As if by Magic

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  ‘But, George, how did you come to be in such dire straits?’ asked Mr Lassiter wonderingly. ‘Sit down.’ He turned the command into a request. ‘Please?’

  George hesitantly sat down again. ‘I think I’d better tell you the story of the legacy,’ he said. He did so, as briefly as he could. ‘But who this Rosemary Belmont is, I don’t know,’ he finished.

  His grandfather looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Rosemary?’ he said quietly. ‘Rosemary. I knew she’d married again but I’d forgotten her husband’s name. She must be the woman I knew as Rosemary Vernon. She . . .’ He broke off, looking at George. ‘I’m sorry, my boy. I don’t know quite how to break this to you. You see . . .’ He hesitated once more then, gathering himself, spoke in a rush. ‘Rosemary was your mother.’

  There was dead silence. George sat bolt upright, his hands clenched. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘No, she wasn’t. My mother wasn’t called Rosemary. She was Susan. Susan Harrison. You’re wrong, sir. You must be wrong.’

  ‘I’m not,’ said Mr Lassiter quietly. ‘I’m sorry if this is a shock to you, George, but Rosemary Vernon was your mother.’

  George looked at him in bewilderment. ‘But how can she be, sir?’ he protested. ‘I know who my mother was.’

  Mr Lassiter put down his glass. ‘I’m sorry, George. Your father should have told you.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s obvious that he didn’t. All I can say in mitigation is that he was hurt. Badly hurt.’ He sighed. ‘Rosemary Vernon was your mother and the reason why you lived here.’ His eyes became distant. ‘Your father was a stubborn boy. Mary – your grandmother – always said that he took after me.’ He blinked rapidly. ‘Maybe he did. Poor Charles. I wish I could have seen him again. It’s too late now.’

  George gazed at him in complete disbelief. ‘Can you explain, sir?’ he said at last.

  There was a long pause, then Mr Lassiter shook himself. ‘Charles married Rosemary Vernon against my wishes. I don’t wish to speak ill of your mother, George, particularly as she is dead, but I considered her to be flighty and spoiled and the very last person who Charles should have married.’ He looked at George apologetically. ‘I have to tell you the truth as I see it, otherwise you’ll never understand.’

  George sat back in his chair. ‘I think you’d better.’ He glanced at Jack. ‘I didn’t know what to expect, but certainly nothing like this.’

  Mr Lassiter turned to Anne. ‘Would you get drinks for us, my dear? I think we could all do with something.’

  Both George and Jack accepted a whisky and soda gratefully. ‘As I say,’ continued old Mr Lassiter, ‘I never thought Rosemary was the right wife for Charles.’ He picked up his glass and grimaced. ‘It gave me no pleasure at all to be proved right. She was an actress and Charles was dazzled by her. They very quickly grew apart. Rosemary wasn’t interested in making a home for Charles and it was in an attempt to bring them together that Mary and I suggested they live here until you were born, at least. The idea was to take the cares of running a household off her shoulders so she could concentrate on you, but Rosemary was never cut out to be a mother. She was fond of you, don’t think she wasn’t, but she couldn’t cope with responsibility. She left Charles when you were a few months old and went abroad.’ He looked away. ‘She went to Paris with Belmont. He was far more her type. He was an artist, a successful one, I believe.’ He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘She wasn’t a conventional woman, George. Much to Charles’s distress, she lived an openly scandalous life with Belmont until the divorce was granted. She married him after that.’ He looked at his grandson with worried eyes. ‘I’m sorry I had to be the one to break such unpalatable news.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, sir,’ said George. ‘It’s just – well, it’s a bit of a shock, you know?’ He paused, then shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t suppose there’s much I can say.’

  ‘She obviously never forgot you, George,’ said Anne, gently. ‘I don’t suppose it’s much consolation, but she left you all her money.’

  He looked at her bleakly. ‘I don’t think that’s very important. Not now.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I wish I’d known. My father should have told me.’

  ‘He probably wanted to put it behind him,’ said Anne. ‘We’ve never talked about it but I know David – David’s my father-in-law – still finds it difficult. We were in the Tate a few months ago and some of Jerome Belmont’s paintings were there. I knew something was wrong and asked what the matter was. David looked at the paintings and said, “I don’t know much about art but I know about the devil who painted these. He’s the swine who ran off with my brother’s wife.” He wouldn’t tell me much more. I gathered it was a painful subject still.’ She glanced at Jack. ‘You’ve heard of Jerome Belmont, haven’t you?’

