My Week with Marilyn #5

MY  WEEK  WITH  MARILYN

MARILYN  IS  FREE...FOR  A  WHOLE  DAY!

Saturday, 15.September

It was an absolutely glorious summer morning, and for once I did not have to get up at six a.m. to go to the studio. When I finally came downstairs, Anne Bushell was in the kitchen preparing lunch. She watched dubiously as I helped myself to cornflakes and milk.

'Tony tells me you've had quite an exciting week,' she said finally.

'It's been blown up out of all proportion,' I said. 'Do you really think it's such a dreadful sin to make friends with Marilyn? She doesn't have many friends, and Arthur's gone away and she's lonely.'

'That's where the danger lies, I suppose, Colin. You do have a bit of a reputation for chasing the ladies. Didn't I hear Tony talking about a girl in the wardrobe department? And some ballerina in London?'

'Oh, Anne, surely it's not a crime to admire beautiful women? I'm not having an affair with anybody, you know.' Anne was very attractive herself.

'Well, Marilyn is not just any beautiful woman, is she? There's a lot of money riding on her, you know. There's this film, and poor Larry's reputation as a director as well. And don't forget that she's on her honeymoon. That's definitely not the time for her to start making new young male friends. I heard that she had a terrible row with Arthur the other night. I hope it wasn't about you.'

'Of course not. Perhaps Marilyn doesn't like the way Arthur looks at her — as if she was a prize that he'd won in a raffle. She seems rather scared of him to me. She treats him like a very strict father whom she adores but can never quite please. Why he's gone to Paris I can't imagine. It may have been pre-arranged — they would be over in Europe anyway, and all that — but the rumor is that he's going back to New York before he returns here.'

'Oh, poor girl,' said Anne. 'She must be miserable.'

Just then I heard the noise of a car, and I went out to see who had come to visit. To my surprise there was Roger's elderly black Wolsey crawling up the gravel drive. Had he bought it when he retired from the police, I wondered. His faithful steed.

Tony had heard the arrival too, and strode out from behind the house to investigate.

'What's the problem, Roger?' he barked. Tony liked a problem. His military manner gave everyone the impression that he could cope in an emergency. In fact he was just an actor, and he always missed the point.

'No problem at all, Mr Bushell,' said Roger. 'I've just come over to take Colin out to lunch.'

'Now, Roger, you're not taking him back to Miss Monroe's house, are you?' said Tony severely. 'That would be very much frowned on indeed.'

'Definitely not,' said Roger. 'I'm not here to take Colin back to Miss Monroe's house. I promise you that.'

'Oh well, that's all right, then. Just for a moment I thought she might have sent you over to collect him.'

'No,' said Roger. 'No, she didn't. Colin, why don't you hop in? It's time we were off.'

'Where to, Roger?' I asked, climbing into the front seat. 'Where on earth are we going?'

'Never you mind. Just shut the door, would you?' He scrunched the Wolsey into first gear.

Tony peered nosily through the rear window, but we were already on the move.

'Wait a minute! What's under that rug in the back seat? I thought I saw it move.' 'That's my little dog, sir,' said Roger over his shoulder. 'We're going to take her for a walk in Windsor Great Park.'

We lurched off round the corner of the drive, leaving Tony standing on the lawn scratching his head.

'Why have you left Miss Monroe alone, Roger?' I asked. 'I thought I told you never to do so.'

'Surpri-hise!'

Marilyn's blonde head suddenly erupted in the rear-view mirror like a jack-in-a-box, giving me partial heart failure.

'Marilyn! What on earth are you doing here?'

Peals of giggles. 'Well, that's better. It's "Marilyn" at last. I'm fed up with that "Miss Monroe" stuff. It sounds so pompous. And anyway, I don't want to be Miss Monroe today. I just want to be me. Roger and I thought we'd come over and give you a surprise. Aren't you pleased to see me?'

