Return to Paradise

by Erica Brown

  ‘They’re still seeing each other,’ he said, hardly giving Max time to close the door of his study.

  Max felt himself colouring ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Captain Thomas Strong. Your mother keeps company with a married man. She stays with him at the Ambassador Hotel in Bath. I’ve seen them there. But I’m willing to forgive and forget—’

  Max exploded. ‘Get out of here!’

  ‘I am just trying to save your reputation—’

  Max opened the door and pushed him out. ‘Stay away from my mother!’ He pushed Clarke-Fisher with such force that he bounced off the wall opposite, as though he were made of India rubber.

  After slamming the door shut, Max sank back into the chair. First Nelson Strong, now Tom Strong! Whatever was his mother thinking of? He couldn’t deny that he liked the man, but he was married.

  Should I be that surprised? he asked himself. Childhood memories came flooding back: Tom Strong coming to the house, talking to his mother and his father; flying kites on Durdham Down with his mother. The more he thought about it, the more obvious it seemed that he had always been lurking in the background, a constant in his mother’s life.

  Usually, one brandy would have been enough to revive his spirits, but damn it, better drunk than feeling sorry for himself.

  By lunchtime, he had consumed half a bottle and still his mother was not home. He needed air and he needed to go to the refinery where he had a meeting later that afternoon. I must get out, he decided as he caught hold of the chair arm in order to stop himself crashing to the floor.

  The carriage was ready and waiting by the front door. His cane tucked under his arm and his hat slightly askew, he scrambled aboard.

  ‘Avonmouth,’ he shouted to the coachman.

  The journey passed in total oblivion as he slept off the half-bottle of brandy. Edward, his coachman, was canny enough to know he’d been the worse for wear, and presumptuous enough to go directly to the plot of land overlooking the proposed new dock, a place he’d taken him once before.

  There was a blacksmith inside his head hammering the hell out of an anvil, and the brightness of the water flooding in from the channel pierced his eyes. Narrowing them helped him focus both his sight and his thoughts. Despite his thumping headache, the sight of the virgin land, untouched by any building in living memory, was a joy to behold. Even as he looked, he could visualize a brick edifice with tall chimneys, row upon row of windows, and pulleys and jetties big enough to take the largest steamships currently afloat.

  ‘I could do it,’ he murmured.

  Edward presumed he’d been addressing him. ‘Begging your pardon, sir?’

  ‘Nothing, Edward. I was just thinking aloud.’

  Changing his name for the sake of a new refinery? The thought was both tempting and appalling. Desperate to chase the temptation from his brain, he clamped his jaw tightly shut so that his teeth ground tightly together. It served to make his head ache even more, which was exactly what he’d intended. He deserved the pain for even contemplating such a terrible thing.

  ‘Call at Madame Mabel’s on the way back,’ he ordered.

  * * *

  The clock at Temple Church had not yet struck six. The carriage came to a halt outside. Young women were pouring out of other shops in the same rank. Haberdashers were pulling down shutters. A bell jangled from the pawnbrokers on the corner and the dust of the city smelled metallic in the tired dampness of the spent day.

  A young woman came out of Madame Mabel’s purple door, then a group of two, another single, then three. Finally, Magdalene, not rushing like the others, but serene and neat, her hands folded neatly over the black velvet reticule that she’d made herself.

  She spotted the carriage immediately, opened the door and climbed in. ‘Max! What a surprise!’ She was about to kiss him, but stopped herself. ‘I’m not kissing a face that looks like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘As though you’ve found a farthing and lost a guinea.’

  He sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You said that yesterday, and now you look twice as miserable as you did then and you smell of brandy.’

  He shook his head and ran his fingers around the brim of his hat, which presently sat on his knees. ‘My troubles have doubled since yesterday.’

  Magdalene frowned. ‘I’ve never seen you as down as this. What is it, Max? Come on. Surely you can tell me.’

  He glanced at her as he tried to make up his mind. Could he bear the consequences?

