The Viscounts Daughter

The nearest city and good hotels to our set was Oran, some sixty miles away over poor roads, so the production had set up a tented town for the actors and crew who would be needed every day. It is astounding how many people are required to film a drama. Leaving out the actors and bit-part players the crew can often be anything up to a hundred.

The most important amongst them are the Director, the first assistant Director and possibly a second assistant Director. Next came the director of photography who supervises the photography for the whole film along with the cameramen who actually operate the cameras. There is a supervising sound editor who records everything in multiple channels. Then there are the electricians with a Lighting Director and that oddly named position of Best Boy, who is rarely young enough to be called a boy. Actually there are two 'Best Boys' Best Boy Electric and Best Boy Grip. Best Boy Electric is one of the king-pins in lighting; the Lighting Director with the Director have the ideas, it was the Best Boy who makes it happen. Best Boy Grip works with the Key Grip, and they are instrumental in making sure that all the camera equipment, Cameras, Dollies, Track etc are in place.

The term 'best boy' came from the sixteenth century where indentured apprentices learned a craft. The longest serving apprentice having learned almost everything about the craft would work unsupervised for much of the time and was called the Best Boy.

Thankfully we did not have to put up with the same conditions the combatants experienced when the actual battles were taking place, but it did give us an idea. I was damned pleased that I was not here in 1941 and 1942. The uniforms we wore were very quickly stained with dried sweat, dead flies and dirt. Our military advisor told us it was very authentic. He should know for he was here at that time.

Actually, we had two military advisors, one was English and the other German and they both advised us with personal experience of the North African campaign. Two sprightly eighty year olds who could drink us under the table, enemies sixty years ago and now sitting reminiscing and laughing together. Helmut and I would join them most evenings learning about their war. Lieutenant Colonel (Shorty) Williams would praise the equipment the Afrika Korps had. His opposite number Major Emmerlich, who told us he was a Gefreiter (Corporal) during the war agreed with the comment, "Ja! However, we didn't have enough. The Russian campaign came first in everything."

"We got supplied by that well known armament supplier 'Muddle and That'll do' Ltd." Offered Shorty. "Our Defence Procurement Civil Servants thought that they knew what we needed better than the troops on the ground. They spent millions on the Crusader tank. It was designed to take on the Mark two and three German tanks; yet it was delayed so much the German tanks had been upgraded even before the Crusader came into service. The best you could say about the Crusader was that it was fast; it could get into trouble quickly and get out again just as quickly. Broke down often though. Sand! That got into everything."

"True." Agreed Emmerlich. "What about that American tank, you called it the Grant, and the Shermans. We loved them; they were so easy to brew. We called them Tommy Cookers."

"Oh yes." Laughed Shorty. "The Grant had the big gun in the hull not the turret. When the crew tried to get the gun to bear, they presented a huge target for the eighty-eights." Helmut touched my arm and indicated we should leave then to it. We wandered off towards our respective quarters. The last thing we heard was two old men warbling 'Lili Marlene' One voice in German the other in English.

There is an understanding when away on location. The same understanding that the Yanks mooted about Las Vegas. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Temporary liaisons on location lasted for the location and were then forgotten by the participants. As I strolled towards my tent, I was joined by Monica, one of our Production Assistants, usually known as continuity girls. "Sleeping alone, Richard?"

"I think I should, Monica. Had one more drink with Helmut than I should and as you know we have an early start tomorrow."

Her face tightened into a moue of disappointment. "I could delay your start in the morning. I suspect you would give better performance if you were fully relaxed. I could help you there if you 'rehearsed ' with me tonight." It's a strange thing about continuity. They seem to be just another assistant on the set; yet had the power to stop the shoot at any time if they spot something that doesn't tally with the previous scene.

"I really wish that I hadn't taken those last two drinks, Monica, but I doubt that I could 'rehearse' to your full expectations. However I'll do my best."

Monica was known as the 'voracious virgin'. Completely uninhibited and willing to try anything twice, thrice or more, except she was a virgin in one place and intended to remain that way until she married her long-term fiancé and could proudly present him with her hymen. In the meantime, she was very eager to indulge in all other pleasures that man and woman or woman and woman can devise.