  ‘Jerome Belmont? Yes, of course I’ve heard of him, but the name didn’t ring a bell when George told me about his legacy, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I imagine the money came from Belmont’s paintings,’ said Mr Lassiter. ‘Rosemary certainly never had any of her own.’

  ‘I wonder what happened to it?’ asked Anne. ‘You say it was claimed from South Africa, George? There must be some mistake. I’m sure the solicitors will be able to sort it out.’

  ‘They weren’t very helpful when I saw them before.’

  ‘Yes, but things are different now. I mean, you know who Rosemary Belmont was now, and where you fit in and so on. There must be a mistake.’

  Mr Lassiter looked grave. ‘If there has been a mistake it might be more difficult to put right than you imagine, Anne. In my experience lawyers are very reluctant to admit an error.’

  ‘Excuse me for asking, sir,’ said Jack, ‘but one way George can put the matter right is to prove who he is. I don’t suppose you’ve got George’s birth certificate, have you?’

  ‘His birth certificate?’ Mr Lassiter looked surprised. ‘I imagine it’s in the desk in the library with all the other family papers. If you think it will help, George, I can look it out for you but even then, I’m afraid it may be some time before you see the money.’ He looked at his grandson. ‘Rosemary did have feelings for you. You mustn’t think otherwise. She did write once, many years ago, I remember, wanting to know where you were. I forwarded the letter on to Charles but I don’t know what happened afterwards.’

  ‘He must have answered her, Grandfather,’ said Anne. ‘That must have been where she got George’s old address from.’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ agreed Mr Lassiter. He took a deep breath. ‘My word, I haven’t thought of either her or Belmont for years. I’d forgotten his name until you mentioned it just now.’ He sipped his drink thoughtfully. ‘I had no idea David still resented what happened but he was very close to Charles. It all seems so long ago, now. You must remember how different things were before the war,’ he added reflectively. ‘We hushed things up a great deal more but that wouldn’t do for Charles. He was determined to get a divorce. I was horrified. I don’t approve of divorce now but then it was unthinkable. Charles and I quarrelled and I said a great many things which I now regret. After the divorce was granted, Charles went to South Africa. You were here anyway, so he left you with us. When your grandmother died I wrote to him but all I got in reply was a brief note.’ He looked at his grandson with an oddly hungry expression. ‘Did he tell you much about us?’

  George met his eyes, then looked away. ‘He never mentioned you. I honestly believed I had no relations at all.’ He spoke as gently as he could but his grandfather sagged and looked suddenly much older.

  ‘He was always stubborn,’ he said quietly. ‘So terribly stubborn.’

  George moved uneasily. ‘Where did my mother – I suppose I should call her my stepmother, really – come into it?’

  ‘Charles met her in the Cape. I got a short letter from him to say that he’d married again. Now that he had a home to offer you he wanted you back, so we sent you out to him in the care of your nurse. I believe she stayed with you in South Africa.’

  ‘I certainly had an English
nurse,’ agreed George. ‘I liked her a lot.’

  ‘Your grandmother picked her. She was heartbroken when you left. She missed you terribly.’

  George sat back in his chair and let his breath out in a long sigh. ‘I’m stunned,’ he said eventually. ‘Everything I believed about myself has been turned upside down. My mother wasn’t my mother and I’ve got a family I never knew about.’ He shook himself. ‘I can’t tell you how strongly I felt drawn to this house. I wish I’d known why.’ He looked apologetically at Jack. ‘It would have saved you a lot of trouble, old man.’ He glanced at Anne. ‘After I’d found the house again we looked you up in a street directory. I saw there was a David and a Nigel Lassiter. You said David was my father’s brother. Are you married to Nigel?’

  Anne looked surprised. ‘No, Nigel’s a lot older than I am. He’s my uncle-in-law, I suppose, if I can call him that.’

  George looked puzzled. ‘Well . . . Excuse my asking, but who’s in the family?’

