Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was late in the afternoon, and the cameras were rolling on the set of Star Vista Studio's latest film, The Master of Main Street. Rachel took a calming breath as the director barked "Action!"

"What are you trying to tell me?" said Tony. Peggy turned to look at him, pain and pride mixed in her gaze.

"I'm not trying to tell you anything," said Mr. Packer. His voice was cold. "I'm saying flat out that I decline to renew your lease on the store. Main Street Hardware is finished."

Tony's face crumpled.

But it looked false, and as Peggy, Rachel paused too long in rushing to Tony’s—her husband’s—side.

"Cut!" shouted the director. "Cut, cut, cut! Griffin, a high school halfback could give me a better reaction." Jon Acosta ran his hand through his disorderly mop of hair, his own face a mask of tragedy. The cast was used to his emotional style, but this looked like something more than one of his typical outbursts.

Dennis Griffin, a good-looking young actor who was playing his first major role, hunched his shoulders and looked down at his feet.

"I was a little off-key," said Geoffrey Holt, the established character actor who was playing Packer.

"Truthfully, I think I was a bit slow on my own reaction during the previous beat," said Rachel.

Mr. Acosta stopped tearing at his hair, straightened, and threw his arms wide. "Miss Lennox, Mr. Holt, you did not do a single thing wrong. But you, Griffin! I have had enough, this afternoon."

"Mightn't we take a break and try again?" Rachel had schooled her face into a calm and attractive expression.

Geoffrey nodded. "We've done a good day's work so far, Mr. Acosta. Seems a shame not to wrap the scene."

The director looked at his established stars and shrugged. "All right, all right, since you put it that way. Take 20." He made a shooing motion with both hands. "Go, go. Griffin, you get your head together!"

Rachel watched Dennis walk away. She almost followed him, but she could see that Miss Lund, the acting coach, already had the young man in hand. Rachel turned back to see Rhodes Fletcher waving at her.

"Come on, honey, let me get the shine off you," the makeup artist called. Rachel smiled. It was clear that Rhody had some gossip to share. He had a keen ear and good judgment about what was likely to be true. "Of course," she said.

They left the studio by the back door and crossed to the block of dressing rooms. Rachel's dressing room was decorated in cool greens and blues on cream, with a sofa and a coffee table as well as her dressing table and chair, plus a tall stool for Rhody and Selina, the hairdresser, to use. Rachel sat down and let Rhody swath her in a clean drape. "Got some hot, hot news for you, young lady," said Rhody.

"Young lady" meant that it was something serious, not just fun and fluff. "What has happened?"

"Just heard the news on KABC. Oscar nominations are out." Rhody patted her face dry with paper tissues and got out the matte powder.

"Did Mr. Acosta get a nod for his last film?" Rachel asked. The young director had received a great deal of praise for the movies he had made since arriving in Hollywood from Argentina six years ago, but so far, he'd not been tapped for a single major award.

"No, but someone else did. Promise your Auntie Rhody that you'll put all your acting chops into your reaction when Jon tells you, which I'm sure he will. And he'll want to be the first to tell you."

"I will do my best, Auntie, but please tell me what has happened!" Rachel's middle felt fluttery, reminding her of the time when she was still a shy, gawky orphan with no future.

"Well, my beautiful Miss Lennox has been nominated for her work as Catherine Shepherd in last year's The Color of Dawn!"

Rachel's reflection in the triple mirror did not look very star-like as her mouth fell open and her eyes went wide with shock. Rhody laughed, his white teeth flashing in his dark face.

"Don't look so shocked, honey! You were the real deal in that picture. The critics ate it up, and the audiences loved it. Now, shut that pretty mouth so I can touch up your lipstick." He was quick and skillful. As she blotted his work carefully with tissue, he continued: "All you need to worry about is what you're going to wear to the ceremony, which party to attend afterward, and who's going to escort you. Maybe that handsome Steven Hayes?"

Now that she had a list of tasks to do, Rachel's inside felt properly steady again. "No, not Steve. It's too soon. Everyone will pay too much attention, and we've been going out for such a short time."

"You're such a smart cookie. You're so right - whoever's with you on the red carpet will be in your picture in all the papers. But who, then? Your family's all back in England, right?"

"That needn't be a problem," said Rachel, after a moment.

Early the next morning, before she was due at the studio, Rachel sat down at the desk of her little home library and placed an overseas call to Uncle Tom. She calculated that he would be painting in the studio at the house and that Aunt Cora would be too busy to pick up a call that was not on the dancing school's line.

She was right: "Rachel!" Uncle Tom's voice was warm and welcoming, even with the faint static of the long-distance connection. "It's so good to hear your voice. How's our film star?"

