by Peter Rimmer
Once, when Hannah was having more trouble than usual with her lover, she had briefly seduced her husband, later giving birth to Rebecca, the only person on earth Sir Jacob had truly loved, a love taken away by the obsession of his business clients to keep the blood of the Jews to themselves.
Ralph Madgwick, the man his daughter ran away with, was a gentile and that had been the end of it if he were to prevent all the years in business history from unravelling. He was not the first Jew to make such a sacrifice to preserve his race. He was sure he would not be the last. Survival came first, happiness much later in the five thousand year quest of his people.
“It is strange to know a man so well and not have met him, Colonel Brigandshaw. I hope there is no bad news.” Sir Jacob was on edge. Ever since he had been told by the telephone exchange a call was coming to him from Colonel Brigandshaw in England he had worried about Rebecca and her children in Rhodesia.
“None whatsoever. So far as we know, everything is well. Aaron has offered my nephew a job which he is mulling, for which I thank you for your introduction.”
“Then what can I do for you from so far away in America?”
“Not so far in four days’ time when I arrive in New York for my first visit. No, I wish to reciprocate your kindness. Business, Sir Jacob. I wish to diversify my portfolio to include America. You are the only man I would come to for such advice. Robert St Clair will meet us at the airport. He was my brother-in-law before my first wife was killed. Robert and I are old friends from our days at Oxford. I believe you financed the film Gerry Hollingsworth, the one-time Louis Casimir, made of Robert’s book, Keeper of the Legend. I understand the introduction came from Max Pearl, an old customer of Rosenzweigs and Robert’s publisher.”
“You are well informed. Please make time to call at my office when you arrive in New York. Keep your second night free for a dinner party at my apartment in Abercrombie Place.”
“That will be the night of the fourth.”
“The fourth it shall be. Seven for seven-thirty. We are overlooking Central Park. Miss Cohen will give you an appointment in my office. We, you said?”
“My nephew and I.”
“I will ask Max and Robert. A pleasant way to finally meet, Colonel Brigandshaw. Should you wish to bring…”
“My wife will stay in England.”
“My wife too stays in England. Has never lived in America. One visit in thirteen years to be exact. And no, I am never lonely. Quite the contrary.” Why he had referred to his previous loneliness he had no idea.
When Jacob returned the handset to its cradle, he was smiling. He would tell Vida at dinner. A dinner party. The first they would throw together. Then he sat back in his chair to think of the new woman in his life.
Vida was from Germany, her family dead, her money gone, the maturing glory of her beauty still startlingly apparent to an old man. From adversity, they had found happiness. It would be most interesting on the night of the fourth to find which one of them brought up the subject of his daughter first. To be polite, he would give Harry Brigandshaw five minutes. Then he would want to know. From what Harry had said about his nephew, the boy had recently been on the farm in Rhodesia. If not pictures from a camera, Sir Jacob would hear pictures of his grandchildren from the boy’s mind. It would finally bring them alive. Make them real. Whoever said old age was boring had never lived his life.
“The world indeed is small, Miss Cohen. Put Colonel Brigandshaw in my diary for seven o’clock on Tuesday night. We are going to throw a dinner party.”
“Good news, Sir Jacob?” asked his secretary.
“The best. One of my young guests for Tuesday recently visited Rebecca.”
At half past one on the Monday afternoon, Robert St Clair was wondering what had happened to his friend. The plane was two hours late and no one at the Imperial Airways desk knew what was going on.
“Well, he can’t have lost himself in the jungle this time.”
“Pardon me, sir?”
“Last time he crashed and spent two years living with a tribe of Tutsis.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Neither do I. The first time I flew someone told me how many parts there were on an aircraft that had to work perfectly to keep us up in the air. Then we took off. To calm my nerves I lit a cigarette. When I stubbed out my cigarette the ashtray fell on the floor. Been a nervous passenger ever since. Do we know what time the aircraft took off from the Azores?”
“They don’t tell ground hostesses information like that, sir.”
“Then they should. All things come to those who wait.”
The girl was smiling at him in a ‘now what are you going to do’ kind of way. She was having a bad day like the rest of them waiting in the concourse.
“So we’re both in the same boat.”
“They’ll Tannoy the aircraft’s arrival. Go and have a cup of coffee. There’s a very nice cafeteria you can see down there through the glass doors. Have a nice day.”
Slumping on a bucket seat Robert began to think back. The girl was right. There was nothing either of them could do. Using his fingers, mental arithmetic not being his prize subject, Robert tried to calculate how long he had known Harry Brigandshaw since the days they had met at Oxford when he could still stand on his own two feet.
Like so many friendships it had started casually in a crowd, no one making a formal introduction, two undergraduates the same age finding the spires and quadrangles overpowering while making a show of feeling quite at home. Harry taking a degree in geology came to Robert’s mind. His own Bachelor of Arts in history had been about as much use in his life to come. Neither of them had ever used their degrees.
“Must be thirty years ago.”
The man sitting next to him looked up from his book and went on reading. The girl on the other side had ignored him after a first quick look, saying, without words, that old men were not of interest. Bored, her legs crossed, she had gone on bouncing her knee.
