Fleming, Leah - The Captain's Daughter

by The Captain's Daughter (mobi)

  Ella was back from Europe, bronzed, relaxed, full of her tour of Avignon, the Carmargue, and Perpignan to Madrid. Lichfield didn’t hold her for very long these days. She’d turned the old barn into a studio base where she brought all her ideas into life. She was a free spirit, never settling too long before she was off on more travels.

  They never talked about the past much when she was home. ‘I am my own future,’ she said. ‘That’s all that matters. I prefer to leave all that other stuff in the past where it belongs.’ It was as if a drawbridge went up at any mention of searching for her real parents.

  Today she was fussing round putting the final touches to the reception buffet in the dining room. The room stank of the ripe Brie she’d carted so carefully in her luggage across the Channel. Ella was determined to sophisticate them with French food and good wine.

  She was looking a picture in a lavender voile floating dress with little capped sleeves and a corsage of cream and pink roses on her shoulder. If only May could be here to complete the picture. Celeste gulped back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. She owed so much

  to her lost friend. Sometimes she felt her presence hovering, approving that at last she and Archie were about to become man and wife. She no longer felt burdened by her confession, just saddened that they had so little time to share it.

  ‘It’s time,’ yelled Selwyn from the foot of the stairs. He’d cleaned the roadster and even put a white ribbon across the bonnet so they’d arrive in style. ‘Don’t keep the poor chap waiting. He’s waited long enough for this day.’

  The sun was shining but as Celeste looked up to those three majestic spires, she sighed. Only when they were blessed privately in the side chapel of the cathedral, which had been such a special place in her life, would she feel truly married.

  Ella sat in the front seat clinging onto her spray of ferns and pink roses for dear life. ‘Slow down, Selwyn, better late than never.’

  ‘You know my sister, always late, so I’m making sure she gets there before the poor man gives up and goes home.’

  They all laughed, the women holding onto their dresses as Selwyn shot down the road into the city whistling ‘Here Comes the Bride’. Celeste’s heart was thumping with excite-ment at the thought of the ceremony to come.

  Akron

  Roddy wanted everything to be perfect for the ‘state visit’ to his new house off Portage Road. His mom must see what a success he’d made of his life. His business was flourishing. Freight Express now had a team of freight transporters servicing thirty tyre companies across the States, from New York to Atlanta, from Wichita to Baltimore, and he was always busy. But not so busy that now and then he didn’t jump into his flash roadster and check out some of his two hundred drivers to make sure they delivered on time. He wanted no time-wasters on his payroll.

  It was a pity Grandma Harriet wasn’t around to see his achievements but she had passed away peacefully in her armchair one morning after church. He’d faced his father at the fu-neral eyeball to eyeball. They didn’t speak. They had nothing to say to each other until the afternoon he’d rolled up at Roddy’s offices smelling of whiskey and demanding a job.

  Roddy was dumbstruck for all of one second, thinking he might find him something until he recalled how he’d made his mother wait for a divorce for years, and that his father hadn’t shown any interest in his new venture, ignoring him until he was successful.

  He wrote him a cheque as a wedding present and told him there was nothing doing. ‘Is that all you can say to your father after all these years?’ Grover replied, greedily

  snatching the cheque.

  ‘You told me to get out and I did. Best night’s work I ever did, Pa. Now you have the cheek to roll up here and demand I hire you. To do what?’ Roddy challenged. The man across the desk felt like a stranger.

  ‘A man owes his father respect after all I did for you.’ ‘I owe you nothing. For Grandma’s sake, though, I won’t see you go away empty-handed.

  You have your wedding gift. Go make yourself a new life in Cleveland.’ His secretary discreetly showed Grover to the door. ‘I hope you burn in hell!’ yelled the drunken man for all to hear. Roddy knew he would

  never see him again. He was part of the old life. From now on he would be dependent on no one but himself.