It was unsatisfying for me although Monica left happily at two o' clock in the morning with a kiss that had as much suction as a vacuum cleaner, saying "see you soon, lover." I was conflicted. In some way, I felt I had been unfaithful to Andrea although I was certain that she would be having relations with her husband, how could she avoid that? I hadn't forgotten her it was if my mind had put her memory into a little compartment in my head that I could take out from time to time and bask in the warmth of those memories.

Those days with Andrea could not be cast aside so easily; they were important to me. I could not say it to Andrea as that would have put an unfair burden on her, but I could admit it to myself. I really had fallen in love! Monica was the catalyst. I hadn't planned to put this to the test, to know if I could be attracted to another woman. However, I was examined and I had my answer. Yes, I could but Monica was a pale shadow compared to Andrea.

In the original novel upon which this film was based there were no female characters. This was unacceptable in a screenplay so I had a scene with a young starlet taking the part of a nurse. I thought perhaps my melancholy mood would affect my performance; it appeared not as the director seemed delighted with every take. I was wary about one scene when I had to cross the supposed quick sands. This being a film we couldn't use actual quicksands; that would introduce an unpredictable element. Therefore, our special effects department had come up with fake quicksand. It looked like sand but it wasn't. It behaved like quicksand but without the unpredictable element.

The faux sand was only deep enough to suggest the Hanomag; the half-track issued to the Wehrmacht in quantity was bemired. My character was supposed to have been told by someone who dredged for shellfish on Morecambe Sands, an area notorious for quicksand how to extract yourself if caught. Fall flat was the advice, thereby spreading your weight over a larger area. I was to do exactly that and by rolling over gently could traverse the quicksand. I was not keen to do this. Despite my misgivings, I did as suggested and it worked. My character had demonstrated the technique to the trapped Germans and it was my turn to laugh, as Helmut's character had to do likewise.

I wasn't unhappy to leave Algeria. The country had much to see and the hotels in Algiers were extremely luxurious. However, we had little chance to enjoy them apart from a couple of nights before flying back to the U.K. As soon as I had settled back into my flat, I phoned my agent. Although I had been paid well for this production the taxman would take a large chunk so I needed more work. He had been offered two scripts for me. I turned one down without reading it as it was another uniform role and I didn't want to become too identified with military roles. The other part would be a detective drama, which sounded quite interesting. He then said that I had been specifically requested by the main lead in the film. I asked him if that script could be forwarded. Ashley's prediction was coming true. Never the star but always getting good parts.

ANDREA

I went in to a Nursing home a week before I was due to give birth. I argued this move but Charles was adamant, he didn't want any last minute pregnancy problems. Ten days later, I was delivered of a beautiful baby girl. Charles may have been disappointed that it wasn't a boy, but hid his chagrin well. He went off to celebrate his success with champagne, leaving me in the nursing home to celebrate with tea and the itching of the stitches needed after a difficult time. I was of a slim build and didn't have the width of pelvis needed for an easy birth. He returned the next day with flowers and the news that he had registered the birth and named our child Charlotte. It was too late to argue, although it would have been nice to discuss her name beforehand.

Whilst he was there, Charlotte cried a little. Mothers know instinctively when their baby needs feeding as did the nurse. She lifted Charlotte out of the cradle and gave her to me. I unbuttoned my maternity robe and held Charlotte to my breast. Charles was almost indignant. "You are surely not going to feed your child yourself?"

"Mother's milk is best, Charles." I argued.

"But...But that is disgusting!"

"It's natural. This is what breasts are designed for." It suddenly struck me. For all the years of our marriage, Charles had never wished to see me naked. When he visited me in bed, he would lift my nightgown sufficiently for access and replace it when he had deposited. Did he find me unattractive, or did he find the female body embarrassing? My early move into the Nursing Home was for a similar reason. Charles would not have wanted anything so disturbing as my waters breaking at home, or even the possibility that I would have to give birth at home.

