Clara stopped one of the helpers. ‘What’s going on?’
‘New arrivals from Austria. Mostly Jews,’ the woman told her. ‘Escaped with nothing but the clothes they’re standing up in. Some of the stories make your hair stand on end.’ She looked Clara up and down. ‘You a journalist or something?’
‘Yes, I am,’ Clara said hastily. ‘I need to speak to Leon Brodsky. Where can I find him?’
‘Oh, Leon’s gone off to the hospital,’ she replied. ‘Poor man collapsed—’
Clara turned and dashed from the hall. She begged a lift from a passing grocery van which dropped her at the hospital gates. Sprinting into the building she asked breathlessly for help.
‘My father,’ she panted, ‘he’s been brought in. Mr Brodsky. I must see him.’ Clara was filled with a sudden terror of Leon’s dying before she could see him again. She had known him for such a short time. Now all her dreams were collapsing about her as panic set in.
‘There’s no Brodsky.’ The woman shook her head.
‘There must be!’
Suddenly a voice called from along the corridor. ‘Clara!’ She spun round to see Leon making towards her. Clara dashed to meet him.
‘Papa!’ she cried, flinging out her arms. ‘I thought you were dying. A woman at the hall said you’d collapsed.’
He seized her, exultant at hearing the endearment. It was the first time Clara had called him that. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ he assured her.
‘Then what is this all about?’ Clara asked, pulling away in bewilderment.
He took her hands. ‘I bring in one of the refugees. He is very very weak. A bit — how you say? — delirious.’ Leon’s eyes were bright with emotion. ‘But the extraordinary thing — he keep saying your name.’
‘My name?’ Clara was baffled. ‘How could he possibly—’
‘No one knows who he is,’ Leon said, steering Clara back along the corridor. ‘He’s not Austrian — possibly German.’
‘I did meet Germans from Hamburg once.’ Clara searched her memory. ‘They stayed with us — Vinnie did business with them.’
Leon glanced at her. ‘I don’t think this is Hamburg businessman. I’d say prisoner.’
He led Clara into a side room where a man was lying in bed. He was skeletal, his cheeks hollow and his eyes sunken into their sockets. His sparse hair was shorn back to his scalp and the arm that lay across the white sheet was emaciated, the long slim fingers huge and knuckled in comparison. She stared.
‘Do you know him?’ Leon asked urgently.
Clara shook her head. The man looked more dead than alive. Even in the depth of the slump around Byfell, she had never seen anyone this dangerously malnourished. Then the refugee turned his head on the pillow and opened his eyes. He took a moment to focus, then fixed them on Clara. She gasped in shock at their blue intensity, and stepped towards the bed, peering closer. She touched his hand tentatively. A flicker of a smile showed on the man’s translucent lips.
She took his hand gently between hers and lifted it to her cheek. ‘Is it really you?’ she whispered in wonder.
He struggled to speak. ‘C-lara,’ he croaked.
Tears flooded her vision. He had come back from the dead. She kissed his hand and let out a sob of joy.
Leon touched her shoulder. ‘Clara, you know this man?’
‘Yes,’ she said. She leaned closer to the man in the bed and softly touched his cheek. ‘Oh, Frank!’
Chapter Forty-Two
Frank was too weak to tell them anything for days. For the first week, Clara stayed with Leon and visited him daily, taking it in turns with Reenie to be with him. Gradually, he grew strong enough to be wheeled out in a chair in the summer sunshine. Oscar and Marta came with home cooking to tempt back his appetite, marvelling at the miracle that had brought one of their beloved sons back to them. They got word to Lillian, who came rushing to see him, quite overwhelmed by his being alive. It was she more than any of them who managed to draw out Frank’s painful story of imprisonment and near execution.
His talent for playing the violin had kept him alive: he was made to entertain the camp staff. He escaped during a thunderstorm that caused a power cut and plunged the camp into chaos. It was thanks to a Lutheran priest, who hid him for several months, that he eventually got across the border into Austria. Penniless and broken in health, Frank thought he would die when the Nazis occupied Austria. But he was rescued by a Jewish family who took him under their wing and got him away on a train to Belgium and then the boat to Blyth.
After Lillian appeared, Clara went back home. Before going, she spoke to Leon about asking Vinnie for Sarah’s release.
