There was not very much about Lucretia in this newsreel, though, other than some fleeting footage of a sinuous figure emerging from a car. There were one or two blurry shots of the studios; compared to Ealing or Pinewood, Ashwood was quite a small set-up, although it looked busy and people moved around with energy and enthusiasm.
Lucy’s interest was briefly caught by a long-distance shot of Leo Dreyer arriving at the studios for some reception or other. She leaned forward, trying to make out his features, but there was little more than an impression of a rather tall man wearing one of the long dark overcoats of the day and a Homburg hat.
The clip came to an end and the projectionist began to wind the second film. There would probably not be anything of use on this one, either. Still, you never knew.
The quality of this reel was poor; the soundtrack was tinny and there were a number of white zigzags on the surface, indicating scratches or imperfect storage. The commentator was either the same man as on the first reel, or had attended the same elocution classes.
‘And now a sight of one of the technological wonders of the age – one of the world’s first fully pressurized four-engined airliners – the Boeing Stratoliner 307. And this one is the most famous of them all – it’s the “Flying Penthouse”, bought by multi-millionaire Howard Hughes to convey him around the world in the style to which we would all like to become accustomed.’
There was a happy pause, presumably for audiences to enjoy the joke, and then the commentator went merrily on. ‘The Stratoliner can fly at an astonishing 220 miles an hour, and the pressurized cabin makes it possible to fly at altitudes of 14,000 feet or even higher. That’s what they call being above the weather – now there’s a good way to escape the English winter!’
The bouncing, isn’t-this-a-happy-world, music cut in, and there were shots of what was presumably the Stratoliner taking off and landing, and one of it flying over some unidentifiable country. There were patches of fogginess that might have been the monochrome film, or that might have been the flaws, or that might simply have been the weather that day.
There was nothing about Lucretia, and Lucy was beginning to wonder if the can of film had been wrongly labelled, or if someone had made a mistake in the listings, when the commentator said, ‘But here’s something that doesn’t come as standard with the Stratoliner 307. On this trip, Mr Hughes loaned his plane and a pilot for the transporting of a very decorative piece of cargo – none other than the famous star of the silent screen, Baroness Lucretia von Wolff.’
Lucy’s heartbeat punched breath-snatchingly against her ribcage, and she leaned forward, hardly daring to blink in case she missed anything.
‘A smooth-as-silk landing for a smooth-as-silk lady,’ said the commentator in a rather knowing, nudge-nudge, manner as the huge plane touched down. ‘The baroness, on her way to Switzerland, travelled in her usual style, thanks to Mr Hughes’ generosity.’
Switzerland, thought Lucy. Switzerland.
There was a three-quarters close-up of Lucretia descending the plane’s steps, stepping as delicately as a cat on four-inch heels. Even on the scratched foggy film, the mesmeric allure was apparent. Lucy, who had not watched any of Lucretia’s films for years, had forgotten how incandescently lovely and how smoulderingly sexy Lucretia had been. No wonder you slayed them in the aisles, grandmamma.
‘And,’ said the commentator archly, ‘for the ladies who are watching, our fashion editors say the baroness is wearing Christian Dior’s New Look.’
Behind Lucy, the projectionist sneezed and blew his nose with gusto.
‘But something that isn’t a fashion accessory is the cuddlesome armful,’ went on the commentator. ‘On this trip, Madame von Wolff had with her the newest addition to her family – the ten-month-old Mariana, named, so we’re given to understand, for the lady in Tennyson’s famous gothic poem.’