  If Roddy felt sad it had come to this, he also felt relief that now Archie and Mom had married at long last. For himself, he made sure he had no ties, no girlfriends, no hangers-on. It was good to be free to come and go wherever and whenever he fancied without having to account for his schedule. His home was his pride and joy, with its sleek leather sofas, glass doors opening onto a veranda, a fitted kitchen with refrigerator and built-in cooker. Sometimes he’d pinch himself at his success.

  No one had handed him anything. He’d learned success meant hard work, long hours and determination. Freight Express was up there with Motor Cargo, Roadway Express, Yankee Lines and Morrisons.

  He was thrilled his mother and Archie would see for themselves how he was prospering. They were sailing over to New York on their honeymoon. This way he got to see more of them than if he’d been able to go home for the wedding.

  Ella would give him a piece of her mind in her letter about not coming over, though, no doubt. She was teaching art school and getting commissions for her portraits. He’d seen some of her work. Soon she would be off again through France to Italy. Like his, her work was her life and Mom worried that she shut herself off in the studio at the bottom of the garden too much. She sounded like a girl after his own heart. She had her priorities right, he reckoned.

  Things were hotting up in Europe with Hitler, the leader of the National Socialist Ger-man Workers’ Party, becoming an increasingly powerful figure. There was talk in the pa-pers of trouble coming, something no one with relatives in Europe wanted to think about. He was going to try to persuade his parents to stay here for a while until it blew over.

  Akron industry sensed the change in the wind and was busy building up supplies, air ships and balloons, special tyres for military vehicles. The airbase was busy expanding, and the years of depression seemed so far away now. He’d always meant to go back to Lich-field, but business came first and being away for a month was not on the cards. Things went slack if he wasn’t at the helm. His business partner, Will, was more a family man at heart and a soft touch.

  They didn’t stay long in Akron. Celeste never felt comfortable there, worrying she might bump into Grover. Roddy assured her he was safely in Cleveland with his new wife but the place always brought back such sad memories. Archie was anxious to get back before term started at his new school near Stafford. It had been a wonderful trip, if exhausting. Roddy had been excited to prove to them his success, to show them off, to escort them to the most expensive restaurants like an eager puppy, and yet Celeste’s heart was sad. He’d changed, grown a tougher skin. He was always on the telephone, focused on the latest crisis at the office, dashing off leaving them in his beautiful home until he reappeared hours later. His world was not their world. They’d grown apart over the years of enforced separation.

  Besides, Roddy didn’t think of England as his home now. He was American through and through, proud of his town’s great industrial prowess, proud of his haulage company and its hundreds of drivers carrying their freight name across the States. Celeste had her divorce and her new marriage and respectability with her beloved Archie but not her son. It felt like they had long ago gone their separate ways, she sighed.

  She was sad that Roddy had no wife, no stable relationship. It was business first and foremost, just like his father. Celeste shuddered. Would he repeat the old pattern and turn to alcohol for comfort?

  Harriet had done her best to keep him on track but she was gone now. Roddy had hinted they should stay and perhaps settle over here one day, which was tempting but impractical. Archie was desperate to return home and she owed him that. Her heart ached to hold her son, to be as they once were, but there was no turning back fr
om the paths they had chosen. The threats of conflicts abroad were bringing opportunities for his business, with an un-told wealth of contracts to supply. It was going to be a great opportunity for growth and

  expansion.

  His head was elsewhere, full of new plans as they said their farewells at the airport before flying back to New York. Celeste clung onto him with tears knowing she must keep all her emotions within her. There was so much she could say about ‘the love of money being the root of all evil’ and a false master. But it was no time for a mother’s preaching. She must let the boy follow his own path, make his own mistakes. But she was halfway across the world if he needed her, and that meant their meeting again was unlikely for a long time.

  ‘I wish you’d stay,’ he pleaded, knowing full well that was impossible. ‘Give my regards to all the folks back home.’

