Under a Pole Star: Richard & Judy Book Club 2017 - the most unforgettable love story of the year

by Stef Penney

  .

  On his first survey, four years earlier, when he had arrived, wide-eyed and relatively innocent, in Wyoming Territory, he had been squeamish about paying for sex. Now it no longer bothered him. For a start, the choice was stark: you either paid or went without. The word ‘whore’, which once had shocked and scared him, ceased to be a deterrent when he found that almost every woman he saw in the mining towns was in some way for sale, and also that they were not, as he had been brought up to believe, a race apart, but ordinary people wresting a living out of difficult circumstances. Once you realised that, and talked to them in the way you might talk to any woman you met in polite society . . . well, Jakob could see no reason why (taking precautions, of course) both should not have a perfectly good time. It had also occurred to him before now – as it has occurred to men the world over – that a woman’s company is never to be had for free, no matter what their background or morals. You could not marry without income and expectations. If you wanted a woman, you had to provide for her, whether it was for an hour or for a lifetime. Sometimes it seemed to him that Cora Gertler was the only woman who had truly expected nothing of him in return.

  .

  When Kate came into the bar the next evening, she could see from his face that something had changed.

  ‘What’s up? Look like you got the toothache.’

  ‘Nothing.’ He tried to clamber on to his dignity. ‘My leg’s bad today, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m sorry. So it’s not that you were jealous about last night? I saw your face.’ She grimaced. ‘He was a pig.’

  ‘Oh, no . . .’ He shrugged valiantly. ‘Why would I be jealous?’

  Kate leant forward. He was aware of the smell of sherry on her breath, and a sweet, heavy perfume on her skin.

  ‘I’d be jealous if I saw you talking with one of the other girls. You know I work for Mrs Hensley; I don’t get to do the picking. If I did’ – she spoke even more quietly – ‘I’d pick you.’

  In front of him, only inches from where his hand was resting on the table, her bosom swelled out of a tight bodice of dark material. It moved with her breath. He fought a sharp tussle with his better judgement.

  ‘Come upstairs with me.’

  ‘Jake, I’m working.’ She said it gently, but firmly.

  ‘I know.’

  .

  They went to his room and, as he sat on the bed with his leg stuck out in front of him, she undressed, smiling, fulfilling all the promises his imagination had made him. He apologised for the difficulty in pulling his pant leg over the cast on his foot, so they left it, giggling. She seemed to him entirely lovely, with no trace of artificiality. He wondered, briefly, whether she made every man believe she really wanted to be with him.

  Afterwards, she lay beside him, breathless.

  ‘My,’ she said. ‘Quite the ladies’ man, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, no, not really,’ Jakob protested, delighted.

  ‘Well, it’s not the first time you’ve done that.’ She pushed herself up on to her elbow – a lithe, glowing odalisque – and kissed him. ‘Promise me you won’t go with any of the other girls. They don’t deserve you.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I won’t. I mean, I don’t want to.’

  ‘You’re nice, Mr Jake de Beyn. I would go with you for nothing, but I have to account for my time.’ She traced a finger down his chest.

  ‘I know. It’s all right.’ Jakob, calculating, was already writing off his fee for the last few months.

  ‘I could see you sometimes in my time off, if you’d like. I have Wednesday and Sunday afternoons.’

  Jakob was touched. ‘Really? Well, that doesn’t seem fair. What if . . . we could do half and half?’

  .

  On their third Sunday, an early snowfall beat against the window of her room. A fire popped in the grate, a bowl of artificial flowers sat on her dressing table, the curtains were red velvet. Kate looked out at the darkening sky.

  ‘Last year, the railroad closed mid-November. You never know when it’s going to hit.’

  Jakob was silent. Kate got up and poked the fire, sending sparks up the chimney. Lying in her bed, he contemplated the domesticity of the scene, which seemed less tawdry than in daylight, and was struck by how much he didn’t want to leave.

  ‘I wish you could stop all this!’ He spoke with unaccustomed violence. Kate sat on the bed and took his hand with an amused smile.