  ‘There must be no secrets,’ blurted Magdalene. ‘Now tell me everything.’

  ‘I’ll take you home,’ he said, tapping on the roof of the carriage. Drowned to outside ears by the turning of the wheels and the clattering of hooves, he told her about the codicil to a Will written ten years ago. ‘If I adopt the family name, therefore declaring that Nelson Strong was my father, I inherit a very princely sum indeed, enough to clear my debts and enforce my plans.

  ‘But…’ he hesitated, his fingers rapping a nervous tune on his thigh. ‘There’s something terrible about it. Something truly sinful.’ She held her head to one side, her expression bordering on amusement, but also apprehensive.

  ‘Go on, Max. What is it? Nothing can be that terrible.’

  He spoke in a rush. ‘It seems my father was also my mother’s half-brother. Of course she didn’t know at the time… she couldn’t have, or she wouldn’t…’

  Her eyes were wide, her face still as she waited for him to continue. He told her as much as he knew.

  She sat silently after he’d told her.

  He studied her, his stomach churning with worry. The likelihood that she might call off their engagement was uppermost in his mind, and who could blame her? Trying to read her thoughts was impossible. The tension was too much to bear.

  ‘Well?’ he said at last. ‘Will you still marry me?’

  ‘Are you mad?’

  The look she gave him and the tone of her voice made his heart flutter.

  ‘You still want to?’

  ‘Nothing’s changed, but, as I see it, we have a few things to sort out that will no doubt have a very great impact on our children’s lives.’

  ‘It will?’ This was the first time he’d heard her mention their having children. But of course, if they were getting married, there would be children.

  ‘Don’t look so surprised. It’s what married people do, you know; they produce the next generation. There’s no going back with children, only forward. Now this is the way I see it: my family changed their name in order to improve their chances. It didn’t hurt and my father didn’t moan that he should be faithful to his father’s name. And besides, look what you’d be gaining: a brand new refinery and more control over your own destiny. Don’t you think that a fitting memorial to the man who brought you up?’

  Max eyed her uneasily. She made it all sound so sensible. Rigid loyalty to the past was brushed aside. It all made sense and he found himself thinking that even if she hadn’t agreed to be his wife, she would never have stayed a humble milliner.

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  She hugged his arm. ‘You have to think of the future.’

  ‘And my mother?’

  ‘Sign the deed first. Do you have it with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He took it out from his inside pocket. He’d been carrying it around for days, taking it out and looking at it, thinking about it, and putting it back again.

  There was a brass ring at his side set into the upholstery. He pulled it and out came a small travelling slope complete with inkwell. ‘Ooow!’ Magdalene exclaimed. ‘That’s clever.’

  Quickly he signed before he changed his mind. ‘There.’

  ‘We’ll drop it off at the solicitors now.’

  ‘Good heavens,’ said Max after pushing the writing slope back into place. ‘Do you know what this means? By lunchtime tomorrow I will have a hundred thousand pounds in my bank account.’

  ‘Is that a
ll?’ laughed Magdalene.

  ‘No. By mid-afternoon I will have purchased extra land at Avonmouth from under the nose of Horatia Strong.’

  * * *

  They ate supper together before he returned to Somerset Parade.

  Alighting from the carriage, he looked up at the red-brick walls and white windows of the house he’d lived in for most of his life. That morning he had left it as Maximillian Heinkel. Eleven o’clock chimed in the new spire of St Mary Redcliffe. It sounded like a celebration that he’d come home as Maximillian Strong.

  He was surprised to find that his mother had not yet retired. He found her sitting in front of the window reading, the moonlight filtering through the flimsy lace curtains and forming a floral pattern over her head and face. His heart missed a beat. When he was a boy he’d told her that he would marry a girl like her when he grew up. She had laughed and told him he would likely marry a pretty little blonde with a button nose who’d laugh when he wanted her to and wouldn’t mind flying kites and climbing trees.