'Of course, I'm thrilled to bits. It's just that yesterday, er, everyone seemed very cross that I'd gone over to Parkside at all, and that I was interfering with your life and the film and all that.'

'Oh, nonsense,' said Marilyn. 'Don't you take any notice of those old spoilsports. It's a lovely summer day, and Roger and I decided to go out for an adventure, didn't we, Roger?'

'Hmm,' said Roger. He slowed the car to a halt, with two wheels on the grass verge. 'Now, where are we going?'

I swivelled round and stared into Marilyn's very naughty eyes.

'Yes, but Milton said that if I ever spoke to you again he would have me sacked and banned from the studio.'

Marilyn frowned. 'I used to have another coach before Paula. You wouldn't believe how often she was banned from the set. But she never went. No one can sack you, Colin — except me, of course.' Another giggle. 'You're quite safe.'

'What the . . . ?'

Unheard by us, Tony had come padding down the drive to investigate, and was now staring into the back seat, his face contorted with rage. Marilyn screamed and buried herself under the rug.  Roger let out the clutch with a jolt, and the car flapped off again like an old black crow.

'Wait!' shouted Tony. 'Colin! I want a word with you!' But this time Roger's police training stood him in good stead. No one was going to kidnap Marilyn Monroe while he was at the wheel, not even Mr Bushell.

'Phew! That was a close one.' Marilyn emerged from the rug looking even more dishevelled and cheeky than before. 'Do you think he saw me?'

'I'm quite sure he did,' I said. 'He'll be on the phone to Sir Laurence already.'

'Ooh. What do you think Sir Laurence will say?'

'He'll think it over for a minute, and then he'll laugh out loud and tell Tony not to tell anyone else, to keep it a secret'

'You know Sir Laurence pretty well, don't you, Colin?'

'Yes, I do, and he's a great man. But I realise that he probably doesn't look like one to you at the moment.'

'Oh, I don't know about that. He's just so terribly severe. He treats me like a schoolgirl, not an actress.'

'That's just his manner. He can see you're an actress every time he looks at the previous day's film. We all can.'

'I hate to interrupt,' said Roger, 'but where are we going?'

'Anywhere,' said Marilyn. 'It's Saturday, and I want to be free. How about that Windsor Park you mentioned to Mr Bushell? Do you think he'll follow us and spy? Hey, it doesn't matter. We've got Roger. We can go wherever we want.'

'Windsor Great Park it is, then,' said Roger. A few minutes later he swung the car down a long avenue of trees. 'It's right here.'

Soon we reached a pair of tall iron gates with a little gatehouse beside them. Roger stopped, got out and knocked. A man came to the door and Roger chatted to him for a few moments, then showed him what I presume was some sort of pass.

'I don't like being on my own in the back,' said Marilyn. 'I feel like the Queen. Come and join me.' I squashed into the Wolsey's less than commodious rear seat beside her. 'That's it. You said you weren't scared of me. Snuggle up. This is fun.'

Roger got back behind the wheel, and sighed at the now vacant front seat beside him as the man opened the gates.

'We're off to see Her Majesty now,' he said. 'You two just behave yourselves in the back seat.'

'Ooh,' said Marilyn, 'Mr Bushell can't follow us here.' And she gave my arm a squeeze.

This was all going much too fast for me. I felt as if I was the one who had been kidnapped. I mean, it was incredibly exhilarating to be in the back seat of a smelly black "Wolsey with Marilyn Monroe, speeding through the back entrance to Windsor Castle — but what would happen next? I wasn't even wearing a jacket. Where could we go? What could I do? After this, how could I go back to working on the film as third assistant director? All the normal, everyday rules seemed to have been chucked out of the window. Roger was the only sensible person in Marilyn's whole entourage, and now he seemed to be in on some sort of plot. I could probably be sued for breach of contract, or alienation of affection, or something. Maybe the studio would have me bumped off. I was responsible, they would say, for the abduction of their million-dollar film star, the most famous woman in the world. What if we crashed and she was killed?