The California morning sun streamed in through the windows, warming her like Tom's voice. "Very well, thank you. I have exciting news: I've been nominated for an Academy Award!"

"Oh, that's very big news indeed! It's the very top thing, isn't it—the Oscar?"

"Yes, it is, Uncle Tom. All the movie advertisements and theater posters will start featuring headlines with the nominees' names now, and if the film or a member of its cast wins an Oscar, then the film usually extends its run. And of course, it can make an actor or director's career."

"When will you know if you've won?"

"The awards will be given in April. It's a very large affair, a televised event with all the nominees and their guests attending, as well as the celebrities who will present the awards, and often there will be live performances of music from the films, because there are awards for that as well. That's why I've called you, Uncle Tom. I've no beau to escort me, so I'd like to invite you to go with me. I'll pay for your airfare, of course, and for the evening jacket you'll need to wear."

There was a silence. Rachel swallowed, abashed at the lack of reaction, and squeezed the phone receiver. "Uncle Tom?"

"Oh, Rachel. Truly, I'm honored, and I'd love to be there when you win your trophy. But I can't possibly go without Cora. Surely you see that?"

Rachel's shoulders drooped, and she rubbed her forehead. How could she not have thought of that? An Oscar nomination wasn't a magic wish that would make everything right. "Oh dear. Of course. I'm so sorry!"

"And much as I love Cora, this sort of event would encourage her to…well, I needn't go into details. You know that I've always thought you marvelous, lovely and clever and thoughtful. But I certainly know that Dulcie always came first and that Cora had no idea what to do with you."

"Yes. That's very true."

"Right now, to keep the peace here, I'm going to pretend I haven't had this call. I'm certain Cora will read the news in the papers today. I'll do my best to play up my surprise when she tells me."

Rachel smiled and shook her head. It was her with Rhody at the studio yesterday all over again. "I understand. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put you out."

"You haven't, really," said Uncle Tom. "You're not a kiddie any longer, Rachel, and I suppose you must wonder about me and Cora. You do realize that she's been terribly supportive of my career and never begrudged the time I spend in the studio or the cost of my painting kit? And when she's with me, I almost never see the tough businesswoman. She's really quite charming, just as much as the first time I saw her in the theater all those years ago. But I'm neither blind nor deaf to how she can be with others."

This was not the conversation Rachel had expected to have with her uncle. "I wish I could have got along better with her," she told him.

"That's on Cora, not you, Rachel. You were a child who'd just lost her beloved mother. But it's water under the bridge, I suppose. Really, Cora has grown less tough these last few years. If only she had some good news from Dulcie, it might set things right."

"It's not Dulcie's fault that she never got far on Broadway, you know. New York and London are very different theater scenes."

"Yes, but it was hard on Cora. Never mind. Let's get back to your big night at the awards. Must you have a gentleman escort?"

Rachel was only too glad to have a change of subject. "No, some nominees bring a family member, a parent or even a child, depending on where they are in life. And some just have a good friend do the honors."

"Well, then I have an idea for you. If there's anyone who'd be just as pleased by your invitation as I was, it would be Hilary."

Hilary was in the nursery rocking chair, soothing Angela, when she heard the phone extension ringing in the bedroom.

Martin was already sound asleep, worn out with a full day of two hours of nursery school and an afternoon with Charlie, the boy next door. Angie, however, was cutting teeth, and Hilary had only just got her daughter calmed and drowsy when the call came through.

Please, Artie, pick up the phone! I really can't….

He must have done, for the ringing stopped. Hilary relaxed and began to sing, that same simple song that had given her cousin Dulcie such trouble at first in that long-ago musical about the Tyrol. After a couple of verses, Angie went heavy, and Hillary knew the baby was asleep at last. She let the song trail off into a hum, and then rose carefully to tuck her daughter into her cot.

She gave Martin another look. He was sprawled out open and easy in his sleep, his dark hair mussed charmingly, a little smile on his face: a perfect snapshot of his waking personality. She smiled back at her son and went out into the hall, closing the nursery door carefully behind her. The soft runner on the floor muffled her steps as she went to the stair.

How lucky she was! "As orphans go, we aren't doing badly," she'd said to Rachel, all those years ago, and it was still true. Here was Rachel starring in the pictures in Hollywood, and Hilary living in this beautiful, cosy house in Kent, with two healthy children and a lovely husband who owned a chain of theaters. Not doing badly, indeed.

Art's voice drifted up the stairs as Hilary started down. "No, just Angela cutting some new teeth…I expect Hil will be down any moment. Oh, I hear her now!"

As Hilary expected, Art was in his home office, standing by his desk. His dark hair had silver threads in it now, but she still thought he was the best-looking man she'd ever met. "It's your sister," he said. "She has some exciting news but won't tell me until you're here."