  His mother’s dress was a bluish grey some of which turned green when she moved and laid down her book to smile at him. The material reminded him of a peacock’s tail. He noted the clearness of her eyes, the glossy hair. His mother was growing old beautifully.

  She looked up on seeing him enter and presented her cheek for him to kiss. ‘Max. I thought I would wait up for you. There’s something important I wish to discuss with you.’

  ‘And there is something I wish to discuss with you.’

  ‘Then you shall have my full attention.’ She closed the book as though it were made of the softest silk. A frown creased her brow momentarily and then was gone. ‘What is it?’

  Before entering the house, he’d felt quite light-headed, excited at the prospect of taking both the refinery and his life forward in giant steps. The matter regarding his birth, not to mention his mother’s liaison with Tom Strong, was more delicate. Truth was, it embarrassed him. After all, she was middle-aged and she was his mother. The whole thing was terribly distasteful.

  Max poured himself a brandy.

  She cleared her throat. ‘I’d like a brandy too. Will you pour me one?’

  He looked at her, then at the dark, balloon-shaped bottle. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer one of Mr Harvey’s sherries as you usually do?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I need something a little stronger and less sweet.’

  He did as she asked, filling the brandy balloon halfway. Still without meeting his eyes, she drained half the glass. He decided to tackle the issue of Tom Strong first.

  ‘I met your old beau, Mr Darius Clarke-Fisher.’

  Her retort was swift. ‘He is not my beau. I detest the man. I hope you told him so.’

  Max frowned and eyed the treacle-coloured liquid swirling in his glass. ‘He offered to take you off my hands before your liaison with Tom Strong became widespread gossip.’

  For a moment, she said nothing, but he could tell by the fiery look in her eyes, and the way her lips were parted, that she was searching for the right words and none would come. He came to the immediate conclusion: Darius Clarke-Fisher had been telling the truth.

  ‘That’s what I want to speak to you about,’ she said eventually.

  ‘Mother, before you say anything, I need to talk to you about something else.’

  Max cleared his throat again, clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing the room. God, but this was damned difficult.

  Blanche said, ‘If it’s about my trips to Bath—’

  ‘To take the waters… yes, yes, I know and I do not begrudge you a moment.’ He stroked her head and looked down into her lovely eyes. ‘Mother, I understand that you’ve always had a relationship with Tom Strong.’

  Kneeling down, he took both her hands in his and noticed that her eyes were moist. She drew a hand from his grasp and smoothed his hair back from his temples, a simple action, but one that spoke volumes about motherly love and duty.

  ‘Don’t ask me to give Tom up. I won’t. We’re going away together.’

  ‘What?’

  Max was shocked. This was not at all what he’d expected. He imagined the shame, the whispers, the outright sniggering as he was pointed out as the man whose mother had run away with Tom Strong.

  ‘It won’t be like that,’ said Blanche, instinctively knowing what was in his mind. ‘Horatia has dug herself into a deep hole that she cannot possibly get out of. Nothing she can say or do can damage our reputation as badly as hers can be damaged. We’re going home, to my home. Barbados. Someone has to take care of the plantation, or what’s left of it.’

  He steeled himself for what he had to say next. He couldn’t say it looking into her eyes. Gaze fixed on the floor, he began to pace.

  ‘The other day I had a visit from a solicitor, a man named Mr Jay. Thanks to what I learned from him, I will now be able to build my own refinery at Avonmouth without being hampered by the Strong family.’

  ‘That’s wonderful, Max—’

  Max began to chuckle. ‘Mother, you cannot imagine how ironic it is. I am no longer at the mercy of the Strong family’s business plans, and yet I am one of them.’

  ‘Yes, but I did tell you about Sir Emmanuel and—’

  ‘Today I signed a document that made me a Strong in name. The document was a codicil to a will made by Nelson Strong. He left me the sum of one hundred thousand pounds so long as I acknowledged him as my father by changing my name to Strong.’

