The Lost Daughters: A moving saga of womanhood

by Whitmee, Jeanne

  ‘You’re right. I don’t suppose it’s practical to think of staying here.’ Cathy looked around her and sighed. ‘I do love this place though. It was such fun, seeing it rise from its derelict state. I hate the thought of abandoning it again — going back to London.’

  ‘It would make a marvellous hotel,’ Rosalind said. ‘Or a conference centre. That barn conversion would make a fantastic conference hall.’

  Matthew arrived back and whistled from the hall below. Cathy took a last look round and smiled wistfully at Rosalind. ‘Maybe someone will buy it with that in mind,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to remember your idea when I advertise it. Come on, we’d better go or Matthew will be cross. He’s always hated being kept waiting.’

  *

  Cathy settled into her old room at Johnny’s, happy to get away from the scene of so much trauma; to give in and let motherly Johnny fuss over her for a while. Gerald’s interment took place a week later at a quiet little church in Hampstead. There were few people present and it was a private affair, kept out of the public eye, unlike the planned memorial service which was scheduled for three weeks later, to be followed by a reception at the Savoy. Cathy dreaded the theatrically staged affair with its invited galaxy of celebrities and show business razzmatazz. It hung over her head like the Sword of Damocles during the three intervening weeks. She knew it would be impossible to put the past behind her until it was over.

  On the day she dressed carefully, knowing that the press and TV would be out in force. Whatever had happened she would not let herself down. She had chosen a charcoal grey suit and dressed her hair in a smooth chignon topped by a black velvet pillbox hat. Johnny and Rosalind would be going along with her and Matthew had taken the day off and would arrive in time to drive them.

  When they arrived the host of glamorous guests had already begun to assemble. Almost at once Cathy spotted Simon with an older woman whom she took to be his mother. He had written to her after the crash and she had replied briefly and politely. She had no wish to see him today and to her relief he made no attempt to speak to her. Kay arrived with James Kendrick and his wife. She looked elegant in black and white, but her face, half hidden by the wide brim of her hat, still bore the traces of recent tears. Cathy found to her own surprise that she felt nothing but a detached pity for the older woman. She had wanted Gerald for so long and to have him taken from her a second time must have been a cruel blow. She moved impulsively towards her, but Johnny, who now knew of Gerald’s betrayal and the proposed divorce, steered her tactfully in the opposite direction, away from Kay and from the threatened attention of the press, gathering in packs around the main entrance to the chapel.

  Leaving the front pews to the celebrities, the four of them sat quietly and anonymously in a pew near the back. They sang the hymns and listened to the florid eulogy that traced Gerald’s career and triumphs — the courage with which he faced his illness and the subsequent collapse of this brilliant musical career — to the cruel irony of his accidental death. A well-known violinist who had been one of Gerald’s college friends spoke of him in glowing terms after which Simon moved to the grand piano which had been placed below the pulpit and played an arrangement of the theme of the emotive last movement from Rachmaninov’s Second Piano Concerto.

  Cathy sat and listened to it all, trying not to notice the whirring of the TV cameras at the back of the chapel; trying not to think about the darker side of Gerald that no one would ever guess at. Rosalind sat on one side of her, Johnny on the other. From time to time they glanced at her, but neither touched her, sensing the carefully controlled emotions, wound as tightly as a coiled spring, admiring her strength and dignity. For her part Cathy was infinitely grateful for their tacit support.

  But it was as they came out of the chapel that the real ordeal began. The reporters and TV cameras were there in force. They crowded eagerly round the doors as they opened, snapping frenziedly at the many celebrities as they emerged. Somehow Rosalind and Johnny were borne ahead by the rest of the crowd, but Cathy found herself trapped by a group of reporters. As Matthew grasped her arm firmly in an attempt to steer her out of the way, she was almost blinded by the flash of a camera. One hand went up instinctively to protect her eyes and when she removed it she found herself surrounded by reporters firing a volley of bewildering questions at her.

  ‘How long had you been married, Mrs Cavelle?’

  ‘Are there any children of the marriage?’

