‘So why didn’t you stand up to them before?’
Patsy shrugged. ‘Once I’d learned to fight, it stopped bothering me. The only thing that gets me steamed up is when they have a go at you. And I guess today – I guess they just went a little too far.’
Ellie leaned up and kissed her brother on the cheek, then she put both hands on his biceps. ‘I didn’t even notice these,’ she said. ‘I should at least have noticed you’d got stronger.’
‘How?’ her brother smiled. ‘We don’t share a room any more. We haven’t shared a room for ten years. And I haven’t put on much weight. I’ve just gotten strong.’
‘I wonder what Pa will have to say?’ Ellie smiled.
Nothing, was the answer. At least not to Ellie. But that Saturday for the first time in his life, he invited his youngest son Patsy to attend the ball-game along with himself and his other three sons.
‘You must not be surprised if ’e choose to ignore you, choupette,’ said Madame when Ellie next visited her. ‘You know they say the Irish, they ignore what they cannot hit or drink.’ Madame laughed and poured them both some more tea.
‘I think maybe the reason he isn’t speaking to me,’ Ellie ventured, ‘is something you might have said to him.’
‘Me?’ Madame protested, the picture of innocence.
‘When you called last Saturday.’
‘He nevaire told you that. That I called.’
‘I saw you. From the landing. Why did you, Madame? And what did you say to him?’
Madame drank her tea and put the fine china cup carefully back on the saucer which she was holding in her other hand. ‘That, I think, is a matter between your father and myself,’ she replied finally.
‘Pardon me, but –’
‘No,’ Madame rebuked her sharply. ‘Nevaire such a vulgarism! I keep reminding you! Nevaire “pardon me”. “Excuse me.” “Excuse me”.’
‘Excuse me,’ Ellie stood corrected. ‘But I thought – I thought my father and you weren’t on speaking terms.’
‘Yes?’ Madame said, giving a small but definitely supercilious sniff. ‘That is not the truth. The truth is I am not speaking to your father.’
Ellie was baffled. At home Madame, if referred to at all, had always been the person who had been derided. She had been called a despicable woman, a scarlet creature, a hussy, a jessy, and on the occasions when her father had taken drink, much worse. His contempt for her had been occasioned, as Ellie understood it, by her father’s disdain for Madame’s previous occupation as an actress, since, as he said, he had always held the theatre to be nothing but a den of iniquity.
So why was it and how come that Madame was claiming that the opposite was true and that it was her father who was the person out of favour?
Madame must know, of course, but Madame was not telling.
‘If you search for truth, choupette,’ was all she would allow, ‘you will find nothing but contradictions.’
What Madame did tell Ellie, however, was that Mr O’Hara was very keen to renew their acquaintance, which he had found all too brief. If it was agreeable with Ellie, he would be delighted to escort her to dinner and the opera on Saturday.
‘What about my father?’ was Ellie’s first enquiry.
‘Your father,’ Madame replied, ‘is not included in the invitation.’
‘You know perfectly well what I mean,’ Ellie said, ignoring Madame’s tease. ‘What shall I tell him?’
‘Tell him you are going to dine at Auguste’s before being taken to see La Traviata,’ Madame instructed, ‘by one of the richest and most influential men in Boston.’
‘Why you?’ was her father’s first question, echoing Ellie’s own bewilderment. ‘My God – he has the whole of Boston to choose from!’
‘I think he’s just being nice,’ Ellie offered rather feebly. ‘He’s a very sweet gentleman.’
‘Trade knows no gentlemen,’ her father replied loftily, as if he himself was an important landowner instead of just the foreman of a modest building firm. ‘Money doesn’t automatically confer breeding.’
‘So what shall I tell him, Pa?’ Ellie asked. ‘Shall I tell him no?’
‘You will tell him nothing, Eleanor,’ her father replied sternly. ‘Not until you have told me how you met him.’
Ellie told him the truth. She had no alternative. There was no point in trying to invent a story, because under these circumstances no made-up story could begin to sound even remotely plausible. Besides, Ellie never told stories. Ellie had always believed in the truth.
‘I knew it!’ her father roared in response. ‘I knew that Jezebel would have a hand in it!’