"Good heavens, I wonder what it is. Art, can you put the speaker gadget on? That way we can both listen."

Art reached over to the control panel of the modern new conference phone. "Angie asleep?" he asked, as he worked the switches.

"Out like a lamp. Rachel, can you hear me?"

"Perfectly." Rachel's voice was a little tinny with the small speaker and crackly with distance, but otherwise clear. "I've got some spectacular news for you both. I've been nominated for an Academy Award for best performance by an actress!"

"Oh well done!" cried Hillary, closely followed by Art's "Hoorah for Rachel! That's our girl!"

"Thank you ever so," said Rachel. "I can scarcely believe it. I don't know how I'll live through the next two months, waiting to find out whether I've won."

"It's not for the picture with the director from South America? No, of course not," said Hilary. "You're still filming that one. Then it must be the one that came out here last autumn, about the painter who's going blind?"

"Yes, The Color of Dawn. Such melodrama, but people seemed to like it."

"More than liked it," Art said. "They were mad for it! The queues went on for street after street, in London."

"Well, there you have it. In any case, I'll have a ticket for a guest at the awards ceremony. Hilary, would you like to come? I'd cover your airfare, you can stay with me, and I'll stand you a dress. As a birthday present, I'd say."

"Oh, Rachel! I'd love to! But I can't just up and leave Art with two babies."

"Think again, my girl," said Art. "Don't you remember Pursey and me pestering you to visit Rachel for a week when Martin was one? You deserve a vacation, and your sister deserves to have you there on her special evening."

"Art, no!"

"Yes! Don't you want to go?" Art folded her into his arms and gave her a quick squeeze, then stood back with his hands on her shoulders, his jolly face serious for once. "Staying at Rachel's lovely house, talking to her until all hours with no worries about long-distance charges, swimming in the Pacific or in Rachel's pool, eating oranges right off the trees! Not to mention rubbing shoulders with the biggest stars in Tinseltown while wearing a lovely dress from some top American maker. Darling, I'm sure Pursey will make you see reason if I can't!"

"You have me there, you rogue," said Hilary, smiling. "I'm no match for Pursey when her mind's made up."

"I knew you'd listen to reason." Art sat down in his desk chair and picked up a tablet and a biro. He scrawled Hilary's Hollywood Holiday across the top, then wrote the number 1 on the first line. "What do we do next, Rachel?"

Rachel gave a little scream of laughter, quite the most un-Rachel sound Hilary had ever heard from her. "I'm glad you're not a manager I've got to see about a salary, Mr. Dawson," she said. "You'd be a terribly tough nut to crack!"

The phone rang, echoing through the sparsely furnished modern flat from the kitchen wall to the bedside table. Dulcie, lounging on the little settee in the living-dining room, put down the trade magazine she was perusing and looked at the kitchen phone with a certain amount of dread. She had barely got home, and Nate would know that. She'd had lunch with Donna and Sherrie today, and they'd had a good gossip. They'd scarcely be calling so soon. That meant the call could only be one person.

She got up and walked slowly to the kitchen, grabbing the phone receiver on the fourth ring. "Dulcie, darling," said the relentlessly upbeat voice on the phone, with static crackling in the background.

Dulcie leaned against the wall, feeling twice as tired as she had the moment before. "Hello, Mum. You're up late."

"Yes, but I couldn't sleep until I was certain Mum's girlie had heard the news!"

The words sounded excited and gossipy, but there was an undercurrent of anger to the tone, despite the pet name. I was twenty-eight this past November, Mum, she thought. Aloud, she said, "What news is that?"

"The nominations are out for the Academy Awards. It's so exciting. Only think, we're related to an Oscar nominee!"

Dulcie's brain sputtered like a dud firework. When the thought finally popped, she rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on. "You can't mean…has Rachel been nominated for something?"

"She's been put forward for best actress! Really, Dulcie, I thought you would at least keep up with the film news."

There hadn't been anything in the morning paper, and Dulcie hadn't turned on the radio or the television in the brief time she'd been home. No one had mentioned it at her voice lesson or the afternoon casting call she'd attended. "How did you find out, Mum?"

"It was on the radio! You should call and congratulate her. She has useful connections, you should stay in touch. She is your cousin, after all."

I'd sooner die, thought Dulcie, but that wasn't true. Rachel had invited her cousin out several times during the six months since Dulcie had first arrived in Los Angeles. They'd gone to lunch, twice just the two of them, once with Rachel's agent, and Rachel had had her over for drinks and a supper one evening, with several other actors and actresses. She'd even called Dulcie on her birthday.