Charlotte continued to suck and Charles made his usual quick getaway. "Need to get back to the office." He excused himself.

If you were to ask, most women will tell you that feeding their child is a most wonderful experience. It instils a most serene mood and the nurses called it bonding. It also gave me time to think, first my sudden realisation about Charles. I was certain that it wasn't just my body he found embarrassing, perhaps it was all women that disturbed him. I couldn't be that ugly, after all Richard found me attractive and as an actor he had seen and for all I know been intimate with many beautiful women. Those thoughts moved on as they always did to Rich.

Those few days had been days of wonder for me. For a woman being admired and desired so much is close to paradise and Rich had taken me there. It had crossed my mind that Rich could be the father and not Charles. Thinking back, Charles had been most regular a visitor to my bed in those eight years of our marriage. Once a week he would come into my bed unless I was with my monthly, when he would hardly touch me. Forty times a year for eight years amounts to over three hundred and fifty attempts of impregnating me, yet six weeks after my escapade with Rich I found I was pregnant. The more I thought about it the more certain I was that Charlotte was Richard's child. On one level, I was happy, as in that case Charlotte had been conceived in rapture. On another level, I had to convince myself that Charles was her father. I had to believe that in order to go on with my marriage and my life.

Ten days after the birth Charlotte and I returned home to find that Charles had used that extended stay in the Nursing Home to organise everything. Standing in the reception hall was a crisply uniformed Nanny, ready to take Charlotte from me. He had a bedroom converted into a nursery with a bed for the nanny. It was on the top floor, away from Charles' and my bedrooms, so that neither of us would be disturbed by a baby crying. Our Doctor was there to examine me and prescribed pills to dry up my milk.

There was no argument, Charles had made his wishes known and the doctor acquiesced. It was wrong to make the comparison; but Charles seemed disturbed by my womanly effusions, the milk that came naturally to feed my child and the menstrual blood of my periods. Rich had no such problem, he seemed to glory as he kissed and licked me everywhere, even as I climaxed upon his tongue he would drink of my unrestrained outpourings. He explored me everywhere without qualm and I allowed him again without qualm. He took me everywhere, worshipping my feminity and I accepted him as my lover having domain over my body but not as a master. Now I was back as the chattel of my husband. The bird was back in the gilded cage.

It had always been thus. My mother died when I was six and daddy although attentive was usually busy. I was brought up from that age by our cook, Mrs. Grainger. At eleven, I was sent to a girl's school in Cirencester as a boarder, getting home for the occasional weekend. At eighteen, I was sent to the finishing school and by twenty, I was married. With no role model upon which I could make judgement I allowed Charles to impose his standards on me. I was so used to his ideas and beliefs that I didn't question my life, until those few days with Rich. That I had become so abandoned with Rich was completely out of character, but having those few days enriched my life. I subdued those thoughts; they were gone and would never happen again. I became the wife that Charles wanted. Quiet, obedient I returned to my role of The Honourable Andrea Seddon. The jewel in his crown.

Our life picked up where it had left off. Charles would rise at seven and breakfast at eight. At eight-thirty, the taxi would arrive and he left for the day. I would join him at breakfast. It was a duty for me to see my husband off for the day. He would enquire if I had slept well and asked me if I had plans for the day. My usual reply would be to shop in the West End and probably take coffee with the wife of one of our acquaintances. His enquiry was merely a way of making noise with the mouth, as was my reply. I probably would not shop, nor take coffee with an acquaintance. Charles would never ask if I had bought anything nor with whom I took coffee.

He would arrive home at six-thirty and at seven, the nanny would bring Charlotte down for us to see, reluctantly handing her over for me to hold. At seven-fifteen, Charles and I would sit down to dinner. I would always put on something a little dressier to dine and Charles would have changed as well. Six months after the birth Charles once again knocked on my bedroom door on Sunday evenings.

The receptions and Galas that Charles was insistent we attended came around regularly. Mansion House dinners were his particular favourite as the Lord Mayor of London hosted those events. The speeches at these dinners were incomprehensible. Those making the speech would mangle the English language as did our politicians; they seem to make up words which sounded right but had no meaning. I was sure those words did not feature in the Oxford English Dictionary. Despite this some of the audience would nod wisely as if they understood completely the point the speaker was making. To me they were boring with boring people talking of boring subjects.

