by Nancy Carson
‘And I reckon you’re right, Toots…Blimey! Shall I order another bottle of champagne?’ With her napkin she wiped away a tear that had trickled down her cheek and laughed at her own sensitivity. ‘Is there anything else we should celebrate while we’re at it?’
‘We’re just concerned about you, Maxine,’ Stephen said.
‘Well, I’m without a band. Charlie wants to give it all up anyway for Dulcie, who we all adore – and I don’t blame him, because she’s lovely.’
Charlie nodded his agreement and winked at Dulcie.
‘But tell me, Maxine,’ Stephen said, his expression serious, ‘the way the music business works – whether you continue to perform or not, the records you’ve made and the songs you’ve written which other singers record – don’t they continue to earn you money?’
‘Oh, yes. In royalties. For as long as they continue to sell. Right up to the time the copyright runs out.’
‘Which is how long?’
‘Lord knows. Fifty, sixty years?’
‘So you’re made for life, really?’
‘Who knows, Stephen? Maybe I needn’t ever work again. Maybe enough money will accumulate over the years to see me through my dotage.’
‘Then stop worrying about the band.’
‘Actually, we still have commitments.’
‘I’m sure Dulcie’s father will sort everything out, Maxine,’ Pansy said. ‘He thinks the world of you.’
‘He does too,’ Dulcie agreed.
Maxine finished her meal, placed her knife and fork on the plate and saw that all eyes were on her. ‘You know, I get the strangest feeling you’re all ganging up on me.’
‘We’re just interested in your welfare, Maxine,’ Stephen said. ‘You’ve had a raw deal with Brent…And we all know you’re still in love with Howard.’
‘So?’
‘So go to him. You’re free to.’
Maxine picked up her wine goblet and thoughtfully took a sip. ‘I lack the courage, Stephen. What if he’s in love with somebody else by now?’
‘What if he’s not?’
‘What if he hates my guts?’
‘What if he still loves you as much as you love him?’
‘Huh! After not replying to his letters? I doubt it. He’d consider it the ultimate insult.’
‘What letters?’ Pansy queried and looked at Dulcie in amazement. ‘You mean he wrote to you after all?’
‘Heck, I forgot to tell you. Today, after Brent had gone, I started to pack up his clothes and things. I found four letters tucked inside the lining of one of his old suitcases. One for each of the four trips we made.’
‘You mean Brent had hidden them?’
‘Somehow, he’d intercepted them. Oh, he’d read them, of course, and stashed them away. It was only by chance I found them…He always went to the post bureau before I did for his own mail. Sometimes he brought me my mail. I thought he was doing me a favour. And I trusted him!’
Pansy shook her head in sympathy. ‘God! He’s capable of anything, that Brent. And what did the letters say?’
‘Well, even after that awful row we had that prompted me to go on the Queen Mary, he wrote that he loved me…and asked me to marry him. Since I never replied, I don’t suppose he’d be very impressed if I went to him now.’
‘But you must go to him, Maxine,’ Stephen repeated. ‘You’ve got to. He’s most likely languishing, like you. And if you don’t, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.’
Maxine took another sip of wine. ‘What do you think, Eleanor? What would you do?’
Eleanor pushed her plate away and regarded Maxine thoughtfully. ‘I would go to him, Maxine,’ she said softly. ‘It’s almost certain he’ll still be in love with you. Let’s face it, he’ll have had plenty of reminders – every time he turned the wireless on. And if he doesn’t, at least you’ll have satisfied yourself that you tried to make amends. They say there’s going to be a war, Maxine, but that wouldn’t stop me going back to England for my man. As Stephen says, if you don’t try you’ll always regret it. But you could be happy for the rest of your life.’
Maxine sighed. ‘Oh, that’s an enticing prospect, Eleanor…War or not.’
‘Then do it,’ Stephen said. ‘You could sail back to England with us on the Queen Mary on Wednesday. Think of the voyage as a holiday. You’d be back in Dudley the following Tuesday at the latest. You could be in Norfolk the day after.’