It was just that Dulcie had grown tired of being the washed-up cousin who hadn't made it on Broadway. The two small roles she'd landed, this little flat in a good part of town: they were nothing compared with Rachel's string of starring roles and her lovely home. Only in love was she ahead.

Her mother seemed to read Dulcie's mind. "I do hope you've reconsidered that songwriter who is taking so much of your time, that Rossman person. He can't have the connections you need, pet. You don't want to be a pop star, you want to be starring on film or onstage."

"He's scored three films, Mum, and the love theme from the last one was at the top of the charts for a month. The song I sang."

Her mother made a huffing sound. "Pretty fluff, that's all. What do you see in him, anyway? He's not much to look at, and he's not our sort of person."

Dulcie was fairly certain she knew where Cora was going with that, and she simply did not have the energy for it. It wasn't as though they were devoted churchgoers or anything of that sort. "Mum, I'm a grown woman, and I am able to make up my own mind. Let's stop spending your money on this phone call, because I want to have supper and get to bed early. I have a recording session tomorrow."

"Really, Dulcie. It's not as though I speak to my only child every week. Well, run along then. At least if you make it in the pop scene, it will be as Dulcie Winstead, not Dulcie Wintle."

And thank heaven for that, thought Dulcie. "Good night, Mum." Cora hung up, although not before she treated Dulcie to a long-suffering sigh.

Drat. Just what I needed.

Dulcie shook herself and looked in the refrigerator. She hadn't anything much in there. There were always eggs, but she'd been eating them far too often lately. An egg, toast, some salad. It hardly seemed worth the bother, but she was hungry.

The phone rang again. She picked it up cautiously.

"Hi, sweetheart. How'd your day go?"

She almost melted with relief. "Nate, thank goodness it's you. A boring sort of day. The voice lesson was good, the casting call…who knows? The casting agent had what you would call a great poker face."

"Well, at least it sounds like you might be in the running for the part. And you had lunch with your girlfriends, right?"

"Oh yes, quiche and salads and some good gossip. It was a lovely break. But Nate, my mother called just a bit ago, right after I got in. She was bursting to tell me that my cousin Rachel has had an Oscar nod. And then she made sure I knew that I was a disappointment."

"Poor baby, what a rotten thing to come home to. Do you have dinner plans, hon? We could go out."

"I would love that, but we mustn't be out late. And nowhere anyone might remember that I'm Rachel's cousin."

"Your wish is my command, lady. Tell you what, how about I pick up carryout at Dante's, then swing by to pick you up, and we can eat at my place. As private as you like, right?"

"That sounds lovely. When should I expect you?"

"Not for at least half an hour, maybe more like 45 minutes. OK, doll?"

"Perfect."

Nate was always so kind; he didn't even tease her about expecting anyone would notice her. And his house was lovely: anytime she visited with him there, she felt like she'd been on a tiny vacation.

And yes, sometimes they were intimate. This was Hollywood, and as she'd told Mum, she was a grown woman.

Dulcie changed out of the trendy dress and chunky high heels she'd worn for the casting call, putting on instead slacks, a comfortable but flattering shirt, and slip-on sandals. She put her hair back in an elastic hairband; her locks were so loaded with hairspray that a ponytail would look terrible. She wished curls would come back in, although the current feathered look was still better than the stick-straight fashion of several years ago.

The intercom buzzed 35 minutes after Nate had hung up. She grabbed a cardigan and ran downstairs, where Nate was waiting to take her hand and help her into his Mercedes: he was always a gentleman. The car was a comfortable sedan rather than a sports car, and right now it smelled marvelous from the bags of Mexican food in the back. They drove to his place, which was perched on a hillside with a spectacular view of the Pacific. Once there, she helped him set up the meal on what he called the deck, but she always thought of as the verandah. He turned off the bright outdoor lamps once everything was ready, and they ate dinner by the light of several beautiful little candle lanterns.

Nate filled her wineglass again when most of the meal was done. "Would it bother you if I told you some more Oscar news, honey?"

Sitting next to her love, watching the stars come out over the ocean, Dulcie felt grounded and content. "Not a bit. Does that mean one of your pictures is up for best score?"

"Better than that. Your song 'Home to Hartland' is up for best song."

"Nate, you're the one who wrote it! I just sang it. How wonderful! I hope you'll finally get the attention you deserve."

"There's more." He sipped from his glass, looking at her sidelong. She loved his expressive dark eyes, his mobile mouth, the dark curls so like her own. Even the prominent nose that he mocked himself seemed noble now that he was hers.

"Don't keep me in suspense, then!" she teased.

"You know there are always performances and production numbers to break up the awards presentations, right? The producers want to have 'Hartland' performed. And I said sure, as long as the original artist sings it."