“What are you reading, old chap?”
The man showed him the cover.
“Not one of mine.”
“I don’t steal books.”
“You waiting for the London flight?”
“We all are. They don’t exactly land every ten minutes.”
“Just trying to pass the time.”
Freya and the kids had stayed in Denver. Genevieve, his niece, was in town, along with Gerry Hollingsworth who was raising money for Holy Knight. Robert was bored stiff like the girl in the bucket seat next door.
“My name’s Robert St Clair,” he said to the man with his nose in the book, hoping the name would ring a bell and start a conversation. For all Robert knew, they would be waiting around all afternoon with nothing to do.
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
“So you’ve read my books?” said Robert smugly, looking at the girl out of the corner of his eye to see if there was the same reaction in that direction.
“What books? Never read except at airports. If I haven’t finished it when I go I throw it away. Same when I fly. I’m George Manderville from Virginia. If I lived in England they’d call me Sir George Manderville Bart.”
“You’re Cousin George! Are you waiting for Harry?”
“And Cousin Tinus. Somehow I remember from Harry you and I are related, Bob.”
“Harry’s first wife was my sister, Lucinda.”
“I’m sorry. That story don’t run right. Harry told me how Lucinda died. I’ll be blowed. Sitting here all this time and not saying a word. Came all the way up from Virginia to meet his plane. Thought I would surprise him. Harry’s first time in America. Now, tell me, what sort of books do you write? Instruction books? Everyone writes instruction books. All this new machinery. I can’t even write a letter myself.”
“Keeper of the Legend.” Miffed by the girl still ignoring him, Robert was going all out to impress.
“Now that’s not true. That one was a film.”
“Based on my
book.”
“You got to be kidding. Never knew they made films about books.”
“What do you do in Virginia, George?” The girl was still bouncing her leg.
“Grow tobacco. Like Harry in Rhodesia. Did you know my father sent him his first seed? Us family have to stick together. Only trouble is, I inherited the damn title and Harry got Hastings Court. And I can’t even use the damn title in America. You get born right and it still don’t help none. Did you hear that, lady?” said George leaning across Robert. “This man here wrote the book that made the film that made Gregory L’Amour famous. Now you got to know the name Gregory L’Amour, lady. Every pretty young girl in America knows Gregory L’Amour. My name’s George. I’m from Virginia. Don’t tell me you’re waiting for Harry Brigandshaw?”
Without saying a word, the girl got up from her seat and walked away down the airport concourse.
“She thinks we’re spinning a line.”
“Why don’t we get ourselves a cup of coffee?”
“Much better idea, Robert. We’ll go get ourselves a drink in the bar. This is a celebration. This is a family reunion. If we get drunk it don’t matter how long Harry takes a-coming. Take all day, for all I care. Just came up to meet Harry. You got anything better to do?”
“Not at the moment, George,” Robert smiled, getting to his feet.
“What they done to you, Bob?”
“The Germans blew off my right foot in the war. I stump a bit but I still get around. Amazing what doctors do with prosthetics these days. If you listen carefully you can hear the new foot clicking when I walk.”
On the plane, still half an hour out of New York, an oil seal in the right engine having been replaced was doing nothing for Harry Brigandshaw’s nerves, Harry was tapping his fingers on his right knee, watched out of the corner of his eye by Tinus Oosthuizen.
“You don’t like flying, Uncle Harry. I never knew.”
“I like flying when I am in control. How can they replace an oil seal halfway through a flight? Pilot should have sensed the seal about to blow. They’re just taxi drivers, not pilots. Well-paid taxi drivers relying on the ground staff instead of themselves. In France I worked in partnership with my mechanic to stop a problem before it happened. Always look for trouble. Remember that, Tinus. You can’t land in the sea and repair an oil leak.”
“Why don’t you ask the pilot if you can sit in the cockpit?” asked Tinus.
“They don’t want an old man telling them what to do. Anyway, he’s the captain. It’s his job to get us to New York. I hate being late. I hate being flown. I hate what’s going on in the world. And why are you smirking?”
“We’ll be landing soon, Uncle Harry. Genevieve will be at the airport too. Our rooms are booked in her hotel. I’m excited.”
“That smirk said something else.”
“Relax, Uncle Harry. You’re even making me a little nervous. I never think what could happen when I’m flying.”
“Robert said he’d meet the plane. Have you made up your mind?”
“When we get home. I want to walk the bush alone for a couple of days. Then I’ll know what to do with my life.”
“Do you think I should put money into Holy Knight?”
“Films are a gamble that usually lose. Like putting on a play. As your financial advisor, with a brand new degree in philosophy, politics and economics, you’d be safe in government bonds, guaranteed by the Bank of England. But what the hell. The first film made Hollingsworth and Rosenzweig a fortune. Have a piece of it, Uncle Harry, if Genevieve and Gregory do the film. I’d guess it’s just as much the actors who bring the crowds as the film. Why do some people photograph and film better than others? I’ve known Genevieve for too long not to see what’s going on. But if anything, I’d put my money on Gregory and Genevieve, not the film. They both make people want to be like them. Everyone wants them as lovers. The boys and girls who never date can have a perfect fantasy. It makes them feel better about themselves after they’ve seen one of their films. As if they were part of it. Hero and heroine for a day. Better than reading a book as they don’t need the same imagination as when they have to picture Robert’s words. On the screen, there it is. Gregory is the knight and Genevieve the perfect lady. Exactly as they are. You don’t have to think, just sit back in your cinema seat and enjoy. If I had any money I’d put it on Genevieve and Gregory.”