  ‘What would I do instead? Dig for gold in the hills?’

  ‘I could help.’

  ‘Oh? How?’

  Jakob was surprised by what he said next. ‘You could come with me, to New York.’

  She raised arched eyebrows.

  ‘Are you asking me to marry you, Jake? You wouldn’t be the first.’

  He was shocked by this revelation. And tongue-tied. He was twenty-five, but still thought of marriage as something beyond the horizon. It was for people who got up at the same time every morning to go to work in the same place, saw the same things, the same faces, day after day. After a couple of seconds, the silence had become awkward.

  She smiled, and said, quite gently, ‘I didn’t think so.’

  Jakob didn’t want to be a heel as well as unoriginal. ‘No, wait,’ he stammered, his heart bounding in his chest. ‘We could marry – why not? Marry me, Kate. I mean it.’

  He seized her hands, light-headed and reckless and excited by the feeling. He was always so circumspect – why not do something different, for once? Kate was laughing.

  ‘Why not? Well, I still have a husband, as far as I know. But, also . . .’ She grew serious. ‘I don’t know that I will ever marry again. Men are different from women; before they have you, they are sweet, but once they own you, they treat you like dirt. My husband didn’t hit me until I married him.’

  ‘I don’t want to own you, Kate. I want to make you happy.’

  She smiled, a little sadly.

  ‘I believe you. I don’t need saving, Jake.’

  ‘That’s not . . . I love you.’

  He had not said this to anyone since Cora Gertler. As he said it, he had a strange, hollow feeling in his chest: he fancied that he could feel it becoming true.

  Kate sighed and put her hand against his cheek. ‘Dear Jake . . . You are young.’

  Jakob swallowed. This was not, he felt, how a marriage proposal should go.

  ‘I’m twenty-five. You don’t have to patronise me.’

  ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I like you very much, but I know that men say things sometimes in bed . . . things they don’t mean when they’re dressed.’

  ‘I’m not like those men,’ he said hotly, wondering, as he said it, how exactly he was different.

  ‘Besides, I don’t think we would suit each other.’

  Jakob was hurt. He wished he had never begun this, but now that he had, he felt bound to continue, or else appear idiotic.

  ‘I know we haven’t known each other long, but . . . we get on so well. Not just here, but talking, and—’

  ‘Jake, have you forgotten I’m a whore? This is my job. I’m not honest.’

  With huge reluctance, he said, ‘What do you mean?’

  Kate looked down. ‘Well, do you really want a wife who doesn’t like to make love?’

  Jakob was so surprised, he laughed. ‘But you do . . . I mean . . .’

  Kate looked at him. ‘I pretend, Jake. That’s what I do. Some men don’t care . . . But with someone nice, and especially with you . . .’ Seeing the look on his face, she dropped her eyes. ‘I like being with you, and you try so hard to please, so I pretend. I want you to be happy. But . . .’ She shrugged. ‘When I retire, I look forward to sleeping alone.’

  Jakob, naked except for his pants tangled around the cast, wondered how to get up and leave without being completely absurd. He must have lo
oked so woebegone that Kate said, over and again, that she was sorry. It wasn’t his fault, it was hers; and it wasn’t that she hated it, it was just, well, nothing to shout about. Such a silly business . . . But the damage was done. When she tried to kiss him, he pushed her away, his throat ominously tight. He dressed in silence, feeling as miserable as he had ever felt in his life. As miserable as when Cora announced she and her husband were moving to St Louis, and he had burst into tears. He knew, even as he pulled on his sock and found his errant crutch under the bed (how odiously long it took to get dressed when you had been told such a thing!), that it was his vanity that suffered, as much as his heart, but that wasn’t any comfort.

  He left without speaking and limped back to his hotel. It was only across the street, but he managed to soak both feet in the slurry of snow and horse shit. He bought a pint of whiskey from the bartender, took it to his room and drank until he could barely stand.

  .

