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Hepburn's Necklace
Author: Jan Moran

 


Prologue

 

 

Lago di Como, March 2010

 

 

* * *

 


Ruby stepped as close to the rocky point as she dared, taking quiet joy in overlooking the shimmering, deep blue water that filled the verdant fjord stretching before her. To the north soared snow-capped Italian and Swiss peaks. On either side of the lake, palms, firs, and mulberry trees clustered in villages tucked at the base of steeply sloping hillsides, where yellow daffodils and violet crocuses bloomed in abundance.

Ruby lifted her chin to the breeze the locals called Breva, Lake Como’s afternoon winds from the south. She ran a hand over her dark red, shoulder-length coiffure. Though she had a top stylist who faithfully matched her trademark color, her hair was hardly the luxuriant, glossy mane that had earned her childhood nickname.

As a girl, her hair was so dark and shiny her mother called it ruby. The name stuck because Lucille Eunice was too long to call out. For her stage name, Ruby adopted her mother’s maiden name of Raines. She’d thought it sounded so fancy and elegant—and her talent agent had thought her surname of Smith was too ordinary for an actress.

While the small, private tour group of retired film actors chattered on behind her, she folded an arm across her torso, recalling the feeling of Niccolò’s arms twined around her as they’d stood on this very spot in Bellagio. His strong hands had spanned her narrow waist. At the memory, a fine, exquisite feeling filled her chest. Her love for him had never wavered, never dimmed.

This type of love was all that Ruby wished for her niece Ariana. Yet, Ruby feared Ariana might not have the chance.

My dearest, my Niccolò. They had met in the summer of 1952 on the set of Roman Holiday, which remained her favorite film. The story of an independent-thinking, runaway princess who scorns her duties for a magical escape in Rome and a taste of true love never grew old. That film had made Audrey Hepburn a star and, in a roundabout way, launched Ruby’s career in film as well.

Placing her hand over the hollow of her neck, she caressed the worn silver pendant that Audrey had given her. Ruby had been moved by her generosity, though that wasn’t the primary reason she’d cherished it.

That summer was imprinted on a movie reel in her brain—quite apart from the film shown in theaters.

 

* * *

 

It was June of 1952…

Wearing a full, sky-blue skirt with a crisp white shirt and a jaunty scarf at her neck—compliments of the wardrobe supervisor—Ruby stretched out her legs on the Spanish Steps in Rome. The Hassler, a grand hotel where Audrey Hepburn, Gregory Peck, and Eddie Albert were staying, loomed above the steep stone steps.

In the summer heat, Ruby rolled her sleeves high on her arms as the wardrobe assistant had instructed and tried to focus on the script in her lap. She had to memorize the lines for her short scene.

Ruby rubbed her stomach, which was tied up in knots as tight as the bowlines her father had taught her to tie on the ranch back in Texas. Here she was, living the dream she’d imagined. A real speaking part in a film in Italy! She couldn’t believe her good fortune. Ruby had her mother to thank for this adventure.

Just below her in the piazza, Mr. Wyler and his assistant director conferred. Miss Hepburn and Mr. Peck were relaxing between takes while their hair and makeup were being refreshed. Grips and gaffers adjusted equipment and lighting. Above them, people watched from railings, and smoke from their cigarettes curled into the warm air. Their chatter would be silenced when filming began again.

A shadow crossed her script.

“Buongiorno, Signorina.”

Ruby shielded her eyes and looked up into a pair of incredible blue eyes rimmed with thick, dark lashes and a slash of eyebrows. With sculpted cheekbones and shiny dark hair that framed a strong face, he was the most breathtakingly beautiful man she’d ever seen.

“Hi,” she managed to say as her throat constricted.

“Americana?”

“I’m a Texan. The state used to be a republic. For ten years.” Silently, she chastised herself. Why did I say that? She’d been as nervous as a cottontail rabbit ever since she’d arrived in Rome.

A smile played on his full lips. “I’m Niccolò. Do you mind if I sit with you? We can rehearse together,” he added, opening a copy of the script.

“Ruby. Pleased to meet you.” His melodic voice made her toes curl with pleasure. “Where did you learn English so well?” she asked.

“I learned a little from my parents, but mostly at the cinema, American films, English films. I love the magical way they make you feel. I’ve wanted to act—and maybe write—for as long as I can remember. Maybe we’re alike that way.” He touched her shoulder as he spoke. “And now, here we are, part of that magic, too.”

She nodded, barely able to speak. What Niccolò said was exactly what she felt in the depths of her soul, too. “So much alike.”

 

* * *

 

Ruby blinked in the breeze. That summer had profoundly changed her life. Had it really been that many years ago? Time passed so quickly. She had an urgent matter to address this summer, too—one she’d been dreading for years.

The young Italian tour guide touched her arm. “Signora Raines,” he said in a soft, respectful voice, his left eye twitching slightly. “Will you step back from the edge? We would hate to lose you.”

“I’ve lived on the edge all my life, Matteo. Wouldn’t this be a stunning place to die?” Sensing the young man’s nervousness, Ruby stepped back, her ivory silk palazzo pants rippling in the breeze. “Though not today, I promise.”

Matteo was visibly relieved. If he let a famous American film star plunge to her death, he’d probably lose his job, but what a magnificent, dramatic headline that would make. The Great Ruby Raines Flings Herself from Alpine Precipice.

Though it was actually a rolling Lombardy hill. Lovely, but not nearly as memorable.

The tour guide turned back to the small gathering. “If Lake Como looks familiar, it’s because the films Casino Royale and Ocean’s Twelve were shot here.”

Ruby tapped her custom-designed cane—a twisted, aromatic cedarwood design topped with a ruby-eyed silver eagle that she’d commissioned on a return trip to Texas. The press had once dubbed her the Fiery Texan and compared her to Maureen O’Hara and Katharine Hepburn. That was after she’d completed her first western film, Diary of a Pioneer Woman, with a famous cowboy movie star.

Actually, that actor made so many passes at her that she’d relished the scripted slaps across his face. He’d earned every one of them, but none of them wiped that self-satisfied smirk off his face. Even after she won awards for Best Actress around the world for that film. At least she had that satisfaction.

Ruby still remembered everything.

She shrugged off the memories and planted her cane on a rock. Though walking stick sounds more elegant. While that wasn’t quite correct, it was certainly more palatable. All because of an ill-timed step from a curb at home in Palm Springs that left her with a sprained ankle.

Really, she was hardly old enough to depend on a cane.

Ariana had insisted that she take it. “At least take a cane to help your balance, Auntie.”

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