  ‘Have you any plans to continue with the music centre in Suffolk?’

  ‘How did you feel when you heard about the air crash?’ Then a steely-eyed woman reporter pushed forward till she was standing directly in front of Cathy.

  ‘Tell me, Mrs Cavelle. Is there any truth in the rumour that your husband was planning to divorce you?’

  Seeing her look of shock and distress, the panic in her eyes, Matthew took her arm. ‘Leave her alone,’ he shouted angrily. ‘Can’t you see you’re upsetting her?’

  Cathy felt as though her feet hardly touched the ground as he pushed her along in front of him, heading for the hotel. The sea of faces that parted for them seemed to melt and merge one into the other, and everything around her began to swim out of focus. From somewhere a long way off she heard a man’s voice call out, ‘Careful! She’s going to faint!’ There was a roaring in her ears and she felt arms catch her as everything went black.

  When she came round she thought at first she must be dreaming. She seemed to be in a small room — an office of some kind. She was lying back in a chair and a strange young man was sitting beside her, gently chafing her hands. He had dark brown hair and concerned brown eyes. When he saw that she was coming round he smiled.

  ‘Hi there. Welcome back.’ As she tried to get up he put out a hand to stop her. ‘It’s all right, don’t get up yet. You passed out for a moment, that’s all. Luckily I happened to be there at the time. Your brother has gone to get you a glass of water.’

  ‘How silly of me.’ She struggled into a sitting position. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever fainted before.’ She wondered uneasily if the man was someone she should remember. ‘Please don’t feel you have to stay,’ she said, embarrassed at the furore she seemed to be causing. ‘I’m quite all right now, really.’

  ‘It’s okay. All in the day’s work.’ He smiled. ‘I’m a doctor. I told your brother I’d stay till he got back.’

  ‘Matthew’s not my brother. Thank you for staying with me, but I don’t need a doctor — really.’ She racked her brain feverishly to remember who he was. Could he have attended one of the master classes at Melfordleigh — stayed at Cuckoo Lodge? He had an accent she couldn’t quite place. ‘I promise you I’ll be fine now,’ she assured him.

  ‘There’s no way I’m going to leave you alone,’ he said firmly. ‘I mean, that’d look pretty ungallant now, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Have we met?’ she asked. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t remember

  ‘No reason why you should.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m forgetting my manners. I should have introduced myself. I’m Paul Franklin. Doctor Paul Franklin.’

  Relieved, she took the large firm hand he offered. ‘How do you do? I’m Catherine Cavelle,’ she returned.

  His smile was replaced by a puzzled frown as he stared at her intently.

  ‘Did you know Gerald?’ she asked. Suddenly she placed the accent. ‘Ah — you must be from New Zealand. Are you from the hospital?’

  ‘I qualified in a New Zealand hospital,’ he told her. ‘Which is hardly surprising, seeing that I was born and grew up there.’

  ‘So you … ’ Whatever Cathy had been about to say was cut short by the arrival of Johnny, closely followed by Matthew and Rosalind.

  ‘Cathy! Are you all right?’ Johnny asked, bustling in and putting a glass of water into her hand. ‘Those dreadful reporters. Like jackals with their horrible questions. It really shouldn’t be allowed. Now — Matthew’s brought the car round so if you’re feeling up to it I suggest we all get off home.’
>
  ‘I’m fine now, Johnny. There’s no need to fuss.’ She got to her feet. ‘This is Doctor Franklin. He very kindly kept me company while Matthew went to find you.’

  Johnny turned to the young man. ‘Oh, dear, do forgive me, Doctor Franklin. How rude you must think me. Matthew told me how kind you’d been. It was so lucky you happened to be passing when Cathy fainted.’

  ‘Not at all. I did nothing.’ He smiled at Cathy. ‘I can see you’re in good hands now so I’ll go. I hope you feel better soon.’ As Matthew and Johnny escorted her out of the room he turned to Rosalind. ‘Excuse me. Am I right in thinking that’s Gerald Cavelle’s daughter?’

  Rosalind looked surprised. ‘Heavens, no! She’s his widow.’

