Tangled Tapestry. Anne Mather
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would dare to impersonate me!’
Then he closed the door behind him, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She ran to the door, but as her fingers closed over the handle she found she could not turn it. It was no use calling him back. It was her problem, and no one else’s, and her heartache if it turned out to be true. What kind of a person was Elizabeth Steel to turn her back on her own baby? Had she never had any curiosity about her own child? Did she have no desire to see her, developing into a child, and then … But her thoughts were brought up short. Elizabeth had been killed when she was only twelve years old. Might she have changed if she had lived? Would she eventually have acknowledged her offspring?
And on the heels of this thought came another: if Elizabeth Steel was her mother, who was her father? Was she illegitimate? Was that why so little interest had been taken in her? Oh, God, she thought, feeling sickened. ‘It couldn’t be true,’ she said aloud, as though by voicing the opinion, it negated it.
But the fact remained that there was a faint, yet sturdy, vein of authenticity about the whole affair. So many things linked together, most particularly her aunt’s attitude.
And yet why should her aunt act that way? Why pretend she had no mother, even if that mother refused to acknowledge her? There were hundreds of children in similar circumstances, living with relatives because their parents hadn’t time for them. It didn’t make sense.
When she went to bed that night her thoughts were no further forward. She felt a healthy resentment towards Dominic McGill for coming here so arrogantly, and brutally destroying her peace of mind. She was also aware that she had never met a man like him before. He could be hard and cold, yet when he smiled he had the charm of a small boy. A man of moods and complexes, completely outside her comprehension.
She rolled over in her bed, punching her pillow into shape angrily. Whatever came of all this, whatever truths were uncovered, Dominic McGill was merely interested in her as Elizabeth Steel’s daughter, and as such, a possible asset to the remake of his famous ‘Avenida’. She must never, at any time, start thinking of him as a friend of hers.
ON Saturday afternoon at the baseball game, Debra was surprised to be approached by David Hollister, the school principal. Hollister, a man in his early forties, was a bachelor, and had taken a friendly interest in Debra’s career since her arrival at Filbert. He had made her feel welcome, and was more than willing to listen to any problem she might encounter.
Debra, used to the stiff formality of an English headmistress, had been astonished when the principal addressed her as Debra from the start, and introduced himself as David. In consequence, although she liked talking to him, she had been inclined to aloofness, unable to wholly lose her normal detachment when speaking to him.
Today, however, after yesterday’s revelations which had cost her a night’s sleep already, she was more relaxed, and she smiled when he said:
‘I think you’re beginning to like our national sport.’
‘I am,’ she agreed, nodding. ‘Particularly when our side is winning. Pete Lindsay is in my class.’
‘Of course he is,’ said the principal reflectively. ‘But tell me, Debra, what is all this about the Omega Studios, and Dominic McGill?’
Debra was taken aback. ‘You … you know?’ she exclaimed.
‘Of course. How do you imagine they got your telephone number?’
‘Well, from the book, I suppose,’ murmured Debra awkwardly. ‘You mean they rang you?’
‘Exactly. It was obviously the most satisfactory way. But anyway, enough of that, what exactly did he have to say to you? Or is it too private for me to know?’
‘Oh, no—that is—well, actually, what did they tell you?’
‘Dominic McGill rang me. He told me he wanted to get in touch with you. Something about a screen test at the studios. Was that in the itinerary, by the way?’
‘Of course not.’ Debra was blushing furiously. ‘You must think me a stage-struck teenager!’
David Hollister gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Hardly that, my dear, but I must confess I was disturbed when I found that a member of my staff had been taking a screen test.’
‘I was practically forced into it,’ replied Debra quickly. ‘Mr. Morley, Emmet Morley, that is, one of the directors—’
‘I have heard of Emmet Morley,’ remarked Hollister dryly.
‘—well, Mr. Morley said he wanted me to take a test, in front of all the children. Naturally, they would have been disappointed if I had refused.’
‘Yes, I can see that,’ he nodded. ‘But even so, it must have occurred to you that it was hardly what was expected of you.’
‘I know, I know.’ Debra compressed her lips. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘And is that all there was to it? This screen test?’
Debra’s colour deepened. Somehow she didn’t want to have to tell him about everything else, not yet. It might not be true, and it was nothing to do with him, however friendly his interest might be.
‘Well, I suppose so,’ she temporised.
David Hollister studied her confused expression. ‘Dominic McGill—whom we have all heard of; a man with numerous plays and films to his credit: who lives an entirely different life from any you have known, or me, for that matter; this man takes the trouble to find out your name and telephone number from the school principal, just because you’ve taken a screeen test that has apparently been successful! My dear Debra, the mind boggles!’
Debra stared miserably at her fingernails. ‘Please, Mr. Hollister—David, then,’ as he protested, ‘don’t ask me any more now. There is more, I admit it, but just at this moment I don’t want to say any more.’
Hollister looked a little annoyed, but he shrugged his shoulders and ran a hand over his thinning brown hair. ‘I can’t make you, of course.’ he said slowly. ‘But if I were you, I would think carefully before getting involved with a man like McGill. At the moment, he’s only a voice over the telephone; when you meet him you may be able to understand what I mean.’
‘Oh, but …’ began Debra, starting to tell him about McGill’s visit to her apartment, and then she stopped.
Misunderstanding her, Hollister continued: ‘I know you’re going to say you can take care of yourself, but really, Debra, the film world is a very big jungle, swarming with wild animals. It’s kill or be killed, and quite frankly, I don’t think you have the proportions of a lady-killer.’
Debra smiled at his humour, but said nothing.
Hollister offered her a cigarette, and when they were both smoking, he said: ‘I’d like to think you’d think of me as someone you could turn to, if you found yourself out of your depth.’
‘Thank you.’ Debra felt grateful to him.
‘Well, as I’ve said, be careful. Remember what I’ve told you. No matter how much they flatter you, don’t be misled.’
‘I … I won’t,’ murmured Debra, wishing now he would let it go. But instead he returned to the subject of Dominic McGill.
‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘do you know much about McGill?’
‘Practically nothing,’ replied Debra truthfully.
‘Then remember, as a jungle animal, there is no one more dangerous.’
Debra drew on her cigarette to avoid a reply, and he looked at her a little irritatedly.
‘I do know what I’m talking about,’ he said. ‘He’s completely without scruples,