  He didn’t see her again. When he was sober, he still couldn’t bear to contemplate what she thought of him. To recall their conversation made him cringe; he was vain, egotistical, ridiculous. Since the age of eighteen, under Cora’s tutelage, he had prided himself on his skill as a lover. Now that pride was bile in his throat. If Kate had fooled him, did that mean other women had fooled him also? Even Cora – was it possible? He felt his gorge rise, but after eating nothing for two days, retching over the washbowl produced only strings of gluey saliva. He imagined Kate relaying their words to her whore friends, their derisive laughter. In a temper, he began to pack his belongings, stamping round his room, which had become vile to him. His ankle hurt and he dropped the salts of silver – her fault, of course!

  That day, he received a letter from Kate, poorly written and badly spelled, saying she missed him and begging him to pay her a visit. Although the note had the flavour of honesty, he didn’t respond. Her illiteracy did more to put him off than her profession ever had. Instead of going to see her, he told himself to pull himself together, took up his bags and left Montana on crutches, nursing his wounds. Two days later, blizzards closed the railroad for the winter.

  Four months on, his ankle is almost as good as new, but his heart and ego are still bruised and tender. He is tormented by his inability to judge whether Kate had played him for a sucker all along – whether everything she said and appeared to feel was an act. He was really attached, and was sure that, in some way, she felt the same.

  Whatever the truth was, it no longer matters – he is in New York; she was only a whore – it was foolish and naïve to become attached. He attributes his feelings to a kind of cabin fever: a sentimental malady brought on by boredom and altitude. He resolves to be more circumspect. The prospect of a long and arduous expedition, to a place where surely no woman can entangle him, is a seductive relief.

  Chapter 10

  New York, 40˚42’N, 74˚00’W

  March 1891

  A few days after the lunch with Frank, Jakob receives a letter. He tears it open; the letter offers him the post of geologist on the United States North-West Greenland and Ellesmere Expedition. Feeling better than he has for weeks, he dashes off his acceptance.

  He tells Bettina, his sister-in-law, that he won’t be cluttering up her house for much longer. She is horrified to hear that he is going so far away.

  ‘Why? Where are you going?’ asks Vera, his niece, now six years old.

  ‘I have a job, and to do it, I’m going very, very far north, where there is snow all year round.’

  ‘Will you make a snowman?’

  ‘I expect so. A big one. I tell you what, I will make a snow Vera and take a photograph of it, just for you.’

  ‘Yes!’ Vera claps her hands.

  ‘And you will be gone for two whole years! Do you know how we worry about you when you go off to God knows where?’ Bettina says.

  ‘Really? When I am away, I never think about any of you at all.’

  ‘Ach, you are a terrible man. Vera, your uncle is a terrible man.’

  Vera giggles and climbs on Jakob’s lap. The heavy metal caliper bangs his kneecap painfully.

  ‘She’s right. Listen to your mother.’

  ‘Hendrik lies awake at night. He still thinks you can’t look after yourself.’

  Jakob smiles and jiggles his niece. His brother gives no outward sign that he worries about anything other than the price of beef. He has worked hard at building up his business, and now supplies meat to a number of restaurants. He has become substantial round the middle and looks like the steady, respectable paterfamilias he is. He and Bettina have two children, Vera and three-year-old Willem, as well as Carl, the son from Bettina’s first marriage, who is apprenticed in the business. But there is always room in their house for Jakob. They live in a four-storey brownstone now, in a quiet part of Brooklyn. They keep a room on the top floor that they refer to, even when he isn’t there, as ‘Jakob’s room’. Jakob takes this entirely for granted.

  ‘He should know better by now. I’m not the one crossing dangerous streets and surrounded by sharp knives . . .’

  Bettina shoots a warning glance towards her daughter, who is agog.

  ‘Where are dangerous streets?’

  ‘Nowhere. Uncle Jakob is joking. Isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. And now, since I have a job, I’m going to buy some new clothes. Your uncle feels like a bum. Frank Urbino has invited me to lunch on Sunday.’

  ‘What’s a bum?’

  ‘A bum is a man who sleeps outside. He has nowhere to wash.’

  Vera pulls a face and shrieks with laughter.