  ‘I had three sons,’ said Mr Lassiter. ‘The eldest was Charles, your father. He never took any interest in the family firm.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘We argued about that, too.’ Anne laid a hand on his shoulder and he looked at her gratefully. ‘My other two sons,’ he continued in a stronger voice, ‘are still very much with us. There’s David. You’ll like David. He’s your uncle, of course.’ He said the name with infectious warmth. ‘He looked up to your father. They used to argue all the time, but it never stopped them being friends. David could never understand why your father wanted to strike out on his own. He’s as committed to the firm as I am. I should have retired years ago but I could never bring myself to take the plunge.’ He smiled. ‘It’s lucky I’m here. I’m usually at the works but I’m recovering from a nasty cold. David’s taking over the reins. I rely on him tremendously.’

  ‘And your other son, sir?’ asked George. ‘Is that Nigel? He’ll be my uncle, too, I suppose.’

  Mr Lassiter raised an eyebrow. ‘So he will. It’s hard to think of him in that role. Nigel.’ Jack heard the chill in the old man’s voice as he said the name. ‘Don’t expect any great show of affection from Nigel, George. It’s not that there’s anything wrong, mind, but he can seem a bit cold at times.’

  ‘The thing about Nigel,’ put in Anne, ‘is that he’s either a genius or the next best thing to it. He’s completely absorbed in his work.’ She smiled at George’s expression. ‘I’m sorry. You look a bit worried and I’m not surprised. I’m just saying that he probably won’t throw his hat in the air at the sight of you.’

  ‘Well, why should he?’ said George. He looked at Anne. ‘What about the rest of the family? You said David was your father-in-law. That means I’ve got a cousin, doesn’t it? Your husband, I mean.’

  Jack felt genuine sympathy for his friend. It was an innocent enough question but the silence which followed was nearly tangible. George flushed. ‘I’m sorry. Have I said something I shouldn’t? I didn’t mean to put my foot in it.’

  ‘You haven’t,’ said Anne quickly. ‘Really, you haven’t. It’s just having to spell everything out is a bit stark. My husband died, you see.’

  George shifted uneasily. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Yes. There was an accident. It’s two years ago now. David was heartbroken.’ As you were, thought Jack, watching her consciously bright eyes. She sat very straight in the chair. ‘David’s wife died years ago and his other two boys had been killed in the war, you see, so Tom was all he had. It was tragic. Awkward, too,’ she added, to Jack’s surprise. He felt very sorry for Anne, and David, too, come to that. He had an idea he’d heard of David Lassiter before. Where? He dismissed the notion, more interested in Anne’s choice of words. Tragic? It was certainly tragic, but why was it awkward? He might have asked why, but Anne continued speaking, obviously concerned to put George at his ease. ‘After Tom died, Grandfather asked me to come and live here.’

  ‘It was very kind of you to accept, my dear,’ said old Mr Lassiter.

  She smiled briefly at him. ‘I’d rather be here than on my own.’ She looked at Jack and George. ‘David feels much the same. Nigel lives here, too.’

  Mr Lassiter leaned forward. ‘George,’ he said, ‘tell me about yourself.’ He was another one who had suffered, thought Jack. Poor devil. Old Mr Lassiter seemed so outwardly prosperous that most men of his age would envy him, yet behind the facade lay a pretty rocky past. He knew how oddly sensitive George could be and it looked as if he’d inherited that trait from his grandfather. ‘You said you sold the farm. What did you do after that?’

  ‘All sorts of things,’ said George, clearly relieved by the change of subject from Anne’s husband. ‘I worked on the railways and led parties big-game hunting and did a stint at the diamond fields. What I enjoyed most, though, was my seaplane.’

  ‘Your seaplane?’ echoed his grandfather.

  George blinked at his grandfather’s surprise. ‘Yes, I had a seaplane, a Short 184, on Lake Nyasa with a couple of pals. We set up an air service around the lake.’

  ‘Bless my soul. What did you do in the war?’

  ‘I was in the RFC with Major Haldean here.’

  Mr Lassiter laughed. ‘The Flying Corps? It must be in the blood.’ His smile broadened at George’s expression. ‘That’s the firm, the family firm. The Lassiter Aircraft Company.’

