As I lowered myself into the pool I was conscious of a small, wiry dark-haired man sitting with his legs dangling into the water and watching me with interest. Of course then I was horribly self-conscious of my lack of swimming ability. I did a dignified breaststroke up and down the pool, then when I stopped the small man slid into the water beside me. He had an interesting face with dark, alert eyes. Not exactly handsome but there was something about him—a confidence, maybe, in spite of his small stature. He swam over to me with easy strokes.

“You want to watch what you say to Barbara,” he said, “if you don’t want it splashed across the front pages of every newspaper in Hollywood.” He grinned at my surprise. “She’s our leading gossip columnist, sweetie. She prowls these places like a shark.”

“Crikey,” I said.

The man burst into laughter. “Now that’s a word I haven’t heard in many years.”

I noticed then that he had a trace of English accent in his American-sounding speech.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know I should sound more sophisticated but words like that just slip out, especially when I’m nervous.”

“You shouldn’t be nervous around me. I’m a real friendly sort of guy,” he said. “And do you know you have lovely long legs. I adore women with long legs.” And to my amazement he ran a finger gently up my left thigh.

“I think I should go and see how my mother is getting along,” I said, making for the steps.

“I’ll see you around then, you sweet creature. Someone completely unspoiled—now that’s a rarity for Hollywood. What a challenge.”

As I got out of the pool, my face rather red, I suspect, I met Barbara Kindell coming back from her telephone call. She beckoned me over to her. “Watch out for that one, honey,” she said. “He eats little girls like you for breakfast.”

“Who is he?” I asked.

She threw back her head and laughed. “You don’t recognize him, sweetie? He’s Charlie Chaplin.”

I looked back and saw that the little man was now sitting on the side of the pool again, looking at me with amusement in his eyes. He looked nothing like the comic figure I had seen on the screen.

I was about to make for our bungalow when I saw a sight that stopped me dead in my tracks. A large person in yards and yards of a red and white frilly bathing suit was coming toward me. On her head was a red flowery bathing cap. She looked like a buoy floating off the coast and it took me a second to recognize her.

“Queenie!” I stammered. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“Going for a swim, miss. That pool don’t half look good.”