‘That would only leave me tomorrow to square things up with John Fielding and settle all my affairs.’
‘God! How much time do you need?’ Dulcie asked. ‘My dad will help you. You know he will.’
‘Dammit, I’ll do it. I’ll make a reservation first thing in the morning. Oh, Stephen, I’m so glad you took the trouble to come to New York. I could kiss you.’
‘But only when I’m with him,’ Eleanor said with humour in her eyes, and everybody laughed.
Chapter 33
Maxine arrived back in Dudley on Tuesday 21st September 1937. Stephen and the real Eleanor were conscientious travelling companions on the Queen Mary and, even when they alighted from the train at Birmingham’s Snow Hill station, he was mindful of his self-imposed responsibility to see Maxine home safe and sound. They shared a taxi and made Oakham Road and Willowcroft the first stop. At the entrance to the drive, Maxine told them she would always be indebted to them for what they had done. Stephen, predictably, got out with her and insisted on carrying her suitcases to the front door. Maxine was never so thankful for his gallantry that she used to hold in such huge contempt.
Whilst on board ship she had found the key to the house that in New York she had not needed. In order to surprise Henzey, she determined to use it. Quietly, she inserted the key in the lock and swung the door open. As if she had just returned home from work she called, ‘Yoo-hoo,’ and was surprised to see a little person in a pale blue romper suit toddle through the kitchen door and stand watching her in the hallway.
‘Aldo!’ She beamed with delight. ‘You’re walking! Have I been gone so long?’ She bent down and threw her arms open to receive the child, thinking he would run to her. ‘Come to Aunty Maxine! Come and give me a big, big hug.’
But the child did not recognise her and turned tail.
She met Henzey, who was coming to see what was going on, at the kitchen door. Absolute joy registered on both their faces and they fell into each other’s arms.
‘Why didn’t you let me know you were coming home?’ Henzey asked when they had complimented each other on how well they looked. ‘I’ve never been so shocked in all my life. How come you’re back? Will’s bound to die of shock when he sees you…Wait till Mother knows you’re back…Does Mother know you’re back?’
Maxine was amused at Henzey’s astonishment. ‘I didn’t know I was coming myself till the day before the ship sailed. There was no time to write or anything. How is everybody? I could murder a decent cup of tea.’
‘Ooh, yes. I’ll put the kettle on.’ Henzey picked up Aldo who had been hiding behind her skirt. ‘Don’t you remember Aunty Maxine?…Oh, course you don’t. You were only eight or nine months old when she left home to make her fortune.’
‘He’s grown!’ Maxine drooled. ‘Here. Let me have him. He’ll soon get use to me again.’
Henzey handed over the child and filled the kettle. ‘Isn’t Brent with you?’
‘He’s still in America, Henzey. We parted…Are you ticklish, Aldo, on that little fat belly?’ The child chuckled as she tickled him and they were instantly friends again.
‘Did you say you’d parted already?’
‘It’s a very, very long story, Henzey. I’ll tell you later. Everything…Has he got any teeth yet? Let’s see how many teeth you’ve got, Aldo…’
Aldo dutifully opened his mouth for her while she inspected his first teeth.
‘So how long are you here for?’ Henzey asked.
‘Till Saturday. I’m going to Norfolk on Saturday. In the meantime, I’ll have to visi
t Mom and Jesse and Alice and the kids. Everybody. Is everybody okay?’
‘Fine.’
‘And how are Herbert and Elizabeth? At least it looks like I’ll be home for their wedding after all.’
‘Which will please them no end. So how was America, Maxine?’
‘America? Oh, Henzey, I love America. You should go. You should sell up and go and live there. Since Roosevelt’s been in office things are picking up fine. Honest, you can’t go wrong. You and Will would do great out there.’
‘He’s not doing so bad here…Did you say you’re going to Norfolk?’
‘I did.’
‘Isn’t that where Howard lives now?’
‘Well blow me! So it is…’
The two girls laughed. They understood each other perfectly. Of course, Maxine had to tell her story to Henzey over that cup of tea, and tell it yet again to her mother when she called round to reclaim her long-lost daughter later that day with Jesse. Then, of course, she had to repeat it to Will when he arrived home.
