Tangled Tapestry. Anne Mather

well, I hope it’s soon over.’

      ‘Pray that it’s a success,’ remarked Lucy sardonically. ‘Have you any idea what you could earn as a television personality?’

      ‘Money doesn’t interest me,’ exclaimed Debra. ‘At least, only so far as keeping me in food and clothes is concerned. I’ve no aspirations to grandeur.’

      ‘Amazing,’ remarked Lucy dryly, and walked away, leaving Debra to her own confused thoughts.

      In the shortest space of time the studio was cleared and Morley took charge. Debra was amazed at the way he shed his semi-indolent manner and became a veritable tiger when his wishes weren’t carried out instantly. She glimpsed the genius behind the façade and was suitably impressed. The cast of the series were not particularly pleased to be shifted off the set, and Debra felt awful about the whole business. It just wasn’t feasible that Emmet Morley was doing all this because he liked her face, and the reasons hidden were beginning to trouble her.

      But when it came to the actual test she found it was not at all difficult, after all. She followed his instructions implicitly, and found that once she was actually before the cameras her nervousness fled and she relaxed completely. She didn’t know why, but she felt an affinity with the artificial scenery, the set of a comfortable lounge, and in consequence when she was handed a script she read from it without actually thinking about it. She had always been good at amateur dramatics, and had taken part in several school plays, but even she was unaware that she was particularly good until at the end of her speech the whole studio resounded with the applause of the watching crew.

      Hot, flushed and embarrassed, she thrust the script back into Morley’s hand and said:

      ‘Please, now can I go?’

      Morley seemed abstracted, and merely nodded, as though lost in his own thoughts, and Debra made good her escape. She didn’t know why she had this incredible urge to get away, but it was overpowering, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the studio doors swung to behind them.

      The children were admiring and loud in their praise, but Debra managed to quieten them. She had no particular wish to remember what had just occurred. She was no stage-struck teenager, and all she could feel was relief that her ordeal was over. She refused to consider what might be behind it all. It had been a strange experience, and she felt uncomfortably suspicious that Emmet Morley would not let her get away so easily. It would be an easy matter for him to find her telephone number if he wanted to get in touch with her.

      She shook these thoughts away impatiently. It was no good worrying over something that might never happen. She straightened her shoulders. After all, she would not allow herself to be bulldozed into anything she did not like.

      It wasn’t until she was in bed that night and musing over the day’s events that she recalled the words she had spoken during her screen test. Emmet had thrust the script into her hand and she had been too bemused to register what it was. But now she remembered: it had been ‘Avenida’ and the words she had spoken were Laura’s words; Laura, the part which had given Elizabeth Steel her greatest success.

       CHAPTER TWO

      DEBRA poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it through to the wide window seat in the lounge. From here she had an uninterrupted view of the outer waters of the harbour, and at this hour of the early evening it was unbelievably beautiful. The apartment was small, and not always quiet as it was now, the rest of the building being taken up by young people who seemed to spend their nights playing records and dancing, despite the complaints of the landlady downstairs, but the situation made up to Debra for everything else it lacked. She spent hours sitting here, sometimes sketching idly, and sometimes just dreaming, and remembering that in twelve short weeks she would be back in Valleydown.

      The prospect of returning to her aunt’s house was not an inviting one. Aunt Julia was not a gregarious person, and did not welcome company in the small house backing on to the river. She was content to sit and knit, and watch television, and sometimes read a magazine. She did a little gardening, complained about the neighbours and the housework, and the cost of groceries, and this was her whole world. In truth Debra had begun to think it was hers too. But this trip had been a revelation in more ways than one. She had met so many people, nice people, who were genuinely interested in her. Back home in England, any friendships she had made were quickly snuffed by Aunt Julia, and Debra had been loath to bring friends to her aunt’s house after Aunt Julia had been rude to a fellow teacher from the school.

      She had never had a regular boy-friend. She had occasionally attended lectures together with fellow teachers, some of whom happened to be men, but this was all.

      But here, in America, everything was different. There was no Aunt Julia to prevent her making friends, and only the habits of years curtailed her social activities. She was still very shy, and it was difficult to respond naturally to the natural exuberance of her colleagues. And yet she knew that given more time, it would come, if only she had the chance.

      She sighed, and lit a cigarette. She didn’t smoke a lot, not at all at home, but she enjoyed a cigarette with a cup of coffee at this hour of the evening. She wondered idly what her life would have been like if her parents had lived. She didn’t know much about them. As long as she could remember there had only been Aunt Julia, and Valleydown. She could vaguely remember living somewhere else, somewhere nearer London, but always with Aunt Julia. Whenever she questioned her aunt about her parents she received no satisfactory answers. Julia seemed to think the fact that they had both died in a train crash was sufficient to tell a lonely child, not understanding that Debra would have cherished every memory she could relate with avid attention.

      Debra shrugged these thoughts away as being disloyal. After all, had it not been for Aunt Julia she would have been in a children’s home, and Aunt Julia had described them in terrible terms, whenever she wanted to frighten Debra into submission for some misdoing.

      Footsteps on the stairs outside the apartment, loud and frequent, heralded the arrival home of the three boys who lived in the flat above her. A few minutes later the throbbing beat of a current pop song came clearly from above, and Debra sighed again, and standing up walked back into the tiny alcove which served as a kitchen, and replaced her cup on the draining board.

      It was only a little after seven-thirty, and the evening stretched ahead of her. She wondered what she would do. She didn’t much like to go out alone, and she had made no arrangements to meet any of the girls from the High School this evening. She supposed she could go to the movies, but on an evening like this the prospect did not appeal.

      Suddenly the telephone rang shrilly, and Debra almost jumped out of her skin. She was still not used to the ubiquitous presence of the telephone, and in consequence usually felt her nerves jangle when its bell broke the quietude of her thoughts. Stubbing out her cigarette, and wondering who could be calling her, she lifted the receiver.

      ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Debra Warren speaking.’

      An unfamiliar male voice came to her ears. ‘Miss Warren? Good? I understand you took a party of teenagers to the Omega studios a couple of days ago.’

      Debra pressed a hand to her stomach. She had still not quite recovered from that, to her, unpleasant sensation of being thoroughly appraised, and although she had thrust it to the back of her mind, at the man’s words it all came flooding back.

      ‘That’s right,’ she said, her voice cool. ‘But I must warn you that I have absolutely no interest in any further screen tests or auditions, or anything like that. I’m a schoolteacher, and I have no desire to be a film star!’

      The man made a sound which seemed like suppressed humour, and Debra gripped the receiver tightly.

      ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Whoever you are, get off this line!’

      ‘Hold on, hold on,’ he said hastily. ‘Look, my name is Dominic McGill, and I want to see you.’

      Dominic McGill! Debra’s brain buzzed chaotically. Dominic