Barbara Taylor Bradford - Power of a Woman

“THE ACTOR PLAYING THE HEAVY BECAME SUDDENLY ill, and there we were, in the middle of the picture and in a mess, looking for a replacement, and, of course, everyone was mentally casting,” Derek explained to them, his marvelous voice echoing around the great hall.

“And,” he went on, “I happened to remark to the assistant producer that who we needed was Sydney Greenstreet. I told her that he’d be great as Redner, the villain. And she asked me who his agent was so that she could be in touch and try to hire him at once.”

Derek began to laugh. It was infectious. The others laughed with him, as always enjoying his anecdotes about the movies he had worked on. “Anyway, she was appallingly dense, the poor girl, and I’m afraid none of us could resist taking the mickey out of her. Most of the time too. Very young, of course. Too young for the job, as a matter of fact. Didn’t know that old Sydney had gone to meet his maker long ago. Doubt if she’d ever heard of him. Or seen The Maltese Falcon.”

“Or Casablanca,” Chloe volunteered. “I loved him in that.”

“So did I, darling girl,” Derek agreed, beaming at her.

Chloe beamed back. “Casablanca is my all-time-favorite movie. It’s awesome.”

“My favorite, too,” Miles said, and then, glancing at Derek, he remarked, “I had a similar sort of conversation the other day with one of the young women working in Wardrobe. I said that Deborah Kerr had been the greatest Anna ever, that she’d been brilliant in the part, and the girl just gaped at me, looking totally blank.”

Derek nodded, moved forward in the chair slightly, sounding serious. “Look here, I’m all for youth and a great booster of this generation, but some of these kids in their late teens and early twenties who are working in the theater and movies today seem awfully uninformed to me. Not a bit knowledgeable about the past, even the recent past.”

“Only too true,” Miles agreed. “It’s like they’ve landed from another planet.”

“Deborah was divine in The King and I,” Blair murmured.

“And so was Yul Brynner. They don’t make stars like that anymore,” Derek said quietly.

“Well, I wouldn’t go as far as that!” Blair exclaimed a trifle heatedly. “What about you, my love?”

Derek merely inclined his head and smiled at his wife.

Stevie said, “Mother’s right, of course, but I do know what you mean. So many of the great stars I love have retired or died.”

“Very gloomy thought indeed, my dear,” Derek answered. “And I must admit, I miss quite a number of them. Larry Olivier, Jack Hawkins, Duke Wayne, Bill Holden, but most especially Rich. God, we had some splendid times together. He was such an extraordinary man, an extraordinary talent. I remember when he was in Hamlet in the fifties. I think it was 1953, when he was with the Old Vic. Claire was in it with him, played Ophelia to his Hamlet. They were fabulous together. I went up to Edinburgh to see it, to see them. Rich was bloody marvelous. Miraculous.” There was a moment’s pause, and then Derek added softly, “I always envied him his voice, you know.”

“You did!” Miles sounded surprised, and he threw Derek a curious look. “But your voice is wonderful. Everybody remarks about it, Derek.”

“Thank you, Miles, however, it’s not as great as Burton’s was. Rich had…well, probably the greatest voice that’s ever been heard on the English stage. It was a thrilling voice, and it was much more sonorous and emotional than Larry’s, in my opinion anyway. It was the Celt in him, the Welsh in him, we love words so, us Welsh do. And as they always say in our native valleys of Wales, he had a bell in every tooth. Usually they say that about a singing voice, but it can be applied to a speaking voice as well, you know. As far as Rich was concerned, that is. His voice literally rang with feeling, and I for one could listen to him for hours.”

“As we all could, and did,” Blair reminded him.

“I think I’d better check with Cappi about lunch,” Stevie exclaimed, and rose, began to walk across the great hall. “I should find out how things are progressing. And anyway, they probably need a bit of help in the kitchen.”

“I’ll come with you, darling,” Blair murmured, and followed her daughter.

Chloe called, “Do you need me, Mom?”

“No, darling, we can manage, I’m sure,” Stevie answered over her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen.

Derek strolled across to the tray of drinks on a large Jacobean chest, picked up the bottle of white wine, and swung to face Miles, showing him the bottle. “Need yours topped up?”

“No thanks, Gramps, I’m fine.”

Derek poured himself another glass of the wine and then walked back to the fireside. He sat down on the sofa next to Chloe and, glancing across at Miles, he asked, “How’re the sets coming along for The King and I?”

“Pretty good, actually. It’s a fabulous play to work on, and I can really give my imagination free rein with this one. Temple bells and Buddhas, carved elephants, exotic fabrics, lots of gold and silver. And jewels. And vivid colors. All of those things that help to recreate the palace in Siam are really very visual, and have tremendous impact from the stage. And, I have to say, the costumes are sensational, especially Anna’s…all those lovely floating crinolines.”

“As a musical, it does take a lot of beating because it is such a fabulous play to look at, quite aside from listen to.” One of Derek’s brows lifted eloquently as he now asked, “How’s Martine Mason faring? How is she as Anna?”

“She’s good, Gramps, and so is Ben Tresner as the king. He may not be Yul Brynner, and Martine’s certainly no Deborah Kerr, but I think we’ve got a winning package.”

“And therefore a hit, presumably.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears, Gramps!” Chloe exclaimed.

The two men exchanged amused looks and laughed.

Cappi appeared suddenly in the great hall and beckoned to Chloe. “Your mother wants you to come and help us, nothing too complicated. We just need another pair of hands for a few minutes.”

“I don’t care if it is complicated, you know I’m very good at complicated things,” Chloe shot back, and ran across the room, exclaiming to her brother and grandfather, “Excuse me, I won’t be long, and please don’t talk about me while I’m gone.”

Again they laughed in amusement. Derek said, “You should be so lucky.”

Once they were alone, Miles rose, took a chair closer to Derek, and began. “I want to ask you something before Ma comes back from the kitchen.”

Derek looked at him with alertness, wondering what this was all about. “Go ahead, Miles old chap. I’m all ears. What’s troubling you? And I guess you are troubled, if the look on your face is anything to go by.”

“Yes, I am troubled. I’m worried about Gideon.”

“Oh.” Derek sat up straighter, giving Miles his full attention.

“I know you saw Gideon when he came to Los Angeles on business three weeks ago, and I just wondered what you thought. I mean—” Miles paused, cleared his throat, and went on. “What I mean is…well, what did you think about Gideon? His demeanor? His behavior?”

Without even having to think about this, Derek answered immediately. “He seemed relatively normal to me. But what are you driving at?”