. The town was badly run down, and its inhabitants occupied almost entirely with begging, sleeping, procreation, and vines; in the rest of the realm it was much the same, except that there was no one to beg from.

Many a Grand Duchess in similar circumstances has squeamed, and taken-off for an established centre of gracious living; Cathy, however, came of enterprising stock. At her world-famous mother's knee she had absorbed not only the gospel of Beauty, but a useful working knowledge of the principles of big business, as was suitable for one who would later have considerable holdings in Letitia Chaline and its ramifications. And as she sat in her castle turret, looking out over penurious Marinstein, there sounded within her an echo of that enterprising idealism which had inspired her mother to confer the blessing of beauty upon womankind. After an hour's cogitation she reached a verdict.

‘Momma,' she said, addressing that absent though worldwide spirit, ‘Momma, dear, you're no green pasture, but I guess you don't have this thing sewn right up. Not even yet.'

And she sent for her secretary, and started to dictate letters.

Three months later the airfield had been graded, and the concrete apron was being spread, the Grand Duchess had laid the stone of the first hotel, strange machines were cutting drainage trenches in the streets, and the Marinsteiners were attending a series of compulsory lectures on hygiene and civic responsibility.

Five years later there were, in addition to two first-class hotels, and two second-class hotels, three more being built, for it had occurred to the Grand Duchess that as well as social beauty she could supply various kinds of professional beauty along with
instruction on its concomitants, and most advantageous deployment. There were half a dozen salles, cliniques, and écoles, permanent or temporary, and the Marinsteiners after severe tutelage were beginning to appreciate the economic theory behind conserving the sources of one's golden eggs.

After ten years there was a clean, but still picturesque, town, a University of Beauty, a world-wide reputation, an expensive clientèle, an acknowledged standard of education in the arts of pulchritude, and a regular air service by the big lines. All over the capitalist world the head of Botticelli's Venus looked from cards in the best coiffeurs', from posters in select travel agencies, from the glossier magazines, urging all who set store by beauty to seek and find it at its very fount, Marinstein. By which time the early prophets of disaster had long turned their minds to promoting the use of their products at Marinstein, with generous acknowledgement that its Grand Duchess was indeed a hair of the old mink.

Thus it was that when Peggy MacRafferty, after a breakfast that had the charm of novelty, but scarcely the amplitude of Irish standards, stepped out of the Grand Hotel Narcisse on her first morning, she saw a scoured cobbled street, white houses with fresh-painted shutters, flowers tumbling over their walls, bright-striped awnings on the shops, with the sun over all. She was impelled to wave aside the waiting taxis. Another girl emerging at the same time did likewise, and glancing at Peggy, exclaimed:

‘Oh, isn't it a lovely, lovely place! I'd much rather walk, and see it all.'

Which was a pleasant change from the blasé lady of the previous evening, so that Peggy warmed to her, and they set off down the town together.

On the south side of the Place d'Artemis (formerly the Hochgeborenprinzadelbertplatz) stood a gracefully pillared building with a facia that announced:
ENREGISTREMENTS
.

‘I suppose that's it,' said Peggy's companion. ‘It does feel a bit like going in for an exam, doesn't it?'

At a large counter in the hall a tall soignée lady received them with a somewhat intimidating manner.

‘Social,' she inquired, ‘stage, screen, model, professional television, or freelance?'

‘Screen,' said Peggy and the other girl, simultaneously.

The soignée lady signed to a small page.

‘Take these ladies to Miss Cardew,' she told him.

‘I'm glad you're screen, too,' said the girl. ‘My name's Pat – I mean, Carla Carlita.'

‘Mine's – er – Deirdre Shilsean,' Peggy told her.

The girl's eyes widened.

‘Oh, that's wonderful. I've read about you. You've got a real contract with Plantagenet Films, haven't you? The others were talking about it on the plane, only I didn't realize it was you. They're all green with envy. I am, too. Oh, I think it's thrilling –' She was cut short by the child ushering them into a room, and announcing: ‘Two ladies to see you, Miss Cardew.'

At first glance the room contained little but a couple of chairs, a luxurious carpet, and a floral riot on a large desk. Round this, however, a face presently peered to say: ‘Please sit down.'

Peggy did so, in a position from which she was able to see the unencumbered end of the desk, and also the neat card that announced: ‘Flower Tone-Poems by Persistence Fry, Rue de la Pompadour 10 (Individual Tuition).' They gave their names, and Miss Cardew consulted a book.

‘Ah, yes,' she said, ‘we have you both programmed. Now, your courses will consist partly of private treatments, and partly of classes. For details of these you should see Miss Arbuthnot at the Callisthenium …'

There was quite a list of instructors and directors, ending up with Miss Higgins for elocution.

‘Miss Higgins,' exclaimed Peggy, ‘is she Irish?'

‘I really could not say,' admitted Miss Cardew, ‘but she is, as are all our staff, of course, an expert in her field – a granddaughter of
the famous Professor Henry Higgins. Now I'll ring Miss Arbuthnot and try to fix you an appointment for this afternoon.'

Peggy and Carla bought some stamps with a very pretty engraving of Botticelli's Venus's head on them, although printed in mauve, and then spent an hour inspecting a variety of boutiques, salons, maisons, ateliers, coins, and even étals, before adjourning to the riverside restaurant, Aux Milles Bateaux, at the foot of the Boulevarde de la Belle Hélène, to put in the rest of their time until their appointment. Mostly, they talked films, with Carla showing a flattering interest in every detail that Peggy could recall of her contract.