"You never told them that! What did they say?"

"They said yes." He smiled as she covered her mouth, trying to stifle a shriek. "So you're going to be on national television, live, sweetie. What do you think Mummy will say to that?"

She threw her arms around him, nearly spilling his wine glass, and his deep, rumbling laugh filled the California night.

The morning after Hilary arrived in Los Angeles, she woke very early.

The room was still dark, but when she slipped out of the comfortable, huge bed and raised the venetian blinds, she could see through the window that the sky over the wooded hills was a clear, pale blue, lit by the raising sun. She located the light switch and looked around.

The room was painted a rich blue-green, and the furniture was in a golden-brown wood, angular and somehow rustic-looking, with dark metal hinges and many rectangular spindles. The built-in hanging cupboard had doors to match, and a door with a tall looking-glass fastened to it led to a magnificent bath, with sand-colored tiles, thick white towels, a beautiful wash basin with a wide counter in white stone, and a bathtub and shower each in their own glass enclosure.

Your aunt and uncle must be terribly rich, said Hilary's own childhood voice in her memory, waking up that first morning at Aunt Cora's. She shouldn't be surprised that Rachel had a lovely suite for guests; after all, she was a Hollywood movie star.

Hilary dressed and finished unpacking, noticing more details as she hung up her clothes or folded them into the chest of drawers. A bouquet of pink and white calla lilies in a heavy glass vase had been placed on a black pottery tray on the chest of drawers, and a matching tray stood ready for her toiletry things, a hand mirror with a polished wooden back and handle already in place. In the hanging cupboard, a dressing gown of soft cotton toweling hung on a hook, white with aqua green piping. The wooden reading chair with its matching footstool were cushioned in soft shades of cream and brown. A bookcase held some popular novels of recent years, and also some childhood favorites, as well as a couple of travel guidebooks for the city. On top was a handsome pottery jar in a bold pattern of black and tan and a stack of magazines: news, travel, fashion.

The view outside was becoming brighter and prettier every moment, and Hilary was becoming very hungry. An electric clock radio on the bedside table said it was only 7:00, but of course Hilary's stomach was still set for English time. She went in search of the kitchen.

When she found it, she was somewhat at a loss. She wasn't sure how to work the elaborate electric cooker or the complicated-looking coffeemaker. But there was a typical English electric kettle, and the toaster was familiar as well. She located tea, a teapot, a breadbox and knife, dishes, butter from the huge refrigerator, and a bowl of oranges on a counter that had four stools lined up as though the shiny kitchen with its colorful tiles were part of a pub of some sort.

While the tea brewed, Hilary investigated the handsome dining room and helped herself to a wooden tray from the sideboard. The kitchen had a door that opened onto a pretty terrace, with a table and cushioned chairs. After going back to her room for a cardigan, she set her breakfast on the tray and took it outside to enjoy her sister's back garden.

Some time later, she heard the kitchen door open. "Oh!" said a soft voice. "Is it Miss Hilary?"

A short, slim woman in a green dress and white overall stood on the doorstep. She had very black hair drawn smoothly back into a knot and a worried expression on her face.

"Good morning. Yes, I am. Just 'Hilary' is fine." Hilary got up, wiping her hands on her napkin, and came over to shake hands.

The woman smiled. "Miss Rachel told me to come early, because you will be ready to eat early after the long trip. But you are even more an early bird than she thought. I am Consuela Soto, the housekeeper and sometimes the cook too. You have already eaten? Miss Rachel made sure to have eggs and English-style bacon for you. I see you have oranges and tea, but would you like coffee?"

Hilary found she was still quite hungry. "Eggs and bacon sound fantastic. Could you please show me how the coffeemaker works?"

"Of course." Consuela held the door open for her, then went back to get Hilary's tray and dishes.

"Oh…." She hadn't meant to make more work for Consuela.

The housekeeper nodded, as though reading her thoughts. "You are a guest, and this is your first day. We will make a fuss over you."

Rachel met them in the dining room, where the table was now set for two. "There you are. I hope you slept well. You were exhausted!"

"I did, but it was barely dawn when I woke up. That room is beautiful, Rachel. Even more posh than Aunt Cora's spare bedroom!"

Over eggs, bacon, more toast, and the fresh coffee Hilary had brewed under Consuela's direction, Rachel explained their schedule for the weeks leading up to the Academy Awards presentation event. They had fitting for their dresses this morning, to give the dressmakers plenty of time for any alterations, and then Rachel had arranged some luncheons where Hilary would meet Rachel's friends and her co-stars from the film for which she had been nominated, as well as a tour of the movie studio. "Aside from those, you can choose what you would like to do. I must warn you that it's not quite warm enough to swim, especially at the beach. We can walk, of course. And Santa Monica Beach has a lovely pier, like an English beach town. And there are plenty of museums, and places to shop for gifts for my niece and nephew and brother-in-law."