One particular Gala did have something to brighten the evening. I met Ashley Marne. Rich had told me of his short affair with her so I was pleased when she seemed to make a beeline for me after the performance. "Hello." She said. "I overheard the toastmaster when he announced you. Are you by any chance related to Viscount Seddon?"

"He's my father."

"I wondered if there was a connection. I was friends with Richard Leigh and he mentioned the Viscount once. So you must have lived in Broughley as well. Did you know Richard?"

"Very slightly. I was away at school most of the time and met him a couple of times between school and Finishing School." I answered.

"So you didn't know him well?"

"No." I wanted so much to burst out with my week with Rich, to tell everyone that I was his lover. However, I bit my tongue as Ashley rambled on.

"He's changed and I don't know why. His acting if anything is better than ever, but outside of the set, he seems to have lost his spark. It's almost as if he has fallen in love with someone who he can't be with."

Yes I thought. My spark resides where his spark resides. I had followed his career ever since our South Devon adventure. I had noticed for myself that whilst he went to premieres and awards ceremonies the beautiful girl on his arm was always different. There was no suggestion by the gossip columnist that he had formed any attachment. Of course, the paper I read was the Daily Mail. Although right wing, Charles would still grumble that its politics were not right wing enough. Any paper that was left of the Daily Mail would never find a home in our establishment. The Daily Mail tended not to publish salacious gossip.

This even tenor of our life went on. Charles did his duty every Sunday night, religiously. However, such devotion did not result in my becoming pregnant again. He was fulfilled by his work and I was supposedly fulfilled by my indolent days. Perhaps I should have taken up some kind of work for charity; I had actually suggested that to Charles, who pulled a face. According to him, charity was for helping the workshy and he wouldn't be happy with his wife working to alleviate the lot of the poor, who were poor for the simple reason that they wouldn't work.

That even tenor was disturbed one evening after we had dined. Charlotte was eleven at the time. I was in the drawing room drinking coffee when Charles joined me. I sensed he was unsettled so I waited until he wanted to speak. He finally decided on his words. "Are you going to tell me who is Charlotte's father?"

There was little point in denying. Knowing Charles I was sure he would be sure of his facts. "I was never certain, Charles, but obviously you have proof. I cannot tell you who her father is; he doesn't even know he has a daughter. I really hoped that you were her father if that is any consolation."

"So you will not tell me?"

"No. Charles. I can say that he is no one that you know."

"I see. I suppose that may be some consolation. However, it doesn't alter my decision. I have the proof. I have DNA analysis of a strand of Charlotte's hair and my own."

"And what is your decision?" I held my breath.

"We shall divorce. I thank you for not lying and your assurance that her father is no one in my circle. It doesn't change my decision though. I think the best option is to seek a divorce on the grounds of unreasonable behaviour."

"Charles. If you wish to divorce me for adultery, I shall not contest it."

Charles didn't even think about it. If I knew him, he had decided his course of action before he spoke to me. "No, Andrea. That won't do. I need to preserve my reputation in the City. Being branded a cuckold would not help me at all. Despite not being Charlotte's father, I am fond of her. I shall make an annual contribution to her schooling and general upkeep. Is that fair?"

"That's very generous of you Charles."

"My solicitor has all the details and I shall phone him tomorrow to start proceedings. Do you wish to engage a solicitor of your own? If so I shall be happy to cover his fees."

"No thank you Charles. You always have and I am sure you will be, fair."

"Good! We are agreed. Would you make arrangements to quit this house within a week?"

"Yes, of course. We shall go back to Broughley before deciding my future."

Daddy was very pleased to see us. He didn't bat an eye at the mounds of luggage Charlotte and I brought. Charlie, the name Charlotte preferred, except Charles would not hear of it, loved her grandfather who held his arms wide for her hug. "Granpop, we are coming to live with you. Isn't that great?"