‘Madame simply took me out shopping and to have lunch,’ Ellie countered. ‘What could she possibly be having a hand in? Please may I go? Please?’
‘I want to know what is behind this first,’ he snapped, ‘because for the life of me I cannot understand why a man in his position should want to take up with the likes of you. So I intend to find out exactly what is going on first, before I even consider giving my consent.’
Ellie groaned as she watched her father stride to the door, intent, it appeared, on confronting Madame. But then he stopped, with his hand still on the door handle, and hesitated for what seemed an age. And with good reason. For Patrick Milligan knew what Madame’s answer would be. It would be the same answer she gave him when she forbade him to chastise Ellie on account of her newly-styled hair. If that was what he wanted, she would no doubt tell him again, if he wished to forbid the outing, then perhaps it was time for Madame herself to break her long silence.
‘You can’t possibly go,’ Ellie heard her father say finally, still with his back to her, and her heart sank.
‘Why not, Pa?’ she pleaded. ‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because, girl,’ he said, ‘you have nothing to wear.’
‘Madame said she’d lend me something,’ Ellie said, hardly able to believe her ears. ‘She said she could alter something of her’s –’
‘No!’ her father thundered. ‘I’ll not have any daughter of mine going out second-best! And certainly not in that hussy’s cast-offs!’
He turned to Ellie, and reaching into his back pocket, withdrew a roll of bills. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Go out and buy yourself something pretty.’ Then he turned and went out, leaving Ellie to stare speechlessly at the most money she had ever seen in her life.
And so began a friendship that before Ellie knew it had become a courtship. William O’Hara, whom Ellie quite properly never called anything but Mr O’Hara, and who equally properly never called Ellie anything but Miss Milligan, escorted Ellie to the opera, to concerts, to Boston’s fine art galleries, and to the theatre. With the money her father had given her, Ellie, with the necessary help of Madame Gautier, had chosen and bought for herself her very first evening gown, a simply stunning and practically backless dress fashioned out of moire in the new fashionable colour of rose-opaline. The night Ellie first wore the gown to the opera, her three eldest brothers all wolf-whistled her to the door and Patsy, his eyes like saucers, gave her a corsage of orchids and escorted her to the limousine which had come to collect her.
But of course one evening gown and one day dress soon proved to be a woefully insufficient wardrobe for someone who was being escorted around Boston as much as Ellie now was.
‘Please don’t take this as an impertinence, Miss Milligan,’ Mr O’Hara said to her early on in their relationship, ‘but a girl as pretty as you, and one as elegant, should really have the clothes to enhance her beauty. Now I know what you’re going to say,’ he continued, holding up one expensively gloved hand to forestall Ellie’s objections, ‘that clothes are expensive and that you do not have the means. But I would consider it a great honour and privilege if you would allow me to help you overcome this disadvantage by making you a gift of whatever you may need.’
Ellie had of course tried to refuse, but Mr O’Hara would not hear of it. So Ellie conceded, and went one day with Madame to
Mr O’Hara’s emporium and bought two more day dresses, another pair of shoes, and, very reluctantly, another gown for the evening.
Mr O’Hara smiled when Ellie showed him her selections upstairs in his private office, and sent them straight back downstairs to their various departments.
‘That was not at all what I had in mind for you,’ he said, pouring the three of them glasses of champagne. ‘Forgive me, but if I may say so, you have far too modest an opinion of yourself.’
‘This is what I am telling ’er always,’ Madame sighed. ‘But this girl she is too ’umble. And too stubborn.’
‘Perhaps after lunch, Madame,’ Mr O’Hara suggested, ‘you and I might be able to persuade Miss Milligan otherwise.’
‘I am sure we can, Buck,’ Madame concurred, dropping her voice mock-conspiratorially. ‘Particularly if you give ’er some more champagne.’