Miss Arbuthnot at the Callisthenium turned out to be a rather severe featured lady who regarded one with dispassion and an eye under which it was hard not to feel misshapen.

‘H'm,' she said, after consideration.

Peggy began nervously:

‘Och, I know my vital statistics aren't quite –' but Miss Arbuthnot cut her short.

‘I'm afraid that is not a term we favour,' she said. ‘In Marinstein we prefer to speak of one's Indices of Beauty. Your waist I judge as satisfactory at 22, but it will need your serious attention to enable you to attain 42–22–38.'

‘Forty-two!' exclaimed Peggy. ‘Oh, I don't think –'

‘It is not a question of personal taste,' said Miss Arbuthnot. ‘As the Grand Duchess has often remarked of our social side: to be seen wearing last year's shape is worse than driving last year's model. On the screen side one must be even more requirement-conscious. For contemporary screen requirements 42–22–38
is
beauty; anything else is
not
.'

‘But forty-two –' Peggy protested.

‘Oh, we shall achieve it for you. After all, that is why we are here, isn't it?'

Peggy supposed, a little uncertainly, that it must be.

‘Now,' said Miss Arbuthnot after she had given her the callis
thenics timetable, ‘I expect you'll want to see Miss Carnegie, your personality-coach.'

On leaving, Peggy found the ante-room outside thronged with waiting girls. She heard her new name mentioned by several of them as she passed through. It should have been flattering, but somehow it was not; they were all watching her very carefully.

‘Light vivacity, light vivacity, just say it to yourself over and over again whenever you're doing nothing in particular – and even if you are.'

‘But is that
really
my personality? Is it the real
me
?' asked Peggy.

Miss Carnegie raised her eyebrows.

‘
Your
personality?' she said, then she smiled. ‘Oh, I see. Oh dear, you have got a lot to learn, haven't you? You're confusing us with the television side, I'm afraid. Screen personality is
quite
different. Oh, yes, indeed. A few years ago it was sultry, then we had sparkling for a time, then we had a stretch of sincerity – let me see what came next? Oh, yes, smouldering, and, for a rather brief time, ingenuousness – but that doesn't suit modern audiences, silly to try it, really – then there was a spell of passionpent – the audiences liked that all right, but it was exceedingly trying for everyone else. This season it's lightly-vivacious. So just keep on saying it to yourself until you come to me again next Wednesday. Light-vivacity, light-vivacity! Try to throw your weight a little more forward on your toes, you'll find that'll help. Light-vivacity, light-vivacity!'

And then to her coiffeur, to her facial-artist, to her deportment-instructor, to her dietician, to a number of others until, finally, to Miss Higgins, whom she found on the point of terminating an interview with Carla.

‘Yes,' Miss Higgins was saying. ‘You've a good ear. I don't think you will need much help from me. We can easily emphasize those “Rs” a little. What you need to guard against is a tendency to shout in ordinary conversation. That's hard on the microphone. Besides, unless she happens to live in Kensington, a lady doesn't shout.'

Then Carla departed, and it was Peggy's turn. Miss Higgins asked her to read a passage printed on a card, and listened, fascinated.

‘Beautiful!' she said. ‘I must get you to make some recordings before we spoil it. Those “ees”! Please repeat after me: “The B.B.C. decrees at least three paeans to Greensleeves each week”.'

For the next ten minutes Peggy demonstrated her vowels. As she concluded, Miss Higgins was regarding her with the benevolence of one who has at last discovered a task worthy of her talents.

‘A work after my grandfather's heart,' she said, ‘but it's going to mean hard work for you, my dear. Harder than for any of the rest, I'm afraid.'

‘The rest?' asked Peggy.

‘Well, there are thirty-six of you on the next Screen Beauty Course, and it is a highly competitive profession, you know.'

‘But I do have a contract, Miss Higgins.'

‘An
option
contract, I understand,' amended Miss Higgins. ‘That makes an extra incentive. I don't suppose you are acquainted with your competitors yet, but they have read all about you, and what is the result? Four of them have already requested that they may be given a slight trace of Irish in their speech, and I have no doubt more will do the same. So you see … !'

Peggy stared at her indignantly.

‘Have they indeed! So it is after stealing my contract they are?'

‘It shows the way the wind blows,' admitted Miss Higgins. ‘But, of course,' she added consolingly, ‘it is an utterly impossible request. Naturally, one cannot teach anything on this course other than received Anglo-American. Still, it does go to show …'

‘But if they change me shape, and change me voice, and change me hair, and change me face, as they say, what is it that is me, at all?' asked Peggy.

‘One has a duty to the public,' said Miss Higgins, ‘or, perhaps one should say, the film people have a duty to the public. One has to learn to suit oneself to a medium, to work within its limits. That is required of every artist, is it not?'

Peggy unhappily supposed it was.

‘Now, don't you worry, my dear,' Miss Higgins advised. ‘We'll see you through, and get you your certificate. Just you come along here on Monday morning after your callisthenics, and we'll get down to it. You'll be in movies, all right, never doubt it …'

George Floyd wandered into Mr Solly de Kopf's spacious office, and dropped into an easy-chair.

‘What's the matter with you?' Solly inquired looking up.

‘I need a drink,' George told him, ‘a large one.'

Al conjured it up, and put it beside him.

‘What's wrong? I thought you'd gone to meet her. Don't say the Marinstein plane's crashed.'

‘Oh, no, it came in all right. Everything was laid on – Press, steam-radio, television, the lot.'