'Stop the car, Roger,' I said. 'Let's get out and think. There's no one around. Let's have a little stroll in the fresh air.'

Roger drew in to the side of the road and Marilyn and I got out. She still had hold of my arm, I noticed.

'I'll stay here on guard,' said Roger. 'Why don't you two walk down to that litde stream and cool off?'

'Great idea,' said Marilyn, releasing her grip and bending down to pull off her shoes. She was wearing a short white wool dress instead of her usual trousers, and she presented, as she must well have been aware, an extremely attractive rear end.

'Come on, Colin.' She swayed off down the slope, her bare feet crinkling the grass. 'Don't be stuffy. Take your shoes off. It's great.'

By the time we reached the stream, we were out of breath and very hot, and it seemed a good idea to wade straight in. 'I think this is the most lovely thing I've ever felt in my life,' said Marilyn, serious at last. 'What do you think, Colin? Can't you feel it?' She held out both her hands and grasped mine. 'I feel so alive. For the first time I feel like I was part of nature. Can't you feel it, Colin? I'm sure you can feel it too.'

Frankly, I felt as if I was going to drown, although the water was only two inches deep.

'I can feel it, Marilyn,' I mumbled.

But she wasn't listening to me.

'Why do I take all those pills? Why do I worry about what all those men think? Why do I let myself get pushed around? This is how I ought to feel, every day of my life. This is the real me . . . isn't it, Colin?'

My feet had grown cold by now, and I led her to the bank and sat down.

'No, Marilyn. Alas, it's not the real you. It's just a beautiful, beautiful illusion. You are a star. A great star.' I was beginning to sound like Paula Strasberg, but it was true. 'You can't escape that. You have to perform. Millions of people love you and admire you. You can't ignore them. You can't run away. Let's just have a super fun day, a day that we will never forget, and then we must go back to real life.'

'Only one day?'

'Well. . . perhaps a weekend?'

'Or a week?'

'We'll see.'

Marilyn brightened. 'OK. So how shall we spend our day?'

'Let's go to Windsor Casde. Her Majesty might be in. Then we could go across to my old school, Eton College. There's a little tea shop where they give you the most scrumptious food. Then maybe we could have a swim in the river before we go home.'

'That sounds great. Let's go. Do you think Roger will mind if we treat him like a chauffeur?'

I gazed into her eyes. 'He'd do anything for you, Marilyn, as you know.'

Roger obviously knew the road to Windsor Castle well. 'I used to work here,' he said. 'Looking after the Family.'

He parked on the slope leading to the main gate and marched up to the guardhouse, with Marilyn and me a few steps behind. He was obviously glad to be back in charge.

There were two large uniformed policemen blocking the archway, and although they did not know Roger personally, it was quite clear that like recognised like at about twenty feet.

'Detective Chief Superintendent Smith,' said Roger. 'I'm escorting this lady and gentleman for the day, and they wish to see round the casde. Is there any way in which you can assist?'

'Do they know anyone here, sir? We need to write down a contact name in the book. Otherwise one of us would need to be with them at all times, and they might not want that, sir.'

Marilyn was clutching my hand in a rather desperate fashion, and I sensed that she was scared stiff that they would recognise her — and at the same time terrified that they would not.

'My godfather works here,' I said. 'I used to visit him quite often when I was at school. He's the librarian. He's called Sir Owen Morshead. Maybe you could call him.'

Eyebrows shot up all round. I was wearing a white shirt, grey flannel trousers and sandals, not exactly the dress of a typical castle visitor. We all went inside the guardhouse, and the policeman dialled a number.

'Sir Owen? Main gate here, sir. I have a young gentleman, name of...?'

'Clark. Colin Clark.'

'Name of Clark here, sir, would like a word with you, sir.' He handed the phone to me.

'Colin, is that you? What are you doing here?' Owen Morshead is an eccentric scholar with a wonderful sense of humour. He has an equally delightful wife called Paquita, and together they are like a breath of fresh air in royal circles.

