Chapter 14 Ada
Ada
Building a Star Society event requires meticulous planning and careful execution. First, the details. Formal or informal attire,
game night or pool party, themed costumes or masquerade ball, and the food, music, and decor to accompany the particular soiree.
Then a carefully curated guest list. Finally, embossed invitations coordinating with the theme, designed by Beverly Tolbert—fellow
actress and another of Gordon’s clients whose flair for artistry is much better than Ada’s, which is why Ada asked her to
take on the responsibility upon the group’s inception.
This night calls for simplicity. Best not to overwhelm Ingrid with Ada and her friends outdoing one another for best dressed.
When preparing the guest list, writing her sister’s name had sent a thrill down Ada’s spine. She does so want Ingrid to enjoy
herself.
After donning the pink sundress she chose for the event, Ada hears the door swing open. She rushes downstairs, and Gordon
has hardly set down his luggage before she throws her arms around him and kisses his cheek.
“Oh, I’ve missed you terribly. And I’ve got lots to tell you, but you’re going first. How was New York?
” Before he answers, something catches the light from the glittering crystal chandelier—a purple and yellow discoloration beneath his eye.
Slight, as if it has been healing for a while, but certainly noticeable.
Frowning, she brushes her thumb over the spot. “What’s this about?”
In all the years she’s known him, Gordon is hardly the sort of person who comes home with inexplicable black eyes.
“A few unwelcome guests got into our party meeting. Haven’t you heard? Communists are a massive threat to national security
and must be eradicated at all costs.” With a sigh, he smooths a hand over his mustache. “Never get your face in the way of
a fist, kid.”
A short while ago they read the exposé naming members of the Communist Party, when Gordon thought her concerns for him were
unfounded. Now it’s come to this—to physical attacks. Her agent’s prior lack of concern suddenly seems as bruised and discolored
as his skin.
“Are you all right?” she asks softly.
“I was better before a loudmouthed son of a bitch tried to knock off my mustache.” Heaviness weighs down the jest, adding
to the heaviness in Ada’s own chest.
“No one should take their concerns to such extreme measures, and I’m sorry it happened,” she says. “Does it worry you, though,
knowing people fear your party?”
He replies with bravado, as if conducting an interview. “I’m here with notoriously private actress Ada Worthington-Fox. Tell
me, miss, how do you vote? Are you seeing anyone? Why did you end your relationship with Vince Hart?”
She frowns. “That’s hardly the same thing.”
“If you can criticize my position, I can criticize yours. I’m listening to concerns on all sides, so I will thank you to do
what you do best and keep quiet.”
Her retort dies on her tongue even as his scowl softens.
“Goddamnit, I didn’t mean that.”
Despite her efforts to avoid controversy, she can tolerate criticism—expects it, even. In this industry, it comes from everyone.
Not from Gordon. Not from the one person who has cared for her, supported her, never hurt her.
“Pay no attention to your agent. Cranky old bastard,” Gordon mutters, although the quip is half-hearted. Then he sighs. “None
of this will settle down as easily as I hoped, will it?”
With each passing day, Ada fears the same.
A high-pitched bark prevents her reply as Sowerby scurries into the foyer to welcome Gordon home, so he picks up the dog and
coddles him. Ada’s eyes return to the faded bruise.
After fleeing from Arnhem, she could have gone anywhere in the world. She chose this country, made its values her own, yet
the choice might not be enough for the public to accept that she is not the anti-American Mr. Stribling accused her of being.
Maybe the public needs direct reassurance. Surely they will trust her if Ada Worthington-Fox breaks her commitment to privacy
and clarifies her position.
Which is exactly what she has been forbidden from doing. Mr. Hendrix wants her silence and mysteriousness, not her openness
and honesty.
Whatever the public wants, however, he will give to keep his films in theaters, so perhaps circumstances will change his mind.
Tomorrow she will worry about what should or should not be done. Tonight she is Star Society hostess, and she must focus on
the infiltrator who will be in their midst: Archie Stribling. Whatever his reasons for wanting to attend, she will find them
out.
A knock sounds on the door. Ada answers to allow Ingrid inside and flashes a sly smile at Gordon, whose eyebrows arch while
his eyes dart between the two women.
“Gordon Sharpe, meet my cousin, Ingrid van Essen—for public purposes, my temporary assistant. She’s visiting from Kent.
You don’t mind that I invited her over a little early, do you?