‘Are you still willing to come and live with us?’ she asked.
‘Of course.’ Leon was adamant. ‘Why not?’
‘I can see how much you are needed here with the refugees at the moment.’
‘My family comes first.’ Leon smiled. ‘And you, Clara? You are still certain that is what you want? Perhaps your life will now take a different road.’
‘What does that mean?’ Clara asked uncomfortably.
‘You care very much for Frank, I think.’
Clara reddened. ‘I care for all Reenie’s family.’
‘But with Frank it is something more,’ Leon persisted. ‘You are in love with him.’
Clara looked at her father in amazement. Was it so very obvious? There was no use pretending to Leon. She knew she could tell him anything in confidence. ‘I’ve always loved him,’ she admitted. ‘But Frank was engaged to Lillian. She has a greater claim on his love than I have.’
Leon was reflective. ‘Maybe. But it was your name he kept repeating when his mind was confused, not Lillian’s.’
It was another week before Clara mustered the courage to seek out Vinnie at Craven Hall. She went with heart pounding, remembering all the times she had gone there as an excited girl and later as Vinnie’s wife. Now their divorce was proceeding and she was a figure of hate at the boxing hall.
To her relief, the place seemed almost deserted and there was no sign of Clarkie or his henchmen. The first person she ran into was Jimmy. She had not seen her brother all year and it threw him into a state of agitation.
‘What you doing here? You shouldn’t have come. I’ll not speak to you.’
‘I’m looking for Vinnie,’ Clara cut in. ‘How are you, Jimmy?’
He gave her a strange look. ‘He’s not here.’
‘Will he be back soon?’ Clara asked. ‘I can wait.’
‘No,’ Jimmy said in alarm, ‘you can’t. He won’t be in today.’
‘When then?’
Jimmy glanced around nervously. ‘He’s not coming in much. Better see him at The Cedars.’
‘I’m never going back there.’ Clara was adamant. It suddenly struck her how quiet everything was. There was no bustle of people in and out of the training hall, no gang of boys hanging around the entrance or minding the cars. ‘Where’re Clarkie and the others?’
Jimmy’s lip curled. ‘Nicked off,’ he said sourly, just ’cos the money from HQ has dried up. Clarkie and them were just a bunch of scroungers. The BUF’s not about money.’
Clara sighed in frustration. Turning to go, she caught sight of Vinnie’s car through the side window. She swung round.
‘You’re lying, Jimmy,’ she accused him. ‘His car’s parked round the side. Is he in his office?’
‘You can’t gan in,’ Jimmy said at once, trying to block her way. She barged past.
‘This is about Sarah,’ she told him. ‘I want nothing else from him.’
Through the swing doors, Clara hurried to Vinnie’s office and went in without knocking, Jimmy close behind her. The stale smell hit her at once. The room was a mess of half-eaten meals, dirty clothes and bedding strewn over the sofa. Empty whisky bottles lined the desk. A pall of cigar smoke hung over everything. Clara put her hand over her mouth to stop herself gagging.
‘It’s a pigsty,’ she cried. Surely it was not Vin
nie camped out here?
Abruptly a figure lurched up from a chair by the fire. Vinnie, hair awry and clothes dishevelled, squinted at them. He looked ill, his once handsome face bloated and pasty.
‘What y’ want?’ he slurred.
Clara stared at him in incredulity.
‘I said no visitors!’
‘I tried to stop her,’ Jimmy said.
‘I’m not stopping long.’ Clara found her voice.
Vinnie gave a harsh bark of laughter as recognition dawned. ‘It’s me wife, the Bolshie Jewess! Come crawling back, eh? Think I’d have you back in me bed?’
Clara struggled to mask her disgust. ‘Vinnie, I want only one thing from you; to agree to have Sarah released from hospital. I want to take care of her. I shan’t ask you for money to keep her, just to sign her over to me.’
He frowned at her, swaying on his feet. ‘You want what? She’s nowt but a vegetable.’
Clara tensed. ‘That’s not true. She understands more than we ever imagined. I want a second chance to care for her — to love her.’
Vinnie sneered. ‘Should’ve been strangled at birth. Not my daughter. Unnatural. I blame you. Inferior, foreign stock. Polluting our race. Isn’t that right, Jimmy? He hates you and that lying mother of his. Wants nowt to do with you.’