'I'm working on a film nearby, and I thought I would bring my, er, friend, my lady friend' — I grinned at Marilyn — 'over for you to meet her.'

'How delightful,' said Owen. 'I'm expecting some visitors in a short time, so it would be nice if you could come right now. Do bring her up at once. Just follow the road up the hill until you see another policeman outside my door. He'll direct you.'

'I think I'll just wait at the gate,' said Roger. 'You'll be safe enough in the castle, Miss Monroe.'

'Ssh!' said Marilyn with a broad wink and a wiggle, which made the two policemen's eyes pop out, and off we set.

News spreads fast, and at the next police post three or four men came tumbling out to see if it was true. In fact they were so intent on gazing at my 'lady friend' that I had to push them out of the way so that we could get through the library door.

Once inside we were in another world. Sir Owen Morshead did not look as if he had ever been to the cinema in his life.

'How charming, how charming. You are pretty, my dear. I'm sure you and Colin have so much in common. "Well, this is my humble den.' His arm swept round the Royal Library, room after room lined with books and pictures. The tables were covered with books, all the chairs had books piled on top of them, and there were even stacks of books on the floor.

Owen gave a hoot of laughter. 'It looks rather dull and dusty, doesn't it?' he said, but Marilyn was in awe.

'Oh, Sir Owen' — you never quite knew whether she would remember a name or not — 'I love books,' she said in a childlike whisper. 'Have you read them all?'

'Luckily one doesn't have to do that.' Owen was enjoying himself immensely. 'A lot of them just have pictures.' He took a large portfolio from a shelf and opened it. 'These are all by an artist called Holbein.'

'Ooh, what a beautiful lady,' said Marilyn, looking over his shoulder. 'Who is she?'

'She was the daughter of one of the King's courtiers, four hundred years ago.'

'Imagine, four hundred years ago, and she still looks great. Gee. How many of these have you got?'

'Eighty-nine. And these,' said Owen, taking out another folder of drawings, 'are all by an Italian artist called Leonardo da Vinci.'

'Wait a minute!' cried Marilyn. 'I've heard of him.' You never knew with Marilyn. 'Didn't he paint that picture of the lady with the funny smile? You know the one I mean, Colin.'

'The Mono. Lisa!

'Yeah, that's her. Have you got that here too?'

'Alas, no,' said Owen, sighing. 'That one got away. But enough of all this art. I mustn't bore you with my hobby.'

'You aren't boring me, Sir Owen,' whispered Marilyn. 'I love it here. I could sit here for hours.'

'Let's go and look at the part of the castle where the Queen lives. She's not here at the moment, but she will be very sorry to have missed you.'

'Really?' said Marilyn in total amazement.

'Oh, yes,' said Owen. 'Why, she was only saying to me the other day, what must it be like to be the most famous woman in the world?'

So, you could never tell with Owen either.

'Now this,' he went on 'is the White Drawing Room. Very pretty, isn't it? And that is a portrait of King George the Third. He was the one who was silly enough to lose our American colonies two hundred years ago. And that is his wife, and those are his children.'

'Oh, they're gorgeous,' said Marilyn, completely unable to figure out whether Owen had recognised her or not.

We were almost having to run in order to keep up with him as he strode through one huge chamber after another.

'And this the Green Drawing Room. A lovely view of Windsor Great Park out of the windows, isn't it? But you've been there already, haven't you?'

That gatekeeper had probably telephoned him and warned him of our arrival — like all royal courtiers, Owen had a network of spies.

'And this is the Crimson Drawing Room. It is a little opulent, I suppose.' Even Owen could not resist showing off. There weren't many rival monarchs left to impress, but Hollywood film stars were the next best thing.

Marilyn was stunned. 'You mean Her Majesty actually lives here, in these rooms?!'

"Well, she has her own private apartment where she sleeps, but this is where she entertains.'

'Gee!' said Marilyn.