"I'll have to look at those guidebooks, then."

After breakfast, a hired car took them to the exclusive dress shop that the studio had recommended. Rachel had supplied their sizes and coloring, and the shop's staff were ready with several choices for each of them. Hilary was impressed that all the choices for Rachel were in the colors that suited her, gold, bronze, and flame orange. Rachel opted for simplicity and a lovely line that suited her willowy figure, a draped gown in soft gold. "Champagne gold," said Miss Cole, the senior buyer. "Very suitable for a winner." There were sandals to match, and some sketches of suggested hair styles for Rachel's rich dark hair.

Hillary's gowns were much less dramatic. She rejected the first two, a silver gray with a plunge neckline and bell sleeves, and a lavender gown that was more or less its opposite, with a high neck and no sleeves at all. Neither of them suited her curves, which delighted her husband but weren't subtle enough for these sorts of dresses. Then Miss Cole had her staff bring out a charming gown in pale blue watered satin, overlaid with matching lace, with a low, square, lace-trimmed neckline and sturdy shoulder straps. It came with a jacket that had short bell sleeves of chiffon. When the jacket was on and tied under the bust, it looked like part of the dress.

"You look charming," said Miss Cole. "You have that lovely English Rose complexion."

"What do you think, Rachel?" Hilary asked.

"You look gorgeous," said Rachel. "Look in the mirror."

Hilary had to admit that she did look nice. In fact, she hadn't taken such pleasure in a dress since she was dressed in Betty's Wonder uniform frock for that long-ago summer talent show. Then she had a sudden thought and laughed.

Rachel was surprised. "What's funny? You look beautiful!"

Hilary turned, looking over her shoulder at her reflection, and then wrinkled her nose at Rachel. "Rachel, what color is this?"

"Oh! The uniform frocks!" Rachel smiled and shook her head. "Well, you know I always said you look awfully nice in them, even if they made me look a clown."

All too soon, the lovely days of sun-soaked beaches and shopping were over, and it was time for the awards show. Hilary settled gingerly onto the expensive leather seat in the back of the hired limousine. Her lovely new dress felt stiff and fragile at the same time, even though the dressmaker had assured her that it was sturdy enough for an entire night of dancing at the parties after the award event. Rachel was sliding into the seat on the other side of the car with far less concern, settling her long skirts easily. The driver shut the doors for them and then climbed behind the wheel. "Music on your drive, ladies?"

"Thank you. Light classical," said Rachel.

The driver fiddled with some buttons, and finally a pleasant string piece started. Rachel grabbed Hilary's hand and squeezed. "Are you feeling nervy?" asked Hilary, surprised.

"Just trying not to build up a castle in the air," said Rachel. "There's nothing I can do now. My work was done a year ago. But it would be easy to get so excited about the possibility of a win, and then I'd feel rotten afterward when I lost."

"You'll win, all right," said Hilary firmly.

The street and pavement in front of the music center were crowded with cars and people. Police officers were directing traffic and enforcing a passage through the crowd for the attendees. Doormen were opening the doors of the limos and the expensive cars so they could escort the celebrities and their guests to the start of the famous Red Carpet. Flashbulbs were going off like a fireworks display.

"Miss Lennox!"

"Rachel Lennox!"

"Miss Lennox, a smile here!"

Rachel glanced over at Hilary. "Smile! Like you did at the talent show at the beach," she whispered.

Hilary relaxed and gave the photographers her nicest smile.

"Who's the guest, Rachel honey?" said a tough-looking elderly woman squeezed between two photographers with massive cameras.

"My sister, Mrs. Arthur Dawson, from England," said Rachel, swinging her silk wrap to drape elegantly behind her as she posed. Half a dozen flashbulbs popped. "Her personal name is Hilary, Loretta. H-i-l-a-r-y."

The photographers suddenly turned away to shoot whoever was behind them. Hilary hurried to catch up to Rachel, who was striding into the building, amazingly steady on her elegant high-heeled shoes. "Who was that woman, Rachel?"

"Loretta Casey. She's the gossip columnist for the entertainment business. We get along, I'm sure she'll say you were charming." Rachel looked distracted, and Hilary couldn't blame her. The place was full of people in gorgeous, trendy clothes or the very finest classic evening wear, and the few faces Hilary recognized were very famous indeed.

They made their way to their assigned seats - very good seats, because the Best Actress award was one of the most important. The huge theater filled gradually, and then the house lights went down. The orchestra struck up a thrilling medley of classical film themes, and then Joel Grey came out to lead the opening production number.

