by Pamela Pope
‘There’s no need for opulence,’ Ellie stated firmly. ‘The paintings in the reception office and your own must be sold, Julian.’ He had asked her to drop the prefix ‘uncle’ when she addressed him. ‘There’s enough money hanging on your walls to pay all one thousand seven hundred employees a year’s wages and more. That is a wicked waste.’
‘Ridiculous! Many of our customers are royal — it’s important to make a good impression.’
‘The quality of the finished product is what matters. An office like this is all that’s necessary.’
‘I will not lower my standards.’
‘The impression given to ordinary people is enough to put them off, so it is.’ Oliver was equally vehement. ‘We won’t survive on royal patronage alone — it’s more rail company orders’ we need.’
Grandfather poured himself some water. ‘I suppose the Prince of Wales pops in every now and then,’ he said scathingly, then: ‘And anyway, the paintings are mine, removed from my home without my permission. Ellie’s right, they must be sold.’
The discussion became heated. Julian’s anger increased, his eyes narrowed and his mouth was grim as he fought to hold onto his ill-gotten possessions. The minute hand of the clock made two complete circuits and still they argued.
‘This must be a matter for all shareholders. You can’t dictate from a minority position,’ he stormed.
‘Call a meeting then,’ Oliver insisted.
The outcome of consultation with all shareholders a few weeks later was a unanimous decision to raise capital as suggested, and Ellie had won her first battle with Julian Cromer.
*
On 3 April 1895, William had his first birthday. He was developing into a sturdy little boy who could walk quite well, and his adventurous spirit necessitated Nanny Simmons having to watch him every waking minute. There had been several frights since he had found his feet. On one occasion he had discovered the French windows open, and was out on the balcony before anyone knew what he was doing. Ellie had found him excitedly jumping up and down as a water-car trundled by.
‘Horsie!’ he had cried, pointing to the poor animal pulling the vehicle. ‘Horsie, Mama.’
His birthday brought back painful memories for Ellie. Thoughts of Max inevitably played on her mind, and in spite of her resolution not to think of him she wondered what he was doing. She stroked the head of their son as she cuddled him during a lunch-time nap. Her fingers slid through the black hair growing thickly from a peak on his forehead, and it was so much like his father’s that she couldn’t stop a forbidden longing for the past of a year ago.
One big surprise had been a card and money for William from his Grandmama Harvey in Chicago. Ellie had written to her mother to tell her of the move to Southampton, and had received one of her carefully worded replies. Sibylla didn’t write often, and her answer to that first letter from London had avoided the use of Max’s name.
‘Dear Ellie,’ Mama had written. ‘We are very sorry to hear of your misfortunes and wish you would reconsider your decision not to return home. You know that you and William would be welcome here in your changed circumstances.’ How delicately she phrased things. ‘The news of my father’s problems is not too surprising, remembering the man he was, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t shed tears even if I could see him. I’m just sorry that you’ve had to become involved, but there is no need for you to stay.’
There’d been a page about Frederick whose family had further increased, and a large paragraph about Lionel who had decided to take up a good job offered him in Canada. Drew and Clarissa were well, as were Jefferson and Papa.
‘Your Papa is concerned about you. His condemnation of your husband is unrepeatable and he says it was wicked of him to have taken you to England in the first place without the means to support you.’ The underlining in a different coloured ink told Ellie that Papa was still in ignorance of Mama’s gift and was a warning not to mention it. ‘He loves you and misses you, Elena, and he wants you to come home.’
Ellie’s reply had been brief. ‘If Papa really loved me he would not have turned me out when I decided to marry Max, so I’m afraid my return is out of the question. I have become very fond of Grandfather Cromer and would rather look after him than live on Papa’s charity.’
Mama’s cold reaction to Grandfather Cromer’s plight had made Ellie angry, and strengthened her own affection for the old man.
There were no more letters from Max. Not once had she opened the ones which had come to the London address. Now that she was in Southampton she hoped any correspondence from him would be returned to sender, address unknown. All links with him were broken. She didn’t know where to contact him in America, and he had no knowledge of her whereabouts in England. That was the way she wanted it.
All the same, after the birthday tea at which Millicent, Francis and Charlotte had been present, Ellie felt too depressed to spend the evening alone, so she was very grateful when Oliver came with an invitation.
‘I thought we might dine at the Dolphin,’ he said. ‘I know it’s the boy’s birthday, but I’ve a feeling it’s his mother who needs cheering up, so I do.’
‘Oh Oliver, you’re right!’
The Dolphin was one of the oldest hotels in the city, and Ellie liked being surrounded by so much history. Lord Nelson had once stayed in one of the bedrooms, but the building went back much earlier than that, and it had the feeling of still being inhabited by its earliest residents. One of the things she liked most about England was its antiquity.
‘You’re thinking of Max, aren’t you?’ Oliver said, when she picked at her food. ‘It’s natural, Ellie darlin’, but it’s doing you no good.’
‘I know.’ She toyed with her spoon. ‘Why did he do it to me, Oliver, when he knew I loved him so much? I would have given him as much of the money as he wanted — all of it. We could have been happy.’
