Deep and Silent Waters

Valerie’s long nails curled into her palms and she dug them in, deliberately, to stop herself screaming at Sidney. He would love that. It would give her away in front of Sebastian and cause a scene, and Sidney loved to cause scenes. She admired and liked Sidney: he could be thoughtful, affectionate, sensitive – if she was ill or in trouble there was nobody she would rather go to – but he could also be spiteful and mischievous. His nature was strongly tilted to the feminine, which explained his intuitive instincts where film was concerned. Sebastian said he was a great artist, using the camera instead of a paintbrush.

Most people in the business agreed, and Sidney was one of the most respected men in his profession. He had a wall full of awards and could pick and choose what he did. But when he was in one of his wicked moods, Valerie felt like scratching his eyes out.

‘Tomorrow morning they’re screening that French thriller Ecoute et Regard at the Palazzo del Cinema,’ Sebastian said, sliding a hand inside his white dinner jacket. He rarely dressed formally but tonight he looked unusually elegant. He pulled out an envelope and proffered it to Sidney. ‘I got four seats. I can’t come, I’ve got an appointment, but you said you wanted to see it.’

Valerie’s head swung towards him. ‘I don’t remember any appointment. Who’s this with?’

He ignored her.

‘Thanks, guy,’ Sidney said, taking the envelope and pulling out the tickets to read them. He looked at the others of the crew around the bar table. ‘Who else wants to come?’

‘Are there sub-titles?’ Fred, the sound man, asked. ‘I don’t speak a word of French.’

‘Sure there are – in Italian!’ said Sidney, grinning.

‘Valerie, I’d like you to go, and give me a report on it later,’ Sebastian told her.

‘Won’t you need me to take notes during this appointment you have?’

‘No, it isn’t business. I’m having breakfast upstairs in the suite.’

‘How mysterious,’ Sidney said. ‘Male or female?’

‘He and I shared a mother,’ Sebastian said, in the soft voice of someone who knows he is dropping a bombshell, and watched them to see how they would react.

Their faces froze incredulously. For a moment they were unable to speak.

Sidney was the first to get over the shock. ‘You have a brother?’ His voice was careful, testing the ground. Every piece of publicity Sebastian had ever had stressed that he had been an only child whose mother had died when he was very young.

They would all have sworn they knew everything about him: they’d worked with him for years, on and off, spent months with him in the enforced and unreal intimacy of the film crew on location, far from home, sharing bad food, dull hotels, uncertain weather. Suddenly they watched him as if he had become a stranger, as they had just after Clea’s death, when they weren’t sure what to believe, when they were waiting for him to reassure them, tell them he had had nothing to do with it. Sebastian knew precisely what was going on inside their heads.

He laughed shortly. ‘No, he isn’t my brother. I meant literally that we shared a mother. My mother. His mother couldn’t breastfeed, but my mother had enough milk for two, so she fed both me and Nico.’

Sidney whistled. ‘You’re kidding! What was wrong with bottle-feeding?’

‘Nico was premature and very small. They thought he would have a better start if he was breastfed, less chance of infection.’

‘How very earthy and primitive. It sounds like Dickens. Remember Dombey and Son? There was a wet-nurse in that,’ Sidney said, raising his eyebrows. ‘Did she feed you both together? It conjures up very sexy images – a baby at each breast. She must have had big ones to do it.’

Sebastian got up and walked away.

‘You’re talking about his mother, you creep!’ Valerie spat at Sidney. ‘And she’s dead! Well, you really did it this time. He’s furious with you.’

‘And that’s made your day!’ sneered Sidney.

He and Valerie, the whole crew, were always in competition for Sebastian’s attention and approval, like dogs in a pack permanently fighting to lie next to the leader.

Valerie ignored him and hurried after Sebastian while Sidney sauntered behind, looking bland and amused, an expression that sat naturally upon his face because his bald head and large ears gave him a comic expression without his needing to try. He hoped that Valerie wasn’t right, that he hadn’t deeply offended Sebastian.

‘Shit,’ he thought aloud. ‘Me and my big mouth.’ He should have remembered

that a man was always sensitive on the subject of his mother, especially if she had died young. Shit, shit. ‘Sidney McKenna, you’re a fool,’ he told himself scathingly.

For Laura the dinner dragged on and on; she smiled and nodded like a doll, listening to the male American voices, aware of eyes wandering over her like sticky hands, trying not to yawn, trying not to look as bored as she felt. Melanie did most of the talking, as always; she oozed film gossip, laughed a lot, asked questions, listened as if fascinated, and clearly enjoyed the meal – which was just as well as Laura had no appetite. It was too hot and she was on edge; her mind kept drifting away to Sebastian. She had seen him in the bar, with Sidney and Valerie and the others; she was aware of him now, eating on the other side of the beautiful dining room.

‘Are you going to the showing in the square tonight, Laura?’ one of the men asked, and she blinked at him, lost for a second, not having been following what was said.

Melanie saved her. ‘She’s too tired to stay up late and she’ll be going to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day, and even if she doesn’t win she has to look good.’