The Captain's Daughter (43 page)

She hadn’t told Roddy the entire truth about May and the
Titanic.
No one knew but her guardians, and that was how it was going to stay. Yet it was strange how at home she felt on the Continent, in the sunshine, listening to the chatter of languages. She was getting used to shopkeepers assuming she was local and jabbering at her in French so fast she could only nod and smile and shrug her shoulders.

Once on the beach at Cannes she heard a family laughing and screaming at their children and for a second she thought she knew what they were saying, as if some distant memory at the back of her mind recognized the words. She turned to hear more but they had passed on down the beach out of earshot. She didn’t even know what nationality they were. It was unsettling for a minute until she was distracted by Hermione nearly burying poor Roz in the sand.

One thing she knew now was that this would not be her last trip abroad. She’d go to Spain, Italy, Switzerland . . . wherever she might find work or classes. If she was going to be a professional artist then she must learn her craft the hard way by training her eye to be critical and observant. Her work was amateur and conventional. She must learn from the classics, and that meant travelling. She must retain her identity and claim more funds. The
Titanic
had taken away so many lives, now it must pay for those it left behind, whoever they actually were.

June 1932

Celeste peered at her outline in the long mirror, pleased with the result. Aquamarine suited her colouring. Her wedding dress was cut on the bias with a flowing jacket and beaded trim. Her little silk hat clung to her waved hair, anchored by hatpins. It was a simple ensemble, ideal for a registry office wedding. She was glad her parents weren’t alive to see her wed in such a cloak-and-dagger way. How different from last time, with all the pomp and ceremony of a cathedral service.

Grover had fought them all the way in the divorce. It had taken years of petty and ridiculous negotiations to make him sign. He’d finally left Akron for Cleveland after losing his position in some company dispute. Then Roddy had written saying he’d found a wealthy widow, and suddenly his signature on the divorce papers was secure.

She was hurt Roddy was not coming over for the occasion but he said he just couldn’t leave Will and Freight Express. He’d sent them First Class tickets for their honeymoon passage to New York instead, and they would come on later to visit him. She couldn’t help but feel it was a gesture borne of guilt but at least they would see each other.

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 excitement 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 funeral 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 German Workers’ Party, becoming an increasingly powerful figure. There was talk in the papers 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 Lichfield, 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 from the paths they had chosen.

The threats of conflicts abroad were bringing opportunities for his business, with an untold 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.

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 performance 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 bursting 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 making friends with Hitler. Angelo had seen enough of the changes to his old country to be fearful. He recalled Maria’s father’s words about the Blackshirts marching in the streets. There was talk of taking sides. What then?