Even if Ellie had been quite and utterly sober, she would have still found the clothes which were paraded after lunch for her sole benefit in one of the salons reserved for such occasions quite irresistible. As it was, with two glasses of champagne inside her, and as the mannequins displayed the latest fashions from Paris and London, she felt she was once more in heaven, even more so two hours or so later as Mr O’Hara’s chief assistants wrapped up the final choices: dresses, gowns and lingerie made of georgette, and flowered taffetas, moires, silks and satins, subtle lames, artificial marocain and crêpe de Chine, in colours of white or pastel blue, cerise, pearl-grey, oyster and of course rose-opaline.
‘If I could perhaps have your address for delivery please, Miss Milligan,’ the chief assistant requested.
Madame gave the woman her own address. ‘Knowing your father, cherie,’ she whispered to Ellie, ‘perhaps it is a little more tactful.’
But even if Patrick Milligan had known the size of ‘Buck’ O’Hara’s munificence, he would not have raised any objections. Patrick Milligan knew a good thing when he saw it, as he told his ‘broth’, and their sister’s relationship with one of Boston’s most successful citizens was all of that.
‘What we must hope and pray for, me boys,’ he said one night as they dined alone on salad and cold meat, Ellie being out at a concert, ‘is for a state of some permanence. Now I know it’s a lot to expect, what with your sister still only nineteen, and the old “Buck” being every year of sixty five, so they tells me, but May and September’s always been a heady mix, and the old fool seems besotted.’
‘Ellie’ll not marry Mr O’Hara,’ said Patsy defiantly. ‘She’s too much good sense. She’d never throw herself away on some dirty old man.’
‘And sure why do you think she’d be “throwing herself away”, Pat? Eh?’ asked his father. ‘How can you “throw yourself away” down a gold mine?’
The ‘broth’ laughed, but Patsy remained intransigent.
‘Ellie’s not that sort, Pa, that’s why,’ Patsy answered. ‘Ellie’s no gold-digger.’
‘Well, as I said,’ Patrick Milligan said carefully, ‘it’s a lot to expect, but suppose –.’ The head of the family rested his knife and fork on their heels and looked down the table. ‘Suppose they was to get wed, just suppose now –.’ Patrick Milligan was careful to keep it hypothetical, mindful of the dark look on Patsy’s face. ‘Because to be fair, Pat, your sister has her own life to lead, and we must all respect that. You’ve all of you, there’s no denying it, you’ve all too often taken advantage of Eleanor, and so it’s only right and proper now you should respect the fact she has a life of her own.’
‘You’ll have to excuse me, Pa,’ Patsy said rising, ‘but I’ve business to do. I still have a lot of premiums to collect.’
‘You’re excused, me boy,’ his father said. ‘You’re excused.’
Patsy went, using his work for the insurance company as a pretext, for in truth he could take no more of the hypocrisy.
‘As I was saying,’ Patrick Milligan continued, once his youngest was out of the house, ‘if the best came to the best, and your sister married the old codger, we could be in clover. Sure people like O’Hara, they always need men. They need people to look after their interests. To protect them. Particularly in these hard times. If you see what I mean.’
The ‘broth’ was beginning to see what their father meant. What he meant was they might be able to come off the building sites, and fall into a featherbed job, one in which they could wear nice suits and drive fancy cars, in return for looking after one very rich old man’s ‘interests’.
‘Let me put it another way, boys,’ their father said, sitting back and wiping his mouth on his hand. ‘And this is just supposing. Just suppose the old codger does get serious. Suppose he does want to make the relationship permanent. I mean, one can always make conditions. When it comes to giving your consent to a girl who’s not yet reached her majority, sure a father’s every right to make one or two conditions, now wouldn’t you say?’
The ‘broth’ all grinned and nodded. Yes, they all said. Yes indeed they would.
William O’Hara proposed to Ellie on the anniversary of their first date. Ellie was rendered speechless. There had never been a hint of any romance between them, although their friendship had deepened with each meeting. Ellie provoked and stimulated Mr O’Hara with her inquisitive and questioning mind, and entertained him with her ever truthful and utterly pragmatic approach, while the kindness, respect and affection that he had accorded Ellie had enabled her to grow quickly and painlessly from a gauche teenager into a poised young woman.
But one who had given no thought to love.
‘I can see I’ve surprised you,’ Mr O’Hara apologized over dinner. ‘That was not my intention.’
