by Pamela Pope
‘Ellie’s coming with me, aren’t you, mavourneen?’ said Oliver, taking hold of her hand.
‘Yes, I am. Thank you, Julian, but I’d rather see everything from the top of a bus.’
She saw the tell-tale twitch at the corner of his mouth denoting his displeasure at Oliver’s interference, and she was stricken with guilt. After all, Julian had paid for her to come here, and she knew he had expected them to be spending time together. A treacherous increase in her pulse-rate signalled a desire for the same thing, so she was glad of the alternative. She had foreseen such dangers from the beginning, and had been on the point of turning down the invitation to come to London when Grandfather Cromer, who had initially been included as one of the party, had asked Oliver to take his place. It had been a great relief; she felt safer with Oliver around.
It wasn’t as if she even knew Julian very well. They rarely conversed on any subject other than business, and inner feelings were never discussed. She didn’t know how he felt about anything on a personal level, and she was afraid to find out. It was safer by far to remain distant. This attraction between them was pure chemistry, and could only be contained for as long as there was no physical contact.
‘Very well,’ he said, his winter-grey eyes boring into her. ‘Mix with the riffraff if you must. I trust you to take care of her, Devlin.’
‘Sure she’s safer with me than anyone,’ Oliver assured him. The double meaning was not lost on Ellie.
London was a riot of coloured decorations, the streets vying to outdo each other. Crowds of people from all parts of the world thronged the thoroughfares. St James’s Street was probably the most lavishly decorated. Two Corinthian pillars at either end had real palms and flowers at their bases. Festoons of evergreens were laced between forty Venetian masts on either side of the street, and red, white and blue glass globes caught the sunlight. Serpentine trails of tiny gas-jets coloured the Mansion House, and buildings from St Paul’s to Buckingham Palace were outlined with electric-light lamps. Draperies of every hue hung from windows. Errand boys wore Jubilee favours; bicycles sported red, white and blue streamers; whips of the handsom-cab drivers had pennants tied to them, and almost every city man had a button-hole in the national colours.
‘It makes me think of Chicago at the start of the Exposition,’ said Ellie wistfully, and a little of her good humour evaporated. ‘Only this is so much grander.’
‘I took Katrina there,’ Oliver remembered, sadness in his voice.
‘And I met Max for the first time since I’d grown up. Do you know, I already loved him when I was fifteen. I thought he was the most wonderful person in the world.’
He pressed her hand in sympathy, then directed her attention to the boarding round the Law Courts. ‘Some wag in the Daily Mail wrote that barristers and solicitors have to dive inside as if they’re going to clean out chicken-houses,’ he said, and she laughed obediently. He was silent for a moment, then he took his wallet from an inner pocket and brought out a letter and a photograph. ‘I heard from Momma and Poppa Berman a little while ago, but I didn’t know if you would be interested. They sent me this picture of Galina. Isn’t my daughter beautiful?’
‘Of course I’m interested.’
Ellie took the picture with trembling fingers, the link with her past so strong it brought a lump to her throat. The dimpled child with freckles visible even on the sepia-toned reproduction was standing on a dais in the photographer’s studio, a doll in her hand which Ellie had given her before leaving Chicago, and she was as petite and lovely as a doll herself. Last month she would have had her fourth birthday. Memories of the tenement fire, and all that had followed, sent shivers down Ellie’s spine.
‘You saved her life,’ Oliver said quietly. ‘I’ll never forget. Don’t you know that’s another reason why you mean so much to me.’
She didn’t want to go any deeper into emotional commitments. ‘What did Momma and Poppa have to say in the letter?’ she asked, handing the photograph back.
‘Poppa is ill,’ he said. Then he debated a moment before adding: ‘They’ve heard nothing of Max.’
‘So he hasn’t been back to Chicago.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I wonder what great things he’s done with my money. I hope it hasn’t made him happy.’
‘Don’t think about it, my darling. I’m here to look after you.’
‘I’m not your darling, Oliver. And I can look after myself.’
She didn’t know why she was suddenly so irritated by his affection. It had to be the unexpected mention of Max. Only by conditioning her mind to reject thoughts of him had she been able to live at peace, but it was a fragile peace which crumbled easily with the slightest remembrance.
Tuesday dawned dull and overcast, a bad start for the Queen’s triumphal procession through London. The Cromers, Oliver and Ellie were out early to take their fifteen-guinea seats in a specially constructed stand close by St Paul’s. At eleven-fifteen the first gun of the Royal Salute in Hyde Park boomed out to announce that Her Majesty had left the Palace, and the sun burst through as if pre-arranged.
‘I wish I could see everything right from the start,’ complained Francis. ‘We’ve got to wait ages till she gets here.’