  ‘What?’ George leaned forward excitedly. Perhaps, thought Jack, he was relieved to find a topic that didn’t seem to lacerate anyone’s feelings. ‘You mean you made the LE4c?’ He glanced up to the oil painting above the fireplace. ‘I wondered why you had a painting of one. It was a lovely machine.’

  ‘It was a shame about the LE4c,’ said Mr Lassiter, shaking his head. ‘We were all ready to start full production when the war ended and the contracts were cancelled. It was a bad time for us. We weathered it, but it was touch and go at one time. Fortunately Nigel managed to win a seaplane contract with the Sprite but it was a close-run thing.’

  ‘You’re developing another flying-boat aren’t you, sir?’ asked Jack, his memory stirred by the mention of the Sprite. ‘I saw a picture of it in Modern Flight. It said it was going to be one of the largest aircraft in the world.’

  ‘The Pegasus,’ said Mr Lassiter with a wry note in his voice. ‘It’s supposed to be the biggest aircraft ever made. It’s Nigel’s design. I sometimes wonder if he’s bitten off more than he can chew.’

  ‘He lives and breathes for his flying-boat,’ put in Anne.

  Mr Lassiter leaned back in his chair. ‘I can’t get over you being a pilot, George. We’ll have to get you involved in the firm. Obviously you’re going to see the solicitors again but it’ll take some time to get the matter cleared up. I think the best thing would be to find you a temporary position until we see where your talents lie. Perhaps the best introduction to the firm would be some sort of secretarial role.’

  Anne looked startled. ‘You wouldn’t replace Michael Walsh, would you, Grandfather?’

  ‘Good Lord, no.’ Mr Lassiter looked at George. ‘Michael Walsh is my secretary,’ he said in explanation. ‘He’s a very competent man.’ He sucked his cheeks in. ‘Nigel’s the one who really needs help. He works far too hard and the only assistance he’s got is that precious clerk of his, Miss Aldryn.’

  ‘She suits Nigel, though,’ said Anne. ‘What about David? I’m sure he could find work for George without any trouble.’ She looked reassuringly at George. ‘Being a pilot gives you a huge advantage. You’ll be able to pick up everything else you need to know easily enough.’

  Mr Lassiter looked at George. ‘Are you interested?’

  ‘Well, of course I am,’ began George awkwardly. ‘The only thing is, I’ve never done an office job before. I don’t know what David – my Uncle David, I suppose I should call him – will think about it.’

  ‘Naturally we’ll have to ask him, but he’ll be glad of your help. You’ll see.’

  George thought for a moment. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said. He sm
iled rather shyly. ‘Besides, I want to get to know the family. When can I start?’

  ‘At once, if you like. The works are on the river near Tilbury.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, George,’ said Jack quickly. ‘You’re still convalescing. After all, it’s not so long ago the doctor was convinced you were on the way out. It’ll be a while before you’re fit to do any sort of work.’

  George looked disappointed. ‘I suppose you’re right. It’s a shame, though. I was looking forward to meeting the family.’

  ‘That can easily be arranged,’ said his grandfather. ‘I’m sorry, George. I should have remembered how ill you’d been. I shouldn’t have mentioned work at this stage. You get better, my boy. We’ll talk about work afterwards. However, when you’re feeling up to it you must come down to the factory, and both you and Major Haldean must stay for dinner this evening.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, sir,’ said Jack, answering for both of them. ‘Are you feeling up to it, George? You’re looking a bit washed out.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ said George stubbornly.

  ‘Perhaps you can have a rest beforehand,’ suggested his grandfather. He looked at the clock. ‘Let me see. It’s nearly five o’clock now. David will be in about six, I imagine. Heaven knows when Nigel will arrive.’ He stopped as Corby, the butler, entered the room. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Mrs Culverton is here, sir, with an Inspector Rackham from Scotland Yard.’

  Jack started. Bill? What on earth was Bill doing here?

  Anne Lassiter looked at Corby in surprise. ‘A police inspector?’ she repeated. She shook her head. ‘You’d better show them in.’ She turned to Mr Lassiter. ‘That’s all right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course, my dear.’ He stood up. ‘This sounds serious.’

  Anne turned to George and Jack as Corby left. ‘I don’t know what this is about. Peggy Culverton is one of my closest friends. She’s highly respectable. I can’t think why she’d have a policeman in tow.’