  The folks back home were virtually strangers to him now: Ella, Selwyn, Mrs Allen and Lichfield itself. Celeste smiled and nodded. ‘I sure will,’ she replied in her best American accent.

  Her heart was bursting with misery. Why must it always be like this? Because I left here to escape from a dead marriage and Roddy’s paid the price. He was torn between the two of us. He’s made his choice so don’t look back. He’ll be fine and I’ll manage . I always have. My parents must have felt like this when I left home. Letting go is never easy but I must . and there’s always the chance that one day he’ll return. But it will be in his own good time not mine.

  100

  New York, 1935

  The service seemed to go on for ever as each one of the ordinands stood before a line of bishops in their gold vestments. Angelo couldn’t help smiling; it was a theatrical perform-ance better than any of little Patricia’s dancing displays. The music, the chanting, the organ, the incense and all the pomp and ceremony on this most important of days was like one long procession of tableaux, a feast for the eyes.

  He and Kathleen were lined up with the other proud parents, women dressed to the nines in lace veils and the men in Sunday suits. How come all his kids liked to be the centre of some drama, he mused. Why couldn’t they be ordinary guys like Salvi’s boys, married with kids racing round their feet? Here was Frank, giving his life to his Church, lying prostrate before the altar with arms outstretched in total submission. For a second Angelo felt a stab of fear for his son and, if he were honest, a real sadness. There would be no wife or children for him. As America had taken Angelo from his family so the Church was taking his son, and he ached to understand why this sacrifice was so important. While Kathleen was burst-ing with pride, he felt only bereft.

  Next to him stood Patti, at fifteen already a beauty, her life a procession of auditions, dance classes, appearances on the back row of some off-Broadway show, waiting for her big moment to arrive. She too had never wavered from her ambition. She could be in for a cruel disappointment ahead, he fretted.

  Then there was Jacko, in and out of the State Penitentiary, always a worry, always in trouble, always promising to make amends, always being forgiven. His life was one trip to the courtroom or jailhouse, his parents never knowing where he’d end up next.

  Kids were such a worry. What if Patti got in with the wrong crowd? What if Jacko went too far? At least Frankie was safe enough in the arms of the Church.

  And now there was the Italian business. Mussolini had annexed Abyssinia and was mak-ing friends with Hitler. Angelo had seen enough of the changes to his old country to be fear-ful. He recalled Maria’s father’s words about the Blackshirts marching in the streets. There was talk of taking sides. What then?

  He’d been spared to see his kids grow up but not to start fighting in wars, not after the last show. How could his own family ever be ‘the enemy’? It was making his head spin as well as his legs ache from standing so long.

  He looked at his pocket watch with relief. It would be over soon and there would be something to eat and drink, he prayed. Churches made him nervous, made him think of all the ‘what ifs’ and his mortal soul. Thank God, prohibition was long gone. On a day like this a man needed fortification.

  101

  1937

  Ella entered the exhibition hall, trying not to shake, trying not to look at the corner where her work was being displayed in case there was no one there. She’d wanted to come alone, to get used to these strange surroundings before Archie and Celeste arrived with their friends to give her support.

  If only someone had told her how terrifying it was to exhibit artwork in public. She’d been all over Europe staring at paintings and statues, examining student work as if there was nothing to it. Now she felt the humiliation of her work set up alongside others, ceramics of great delicacy and imagination, figurative metal sculptures, all twisted shapes and angles, and wonderful landscapes and portraits on the walls.

  This was a Coronation year exhibition of the work of young Midland artists, a showcase for new talent, and some pieces were for sale. None of them could make a living from it, but to sell a piece, and the chance to be reviewed in the Birmingham Post , was a milestone on the path to public recognition.

  She’d agonized for hours over what to put into it, borrowing back a bust of a child she’d done for one of the clergymen, a classical study of a hand and a new piece she’d been work-ing on inspired by her recent study of churches in Venice and Florence.