‘Just be glad you’re seeing it at all,’ said Julian reprovingly. ‘A lot of boys would change places with you.’
Scarlet-coated soldiers lined the seven-mile route being covered by the procession, keeping the standing crowds back from the road. Mounted guards rode by, children waved handkerchieves and cheered in anticipation, and it was possible to see down to Ludgate Hill where the splendour of a company of Indian Rajahs and oriental nobilities created a brilliant patch of colour. Time passed quickly with so much to watch.
Ellie’s excitement was compounded by having Julian pressed close to her on the red plush seat. He hardly glanced her way; he didn’t need to. The heat from his body inflamed her, and she knew instinctively that he was equally aware of the contact. To try to minimise the effect, she concentrated on Oliver who was on her opposite side, talking animatedly about everything that was to be seen.
When the head of the procession advanced towards St Paul’s the splendour was breathtaking. A mass of colour filled the street as horsemen, ambassadors and princes came into view, wearing dazzling outfits of scarlet, purple, azure, emerald and white, each one embellished with gold. Ellie had never imagined a pageant could be so spectacular. Carriages bearing the royal family passed by, then the cheering rose to a roar as the Queen’s own carriage, drawn by eight cream-coloured horses, came into view, entered the churchyard and drew up at the Cathedral steps. With her were the Princess of Wales and Princess Christian of Schleswig-Holstein, and on horseback, waiting to greet her were the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Cambridge. The sun shone brilliantly. The shouting and cheering swelled to a delirium.
‘The Queen’s still in black,’ wailed Charlotte.
‘But so distinctive,’ said Millicent. ‘Such beautiful silver embroidery on her gown, and look at the panels of grey silk.’
Ellie was completely absorbed now in the quiet, grave lady who was unmistakably a Queen. Her black bonnet was ornamented with jet and silver and trimmed with ostrich feathers and white acacia. She looked pathetically small amidst the multitude of foreign royalty and dignitaries. On the steps were bands accompanying 500 choristers who surrounded the Archbishops of Canterbury and York in their purple coronation copes. The Bishop of London’s cope was yellow, and the Dean and Chapter were in green, gold and white. The Cathedral steps were ablaze with colour, like a field of exotic flowers.
Seeing so many important people all at once was so awe-inspiring that Ellie felt close to tears. ‘How Mama would have loved this,’ she breathed.
There was too much to take in all at once.
Oliver’s fingers twisted through hers, and she was so carried away by the atmosphere she didn’t disengage them. Encouraged by her lack of inhibition, he went a step further and kissed her cheek
. She turned to him and smiled, not seeing the venomous look Julian bestowed on the man who not only controlled a large part of his business, but now appeared openly to have the affection of the girl he desperately coveted himself.
*
Julian had thought to shelve his problems at the Diamond Jubilee Celebrations. Industrial troubles were to be left behind while he used the opportunity to spend time with Ellie. For long enough now there had been this unacknowledged passion between them simmering below the surface, and he couldn’t endure the agony and frustration it was causing him any longer. She was the most exciting woman he had ever encountered, the first he had wanted and not possessed almost immediately, and if he didn’t possess her soon he was afraid he might do something rash in the extreme. The celebrations were going to provide the answer.
Things started to go wrong with his well-thought-out plans the day before the family’s departure for London.
His generous invitation to pay for his father and Ellie if they cared to join the party had been given solely on the expectation of having Ellie to himself for part of the time. He had dissuaded Millicent from asking some new and rather special German friends, the Gottmanns, to go with them, saying it was to be a family occasion. His father’s constitution would be unequal to all the sightseeing prior to the processions, and with Millicent’s stamina also on the weak side it would surely not be beyond the bounds of propriety to offer to escort his niece on a tour of the city. It would be simple then to slip away to an hotel room he had booked in anticipation, so certain was he that Ellie wouldn’t object.
His father was to blame when things went wrong. It was as if the old man sensed intrigue and was determined to thwart any attempted liaison. He’d always been a conniving old devil. Having initially shown enthusiasm for the trip, declaring himself fit for anything, he had then changed his mind at the very last minute.
‘I’m too old to go gallivanting off to an hotel,’ he grunted. ‘I like my own bed too much.’
‘So you’re not coming?’
‘No — I’ll stay with William and Mrs Hovringham. Take Ellie with you, though.’
The decision pleased Julian enormously, and he congratulated himself on getting rid of one more obstacle. It was unforgivable that his father had then gone behind his back and arranged for Oliver Devlin to take his place. Devlin presented himself at the station as bold as brass, saying that Sir Robert had thought it necessary for more than one man to be looking after the ladies.
‘You can’t come with us,’ Julian said rudely. ‘We can’t both be away from the Works.’