‘Leave Jimmy out of this.’ Clara lost patience. ‘I’ll come back when you’re sober.’
‘Don’t turn your back on me!’ Vinnie growled. ‘Show me respect, damn you!’
‘Respect?’ Clara cried. ‘Look at the way you’re living in this place. Is this what you’ve come to, Vinnie; seducing women on a dirty sofa? Can’t imagine Cissie stooping this low.’
Jimmy let out a gasp. Clara glanced round and saw the look of warning on her brother’s face. But it was too late.
‘Cissie?’ Vinnie shouted, staggering forward. ‘That stuck-up Irish whore! Nicked off back to Ireland with Alastair bloody Bell-Carr! Says England’s ganin’ to the dogs. Think they’re better than everyone else. Think I care? Don’t need ’em.’
‘So she’s gone?’ Clara said without relish.
‘Told her to go,’ Vinnie snarled. ‘Alastair found out about us. Tried to kick me out the party. Bloody cheek! Think the BUF’s their private plaything. They used me,’ he said. Suddenly, his face crumpled with self-pity. ‘Clara, I knew you’d come back. You’re the only one who understands me.’ He swayed in front of her, holding out his arms. ‘I forgive you.’
Clara said, ‘I haven’t come back, Vinnie. I only wanted to talk to you about Sarah.’
At once, Vinnie’s mood turned ugly again. ‘You can’t have her,’ he scowled, ‘not unless you come back to me.’
She stared at him. She was beyond hating him. She felt nothing but contempt. ‘Never, Vinnie,’ she said with vehemence.
‘Then your bairn can rot in the loony bin till it dies,’ Vinnie said savagely. ‘I’ll sign nothing!’
Clara turned in despair, not wanting him to see how much he hurt her. He lurched forward and grabbed her. ‘I haven’t finished! You’re to blame for all this. You ruined it all. I gave you everything — we could have been great. I was meant to be a leader like Mosley. You made a fool out of me!’
She shoved him off. ‘You’re pathetic. I can’t believe I’ve spent so long being afraid of you.’
‘Go to hell!’ Vinnie roared.
She retreated to the door, glancing at Jimmy as she went. He had the look of a bewildered boy, the brother of old who would come to her for comfort. Briefly she put out a hand and touched him. He tensed.
She mouthed, ‘I love you, Jimmy,’ then pushed through the door and left.
Vinnie’s ranting and foul-mouthed swearing pursued her down the corridor. She fled outside, gulping in the salty river air as if it could cleanse her of the rancid hatred that permeated Craven Hall.
Spirits dashed from her futile visit, she wondered where Clarkie and Vinnie’s other bodyguards had gone. Was it a case of the rats deserting the sinking ship? Only her brother, blindly loyal, would probably remain with Vinnie no matter how low he sank. However misguided Jimmy’s loyalty, she had to admire him for that. But as she made her way uphill, she felt crushed by bitter disappointment that her plans to reclaim Sarah had come to nothing.
***
A week later, Frank came home to his parents in Sandyford. It took him an age to climb up and down the stairs from the flat to the shop, but he did it with quiet determination. Paolo observed this new addition to the Lewis household with curiosity. He was incredulous that this gaunt frail man had been a boxer and a violin player. Clara told the boy how Frank had played with a professional band at tea dances and cinema halls. It gave her the idea to write an article about Frank’s experiences in Germany and his miraculous escape as a warning against Fascism. Jellicoe put it on the front page of the Tyne Times where it provoked a flurry of letters to the editor, mostly in support. Jellicoe showed Clara a vitriolic response from Vinnie that was too abusive to publish.
‘I thought Frank used to be one of his boxers?’ the editor said in surprise. ‘I had no idea he hated him so much.’
‘Vinnie hates the world these days,’ Clara replied, tearing up the letter and throwing it in the bin.
From a telephone call to Willa she had learned of the showdown at party headquarters that had ended in Vinnie’s humiliation. Vinnie had expected Cissie to leave her husband for him, but Cissie had denied the whole affair and turned Alastair against her lover. ‘George says Vinnie’s unstable and not the sort of business partner he wants,’ Willa had said. ‘He’s dissolving their partnership.’
