The Captain's Daughter

by Leah Fleming

  Angelo cried, ‘But it’s hard to live with this in my heart.’

  ‘Then let it rest and live your life with your new family. We wish you all well. The son wants to be a priest? I should like to meet such a young man. But he is in America; that is good, for here he would be joining the young Blackshirts. Things are different here under Il Duce. Children are to be taught only what they want them to hear. The children of officials are pampered in leather and lace while others starve. It is not easy to speak your mind in the village in case someone complains to the mayor. They say it will be good for all of us to follow Il Duce. I think it’s better to live free where you are.’

  Angelo hugged them both. He knew he’d never see them again. As he walked through the village, people stared, thinking him a stranger. He felt like one. He smiled and waved but they went inside and shut the door to him. How quiet it was compared to the bustle of New York streets, the smell of garlic and frying onions, the barking of voices in the cafés and on the sidewalks selling fruit, the honking of the motors impatient to be on their way. New York was home now.

  He made his way to a ridge high over the village where he could look down on the rooftops and across to the hills in the distance. It was here he’d kissed Maria for the first time, a lifetime ago. Now it was chilly, grey and misty, not green like in the spring, with new leaves and blossom and the scent of pine. Everything had its season, he sighed. Maria would always be springtime and he was now in the fall of his life. It was time to go home.

  96

  May 1928

  Ella hung over the railings of the cross-channel ferry, breathing in the sharp air with relish. From Birmingham New Street to London, then to Dover and onwards to France – here was freedom at long last, after months of bickering and frustration with the Foresters. She knew she’d been a pain but what did they expect after holding out on all those secrets for months?

  It was the archdeacon’s wife who had come to the rescue, asking if Ella would be prepared to assist one of her friends in Paris as a mother’s help for the summer.

  Hazel had been green with envy as she packed her new passport, tickets and currency, feeling so grown up to be travelling alone; well, almost. Celeste had insisted she tagged on to a party of art students from Lichfield who were doing a tour of the museums. Little did they know she’d thrown them off at Waterloo.

  This was her adventure, her chance to live a grown-up life without any interference from her guardians. She was being mean to them, she knew. Selwyn had bought her a beautiful leather case and Celeste had taken her into Birmingham for some summer clothes. Archie had found her some maps of Paris. ‘You must see Rodin’s work. I promise it won’t disappoint.’ As if she didn’t know that.

  They were nervous for her but the Reverend Mr Burgess was one of the chaplains at St George’s Anglican Church on the Rue Auguste Vaquerie. She was to be in charge of his two little girls, and there was to be a new baby soon. There would be time off to go to art classes and she had no compunction now in asking the Titanic Relief Fund for a grant to attend as part of her education.

  There had been a battle over this at first until Archie explained that no matter who she was, she had still suffered a great loss on the Titanic, as much as May. Poor Selwyn had gone to the trouble to seek out the original passenger list from the White Star Line, but she wasn’t ready to look at it. It would mean confessing to the mistake May had made, besmirching her memory and making her own identity a false one. Better to stay Ellen Smith for the time being. She didn’t want any more complications.

  The seagulls screeched overhead and Ella’s spirit lifted as she saw the French coast coming into view. No more bad memories, no more small-town gossip, she was on her way to a new country and new people, who knew nothing of her sadness. She couldn’t wait for this new life to begin.

  Part 4

  LINKING THREADS

  1928–1946

  97

  Postcards from Paris, 1928

  Dear All

  I have arrived safely. The chaplain and his wife were there to meet me at Gare du Nord. Hermione and Rosalind are being little angels so far. I can’t believe I’m living here in the heart of the city. The vicarage is so central. I can walk to the Arc de Triomphe down the Champs-Elysées to the Jardin des Tuileries. Please thank Mrs Simons so much for recommending me.

  Paris is the best tonic for the grumps. England seems so far away. It is everything I could wish for and more. The girls are coming with me to the parks and museums. I have to remember they are my charges and not let them run too wild. My French is improving every day and the shop windows are such a distraction – do not worry Parisian life is far too expensive on my allowance! The classes are good and I am meeting lots of other foreign students. We are going down to the south of France for the summer holidays. I can’t wait to see the Mediterranean.

  Best love,

  Ella

  Dear Roddy

  You don’t deserve a letter as you hardly ever write to me but I wanted to show off my address in France and all the places I have visited. My sculpture class is mind-blowing. Everyone is tons better than I am. I have so much to learn.

  I am collecting cathedrals: Notre-Dame. Rouen, Chartres, Tours, Orléans and Paris buildings are just one huge classroom.

  Our visit to Cannes was such a surprise. It was so hot and I am so brown now that people come up to me and think I’m a native. It’s funny how in the sunshine I feel like a lizard warming myself on stone walls. I will be sad when the autumn comes and I must return to more studies under grey skies. The little girls played on the plage and we swam in the sea every day. We have a new baby boy called Lionel, who has a nursemaid.

  It has been good to be away from everyone, standing on my own two feet, having to cope with emergencies, how to deal with men who sit too close to me on the Metro and want to feel up my skirts. I kick their shins hard and make them wince with shame, I hope. I wish I were a boy who could wander freely everywhere without worrying if I am being followed.

  I have become an expert at swearing in French under my breath when the art master criticizes my work. He has taught me to look at other work with a much more critical eye. There is just so much more to learn. I feel like a different person already.

  I try not to think about my mother too much. It only upsets me that she died so young and needlessly for the want of a doctor’s appointment. I’m sure she tried to treat herself to save a fee so money could be spent on me. I feel terrible how she went without to give me every advantage. She would never spend anything on herself. Now I am swanning around France like a debutante. I know it isn’t fair but I also know she would be happy for me.

  As I am sure you are aware, I now know all about the Titanic and how our mothers met. My mother had her reasons for not telling me. I sometimes think she was ashamed of being a survivor. All she claimed was her due pension so she could educate me.

  It’s all too late to understand things now. I suppose none of us understands our parents until we are parents ourselves. One day perhaps we’ll feel as protective, fearful and hurt about our own kids. But I hope it’s not for a long time.

  No, there is no Rudolf Valentino in my life, just Leon and Friedrich, who sometimes take me out to the cafés by the Seine after class. There is no spark, though. I haven’t time for romance. How about you, the big brother I never see?

  I was sorry to hear your grandma died. I know you were fond of her. Forgive me for rattling on about myself. You work very hard and Celeste is proud of you. The divorce is going through at long last. It’s long overdue but it will still cause a furore in the Close. Divorce is not as common in England as it is in your country and people don’t understand that to spend a lifetime in a bad marriage is pure hell. Better none at all, I should think. Neither of us will rush into that state of affairs, I’m sure.

  Do write back before I leave here.

  Love, Ella

  She hadn’t told Roddy the entire truth about May and the Titanic. No one k
new 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.

  98

  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.

  99

  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.