They had been to see La Bohème, at which Mr O’Hara had cried quite openly, and which Ellie had sat through dry-eyed, but with a breaking heart.
Taking time to recover, the first course of their dinner had been eaten practically in silence.
‘I should have given you more time,’ Mr O’Hara continued. ‘Or perhaps I should not have asked you at all.’
‘No!’ said Ellie, almost too emphatically, afraid that even though she did not know her own mind, he might withdraw his offer. And Ellie did not wish to lose Mr O’Hara, at least not as a friend. ‘You did surprise me,’ Ellie confessed, truthful as ever. ‘But then that’s my fault. I have obviously been taking you for granted.’
‘If you have been taking me for granted,’ Mr O’Hara argued, ‘then that is my fault. I should have been more entertaining company.’
‘Nobody could be better company than you, Mr O’Hara.’
‘Nor anyone better than you, Miss Milligan.’
The waiter served them their next course, and neither of them spoke until he was gone.
‘I can’t think why someone such as yourself should want to marry me,’ Ellie said eventually.
‘That is the very first foolish thing I have ever heard you say, young lady,’ Mr O’Hara replied with a smile.
Ellie looked down. ‘What I meant was –’ she explained quietly, ‘is that you can’t marry me. I’m – I’m from the wrong side of the tracks.’
Mr O’Hara stared at her then laughed. ‘So am I, Miss Milligan!’ he said. ‘Why heavens – so am I! Except I am much more so than you! Why, my family came from a two bit shack. Right by the railroad. Every time the express went by, we had to hold the windows in. I had no schooling. I was an errand boy, a boot black, a bellhop, a messenger boy – all before I was nine years old! Then I went to work in a five and ten, and gradually worked my way up until I was managing a general store. Age twenty I was. Manager of a store. But still on the wrong side of town.’ He paused to take a sip of wine as he recollected the distant years. ‘And even though most would have been quite happy to get where I had got at that age, I believe that a man is nothing unless he believes he has greater possibilities. Which I did. So I borrowed some money and bought a store of my own, a tiny place, a cigar store, but in the right part of town, and in the right part of the right part of town.
On a corner. If ever you’re thinking of buying a store, Miss Milligan, buy one on a corner. That way you get two fronts for the price of one.’
Ellie laughed and then smiled at her companion.
‘So don’t you worry about being from the wrong side of the tracks, Miss Milligan,’ he reassured her. ‘In fact we probably wouldn’t be such friends if you weren’t. And please don’t worry either about the fact that you don’t love me.’
Now Ellie really was knocked off balance. If she was going to decline Mr O’Hara’s proposal, it was going to be for that very reason. ‘But I don’t,’ she said.
‘Why should you?’ he asked.
‘Because when people get married,’ Ellie tried explaining, ‘it’s better if they love each other.’
Mr O’Hara smiled. ‘I don’t wish to disillusion you, Miss Milligan,’ he said. ‘Nor do I wish to sound like a cynical old man. But frankly when people marry it’s often a far better thing if they don’t love each other. Oscar Wilde said it, you know. Something along the lines that a man can be happy with any woman as long as he doesn’t love her.’
‘Does the same apply to a woman with any man, Mr O’Hara?’
‘I’m quite sure it does, Miss Milligan. At least in this case I am quite sure it would apply. You see, the reason I want to marry you is a very simple one. When, after an evening such as this, you go home, and I go home, I miss you. I miss your wonderful company. If I stay in my apartment, or if I go home to my house, I am lonely. I’m not lonely because I am bored, please understand. I have never minded being by myself, and I consider those who do to be selfish. No, I am lonely for you, Eleanor. For the sunshine you have brought to a place where I thought the sun would never shine any more. And I would like to keep that light shining, until the day I die, you see. Because it’s a long time since I felt like this, as good as I do now. As good as you make me feel. And I think in return for what you have given me, I should marry you. And you will never want again. Not for the rest of your life.’
‘You did not say no!’ Madame rose from her chair, appalled by the notion, her cigarette holder clenched between her teeth. ‘Tell me you did not say no, Eleanor!’
In Sunshine Or In Shadow Page 9