'If it all seems a little overwhelming,' said Owen with great glee, 'let's look at something a little smaller.' He led us along a very wide, grand corridor lined with pictures, then through a small door, and down a staircase.

'Now, what do you think of this?' We were in a plain stone room, completely filled by an enormous dolls' house furnished and decorated like a tiny mansion. Everything imaginable was inside — beds, chairs, baths, basins, taps, table lamps, rugs, chandeliers, all accurate down to the tiniest detail, and all exacdy to scale. There were cars in the garage, lawnmowers on the grass, pots and pans and food in the kitchen, even a little Singer sewing machine on the nursery table.

Marilyn clasped her hands in rapture and dropped to her knees. She looked so young and so innocent that my heart nearly broke. Owen, too, did not take his eyes off her as for nearly a minute she simply radiated joy. Then she stood up, squared her shoulders and looked straight ahead. 'I sure never had a dolls' house like that when I was a kid. Why, most people I knew didn't even have a house that size. But I guess if you're a queen . . .'

'And now I'm sure you must be longing to get on your way,' Owen said. One of the first things a courtier learns is how to stop guests staying for too long. 'But I'll tell Her Majesty you were here. I believe you are due to meet her next month.' (She was, at the Royal premiere of the film The Battle of the River Plate.)

'So you do know who I am,' said Marilyn.

'Of course I do, dear girl. And I'm very flattered that my godson brought you to see me. You're every bit as lovely as your photographs.' This wasn't quite true at that moment, I thought. Marilyn looked like a waif. 'Now, goodbye, goodbye. I mustn't keep you,' and we were popped out of another little door, into the sunshine.

'Wow!' said Marilyn. 'You've got quite a godfather, Colin. Do you think he's like that with the Queen?'

'Identical,' I said. 'That's why she likes him.'

When we got back to the main gate, a crowd had gathered. 

Despite Roger's protests, the two policemen had told their friends who the visitor was, and they had told their friends, etc. At first I thought Marilyn would be nervous, but she was clearly thrilled. She must have been feeling a bit unhappy at being incognito to her public for so long.

'Shall I be "her"' she asked.

Without waiting for an answer, she jumped up on a step and struck a pose. Her hip went out, her shoulders went back, her famous bosom was thrust forward. She pouted her lips and opened her eyes very wide, and there, suddenly, was the image the whole world knew. Instinctively the audience started to applaud. Several of them had cameras, and for a few minutes Marilyn gave them all the poses they required. Considering that she had hardly any make-up on, and had not done her hair, it was an incredible performance.

But I felt distinctly uneasy. What was I doing with this Hollywood star? A moment ago I had been squeezing her hand as if she was a girlfriend. If I didn't watch out, I was going to make a complete fool of myself. I would never have dared to take liberties like that with Vivien Leigh — and I knew her much better than Marilyn, who I hardly knew at all. I found myself skulking at the edge of the group, feeling about two feet tall and wishing I was dead.

Finally Roger decided the crowd was getting too big, and gave a signal to the policemen. They pushed the onlookers to one side and made a path for us, although people were still frantically pushing forward to catch another glimpse, as if some goddess had come down from heaven into their midst.

'Who are you?' One man challenged me as I tried to squeeze into the back of the car.

'Oh, I'm no one,' I said. 'I'm just working on the film with Miss Monroe.'

'You must never say you're no one,' said Marilyn very seriously when the door had shut. 'You are you. Anyway, it's me who should be asking that question. Who do I think I am? Marilyn Monroe?' And she burst into giggles. 'I'm hungry, Colin. Where are we going to eat?'

We went to an olde-worlde tea shop in Eton High Street called The Cockpit, all black beams and inglenook fireplaces and little old ladies eating scones. I had thought of going to the Old House Hotel, which has excellent food, but someone would certainly have recognised Marilyn, and I couldn't face that again. I had just been reminded how quickly Marilyn could attract a crowd. I suppose I was getting possessive — and the truth was that I preferred being with Marilyn when she was frail, and not playing the great star. Now she looked like a schoolgirl as she tucked into a large pile of egg and cress sandwiches, and sipped coffee out of a mug. My heart went out to her again.