  She had been so taken with the Madonna and child images in the Uffizi, especially the Madonna of the Long Neck by Parmigianino. She’d photographed the most famous ones and captured pictures of mothers and children at play in the streets.

  It was from one of these snapshots on her return that she found her inspiration: a mother sitting open-legged, cradling a sleeping child on her folded skirt. There was something re-laxed and yet poignant about how the shape echoed the future pietà of Christ in death in his mother’s arms. She sensed the pride and sadness of motherhood, knowing it was tapping into her own unresolved conflict with the past. Somehow in creating these figures with af-fection, something new and more vibrant had come out in her work.

  Now she was walking round, her hand gripping her wine glass, hoping it wasn’t a mistake to have exposed her work alongside many famous artists. Still two hours to go before they

  could pack it all away into her borrowed van and disappear back to the comfort of Red House.

  It was Selwyn who caught her arm from where she was lurking near the doorway trying to look casual. ‘Well done, I see you’ve sold a piece already.’

  ‘I have?’ She tried to look unimpressed but he wasn’t fooled. ‘Stop hiding and come and see.’

  To Ella’s surprise there was a small crowd admiring her work. ‘Here she is, the blushing wallflower.’ Selwyn dragged her over to meet a tall man.

  ‘This is Harold Ashley, our Head of Chambers in Temple Row. He’s churchwarden of St James’s and wants this or something like this for their Lady Chapel. I’ll leave you two to talk terms,’ he said, shooting away, leaving her stranded.

  ‘You take commissions?’ Mr Ashley asked, looking down at the little piece. ‘She’s lovely, tender and full of meaning. We would need one slightly bigger. I want to donate it in memory of my mother.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she croaked. ‘I’m glad you like it.’ Then she noticed there was a sticker on the sculpted hand too. What was happening?

  Perhaps she had some talent after all. This called for a celebration. She made for the table and for another glass of wine. Two sales and a commission in one night, wow! Could this mean that her career was taking off at last?

  102

  1938

  How had it come to this? Celeste mused, trying to absorb all the latest air-raid rules and reg-ulations. Many of Ella’s students were disappearing into the forces and now there was talk of rationing and petrol coupons and restriction to supplies should war come. It was all very worrying. Would her art college close? Would her private clients dry up? How was she go-ing to earn a living?

  The billeting officer had already been round
to inspect Red House with a view to placing evacuees or air force officers with them. The thought of having to share the family home with strangers was another disturbance. War. No one could talk about anything else. Lich-field had always been a military hub with its barracks and now a new airfield being built behind them at Fradley. The city was right in the middle of the great crossroads of the A38 and the A5, with convoys and equipment passing through at all hours. How could they have come to war again?

  Archie knew teachers and students who were caught up in the Spanish Civil War, dying of wounds; all that talent coming to nothing in that terrible maelstrom. How many more young men would give their lives before this madness ended?

  Suddenly old soldiers were digging out their uniforms. Selwyn signed up with the Territ-orials and Archie with the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, on standby to cover for regular soldiers. Their peaceful world was about to be turned upside down. All the women would be expected to make a contribution. Ella would have to enlist or find another way to serve, something that kept her in touch with her beloved career. It would be a pity for all her good work to dwindle into nothing.

  They were taking the ancient stained-glass windows out of the cathedral. Artwork was disappearing from museums and galleries, parks and gardens being dug up for vegetable cul-tivation. It felt as if the whole country was going on hold and no one knew for how long.

  Celeste heard the drone of aeroplanes circling over the city and shuddered at the thought of enemy aircraft destroying this beautiful place. It just couldn’t be happening all over again, not within memory of the slaughter of the last war.

  They were now living in one of the school cottages close to Stafford, where Archie was teaching classics. It was good to be alone, free from responsibility, and yet Ella had been such a presence in Celeste’s life. They’d steered Ella through those hard stormy years after Celeste had revealed the truth about her parentage.