Lana nearly laughed. “Well, quite a lot, I should imagine—”
“I’m not interested in plays! Who said anything about plays? I want to be a movie star—like you.”
Oh my God, Lana thought. This is a disaster.
Realizing the situation was far more serious than she had initially thought, Lana sought my advice. She called me as soon as she was alone. I remember how tense and anxious she sounded on the phone.
Looking back, I could probably have been more sympathetic. I could see why Lana was disappointed—as Barbara West used to put it, “An actress is a little bit more than a woman. An actor, a little bit less than a man.”
I figured, wisely, Lana wouldn’t find that quip funny at the moment.
“Well, Leo’s found his calling,” I said. “That’s good. You should be pleased.”
“Don’t be sarcastic.”
“I’m not. Isn’t that just what the world needs—another actor?”
“Movie star,” Lana corrected, miserably.
“Sorry—movie star.” I chuckled. “Lana, my love—if Leo wants to be a movie star, let him. He’ll be fine.”
“How can you say that?”
“He’s your son, isn’t he?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
I searched for the right analogy. “Well, you don’t buy a horse without looking the mare in the mouth, do you?”
“Meaning what? Is that a joke?” Lana sounded annoyed. “I don’t get it.”
“Meaning every agent in London and LA will be falling over themselves to have him, once they know whose son he is. Anyway,” I went on, before she could object, “he’s seventeen. He’ll change his mind in approximately twenty-five minutes.”
“No. Not Leo. He’s not like that.”
“Well, he won’t starve, anyway. Not with Otto’s billions in the bank.”
Lana’s voice tightened. “Not billions. That’s a dumb thing to say, Elliot. And any money his father set aside for him has nothing to do with this.”
Lana ended the phone call soon after that. She was cool with me for the next few days. I could tell I’d touched a nerve.
She didn’t want Leo to depend upon his inheritance. Fair enough. Work was important, Lana believed, for all kinds of reasons. For years, she had defined herself solely through her work, deriving intense satisfaction from it: a feeling of self-worth, a sense of purpose—not to mention the fortune that she made for herself and others.
One day, Leo would inherit all of it; as well as his father’s money. He would be extremely wealthy. But not until she was dead.
In her mind, Lana kept coming back to the last thing Leo said to her—his parting shot, as he left the kitchen. It was like a knife, slid between her ribs.
Leo paused at the door and threw her a sideways look.
“Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Give up acting. Why did you quit?”
“I’ve told you.” Lana smiled. “I wanted a real life, not a pretend one.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means I’m happier now.”
“You miss it,” Leo said. This was not a question but a statement.
“No, I don’t.” Lana kept smiling. “Not at all.”
“Liar.”
Leo turned and walked out. Lana stopped smiling.
Liar.
Leo was right. Lana was a liar. She was lying to Leo—and to herself.
Finally she understood why this conversation had bothered her so much. This was the secret that had been chasing her around Soho. It had caught up with her at last.
I do miss it, she thought. Of course I miss it. I miss it every day.
The irony was that Leo had no idea that he himself was the cause of Lana’s retirement. She never told him that. Lana told few people why she quit. I was one of them.
When Otto died, Leo was six years old. And Lana’s entire world fell apart. But she had to keep going, for Leo’s sake. So, she put herself back together the only way she knew how: through work. She threw herself into work. Even though her career went from strength to strength—and she made one of her most successful movies, The Loved One, which finally won her an Oscar—Lana wasn’t happy. She had the horrible feeling she was screwing up as a parent. Just as her own mother had screwed up.
Lana knew she was in the privileged position of not needing to work. So why not retire and dedicate herself to raising her son? Why not put him first—as she had never been put first?
So that’s what she did. She quit.
Does that sound flippant? As if Lana made life-changing decisions on the toss of a coin? I assure you she didn’t. I suspect she had been mulling this over for years. Otto’s sudden and unexpected death forced Lana’s hand. You only had to glance at Leo now to see that her gamble had paid off. Yes, Leo was an occasionally temperamental teenager, but he was good-natured, intelligent, kind; and responsible. He cared about other people, and the planet he lived on.
Lana was proud of how Leo had turned out. She felt sure it was down to her having had the right priorities. Unlike Kate, who was unmarried, childless, lurching from one disastrous, self-destructive relationship to another.
Lana thought of Kate for a moment. She was currently rehearsing Agamemnon at the Old Vic. Kate was at the height of her profession, hugely creatively fulfilled, still cast in leading roles. Was Lana envious? Perhaps.
But there was no going back. What if she returned to work now? Looking older, feeling older, inevitably inviting unfavorable comparison with her younger self? Any kind of comeback would involve compromise—and probably end in disappointment. Imagine a disastrous, or even mediocre, production? That would be devastating for her.
No, Lana had made her choice—and been rewarded with a happy, well-adjusted son; a husband she loved; a marriage that worked. All this mattered enormously.
Yes. She nodded to herself. That’s the end of the story, right here.
It seemed poetic, somehow, after such a hectic and turbulent life, that Lana should end up here, quietly drinking tea, watching the rain fall. Lana Farrar was an old married lady—a mother, and one day, hopefully, a grandmother.
She felt calm. That horrible anxious feeling left her. This is what it means to be content. Everything is perfect, just as it is.
It was particularly cruel of fate to select that precise moment—just as Lana reached this epiphany about her life—for Agathi to enter the room.…
And Lana’s world to fall apart.
4
Agathi’s day began uneventfully enough.
Tuesday was always busy for her; the day she ran errands. She enjoyed it, being out and about, charging around Mayfair, a long list in her hand.
As she left the house that morning, it seemed like a lovely day to be outdoors. The sun was shining and the skies were clear. Later on, like Lana, Agathi was caught in the rainstorm. But unlike her employer, she had been wise enough to take an umbrella.
Agathi walked to the pharmacy, dropping off a prescription for Lana. Then she went to the local dry cleaner’s, run by Sid, a notoriously prickly man in his sixties. He was civil to Agathi, however, unlike to the rest of his clientele, on account of her association with Lana, whom he adored.
Sid beamed at Agathi as she entered and beckoned her to the front of the queue. “Excuse me, dear,” he said to the customer at the head of the line. “I’ll just serve this lady first. She’s in a hurry—she works for Lana Farrar, you know.”
Agathi winced slightly, embarrassed, as she made her way past the queue of waiting customers, none of whom dared to object.
Sid gestured at the clothes hanging on the rail. They were wrapped in plastic, ready to go. “Here you go, Her Majesty’s garments. All nice and snug in case there’s a change in the weather. Looks like rain.”
“You think so? Seems like a fine day to me.”
Sid frowned. He didn’t like being contradicted. “No. Take it from me. It’ll be pissing down in half an hour.”
Agathi nodded. She paid him for the clothes and was about to leave when Sid suddenly stopped her.
“Wait a sec. Nearly forgot. Head like a sieve. Hang on—”
Sid opened a little drawer. He carefully took out a small, sparkling piece of jewelry. An earring. He slid it across the counter.