Clara had investigated further. The policeman Hobson, now a sergeant, told her that Clarkie and two other ringleaders from Vinnie’s troop had disappeared, rumour had it to Dublin. Clara speculated that they had gone to work for the Bell-Carrs, seeing Vinnie as a spent force. ‘Can’t say I’m sorry,’ Hobson had grunted. ‘There’s less bother around the town since they left.’
A fortnight later, Clara spotted an advertisement that was about to go in the newspaper for a second-hand violin. She begged Jellicoe for an advance of a week’s wages and promptly bought it.
She and Paolo took it round to the Lewises’ one warm July evening and presented it to Frank. Lillian, who was helping Marta wash up, observed them suspiciously across the room. Frank sat with the violin a long time, just looking at it, touching it with shaking fingers.
‘It’s very kind of you,’ he said awkwardly.
‘Play a tune,’ Paolo said impatiently, ‘please! Mam says you’re a canny player.’
Frank’s expression was harrowed. ‘I can’t — I don’t remember how.’
Lillian crossed the room and took the violin. ‘Isn’t this a little bit insensitive?’ she said accusingly, putting a protective hand on Frank’s shoulder. ‘Frank hasn’t played since prison — it’s too painful a reminder. He never wants to play again.’
Clara flushed. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t—’
‘Think?’ Lillian cut in. ‘No, that was always your problem, Clara.’
Paolo looked between the adults in confusion. Quickly, Clara put out a hand to him. ‘Frank needs to rest,’ she told the boy. ‘We’ll come back another day.’
She went, too embarrassed to look at Frank, berating herself for her foolish gesture. It would be better if she stayed away for a while. She was allowing herself to care too much about Frank again. Even seeing him in this diminished state, robbed of his youthful energy and verve, haunted by the horrors of his captivity, Clara still loved him. It was not the quick-fire, obsessive love she had felt for Vinnie, that had flared and died with equal speed. Neither was it the fondness that she had experienced with Benny. Just one glance from Frank’s vivid blue eyes made Clara’s heart ache with longing. Every fibre of him was dear to her, every smile like a shaft of sunlight on her face. He was traumatised by his ordeal, yet beneath she was sure he was still the brave, kind, idealistic, quietly passionate man she had fallen in love with al
l those years ago.
The summer holidays were about to start and Lillian would be around even more; she could not bear to watch the teacher fussing over Frank or the way he looked at Lillian, following her every movement. Perhaps she could take a couple of days off and treat Paolo and Terese to a holiday in Blyth with Leon. Clara immersed herself in work, smothering disappointment at failing to release Sarah and her rekindled love for Frank.
The next time Leon came to stay, Clara made the suggestion about the holiday. Her father was keen. ‘We take day trip over to Morpeth or go to beach,’ he enthused. After tea, he decided to drop in on his friend Oscar. ‘You come to see Frank?’ he asked on his way out.
Clara shook her head. Patience shrugged at Leon as if to say something had happened but she did not know what. Paolo disappeared into the lane to play. Shortly afterwards he came rushing back in, eyes wide in alarm.
‘Police!’ the boy cried. ‘They’re asking for you, Mam.’
Clara got up from writing at the kitchen table and put her arms round Paolo. Her first fear was for the boy. It was still possible he might be taken from her and sent back to Spain. Sergeant Hobson knocked at the open door and entered, a constable following.
Seeing Clara rigid with fright, Patience smiled and ushered him in. ‘Sergeant, there’s a cup still in the pot. Have a seat. What can we do for you?’
He stayed standing, looking at them gravely. ‘I’m afraid we’ve come with bad news.’ He glanced around the room. ‘Your son Jimmy . . . ?’
‘What’s happened to him?’ Patience gasped, her hands flying to her face. Clara moved towards her.
‘We don’t know,’ Sergeant Hobson said. ‘We’re looking for him. Is he here?’
‘No,’ Patience said in bewilderment. ‘We haven’t seen him for months.’
Clara spoke up. ‘I saw him a couple of weeks ago — down at Craven Hall. Tell us what’s happened.’
The policeman seemed momentarily lost for words. ‘Mrs Craven, I’m sorry to report there’s been an incident. Your husband’s been found in the river. Mr Craven’s dead.’
THE TYNESIDE SAGAS: Box set of three dramatic and emotional stories: A Handful of Stars, Chasing the Dream and For Love & Glory Page 43
