The Lorimer Legacy

by Anne Melville

  ‘The memory of love is a very potent force, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘Different from love itself. More dangerous, I guess. But strong. It doesn’t develop over the years, and change, as love does. It takes one straight back to the time of being young and trustful and hopeful. Yes, very dangerous. As insecure a foundation to build on as the San Andreas Fault. But at a time like this, one needs to hold on to anything which promises a little hope.’ Unexpectedly he laughed. ‘My timing’s not too good,’ he said. ‘I’m fifty-six years old, I haven’t shaved for three days and I smell of smoke and sweat. I can hardly imagine a less romantic figure. All I’d better say is, please don’t be in too much of a hurry to get away from San Francisco.’

  His hands reached forward, and there was a second in which Margaret thought that he was about to kiss her. But whether it was the thought of his own stubbly chin that dissuaded him, or the awareness of Miss Halloran’s observant eyes, he did no more than squeeze her waist gently for a moment, smiling, before turning away to join the two boys.

  Margaret leaned over the rail of the yacht and stared down into the water. It made no sense that whatever power it was that had first drawn Greg and herself together so many years ago should still be as strong as ever. She knew nothing of his life in these past years, just as he knew nothing about hers. They had, surely, become strangers. And yet, all lovers must start as strangers.

  Margaret reminded herself that she ought to be cautious. To have loved a man once was no sufficient reason for loving him again. It could mean merely that she was lonely, resentful of the fact that her married life had lasted for such a very short time, reluctant to admit that she was too old ever again to attract a man’s love. But it was difficult, all the same, to control her exhilaration. In an effort to remind herself that only a few miles away there were people weeping for their dead or horrified by the loss of their homes and all their possessions, she raised her eyes again to. the sinister tower of smoke. But it was no good. Already, all the moments of fear and strain which the past three days had brought seemed to be pushing themselves into the back of her mind, refusing to be remembered. If anyone were to ask me what happened in San Francisco in the April of nineteen hundred and six, she told herself, ashamed and excited at the same time, what should I want to answer? Not that I watched the destruction of a city. Only that there I met my first love again.

  9

  When a whole community suffers a disaster, the sympathy it attracts is far greater than would have been earned by the sum of individual losses. When Margaret and the other passengers on the yacht arrived at Oakland, it seemed as though the whole population of the United States was jostling for space along the eastern shore of the bay. There were refugees hoping to return as soon as possible, relatives anxious for news, and relief workers either waiting to help those who fled from the city or struggling to get their supplies through to those who had no choice but to stay. Emergency hospitals were already fully manned, and Margaret found that there was nothing she could usefully do except move out of the area as quickly as possible.

  Greg called at a bank and drew out money which he distributed amongst the adults in the party, so that they should all be able to supply themselves with necessities, but they found that no one in Oakland would accept payment. It was not only the relief organizations which were handing out clothes and bolts of cloth: shopkeepers took one look at the blood and dirt which stained Margaret’s skirts and pressed replacements on her. Even the train which carried the little party north to Napa was free.

  Greg sat next to Margaret in the train. Alexa and Miss Halloran, facing them, must have seen how close the two were sitting, but they made no comment: conventions had crumbled in the emergency, Margaret herself pretended that she had not noticed. She stared out of the window as the train wound its way through pastures and vineyards and woods, as though it were only the pleasant view which kept a smile on her face. Even without looking, she was sure that Greg was smiling too.

  Cassie’s bright new home welcomed them to peace and rest at last. Cassie herself, sweet-faced and unaffected, hurried from one to another in relief and welcome. She had not expected strangers to arrive with her family, but accepted Margaret and Alexa as her guests without question, sending Brad and Robert to find beds with a neighbour.

  ‘And Frank?’ she asked.

  ‘We are the rats who have deserted the sinking ship,’ her father told her. ‘Frank is one of the captains who has remained behind to keep it afloat.’

  ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t think it his duty to go down with it.’ The subject was not pursued. There was hot water waiting for baths, and feather mattresses for sleep. The nightmare was over.

  For twenty-four hours Margaret was content to relax in the fresh country air and the quiet of the valley. Brad and Robert went off at dawn to join the gang of men who were clearing a stretch of scrubland which would soon become part of a new vineyard, after Cassie had anxiously warned her English guest how to recognize and avoid poison oak. Alexa, to whom a constantly changing supply of clean clothes was a necessity of life, set to work at once to make herself new underwear from a length of white cotton which had been given to her at Oakland. She wore one of her gift dresses as well, a country print very different in style from the fashionable dresses which were her normal attire. Although the effect was incongruous, she refused to take off the opals which she had worn to the opera ball. It was as though, having lost everything else, she needed to feel that these last treasures could not slip away from her.

  ‘The rubies!’ exclaimed Margaret, reminded of them by the sight of the opals. ‘I left them behind in the apartment!’

  ‘You were right to be superstitious about them.’ Alexa’s attempt to laugh was not altogether successful. ‘I have only to try them on for five minutes, and a whole city is destroyed. Powerful magic indeed!’ She bent her head in concentration over her cutting-out.