  ‘His widow?’ Paul Franklin’s jaw dropped in surprise and just for a moment he seemed lost for words. But as Rosalind made to follow the others he stopped her.

  ‘Look, I have to see her again. I wonder if you could tell me where I can get in touch with her?’

  Rosalind looked doubtful. ‘Well - I don’t know if I should give that kind of information to a comparative stranger.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not a stranger,’ he said. ‘I promise you I’m not. And it really is very important that I speak to her.’ He spread his hands. ‘I’d talk to her now but I’m sure you’ll agree this is neither the time nor the place.’

  ‘No.’ Rosalind looked at the tall young man in the dark suit. He looked so sincere, so earnest. What should she do? ‘Suppose I gave you a telephone number where you can contact her? Would that do?’

  His dark eyes smiled their relief. ‘Oh, that would be marvellous.’

  Rosalind tore a page from the back of her diary and scribbled the Johnson’s phone number on it. ‘You’ll be able to reach her here for the next week or so. It will be up to her, of course. I can’t guarantee that she’ll see you.’

  ‘Of course. I understand that. Thanks a lot, Miss … ’

  ‘Just call me Rosalind.’

  ‘Thanks, Rosalind.’ He paused. ‘Oh — another thing. I’d be grateful if you were to prepare her, tell her that I’ll be calling her in a couple of days’ time. I think I can safely say that she and I will have a great deal to talk about.’

  Rosalind bit her lip anxiously as she watched him walk away. What interest could this young Doctor Franklin have in Cathy? Had she done the right thing?

  *

  Cathy wakened on the morning following the memorial service feeling stronger than she had for months. Over breakfast she told Johnny that she would be going up to Kensington to see James Palmer, Gerald’s solicitor, as he had written requesting she should. It was time she set about sorting out her financial affairs.

  When Johnny knew what she planned she asked if Cathy would like her to go along too, but she refused.

  ‘I’m going to have to start doing things by myself,’ she said. ‘So I may as well begin now.’

  Johnny watched her go from the window of the front room, her heart going out to the slender figure in the dark grey coat, walking bravely up the street with her head held high. She was so young to have been through such trauma. She longed to help and support her but knew that Cathy was right to tackle it by herself. There would be many things to face alone in the years to come. Johnny knew very well that however much she wished, she would not always be around to help her. Briefly she wondered what the future held for the girl who was a beloved daughter to her in all but name. Surely Gerald Cavelle would have left her well provided for? At least she would not have to worry about money.

  But Johnny was soon to be proved wrong.

  When Cathy learned that she was Gerald’s sole beneficiary and that he had left her the house she was relieved. But her relief was to be short-lived. The solicitor quickly followed the statement by telling her that there was still a large mortgage on the house and more money owed to the builders for the restoration work, plus other amounts outstanding for furnishings, advertising and other sundries.

  ‘All Gerald’s business documents including unpaid bills were placed by him in a safety deposit box at the bank,’ he told her. ‘Before he left for New Zealand he sent me a key, along with instructions to deal with things if anything were to happen.’

  Cathy felt the colour leave her face. So she couldn’t even be trusted with that? ‘Will my own money meet the debts?’ she asked in a small voice.

  The solicitor looked puzzled. ‘Your money? But you had a joint bank account. Everything was transferred to that at the time of the marriage.’

  ‘But there was the money my father left me — from the sale of our house,’ she said. ‘Gerald said he had invested that for me.’

  Clearly uncomfortable, the man cleared his throat. ‘Invested it, yes, Mrs Cavelle — in Cuckoo Lodge and the establishing of the music school at Melfordleigh.’

  She stared at him. ‘You mean it’s — all been spent — used up? It’s gone?’

  ‘I’m very much afraid so, yes.’

  A feeling of panic quickened her heartbeat. ‘But -I didn’t know. I wasn’t asked — never gave my permission.’ She shook her head. ‘Surely … ’

  The man took a document from the file in front of him and passed it across the desk to her. ‘This is your signature, isn’t it?’