'What are we going to do next, Colin? I haven't felt so hungry in ages. Boy, these sandwiches are really good. Pretty fattening too, I guess, but what the heck. I feel as if I was being taken out on a treat. Did you ever get taken here by your mom and dad? Now I can imagine exactly how you felt.'

'Let's go and have a look at my school,' I said. 'I haven't been back there since I was eighteen.'

'That long, huh? But don't forget about the swim. You promised a swim.' We haven't got any swimming costumes,' I protested. (Just imagine what a crowd that could involve. There'd be a riot.)

'Oh, phooey,' said Marilyn. 'You can wear your pants. After all, it isn't every day that you get a chance to go swimming with Marilyn Monroe.' She hooted with giggles again, making the old ladies at the nearby tables give us disapproving looks.

'Roger,' I said, 'there's a clothes shop across the road. Could you pop across and buy a couple of towels and a pair of swimming trunks for me? I'll pay you back for all this when we get home.'

'If we get home in one piece,' muttered Roger. He clearly thought that swimming was a very bad idea, but he went anyway, coming back into the tea shop a few minutes later with a brown paper parcel which he put disapprovingly under his seat.

'This is such fun,' said Marilyn. 'I'm so excited. Let's go.'

'A bit more culture first,' I said. 'It will warm us up.'

'Ooh,' said Marilyn.

Roger drove us off, and stopped by Eton School yard. We all went inside.

'It all looks awfully old,' said Marilyn. 'And a litde bit dusty too, if I may say so.'

'It is old,' I said. 'Over five hundred years. That statue is of the founder of the school, King Henry the Sixth. When we were students, if we didn't work hard enough we would be beaten with a bundle of sticks. It was called being swiped, and it took place in that room over there. Our trousers would be pulled down, and we would be whipped until the blood ran down our legs. The legend was that if a boy could break away, climb the railings and touch the foot of the statue before he was caught he would get the royal pardon, and wouldn't be swiped.'

'Gosh. I'm not sure I like this nobility stuff. Were you ever beaten, Colin?'

'I was beaten quite often with a cane, Marilyn, but I was never swiped.'

'Poor Colin. I had a very unhappy time as a kid, but I was never beaten like that. Let's get out of here before they catch us. Race you back to the car,' and she ran off across the quadrangle like a gazelle, with me in pursuit.

The day had become hot and sultry. Roger had left the car in the shade, but the temperature in the back of the old Wolsey was now tropical. I showed Roger where to turn off the main road in order to get within a reasonable distance of the river. The track was more bumpy than I remembered, and Marilyn held on to me for dear life, so by the time the car stopped, we were glued together with perspiration. It was with huge relief that we dashed across the grass to the water's edge and prepared to plunge in.

'This is the only place where there's sand to walk on,' I said. 'That's why it's the nicest place for a dip. I've swum here, many, many times, even at the risk of being beaten. But watch out, Marilyn. The water's cold.'

'That's just what I need!' cried Marilyn. 'A cold bath. But why isn't there anyone else here?'

'All the boys have gone home for the summer holidays.'

I take a long time to get undressed (or dressed, for that matter). For some reason, I always think I have to be neat. By the time I had got my new trunks on, Marilyn and I having taken separate bushes behind which to change, I had already heard the splash of Marilyn jumping into the water. When I finally emerged, her smiling blonde head was bobbing about on the surface of the Thames. As I waded in to join her, I could hear her singing to herself, and laughing out loud.

'Oh, I'm so happy. I really feel that this is happening to me, and no one else.' She stared at me, laughed again, stared again, and then suddenly looked serious. 'Colin,' she called, 'I've got something in my eye. Would you help me get it out?'

Laboriously I waded towards her through the icy water, my hands held high above my head, and peered down into her huge eyes. Marilyn put out her arms, clasped them behind my head, pulled my head to hers and kissed me full on the lips.