“Tinus, you are biased. I think we are starting our descent. He’s been wiggling the flaps a couple of times. Well, here we come, America. The country will never be the same. Do you know, I really do feel different. Europe is suddenly so far away. All its problems left behind.”
“Maybe I’d better have a look at America,” said Tinus. “Do they recognise an Oxford degree?”
“When Cecil Rhodes made his will and laid the foundation for his scholarship he put America in the Trust as a beneficiary. All members of the Commonwealth and America are allocated Rhodes Scholarships. Rhodes still thought of America as part of the empire. The renegade child that went on its own. Oh yes, they’ll recognise a Rhodes Scholar. And your degree from Oxford. Why ever not?”
“I might just have a word with Gerry Hollingsworth.”
“Does this have more to do with Genevieve?”
“I’m young, Uncle Harry. Risk is in my blood.”
“And not in mine anymore.”
“It would be if you put money into the film.”
“And you stayed near to Genevieve in America to look after my investment! Better think about that when you are all alone walking the bush. Elephant Walk needs looking after. Ralph Madgwick is going to want his own farm one day to leave to his children. I wonder if Jacob knows Rebeccas’s pregnant again? How strange it is we know more about his family than Jacob. I’d hate that. Family to me is the most important part of my life, nephew.”
“You can still have a family in America if you start your own.”
“I was right. We’re going down slowly. My ears are popping.”
“So are mine. Sometimes it gives me a violent headache that only goes when I land. Welcome to America, Uncle Harry.”
Tinus, smiling, noticed his uncle had stopped tapping his right knee with his fingers. Then the butterflies ran wild in his stomach at the thought of seeing Genevieve again so soon.
It was not as easy as before for Genevieve to be out in public alone. Dressed in a headscarf and a large pair of dark glasses that caused odd looks but no recognition, she had seen and overheard her Uncle Robert long before he went off to the bar with the older man he picked up sitting in the next seat. She had seen the young girl put her nose in the air as she walked down the concourse, and hoped she’d trip. Genevieve knew talking to Uncle Robert would blow her disguise, his strong British accent announcing to the world her presence for everyone at the airport to hear.
Like Tinus, though unknown to her at present, she was nervous, wondering how they would both feel seeing each other again, even after a month. What they had between them was something neither of them spoke of. The fear that made her tremble with cold in the afternoon heat was going to be told in a few minutes. Tinus was finished with England and going home to Elephant Walk, their paths never again to cross.
“This time I’m going to seduce him and to hell with it,” she whispered to herself, pulling the headscarf further forward to cover her ears. “That’ll make it or break it.” Standing next to a pillar, trying to look like the rest of them, she listened to the loudspeaker announcing the flight had landed, her last chance to get what she wanted almost at hand.
Moments later Uncle Robert stumped his way out of the bar with his new friend as everyone moved to the gate where the passengers from the new flight would come out into the concourse after collecting their baggage.
“How are you, Uncle Robert?” she said, putting her index finger to his lips.
“How long have you been here?”
“As long as you.”
“This is Cousin George from Virginia. Harry’s Cousin G
eorge. Thinks Hastings Court belongs to him. He’s the new baronet after Harry’s grandfather died in Rhodesia leaving no sons. A bit like your father, I suppose. Have you ever thought, Genevieve, that were you a boy you’d inherit the St Clair family title?”
“Only if my parents had been married, Uncle Robert. But yes, I have. Now your Richard will inherit after my father dies.”
“Only if I’m dead first. How is he? How’s Mother?”
“He’s fallen in love with the pigs and cows. Smithers is miserable in the London flat on his own. I worry about both of them, the valet and the master I suppose you’d call them in a book. How long will it take for them to come through?”
“Heaven knows. Nobody here tells me anything.”
“Gran misses grandfather and doesn’t much care anymore. I don’t want to get old.”
Cousin George, struck dumb, stood looking at Genevieve, now no longer wearing her dark glasses, without saying a word. The girl who had ignored Robert came up to her all excited with a small notebook and pen in her hand.
“May I have your autograph?” she asked obsequiously.
“No, you can’t,” said Genevieve, delighted at the chance of getting her own back. “You were rude to Cousin George and my uncle.”
“What a bitch.” Genevieve smiled at how quickly people changed when they couldn’t get what they wanted.
“Not as big a bitch as you, darling,” Genevieve said in the cockney accent she had only known as a child.
“Well, I never.”
“No, you never will.”
With a big grin Genevieve once again watched the girl walk away, this time with everyone watching.
“What was that all about?” asked her uncle.
“Women talk. Now, what were we saying?”