Hilary was thrilled with the theatrical spectacle, and the performers who entertained between the award presentations were very polished. The first awards presented were for the technical fields, cinematography and editing, special effects and sound, and more. Hilary would usually have been quite bored, but the general buzz around her kept her entertained. When the announcer left the stage to let the third performance begin, the stage lights went dim. Then a spotlight followed a dark-haired woman in a simple rose-red dress as she took center stage and began to sing.

There was something familiar about her, something from long ago. Hilary noted that her voice was pleasant but not spectacular. But as she sang, a gentle and sweet song at first, Hilary felt touched and moved. The singer's voice gradually became more intense, wistful and longing and hopeful all at once, and the music swelled in response. Hilary found herself almost in tears, thinking about her home, and Art. When the song ended, the audience was silent, and then everyone broke into thunderous applause.

"Hilary," Rachel breathed. "It's Dulcie!"

The stage manager let Dulcie watch from the wings as the music awards were given after her performance, because the chances were that she would not be able to change and get to her seat before the award for Best Song was given. She was still feeling exhilarated from the audience response, and she was genuinely happy for the winners of the two best score awards, men and women that Nate knew and admired. Then she clasped her hands tightly as Joel Grey returned to the stage to announce the winner for the Best Original Song.

"And the winner is…Nathan Rossman for 'Home to Hartland'!"

Applause thundered again. Nate bounced up from his seat and loped down the aisle, smiling as he mounted the stairs. He thanked his parents, especially his mother, for encouraging him to study music, and the movie's producers, for trusting him with the music for the film. Then he said: "But most importantly, I'd like to thank the vocalist, Dulcie Winstead, for bringing my song to life. You heard her just now, and you know what she did with it. There are some lovely voices in this world, but singers who can interpret this effectively are far more rare. Remember Dulcie, my friends, for you're bound to hear more from her in the future."

He turned to the wings where she had come offstage, and looked right at her. Tears running down her face, she mouthed "I love you" and blew him a kiss. Then he was carrying his Oscar down the stairs, and she went backstage to put herself to rights.

She came out in her own dress, with Nate's ring on her finger, as the last of the screen writers finished her thanks. She slipped into her seat on the aisle, and Nate wrapped a strong arm around her shoulder. She clasped her hand around his, holding the statuette on his knee, and settled in to watch the remainder of the show.

Very soon, veteran actor Walter Matthau took the podium to announce the award for best actress. It finally occurred to Dulcie to look around for her cousin. Rachel, wearing something in gleaming champagne silk and with her hair in a stunning updo, was seated a dozen rows in front of Nate and Dulcie, in the center section. Matthau opened the envelope, read the card, and said, "And the winner, for her role in The Color of Dawn, is Rachel Lennox!"

Rachel rose, clutching the back of the seat in front of her, and seemed to sway for a moment. Her companion, who had a head full of unfashionable blonde curls, reached out to pat Rachel's arm reassuringly, and Dulcie recognized Hilary, wearing a lacy dress of a blue strikingly similar to that of a Wonder's uniform frock.

Then Rachel was stepping regally down the aisle and up the stage stairs. Her pale gold dress was beautifully draped and pleated, a Greek goddess' robe re-imagined for the late 20th century, and she was wearing a pair of splendid pearl and diamond drop earrings. The look was finished off with spectacular high-heeled gold sandals. When she took her statuette, it was set off perfectly by the color of the gown. "Clever stylist," murmured Nate.

Dulcie's cousin thanked her director, her co-stars, and the screenwriters who had adapted the novel. Then she thanked her family: Hilary; her late father, actor George Lennox; the mother who had raised her and Hilary alone. To Dulcie's astonishment, she then thanked "my Aunt Cora, who first put me onstage and taught me the value of hard work."

Dulcie could not believe her ears, and her cheeks were burning as she remembered how Mum had treated her cousin. Rachel finished her little speech and, slightly flushed, made her way back to her seat, the applause surging and ebbing around her.

Nate nudged Dulcie gently and smiled. "It's a great night for your family, hon."

"Our family," said Dulcie, firmly, and held her hand up to his cheek, the engagement ring glimmering in the lights from the stage like a star.

A roar of conversation met Rachel and Hilary as they entered the hotel ballroom where Spectacle magazine was entertaining the winners, losers, and guests, and it rose to a fever pitch as those nearest to the entrance caught sight of Rachel.

"Here's the winner! Three cheers for Rachel Lennox, best actress!"

"Well done, Rachel!"

"You're the bomb, honey!"