  Margaret was surprised that the subject should be dismissed with so little curiosity or regret. But she was relieved that Alexa did not criticize her for the haste and lack of thought with which she had left the apartment.

  Greg too had altered his appearance from that of the previous day. His complexion, close-shaven, seemed positively polished with cleanliness and his newly washed hair bounced off his forehead in springy curls. The aura of success clung to him, as well as that of soap. But whereas Margaret’s father, in the days when he was a powerful businessman, had never been able to put off his air of authority, but tyrannized his family as completely as his staff, Greg had a different aptitude. No one taking note of his confidence and decisiveness could doubt that he was a man of importance in his community. But he had the ability, it seemed, to forget his responsibilities. In London, Margaret had been attracted to Lord Glanville partly because she was flattered when an aristocrat unbent to confide in her. Now, far more strongly, she recognized that part of Greg’s attraction lay in the fact that he was an energetic and successful man who could nevertheless pay her the compliment of completely relaxing in her presence. He took for granted both her contentment and his own in their new relationship.

  The country idyll could not, however, remain undisturbed for long. After their second breakfast at Cassie’s house, Greg came to stand beside Margaret on the verandah and announced that he must return to Oakland.

  ‘The fire in the city is under control at last,’ he said. ‘I must be ready to go back as soon as anyone is allowed into the business area. There will be a great deal to decide – about my own affairs, those of my customers, the rebuilding of premises, the state of our home. I may not be able to return for some time. But I shall send Frank up as soon as I can find him. He will need a rest. Margaret, allow me to deal with your affairs at the same time as far as I can. Did you have insurance to cover your possessions?’

  ‘How can insurance companies cover losses on such a scale?’ asked Margaret. ‘Surely they will all go bankrupt?’

  ‘They’ll have to choose between ruining themselves by me
eting their obligations at once or ruining themselves by refusing to pay and finding themselves without customers in the future. Give me the facts, and I will see what can be done. What were your banking arrangements? Did you actually transfer your money to San Francisco?’

  ‘Fortunately not,’ said Margaret. ‘We intended to do that when our plans were settled. But for the time being we had arranged to draw on our London accounts through a local bank. The greatest risk must have been to Alexa’s jewellery. Almost all of it is in one of your own company’s safe deposit boxes.’

  ‘Then it should have survived,’ said Greg, and took down the details. ‘I was able to salvage most of the property we held in safe keeping before the fire took hold. I’ll bring back what information I can. Margaret, you’ll still be here, won’t you, when I return?’

  ‘Of course.’ Almost intoxicated by happiness and the high, heady air, Margaret turned to smile at him. Whether or not he recognized that she was deliberately inviting him to kiss her, he did so, and left her to marvel at the ease with which their old affection had re-established itself.

  As soon as he had left, Margaret went to the sewing room. She would need new petticoats herself, but that was not her chief reason for seeking Alexa’s company.

  ‘When Frank arrives, you must tell him how old you are,’ she said without preamble.

  Alexa looked at her in astonishment. ‘But why?’

  ‘It should be enough for me to say that there should be no lies between you.’

  ‘You have said that once already, but then you agreed that I should choose my own time.’

  ‘That was before I met Frank’s father.’

  ‘What difference does that make?’

  ‘He wants to know something about your own parentage. It is a reasonable request. I intend to answer his questions, and truthfully. I have avoided them for the moment, so that you can put the facts straight yourself, without being caught out in an untruth.’

  ‘You can answer his questions, surely, without being precise on the subject of age.’

  ‘I told you in the tent,’ said Margaret, ‘that I had met Mr Davidson before.’

  ‘Even if you had not, I could hardly have failed to notice your intimacy.’ There was a note of spitefulness in Alexa’s voice, no doubt caused by her annoyance at the instruction which she did not yet understand.

  Was it necessary, Margaret wondered, to reveal how close she and Alexa’s future father-in-law had once been? She decided that it would merely confuse the discussion.

  ‘Mr Davidson was also well acquainted with your father – our father,’ she said. ‘He knows that John Junius Lorimer was already dead several years before the date you now claim as your birthday. As a matter of fact, he also on one or two occasions met your mother. It is possible that he may have seen you in your cradle. Even if he did not, he certainly was aware that your mother had had a baby. He returned to San Francisco only a few hours before the earthquake, so we need not be surprised that he has not yet thought to connect Alexa Reni with anyone whom he knew in Bristol when he was a young man, a long time ago. But as soon as he has time to reflect calmly and to cast his mind back, he will undoubtedly remember. What I am telling you, Alexa, is for your own sake. If you persist in your lie, it will be discovered even without help from me, and you will suffer for it. I’m not prepared to be involved in a deception of which in any case I disapprove.’ She smiled and reached for the scissors. ‘We won’t quarrel about it, I hope. You are so beautiful, Alexa. Frank will think nothing of birthdays when he comes back.’

  ‘If he comes back.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I mean that I am worried.’ Alexa’s head was bent over her sewing. ‘He should be here by now.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have known about the yacht: and I should think that the queue for the ferry will not be cleared for a week.’