  He shook his head and covered his face with his hands. Now it was out, it seemed far more incongruous than when he’d talked it through with Magdalene.

  His mother’s silence puzzled him. On withdrawing his hands from his face, he saw she was frowning, as though she too were puzzled. She got to her feet, wrung her hands and looked away.

  ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘How is it impossible?’

  She shook her head and brushed her forehead with the back of her hand. Her breathing quickened and, for the first time, he heard wheezing in her chest.

  ‘I can’t tell you without asking him first—’

  ‘Without asking who?’

  She was brazening it out; he could see it in her eyes. His mother, the woman he’d adored all his life, had a secret. Had she ever had secrets from his father?

  ‘Mother, I want to know.’

  He saw the tears in her eyes as she turned to face him. ‘I would never do anything to hurt you,’ she said.

  The look in his mother’s eyes almost took his breath away. It was as though all her most precious memories were betrayed in her expression.

  ‘When I first came to this city, I thought I had all the time in the world and, quite honestly, I did. I thought those I loved would always be there, though I should have known better than to believe that. After all, I’d just lost my mother. But now…’ She sighed then took a deep breath as if she were summoning up deep feelings or deeply buried courage. At last she said, ‘Time is running out and soon those I’ve loved and those who loved me will be gone. People mean more to me than my reputation, Max, and it’s only fair that you should know who your real father is.’ She raised her hands, palms out and shook her head. ‘We were the victims of circumstance and of our time. We love each other. We always have and always will.’

  The truth hit him. ‘Tom Strong?’

  Max could barely believe his ears.

  She shook her head, amused that the young could be shocked by the actions of those they regarded as beyond sexuality, beyond passion. ‘Conrad knew we loved each other. He also knew that we would be together one day when circumstances allowed. We have much in common and our time together is precious.’ She leaned forward, her eyes bright. ‘We are making the most of the time we have left.’

  ‘And what about his wife?’

  Blanche flinched. ‘There is much you do not know and do not need to know. But our time has come. We will live out our latter years together. Horatia will not object. Emerald, Tom’s daughter, will be comin
g with us.’

  Max slumped into a chair. ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’

  ‘We won’t be leaving until after your wedding.’

  ‘Thank you for that.’

  ‘There’s no need to sound sarcastic.’

  ‘It’s not sarcasm, it’s shock. I can’t believe so much has happened to me in just a few, short days. First I’m Conrad Heinkel’s son, then I’m Nelson Strong’s son, and now I find that my real father is Thomas Strong.’

  ‘Speak to him,’ she said softly. ‘Tell him that you know.’

  Max left the room without saying goodnight. Blanche knew he was confused more than angry. The world he’d known had been turned upside down. His mind was troubled, but he had to find his own peace, she told herself, just as she and Tom had done. She decided to send Tom a note, warning him of what she had done. Max knew who his father was. She hoped Tom would understand.

  * * *

  Irritatingly, Tom had to wait to confront Horatia about her relationship with Duncan. She had gone to London to negotiate the price of some prime refineries in Limehouse. But he did have another job to do before he and Blanche left for Barbados. He had to explain himself to Max. In order to soften the blow, he had decided to hand over all his interest in the refinery. He didn’t expect Max to be grateful for it, but at least it would help ease his own conscience. He decided to talk to him after the directors’ monthly meeting that week.

  He arrived late. The other directors were already seated in the room Max had named ‘The Boiler House’. Summer or winter, the room was always warm. The end wall formed the outer skin of one of the chimneys that towered sixty feet into the air. Tom removed his coat and hung it on the back of a chair. One or two of the more liberal followed his example. The rest boiled, trickles of sweat pouring down their faces and into their stiffly starched shirt collars. ‘That chimney needs sweeping,’ he said, brushing cinders from the back of his coat.

  ‘We can’t shut the whole place down for one chimney,’ Max said sharply. ‘I’ve given orders to wait until the others need cleaning and to shut down then.’