‘Faced with temptation, who knows what any of us will do?’
‘I don’t know what I would have done without you. I owe you so much for the time we were in London. How can I ever repay you?’
He made her put down the spoon and took both her hands. ‘You could let me help you to forget,’ he said.
Ellie’s back stiffened and she firmly withdrew her fingers. She knew how he felt. The signals had been getting stronger for weeks now and she had been silly to let him see her weakness. It was going to be difficult to hold back without hurting him, and that was something he didn’t deserve.
‘You help me enough.’ Her tone was gentle.
‘Enough is it, just to settle for words when my heart’s aching for you?’
‘I’m still a married woman,’ she reminded him.
‘With a husband you’ll never see again. What kind of life is that?’
‘We’re both Catholics.’
‘And I am a widower, so I am.’
‘But I’m not a widow. I’m sorry, Oliver. There can never be anything but friendship between us.’
He reached for her hand again and this time raised it to his lips. His eyes held hers. ‘I’ve been tormented with love for you ever since we first met. You’re so beautiful and intelligent — you’re all a man could want. Don’t let Max keep you from everything that makes life worthwhile.’
‘Are you suggesting I become your mistress?’ Once more she broke contact, this time pulling her hand away sharply. ‘Because if you are, I take exception to it.’
‘You can’t live like a nun.’
‘I would rather be a nun than ever trust another man.’ The evening was spoilt. Oliver had ruined their relationship. Ellie gathered up her bag and gloves and stood, smoothing her skirt. ‘I’m going to the ladies’ room. When I come back I don’t want any further personal discussion. The matter is closed.’
But Oliver didn’t leave it there. When the hansom drew up in The Polygon he made no effort to get out, and barred Ellie from touching the door.
‘I want access to this house w
henever I fancy it, mavourneen.’
‘No one has ever denied you access.’ She leaned back in the cab as far as she could, dismayed by the change in his approach. ‘It was by choice you took rooms elsewhere.’
‘To give you time. Now I can’t wait any longer.’
He leaned over and pressed himself against her, his thin lips seeking hers with obsessive persistence, even though she tossed her head from side to side. Finally his mouth stopped her protestations. She felt sick. The feel of his tongue trying to force entry into her mouth revolted her and she continued to resist with all her strength. But when he cupped one of her breasts and squeezed it so that the pain almost made her cry out she kicked his shin until he let her go. And all the while the cabby up on his seat kept his back towards them.
‘Don’t ever touch me like that again,’ she said, through clenched teeth.
‘Next time you’ll want me as much as I want you.’
‘Never. Our door will be locked against you.’
‘I have a right to come in whenever I want, so I have.’
‘The house belongs to Julian. He lets us use it rent-free.’
‘No, my darlin’, I pay the rent. It was part of the agreement.’
Ellie felt as if she were suffocating. The revelation shocked her beyond measure, for she had believed their dependence on Oliver had ended with the move to Southampton. Now it seemed he was still supporting them. Well, it couldn’t go on.
‘You’ll regret this evening, Oliver, because everything’s changed. Tomorrow I shall see to it that Julian puts me on the payroll at Court Carriages and I shall earn my own keep.’
That night she couldn’t sleep. The shock of Oliver Devlin’s behaviour had upset her more than anything since Max’s desertion and she couldn’t stop trembling. She felt unclean.
Of course, she should have known that a price has to be paid for everything, and generosity on the scale of Oliver’s would come very expensive. From now on there would be no more dependence on him, and she would see that every cent he had spent was repaid with interest.
*
Over the next year, Ellie became increasingly involved in the Works, having first persuaded her uncle of her capabilities.
‘Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean my only accomplishments are sewing and socialising,’ she said. The interview took place in Julian’s office a few days after Oliver had shocked her into making changes. ‘I learnt a lot from my father, and from my godfather, George Pullman. I even lived in Pullman. My husband worked there.’
The tips of Julian’s fingers traced the edge of his finely-bearded chin with such sensuality that she shivered. ‘You never speak of your husband, Ellie. I find it hard to credit he left you so abruptly.’
‘So do I. And I don’t intend to speak of him now. He no longer exists in my life.’
‘And Oliver Devlin?’
‘He has been a friend — no more.’ The use of the past tense was deliberate, and Julian smiled as if he could guess why she used it. ‘I’m not here to discuss my private life. I need paid employment, Julian. As from now the rent for your Polygon house will be my responsibility.’
‘I am willing for you to live there rent-free.’
‘Until the other night I was under the impression we already did so,’ she said. ‘I foolishly thought you had enough concern for your father to provide him with a roof over his head but obviously, that was too much to expect.’ She was never at ease with him. Always suspicious. ‘It’s too late to make amends. I wish an agreement to be drawn up straight away stating the rent I must pay. And I want an official job here. I’m not afraid of hard work.’
‘I could make you an allowance.’
‘No. I’ll not be under any obligation to you. Or to Oliver.’
