'Little old spinster ladies should know their place.'
'They gave her half a million bucks, man,' said Bradford.
'Of course! And who cares about the truth? So. . . they dangled another million-and-a-half in front of her, like the philanthropists they are— because they just
Lexy looked out of the shadow at the Israeli's shoulder, to lean past him to deposit another bottle on the table.
'Oh—come on, Davey darling!' She brushed her cheek against his. 'It's not Mike's fault—it's only Hollywood making a film in gorgeous technicolour. Don't take on so!'
Stein melted perceptibly, smiling up at her. 'Lexy dear, I write about things fifteen thousand years before Galla Placidia, and I wouldn't change a word just to please dummy5
someone if I didn't think it was true.' He shifted his glance to Audley. 'I'm not being awkward—ask David there if you don't believe me, he's the chairman tonight .... What does the chair rule on truth?'
Audley looked down his Roman nose at them. 'The chair rules that its glass is empty. Fill my glass, Lady Alexandra!'
Bradford raised himself up. 'And I say—the truth isn't like that. It's a lot more complicated.'
'So what is the truth, Mike?' asked Jilly.
Bradford turned to her. 'The truth is, Jilly honey . . . first, there were two studios bidding for
and little Miss Simplicitas Palfrey had a smart shyster lawyer from back East playing one off against the other, selling each of them the idea that she was a greedy old bag who'd be a pushover once the contract was signed, and screw the history.'
'But she wasn't—she isn't?'
Bradford stared at her for a moment. 'Yeah . . . well, maybe so ... but my guess is she doesn't give a damn about the history, from the letters I've seen. She's just using that clause to get what she wants in another clause where she doesn't have the say-so—where they'd never have let her screw them . . . like, she's ready to have Attila the Hun in the action twenty years before he actually appeared on the scene—thirty years, more like, even—' he looked at Audley '—Attila, huh?'
Audley shrugged. 'He crossed the Danube in 440—is that dummy5
what you want?'
'I mean the great battle—the one that settled the fate of Europe, darn it.'
Another shrug. 'The Mauriac Plain? Near Troyes—451?'
Audley clearly wasn't about to release much of his history just for Hollywood's benefit. 'Romans and Visigoths versus Huns?' He made it sound like a rugger match.
'Yeah, that's it.'
'I know all about that,' said Lexy.
'Indeed?' said Audley. 'Tell us?'
'It's all in the book, darling—
'I don't read such books—remember?' said Audley cuttingly.
Roche was simultaneously aware of why Audley had been so comprehensively disliked and that he wanted to help Lexy.
'They beat the Huns, didn't they?' He smiled encouragingly at her. 'For the first time ever—they beat them?'
'On points,' said Audley. 'Strictly speaking, it was about 16-15 in tries and penalties, with no goals.'
'But they beat them,' said Roche, ignoring Audley.
'Oh yes!' Lexy's courage flamed up. 'The Roman general—
Thingummy-what's-his-name—'
'Aetius,' Roche plucked the name out of recent memory.
'Him, yes—
but it was all set up by Simplicius really, so they'd all kill each dummy5
other.'
It was a double-cross—or a triple-cross?' said Stein.
'It was a double-cross, that's for sure!' said Bradford. 'Only it's Miss Palfrey who's doing the double-crossing. She doesn't give a damn for all this—it's the casting she's after. I think we could put George Washington into it for all she cares—just so she can say who's going to play him .... Those are her terms, and she's driving the studio nuts with people they've never heard of!'
'Who's going to play Galla Placidia?' asked Lexy eagerly.
'Huh! You may well ask! At the rate the negotiations are going probably no one.'
'Let me guess!' Lexy plumped herself down alongside Roche, smiling up at him happily. 'You know, I never