It took about a hundredth of a second before I realised what was going on, and then another hundredth before I realised that Marilyn was naked, at least from the waist up. The sensation of her lips and bosom pressed against mine, combined with the icy water, nearly caused me to pass out.

'Phew! That was great,' gasped Marilyn. 'That's the first time I've ever kissed anyone younger than me. Shall we do it again?'

'Later, Marilyn darling.' I was in a panic. 'What if a boat comes past? And anyway, we'll freeze. You wait here for a second while I get the towels. If you come out like that and someone sees you, we'll get arrested.'

'Oh, nonsense,' said Marilyn, wading out with me. 'Roger will fix it. Now, Colin, it's nothing you haven't seen before.'

It was true that I had indeed once seen her in the nude when I accidentally barged into her dressing room unannounced, but that did not mean that I could keep my eyes off her now. Her beautiful body was simply glowing with health and vitality, and she reminded me of one of those adorable young ladies who sit on clouds in paintings by Tiepolo. I reached the bank before her, grabbed one of the towels and wrapped it round as much of her as I could. Then I picked up the other one to hide the all too obvious evidence of the powerful attraction which I felt.

'Oh, Colin,' giggled Marilyn. 'And you an old Etonian.' She threw back her head and laughed, because that was what she had said when I had burst in on her before, and she knew it had caught me out. 'That was great. I'm not used to being kissed, you know. The men in my life don't seem to have time. They either jump straight on top of me, or want me to jump straight on top of them.'

Roger was sleeping peacefully under a tree when we got back to the car, and he viewed our tousled appearance and wet clothes with obvious disapproval. 'Time to go home, I'd say.'

'I suppose it is,' said Marilyn. Suddenly she looked depressed. She got into the car and hunched down in the back seat, like a child who knows it is going to be punished.

The drive back to Parkside House took twenty minutes. I held her hand, but she didn't speak again. For some reason I felt desperately guilty, but there was nothing I could say. It was time to be grown up again.

Sure enough, when we arrived there were two cars parked in the drive, and when we went in, two men waiting in the hall. One was Milton Greene. The other was Marilyn's lawyer, Irving Stein.

'Hello, Irving. Hello, Milt,' said Marilyn sweetly. 'Roger can drive you home now, Colin. And if you' — looking at her lawyer and her co-producer — 'hurt one hair of his head, or get him fired off this picture, I'll be very, very upset. Understand?'

'Yes, Marilyn,' they both gulped.

'Very upset.' And she vanished upstairs.

'Perhaps we could just have a word with you, Mr Clark, before you leave,' said Stein.

'I suppose so,' I said warily. They looked like the enemy to me.

'Have you heard of the legal term "enticement"? Miss Monroe is legally contracted to us, as you know. Anyone who entices her not to fulfil her contractual obligations to us could be held responsible under the law. And this includes her personal relationships.'

Milton looked wretched, like one of the Lost Boys in Peter Pan, but Stein was clearly in charge.

'Every single minute that I have spent with Miss Monroe has been at her invitation,' I replied. And what is more, we have never been out of the presence of Detective Chief Superintendent Roger Smith of Scotland Yard. You could hardly ask for a more reliable chaperone than that. Catch you later, Milton. Come on, Roger, I thought you were going to give me a lift. Mustn't keep you waiting . . .' And I was gone.

I asked Roger to drop me at the pub near Runnymede House, and I had dinner there. I could not face explaining what had happened to anyone. Tony would most definitely not have understood.

When I did get to bed, I could not sleep. The image of Marilyn seemed to be dancing round my head — laughing, weeping, waving, sighing — twice lifesize. I remembered the kiss, but I couldn't seem to remember feeling it. I was immensely exhilarated, but at the same time desperately sad. When I did finally pass out, I dreamed that I was swimming in a stormy sea, towards a life raft that I could see and even feel, but never quite grasp.

..........

To be continued