‘So what’s happened to your singing career?’ Will asked, over dinner.
‘It’s stalled, Will,’ Maxine replied. ‘I don’t have a band anymore. It would be a simple enough matter to form another one, though. New York’s full of brilliant musicians.’
‘So what happened?’
‘The Owls and the Pussycats just fell apart. Two of them couldn’t handle success and the third followed them like a lamb to the slaughter. Pansy and Toots have decided to get married and lead normal lives, the bass player fell in love with a gorgeous American girl called Dulcie who’s my second best friend, and the bigamist I thought I was married to became an alcoholic and a junkie, to add to his impressive list of credentials.’
‘But what happens now? I mean, who is looking after your financial affairs in America?’
‘We have an agent in New York – a business manager really – Dulcie’s dad, and he’s taking care of everything. If it doesn’t pan out with Howard, I have the offer to go back and resume my career.’
‘She’s picked up an American accent,’ Will proclaimed to Henzey.
‘No I haven’t.’
‘Let’s hope she’s long enough away next to pick up a Norfolk accent,’ Henzey said dryly and wiped Aldo’s mucky face with his bib as he sat in his high chair, contentedly plastering himself with food.
Maxine’s return to Dudley sparked off a round of impromptu parties and everybody who knew her, it seemed, came to pay homage and congratulate her on her recent success. It was good to see her folks again. It was wonderful to feel safe and secure, wrapped in the warm protective cloak of a loving family; it was a feeling she had almost forgotten; one she had always taken for granted before.
She renewed her love affair with her cello and spent countless hours playing it, brushing up on her artistry of the instrument. Its rich, mellow sounds, the timeless melodies she enticed out of it, were like a salve. She lost herself in the warm vibrato notes that hung in the air for her with the intensity of lovers’ promises. She did not think of Brent, nor The Owls and the Pussycats, nor New York, nor anything that had associations of anguish. She did not think of Stephen, nor Olive, nor Eleanor, nor even Howard.
Maxine arrived at Foxham, a small town about fifteen miles from Norwich, on the Saturday evening shortly before six. It had been a long train journey and she felt tired. She had not known where she might find a room, but the taxi driver was confident she would find accommodation at a hostelry called the Dog and Gun.
As he off-loaded her suitcase at the hotel, she noticed a commotion outside the local post office. People were fussing round a young man whom they had seated on a chair that had been brought outside specially. She could see his face contorted with pain and he looked as pale as death as he clutched his arm.
‘That poor chap’s hurt,’ Maxine remarked to the taxi driver. ‘I hope it’s nothing serious.’
‘I’ll go over and see if I can help when I’ve seen you sorted out inside, Miss,’ the taxi driver responded.
In the small wood-panelled foyer of the Dog and Gun, Maxine asked for a room. A man who said his name was George told her she was lucky. Visitors from America had taken all but one.
‘May I see it?’ she requested, certain it would never resemble her suite at the Plaza on Fifth and Fifty-ninth.
George took a key from the board behind him and asked her to follow him upstairs. She was right. The room was nothing like the suite at the Plaza but it was clean and well-furnished. It overlooked the Market Place where she could see the final throes of the fuss that was still taking place on the opposite side of the street. The taxi that had delivered her was being used to take away the suffering young man, presumably to the nearest doctor or hospital.
‘The room’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll take it.’
‘Right, Miss,’ George replied, admiring this well-heeled and personable young woman who was travelling unchaperoned. ‘It’s eight and six a night. Do you know how long you’ll be staying?’
‘I wish I knew,’ she responded. ‘Maybe just one night. Maybe a week. I’ll let you know tomorrow.’
‘If I could have a deposit, Miss?’
‘’Course you can…’ She gave him ten shillings.
‘Thank you, Miss. I’ll bring your suitcase up shortly. If you could come down and register afterwards?’
‘I will. Thanks ever so much…D’you think I could have a hot meal in about an hour?’
‘I reckon so, Miss. I’ll check what’s on and tell you when I bring up your suitcase.’