Rachel paused and posed, tugging gently on Hilary's wrist to make her do the same. To her delight, Hilary broke out into the twinkling smile that had marked her best performances onstage and gave a humorous little curtsy. The party-goers laughed and clapped. Rachel heard someone else arriving behind them and walked away from the doorway, ending up near the bar. She requested a Perrier and lime from the bartender, and Hilary asked for a Coca Cola. They found a less-crowded corner and watched the later arrivals for a while, sipping their drinks.

"Look!" exclaimed Hilary. "It's Dulcie!"

Dulcie looked charming in a ruffle-tiered hot pink dress, with glittering chandelier earrings almost to her nearly bare shoulders. Her escort, the winning songwriter, was dapper in an evening jacket that was clearly hand-tailored for his solid form. He turned and smiled as they came in, waving his free hand to invite the guests to applaud Dulcie. She seemed to glow at the response, and Rachel was surprised to see a glint of tears in her eyes above her brilliant smile.

"Well, well," murmured Hilary. "She looks very human and sweet. Perhaps it's just that she's grown up. Shouldn't we go over to say hello?"

But there was no need. Dulcie had seen them and was urging her companion to break a path toward her cousins. "Rachel, Hilary, this is my great friend Nate Rossman," she said as she arrived. "Nate, these are my cousins, Rachel Lennox and Hilary Lennox Dawson."

Nate gave Dulcie a humorous look from his handsome dark eyes, as though they were sharing a joke, then looked back at the sisters. "Miss Lennox, Mrs. Dawson, it's a pleasure to meet you." He had a rich, deep voice. Rachel could easily imagine him singing, even though he certainly hadn't the looks of a pop star. "I see that you ladies have finished your drinks. Why don't I get you refills? What would you like, Dulcie?"

"A white wine spritzer for now, darling. Thank you so much." She squeezed his arm and then let him go, watching after him fondly, then turned to smile at her cousins. Her left hand came up to brush back her fashionable feathered hair. A good-sized diamond glittered on her ring finger.

Hilary's gaze followed the jewel, her face breaking into a cheeky grin. "What a nice ring, Dulcie!" she said, loudly.

Rachel shook her head at Hilary, but she was smiling. "He's charming, Dulcie. I'm very happy for you both."

Dulcie's eyes were warm and still damp.. "I'm glad you noticed! Every time I thought of telling you, I felt so awkward: it's your special night, Rachel. He treats me like a queen. Mum doesn't approve. Not our sort, not handsome enough, not a film star and not likely to make me one, either. But I'm done listening to Mrs. Wintle of the Wonders. We've got plans for our future, Nate and I."

"There are all sorts of stars," said Rachel.

Nate returned with a tray of glasses, trailed by a waitress with little tray of canapés. "You're absolutely right, Miss Lennox. All sorts."

Rachel accepted her glass. "Thank you so much. Please, call me Rachel."

"After all," said Hilary, her voice impish, "You're nearly part of the family."

He chuckled. "Dulcie told you."

"She didn't need to, that pretty bauble on her hand spoke clearly!" Hilary laughed as she accepted her cola. "And I'll probably cry if you call me Mrs. Dawson because it makes me think of my babies at home."

Nate gave the waitress the empty drinks tray and offered around the canapés. He popped a tiny sausage roll into his own mouth and took a sip of his drink. "Was there room for baby pictures in that teeny-weeny bag you're toting, Hilary?"

"I found room for one. We Englishwomen are brilliant at packing a bag." Hilary finished her miniature quiche and pulled a slim travel wallet out of the pretty lace-covered pochette. She didn't spill a drop of her drink as she flipped the billfold open to show Nate a photo. Rachel saw that it was the sweet family portrait that Hilary had sent out in the family Christmas card.

Dulcie came around to look as well. "A baby. I feel so out of touch," she said. "I didn't realize I had another tiny cousin. Mum told me you had a boy, years ago."

Hilary grinned: "I wouldn't expect Aunt Cora to keep track of children not old enough to be put onstage." Her face softened, and she tapped her finger on the fair-haired baby in her arms in the photo. "That's Angela. She's 14 months now. And her big brother Martin is rising four."

"They're not 'lots and lots' of babies, Hilary, but they're a fair start," said Rachel, her tone grave but her eyes dancing.

"What a pair of little angels," said Nate, his voice tender. He looked up, raising his glass in Hilary's direction. "And it sounds like there'll be more. Here's to a star of a mom, my cousin-to-be Hilary."

As Rachel raised her glass, she could see that Dulcie was right about Nate: they were good together. How nice it felt to be talking to her cousin as though they were friends, at last! She caught Hillary's eye, and then Dulcie's. The three of them clinked their glasses together.

"To Hilary!" said Dulcie.

"To Dulcie and Nate!" said Hilary.

"To all of us," said Rachel, firmly.