He came to the window where she was standing looking out at the road, and she could see his reflection. For several moments he stood behind her, his left thumb moving back and forth within his left shirt-cuff, showing that he was not as calm as he appeared. Her own emotions appalled her. A short time ago she had been angry and repulsed by Oliver’s advances; now here she was with electrifying sensations coursing through her body at the nearness of Julian Cromer, her own mother’s brother! It was disgraceful — wicked. But acknowledging it gave her no greater control over her feelings.
‘You’re very proud, Ellie.’
‘I’m independent.’
She was relieved when he moved away. Had he touched her, she might have lost that independence.
‘Very well, we’ll discuss work,’ he said. ‘I need someone to reorganise the women in the sewing room. I’m sure you can find a way to cut costs and improve output in that area.’
‘Don’t patronise me, Julian. You might as well relegate me to the laundry.’ She faced him angrily. It was ironic that he should suggest the sewing room. Part of Max’s job in the upholstery department at Pullman had involved supervising the women who stitched cushions and handrests, and stuffed seats and backs with horsehair. ‘I’m capable of more than that.’
‘I suppose you want to start by designing a new royal coach!’ scoffed Julian.
‘I might just do that,’ she countered.
He made a joke about it, but Ellie was determined not to waste her talents. Since he wouldn’t let her start anywhere better than the sewing room she made herself unpopular by ordering new steam sewing machines which were more efficient, enabling her to reduce the staff of thirty women to twenty-five. But in her favour she also improved the lot of those in the stuffing department by introducing methods she had learnt from Max to minimise the effects of the horsehair on their hands.
In her spare time she took up drawing, and it seemed only natural to begin sketching car interiors. She let her imagination run riot, embellishing her designs with improbable luxuries and using exotic colours. But quite unconsciously the form her ideas took became less original, and she recognised Max’s hand in the colours and inventions she had thought to be completely her own. She had been relying on memory of his genius rather than being inventive herself. For a while she put the drawings aside, hating this new reminder of Max, but they were so striking that after a while she felt compelled to take up her pens again to finish them, seeing no harm in it. Thousand of miles separated her from the husband who had robbed her of everything.
The only person to see the drawings was Grandfather Cromer. ‘Fit for the Queen of Sheba, no less,’ he teased her.
Drawing became an important part of her spare time, and an attic room with good light was turned into a studio where she could display her work on the walls. It was here that Julian found her one summer evening in 1896. He had taken to visiting his father once a week, but Ellie was well aware that his motive was not filial concern for the old man. He came when he knew she would be at home, though varying the day and the time to ensure she didn’t anticipate the visit and go out.
He knocked sharply that evening, and thinking it was Nanny Simmons with William she sang out an invitation to enter. The sight of Julian in her workroom caused instant panic, but she managed to conceal it.
‘You’re trespassing, Julian,’ she said.
His eyes flicked round the room in amazement, taking in the large plans and scale drawings she had made of dining and sleeping compartments, intricate and perfect in every detail.
‘Why have you never shown me these?’ he demanded.
‘They’re personal. I didn’t think you would be interested.’
‘They’re incredible.’ He walked round slowly, studying each one. ‘Where did you learn such technique? And who gave you the inspiration?’
She kept her hands clasped to stop them trembling. His praise surprised her.
‘I did remind you I come from a railroad background. I used to take a lot of interest in my godfather’s company. Max worked for him.’ She had used water-colour paints to complete the plans, delicately picking out the detail on floral tapestries and wall coverings.
The sloping ceiling made it difficult for Julian to stand straight, and he had to learn towards her to look closely at the drawings. His nearness was suffocating. There was a faint smell of pomade on his hair, and she was conscious of his eyes straying from her work to the hands which had created it. She had long, tapering fingers with almond-shaped nails buffed to a bright shiny pink, and her wedding ring gleamed in the evening light through the attic window.
‘Why did Max go back to America without you?’ Julian asked.
‘I refuse to talk about him.’
‘Because you miss him?’
‘No.’
He touched her beneath the chin. Where his fingers rested, it felt as if there would be a scorch-mark. She flinched and backed away.
‘You’re a very sensual woman, Ellie. I’m sure you must miss the love of a husband.’ Her cheeks coloured. There was no mistaking the underlying meaning to his remark and she was afraid he would notice the rapid rise and fall of her breast as she tried to regulate her breathing.
‘Why don’t you speak plainly?’ she said. Better to shock him and clear the air than allow intimations to linger. ‘You want to know if I’m physically frustrated without a man in my life. The answer again is no. I don’t need anyone.’
His arm brushed hers. ‘You’re wasted in the sewing room.’
‘I told you I would be.’
‘I could have you moved to the draughtsman’s office tomorrow. You can have a small room of your own so that you don’t have to sit with the men all day.’
‘That would be very nice, but if there’s a string attached I don’t want to know.’
‘Ellie!’ His eyes drew her gaze, but she was able to look away, showing him she was in control. ‘All right, you want plain speaking, then let’s acknowledge the attraction between us. No other woman has ever made me feel as you do. I’ll give you everything you want if you’ll let me spend time with you.’