While she waited for her suitcase she peered through the window again. The crowd was dispersing but a large number of people were heading westwards up the street outside and she watched them disappear round the bend as the orange sun dipped slowly behind the church tower to her right. Her heart skipped a beat at the certain knowledge that this was Howard’s church. She felt herself tremble. She must be so physically close to him now; closer than she’d been in more than ten months. She lingered at the window and pondered the good times they’d shared, the tenderness they’d enjoyed, the heartache they’d wrought on each other. If he turned his back on her when he saw her, it would be no more than she deserved. It would be a rightful punishment. And it was half expected.
So this was his world, tranquil now the crowd had scattered, and unashamedly rural. In so small a place everybody must know everybody else, she thought. How utterly different to New York. The setting sun was saturating everything in a dusky red glow and Maxine did not know how long she had been gazing out when she heard a knock on the door. She answered it and George lugged her suitcase into the room.
‘You can have game pie, roast lamb or skate wings,’ he said with a friendly grin.
‘Skate wings?’
‘Fish. A bit fiddly with all them bones, but the flesh is sweet enough. I’d go for the game pie meself with some boiled potatoes and fresh Norfolk peas.’
‘Oh. I think I fancy the lamb, George, if it’s no trouble…With boiled potatoes and peas?’
‘No trouble at all, Miss. Half an hour?’
‘Three quarters. No, make it an hour. I need a bath first and a change of clothes.’
‘Bathroom’s just down the landing to your left, Miss.’
‘Thank you…Can you tell me who the vicar is over at the church these days?’
‘Oh, that’d be Mister Quaintance, Miss. Young feller. Been here less’n a year.’
‘Married, is he?’ She could not help but ask.
‘Not so far as I know, Miss.’
She sighed with relief. ‘So where exactly is the vicarage? Can you see it from here?’
He walked to the window and bid her follow him. As he peered out, he said, ‘See the church tower, Miss? The Fakenham Road runs behind it. Opposite side of the road to the church is a big black wrought iron gate. That’s the gate to the vicarage, Miss.’
‘Can’t you see it from here?’ she queried.
‘’Fraid not, Miss. It’s hid
den by the church.’
‘Oh. Okay…Well thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, Miss. I’ll see as your dinner’s ready for seven-thirty, Miss.’
‘Er…’ Maxine drew his attention again, curious about the Americans staying in the hotel. Having spent so much time in America, it was only natural to wonder. ‘Your American visitors…Isn’t it unusual to have Americans staying here?’
‘No, not here, Miss. It’s a sort of annual pilgrimage.’
‘Oh, how come?’
‘Folk from Foxham in Connecticut,’ he said.
‘Foxham in Connecticut?’ she repeated typically.
‘Yes. You see, Miss, sometime in the seventeenth century a lot of folk left this village to make a life in the New World. They founded a settlement there called Fish Bay because it was so rich in fish. But later changed the name to Foxham after their home town here in Norfolk. Well, every year we get some of their descendants coming back. They’re very proud of their ancestors – very proud of their roots – and we’re proud to welcome them back with a few celebrations and special functions.’
‘But how nice to maintain such contact,’ Maxine commented.
‘Well it’s not unique in Norfolk, Miss,’ George said. ‘Over in Hingham they do something similar, except their visitors tend to come over in August. Ours come for harvest time.’
‘So when did they arrive?’
‘Some arrived Tuesday evening. Some went to London first and came here later. They all sailed over on the Queen Mary, they tell me.’
Maxine marvelled at the coincidence but said nothing. They must have been on the same sailing as her.
‘And are they all staying here at the Dog and Gun?’
‘Only a few. Local families put up others – those they’ve got to know over the years or those they’re related to. It’s getting to be quite a tradition to visit us here. Today there’s been a bit of fun for the kids at Tom Wendell’s field up the road, and tonight there’s a concert over at St James’s. Tomorrow there’s a harvest fair all day with stalls in the churchyard and Harvest Festival service at Evensong. It’ll all keep the young reverend busy, I daresay.’