  ‘Be quiet, Vera. That will be nice, to see your friends again.’ Bettina gives him a meaningful smile. She makes no secret of her desire for Jakob to meet a nice girl and settle down, preferably nearby.

  ‘Yes,’ he says, wondering if it will be.

  When Sunday comes, Jakob knocks on the Urbinos’ front door, experiencing an unaccountable nervousness. He is wearing his new coat, which makes him feel uncomfortably formal. But Frank opens the door and smiles with such genuine pleasure that Jakob has a lump in his throat as they shake hands. Frank seems unnaturally excited, as if he is nervous too.

  ‘Come on through.’

  Frank leads Jakob into the dining room, where he sees Anna and Clara. Angela and Johnny are not present, but there are two more young women, unknown to him, one dark and one fair, both standing with hands folded neatly in front of them.

  ‘Let me introduce someone very important. Marion Rutherford, my fiancée. Marion – my best friend from City College, Jake de Beyn.’

  Frank beams with pride as he presents the fair-haired girl. Jakob professes his delight, proffers congratulations and says how lucky Frank is. She thanks him and says she has heard a lot about him. Neither could possibly have said anything else. Jakob is astonished by the powerful antipathy he feels towards her, but cannot say from what it springs.

  He greets Clara and Anna with real pleasure, and is inundated with questions about his trip. He thinks Anna seems better than the last time he saw her, when she had barely spoken. Frank had not said as much, but he suspected there had been some sort of breakdown. Clara is everything he remembers – polished and confident – her face perhaps a shade more defined by art than formerly. The other woman is a friend of Clara’s from the store where she works – Lucille Becker. She has a dark-complexioned, humorous face and a monkey-like grin, and her lack of obvious attractions makes him feel at ease.

  By contrast, Marion Rutherford is a small, pale girl with a neat figure. She is undoubtedly pretty, but the more they talk, the more Jakob is puzzled by Frank’s evident adoration. He grew up with lively, intelligent sisters; it would not have been surprising if he had chosen a girl who in some way resembled them. But Marion seems their polar opposite, not only in looks, but in her passivity – a dampening lack of spirit. She seems deficient in some vital energ
y; more than that, she seems to drain it from those around her; Jakob feels himself becoming dulled in her presence. When he asks her questions, she replies in lengthy, complex sentences. She constantly glances towards Frank with a satisfied, expectant air, and Frank, ever alert for the turn of her head, smiles at her proudly. Jakob finds himself wondering if she has any passion; it is difficult to imagine. He could always be wrong (what does he know about women, after all?) or perhaps Frank, who has lived an unusually ascetic existence in many ways, finds that very insipidity reassuring. Whichever it is, something about her depresses him.

  He slips out the garden for a cigarette, and finds Clara and her friend already there. It is a relief to be outside. Clara gives him a searching look as he joins them.

  ‘So what do you think?’

  ‘What do I think about what?’

  ‘Oh, come on . . . The intended.’

  ‘I’ve only just met her. I hardly know the first thing about her.’

  ‘I was listening: you know all there is. We’ve been searching for something more for months. But . . .’

  She widens her eyes and lifts her arms expressively – nothing! Jakob is momentarily speechless. The Clara he knows might be acerbic, but she isn’t usually unkind. Lucille gives her a warning glance. They make small talk for a minute or two, then she says, ‘Frank was always rather naïve. But he has a great capacity for love and loyalty – as you know. I don’t want him to be disappointed.’

  ‘Perhaps he won’t be. I gather they aren’t going to be married before he leaves.’

  ‘No. He may yet come to his senses.’

  Jakob laughs. ‘That’s not what I meant.’ He takes a drag of his cigarette. At the risk of shocking Lucille, he says, ‘I doubt that two years in the frozen north will cool his ardour.’

  It is Clara and Lucille’s turn to laugh.

  ‘No, worse luck. And we’ve had to promise him we will gather her to the bosom of the family in his absence . . . It’s only just over a year, isn’t it?’ She sounds genuinely anxious.