  ‘He didn’t return to the tent, though.’ Alexa sighed, but said nothing more about it. Margaret noticed how eagerly she jumped to her feet every time she heard the sound of a horse approaching, and how great was her dejection as each hope was dashed.

  It was Greg, in fact, who was the first to return, a week after his departure, in a carriage hired from the station. Margaret watched from the window as he paid the driver and called Cassie’s odd-job man to unload a variety of roped boxes and portmanteaux. All the energy with which he had set off seemed to have drained away from him. His face was grey and tired, his clothes crumpled and dirty again, charred around the ankles to show that he had been stepping through the ashes of the fire. When Cassie came running to greet him, he kissed her but did not speak. As she went to the kitchen to give her orders for a meal, he came into the drawing room without pausing on the way to wash or tidy himself.

  ‘Where are the boys?’ His voice seemed cold, and he did not greet either Margaret or Alexa personally.

  ‘Working in the forest. And Miss Halloran is resting.’

  ‘Good.’ He had carried inside with him one steel box which he set down before Alexa. ‘I think you will find most of your valuable property in here.’

  Margaret expected to see her sister’s eyes brighten. At the very least, Alexa would surely want to open the deposit box and see whether any damage had been done. Instead, she stared at Greg as though she knew, as he clearly did, that there was something more to be said. Margaret, not understanding the tension between them, knew only that there was something wrong.

  ‘It wasn’t all quite so safely stowed, was it, Miss Reni?’ he said. ‘You owned one more set of jewellery.’ He opened a leather pouch which was belted round his waist and took out the rubies which had been abandoned in the Van Ness apartment. One by one he laid the pieces out on the table: the necklace, the ear-rings, the tiara. The tiara had been bent out of shape. He tried to straighten it with his fingers, as though he needed time to steady his voice before he looked up again.

  ‘Of course,’ he continued, ‘you could not have expected that I would recognize these stones. I have seen them before. I know a good deal about their history – enough to know that you have no right to own them.’

  Alexa stood up. Naturally pale at any time, her face now seemed completely drained of blood. But not, as Margaret might have expected, with anger. She was afraid.

  ‘Mr Davidson,’ she said. ‘What has happened to Frank?’

  Greg made no attempt to answer the question. Instead he looked at Margaret. ‘You gave her the rubies, I suppose,’ he said.

  ‘No.’ Margaret was ready to explain, but by now Alexa was so tense that she would not allow any interruption.

  ‘They were a gift to me from my father. I have every right to own them.’

  ‘Then who, may I ask, was your father?’

  Whether or not Alexa remembered the warning that Margaret had given her, she could not retreat now. She held her shoulders straight as she answered.

  ‘My father was John Junius Lorimer, of Bristol.’

  Greg looked from one woman to the other, as though he could not believe what he had heard. He sat down behind the table on which the rubies lay, and buried his head in his hands.

  ‘After so many years!’ he exclaimed. ‘Even from the grave this devil stretches out his fingers to snap the strings of my life.’

  Alexa stepped forward, pressing the question to which she must already have guessed the answer.

  ‘You have to tell me, Mr Davidson. What has happened to Frank?’

  ‘Certainly I will tell you, although all I know is what is contained in a military report. Frank approached the guard at the entrance to your apartment block and asked for permission to go inside. He was refused permission and told that the building was unsafe. The reason for this was that dynamite had been placed in every building between Van Ness Avenue and Polk Street in order that a fire break could be created. A little while later the guard was withdrawn. The soldiers reported that they had cleared the area and, as soon as they themselves were at a safe distance, the fuses were lit. Fr
ank’s body was found three days later, buried in the rubble of your apartment block. These rubies were in his pockets. When his body was dug out, it was labelled as that of a looter.’ Greg’s fists clenched, in anger as well as grief. ‘You sent him to his death, Miss Reni. Just for these.’

  ‘I didn’t send him.’ Tears were running down Alexa’s face, but she stood her ground. ‘I was going to go myself – he insisted – what does it matter? You loved Frank, Mr Davidson, and so did I. We should be able to share our grief, not to be angry.’

  It was a vain hope. Greg’s eyes showed the intensity of his feelings as he looked straight at the young woman who might have been his daughter-in-law, and the sight of her tears did not move him.

  ‘You killed my son,’ he said. ‘Thoughtlessly or selfishly, it makes no difference now, but don’t talk to me of loving him. I ask you just to get out of my life before you do – any more damage.’

  Margaret, recognizing that no good could come of an argument between two people who were so distraught, moved towards Alexa and tried to lead her out of the room. But Alexa shook her arm free.

  ‘Your anger is with my father, Mr Davidson. He died when I was a baby. I never knew him. If you had some quarrel with him, I know nothing about it. You have no right to be angry with me merely because you hate my father.’

  Greg took a deep breath, controlling himself so that his answer came in a voice that was calm and cold.

  ‘Once upon a time – a very long time ago – I loved a woman who was also your father’s daughter. I loved her for herself, and I did my best never to hold her parentage against her. If Frank had lived, I would have welcomed you into my family whoever your father was. But thanks to you, my son is dead, and every time I see you I shall remember why. There is no longer any link between us. There is no longer any reason why you should stay in California.’