Ingrid, meet my dear friend and agent. And this”—she scoops up the terrier, interrupting his inspection of the newcomer—“is Mr. Sowerby, or just Sowerby for short. A Yorkshire angel like his namesake.”
“By God, there’s two of you.” Gordon offers Ingrid a hand. “My dear, have you considered being in show business?”
“I’m afraid there’s little I would despise more,” she replies with a faint smile. “No hard feelings, I hope.”
“Not unless you change your mind someday and I find out someone else represents you.”
After kissing Ingrid’s hand, Gordon excuses himself to change and takes Sowerby with him, then Ingrid hands Ada a small wrapped
parcel.
“For you,” she announces. “A little hostess gift.”
After untying the royal-blue ribbon and tearing off the elegant gold wrapping, Ada opens the box. Inside is a porcelain figurine—a
robin redbreast with bright black eyes, its head tilted curiously to one side.
“Like the one in your book, The Secret Garden. No, I haven’t read it,” Ingrid adds, since it’s the question Ada always asked her when they were girls. “I never forgot
the way you talked about it, though. Ever since we parted, robins have reminded me of you.” Her voice dies, likely lost in
the memory of that time, before regaining its strength. “When I was out shopping the other day, I saw this one and had to
find it a nice home.”
The little bird that was so dear to irritable, lonely, unloved Mary Lennox, then to Ada, now to Ingrid. Ada blinks back sudden
emotion as she kisses her sister’s cheek.
“It’s lovely, Inge. And I know just where to put it.”
Ada leads her through the house, past hired staff preparing for tonight’s event, and into the library, where she places the figurine on a bookshelf near the mantel. They step back to evaluate it, then Ingrid nods.
“He looks quite content there.” Her eyes drift upward, admiring the shelves. “You live here, then? With your agent?”
“You’ve nothing to fear. Gordon is entirely professional and perfectly harmless, and one of the kindest people I’ve ever known.”
Never mind that Ada is not quite Gordon’s type. She refrains from saying as much, though, even to her sister. Some secrets
are not hers to share.
Ada much prefers Gordon’s company to boardinghouses with their lack of privacy and countless pairs of prying eyes, so she
was not entirely devastated when she was late paying rent—again—and the landlady tossed her out. Gordon offered her a spare
bedroom, so she accepted, then she stayed, heedless of rumors that might circulate about an actress living with her agent.
This home is a quiet, secluded sanctuary ideal for a notably private woman, and anyone who knows her or Gordon knows the arrangement
is innocent.
Ingrid circles the room, then casts an expectant look over her shoulder. “This is when you’re supposed to offer me a tour.”
She purses her lips in feigned disapproval. “Shirking your duties, Star Society hostess?”
“Hostess with the power to throw out guests who criticize her,” Ada warns, to which Ingrid gives an innocent smile, her eyes
bright with eagerness and curiosity, before steering Ada from the room.
Chuckling, Ada relents. She really should be focusing on event preparations, but for Ingrid, she can make time for a tour.
When the party has started and Ada finds Archie Stribling near the pool, he’s with a small group of guests.
Among them is Mr. Sternberg. Maybe that’s why Mr. Stribling is here, to confront everyone about their political leanings or to threaten their reputations like he did with Ada.
The champagne turns bitter on her tongue as she hurries to intervene.
“Might I steal this gentleman?” she asks, then she pulls Mr. Stribling into a dance and offers her most flattering, threatening
smile. “Care to tell me what you’re really doing here?”
“Can’t a fellow enjoy himself without ill intentions?” They sway in time to the music, keeping up appearances for any onlookers.
“All I’m doing is satisfying my curiosity.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” While he spins her under his arm, she catches his faint chuckle before he pulls
her close again. Then she grabs the hand that strays too low and places it higher on her back, arching her brow in warning.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with what you mentioned at Mr. Sternberg’s party, would it?”
Although her tone is light, her heart races. If he threatens her to force an answer about her political leanings, she will
have to give it regardless of Mr. Hendrix’s instructions or Ingrid’s warnings about placing such information in a stranger’s
hands.
“Do you mean am I going to ask you or your guests about past jobs or personal opinions?” He draws her close, bringing his
lips to her ear. “Don’t worry about me, Miss Worthington-Fox. You upheld your end of the bargain, so I’ll uphold mine.”
She’s not certain if she should believe him, but it’s a possibility she never considered. That’s all this was, then: a bluff.