Free Fear in the Sunlight by Nicola Upson Page B

terraces. He picked up a pair of binoculars which was lying on the red brick and looked across to the island in the middle of the estuary, holding the glasses first in one hand and then in the other so that the scorching metal did not have time to burn his skin.
    ‘Did you know that Selznick was trying to persuade Jack Spence to move to Hollywood?’
    It took David a moment to realise that Hitchcock was talking to him. ‘What? No, sir, I didn’t.’ It was only a half-lie. Spence hadn’t actually said anything to him but they worked together closely enough for David to know that the cameraman had grown restless recently, and he was far too good for any of the major studios to baulk at exploiting that restlessness. Like David, Spence had arrived on the scene at a time when Hitchcock was just beginning to carry enough clout to make his own decisions about who worked with him, and director and cameraman had quickly developed a mutual respect. Now, that partnership seemed about to dissolve into bitter recriminations, with David caught in the middle. He admired Hitch and Alma tremendously and had learnt a great deal from both of them, inspired as much by their diligence, enthusiasm and professional courtesy as by their creativity. Even so, his liking for the couple could not blind him to a certain arrogance in the assumptions they made. Spence was a free man, not particularly ambitious but proud of his work and with no ties to hold him down; why shouldn’t he try his luck in Hollywood?
    There had been a long silence and Hitch was clearly expecting him to say something. ‘Perhaps it’s just a rumour,’ he suggested, falling easily into his habitual role as studio peacemaker. ‘If Hollywood can convince you that enough of your people are on the brink of leaving, perhaps they think that will encourage you to jump as well.’
    He spoke persuasively‚ but Hitchcock looked unconvinced. Spence’s timing was unfortunate: only a couple of weeks ago, Charles Bennett – another of the director’s closest collaborators, who had worked on every script with him since The Man Who Knew Too Much – had announced his decision to go to America after one more film. To the director, it must have felt like the end of an era, as the people he trusted conspired to hasten a decision he wasn’t yet ready to make. ‘And what about you, Mr Franks?’ he asked. ‘Are you still happy with us?’
    ‘Yes, of course,’ David said truthfully. ‘I’m not saying I wouldn’t like to make a film of my own one day, but I’ve still got a lot to learn.’
    Hitchcock nodded thoughtfully. ‘What about the future, though? A little bird told me recently that you might draw the line at going back to America as part of your education.’
    David looked up sharply. ‘Who told you that?’
    ‘Bella Hutton. Is she wrong?’
    ‘Yes, she is. I haven’t discussed my plans with her and she has no idea what’s in my mind.’ He made an effort to keep the anger out of his voice, but it was only partially successful. ‘I’m grateful to Bella for everything she’s done. She had faith in me at a time when my life could have gone in a very different direction, but these days I stand on my own feet and make my own decisions. That might be hard for her to accept‚ and I know she has unhappy memories of America, but they’re her memories, not mine.’
    ‘It was quite a surprise to see Bella, actually, but it plays into our hands that she’s here. There’s certainly no love lost between her and Mr Turnbull. Has the star of our weekend arrived yet?’
    ‘Yes, he checked in an hour ago and he’s been in the bar ever since, so we’d better catch him while he’s still sober enough to listen. Do you want to brief him, or shall I?’
    ‘Oh you do it. I can’t bear the man.’ Hitchcock poured them both a drink and passed David’s over. ‘So – run through it all with me.’
    ‘All right, but we’ll have to go outside.’ They walked out onto the lawn,