  She stared down at the name signed on the bottom line and remembered the day Gerald had brought her here to this office to sign it. He had said it was for joint ownership of the house. But he hadn’t mentioned that her own money was to be tied up in it.

  James Palmer was looking at her with some concern. ‘Surely your husband explained it to you?’ he said. ‘You must have been aware … ’

  ‘Yes!’ Suddenly she felt foolish and naive. How stupid the solicitor must think her. She made herself laugh. ‘Of course, I remember now. How silly of me.’

  The man looked at her sympathetically. She was so young to be widowed, let alone burdened with a massive debt like this. ‘I assume you’ll sell the house and effects?’ he asked. ‘It is what I would strongly advise.’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded dazedly. ‘It seems the only thing I can do.’

  ‘Do you wish me to write to all the creditors and explain the situation?’ he asked. ‘I’ll ask them to give you time to sell the property, though I must warn you that if they press for immediate payment we shall have to go for voluntary bankruptcy?’ He saw the look of wide-eyed fear and distress on Cathy’s face and added quickly, ‘I’m sure they will all agree to wait a while. It will be to their advantage to do so. I’ll make sure they know that.’

  Outside in the street the sun was shining; thin lemon-coloured winter sunshine that somehow made the cold wind blowing down Kensington High Street feel even keener. Cathy shivered and pulled her coat collar up. What was she to do? She was penniless. The owner of a great house, yet no home. An overwhelming number of debts and no money with which to pay them. She had thought when Gerald died that he could hurt her no more. How wrong she had been.

  As she pulled on her glove the emerald in her engagement ring flashed in the sunlight. At least she still had that, she comforted herself. It had ceased to be a symbol of Gerald’s love a long time ago. Now at least it would provide enough money for her to live on for a while.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was the day after her interview with the solicitor that Paul Franklin telephoned and asked to meet Cathy. Still numb with shock about her financial situation her first impulse had been to refuse. She had hesitated, racking her brain for a polite excuse, but Paul was so persuasive that in the end she had promised to ring him back. When she asked Johnny’s advice on the matter the older woman had suggested that she invite him to the house.

  ‘I don’t know who he is or what he can possibly want to see you about,’ she said. ‘But I think you’d be well advised to meet him on your own territory. Ask him to come here to tea.’

  Cathy rang Paul back the next day with the invitation which he accepted delightedly.

  Although there had been a fall of snow during the
night, the sun was shining and Johnny’s comfortable sitting room was warm and homely with a bright fire burning in the grate and its window looking on to the sparkling white garden outside. Johnny welcomed Paul and showed him into the sitting room where Cathy was waiting, then she left the two of them to talk.

  ‘It was very good of you to invite me,’ he said as he took the chair Cathy offered, close to the fire. ‘I can’t get over the snow out there. You know, this is the first time I’ve seen it.’ He laughed a little self-consciously. ‘It must sound crazy to you, but I haven’t been able to stop looking at it ever since I first drew the curtains this morning.’

  ‘I’m afraid the novelty will soon wear off once it gets to the slushy stage,’ Cathy warned him. There was a pause as she watched him rub his chilled fingers and hold them to the blaze. She cleared her throat.

  ‘So — what was it you wanted to speak to me about, Doctor Franklin?’

  ‘Oh, please call me Paul.’ He looked up and their eyes met. ‘I guess I should get to the point,’ he said uneasily. ‘I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I don’t want to intrude either.’ He looked at her uncertainly. ‘I don’t know how much you know about Gerald’s life? I mean — the part before you were married; before you met.’

  ‘Quite a lot as it happens,’ Cathy said. ‘He and my father had been close friends since they were students. When my father died he made Gerald my legal guardian.’

  ‘And you fell in love and married?’ He smiled. ‘How romantic.’ Cathy gave a small non-committal shrug and he went on. ‘So you must have known that he was married once before? A long time before.’

  ‘Of course I knew.’ Cathy tried to hide the unease she felt. Why all these questions? Could Gerald somehow have been in this young doctor’s debt? Was there even more to uncover about his past? Was she going to spend her entire life discovering things about that other, darker side of Gerald he had so successfully hidden?