‘No harm’ll come of it. What do we pay senior managers for?’
‘This is a family party — and you’re not family. I’m sorry, I don’t want you with us.’
‘He’s part of my family,’ said Ellie unexpectedly. ‘If Oliver doesn’t go then I won’t go either.’
Julian hoped he knew why she did it. As usual she was fighting against the magnetism which drew them towards each other, and was seeking protection, but the day would soon come when she could fight it no longer. For the moment he had no option but to bow to her wishes, otherwise all would be lost, but he seethed inwardly. His disappointment festered.
Julian’s dislike of the Irishman was growing to be an obsession. There were so many things about Devlin which jarred, like his knack of always being right in business arguments. There could be no denying that he had brought Court Carriages back from the brink of bankruptcy. Without a large financial injection the company would have gone under. But it was not only the man’s money that had saved them. His knowledge of railway matters was impressive, and he had known how to make the firm competitive. Julian had gone blindly into the business, having inherited it prematurely before he’d had a chance to learn from Millicent’s father, and he had no natural aptitude for it. Nor was he gifted with his own father’s entrepreneurial flair for talking big and taking risks.
Oliver Devlin was very much like Sir Robert Cromer, and there was an understanding between the two men which excluded Julian. Of course, Julian would never admit to jealousy. He had never respected his father, nor loved him, but it came as an unpleasant shock to find himself usurped in parental esteem by a stranger.
These were personality differences which had to be endured if the company was to thrive. More difficult to take was Devlin’s hold on Ellie. The sight of him touching her and kissing her in public at the climax of the pageant outside St Paul’s made Julian feel physically sick, and his interest in everything beyond their personal sphere evaporated. Colours became grey. The sound of bands and voices and cheering was a cacophony.
That evening he excused himself from the party and went out alone, unable to watch Devlin with Ellie any longer. His bitter resentment grew as he walked along through the milling crowds, and he was receptive to a current of unhappiness beneath the surface. It was as if he identified with all who were lonely or unhappy in this time of frenzied celebration, and eyes seeking comfort seemed to meet his too frequently. When he stopped on Westminster Bridge to look down at the activity on the water, he was joined by a young woman in a stained taffeta dress and crocheted shawl.
‘On yer own?’ the woman asked. ‘T’ain’t right. Shall I keep you company?’
Julian looked at her and saw the curve of her breasts bulging from a too-tight bodice, the provocative movement of her hips, and the invitation in her coquettish glance. He thought of the hotel room he had booked which was still waiting to be used. Perhaps if he took a prostitute there his pain would be relieved. But then she coughed and he noticed the yellow tinge to her skin. Julian was a fastidious man who bathed twice a day and spent a lot of time on his grooming. The thought of intimacy with such a creature was abhorrent, making his flesh creep, and he walked away from the woman without acknowledging her.
It wasn’t that he was always faithful to Millicent. There would have been precious little sexual interest in his life if his morals had been sound, so he kept a mistress out at Swaythling whom he’d visited regularly until recent months. Now even she couldn’t take his mind off Ellie Berman.
By the time he arrived back, Millicent had retired with the children and there was no sign of Ellie or Oliver Devlin. Suspicions filled Julian’s mind and he was about to take his ill-humour up to bed to vent it on his wife when amazingly Ellie appeared, alone.
‘Julian, I’ve lost my bag,’ she exclaimed. ‘I last had it when we were sitting in the lounge after dinner.’
‘I’ll help you look for it,’ he said, beginning to smile at last. ‘Seems I came back at just the right moment.’
She eyed him with curiosity. ‘We missed you. Where have you been?’ Then she blushed. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘I’ve only been walking.’ How glad he was he could be truthful. Her nearness fired his blood and aroused him alarmingly.
The hour was late, the hotel quiet, and when the bag was finally retrieved Julian accompanied her in the lift up to their fourth-floor rooms, his mind racing on ahead with excitement. The trip was not going to be a disaster, after all.
At her door she stopped and apologised again. ‘I’m sorry I’ve taken up your time. Thank you for helping me.’
He didn’t want to linger with her on the landing so he took her key, opened the door and hurried her inside, following himself before she had a chance to realise his intention. He wanted her so desperately that he stopped her mouth with his before she could protest, locking the door while he was still kissing her. Confusion made her resist.
‘What do you think you’re doing, Julian?’ she gasped, escaping. ‘How dare you! Get out of my room at once.’
‘You were waiting for me,’ he said. ‘Don’t deny it.’
‘I wasn’t. Please go before anyone finds out you’re here.’ He ignored the plea, coaxing her, following her when she backed away. ‘This is a heaven-sent opportunity, Ellie. Admit we share a longing for each other. I know you feel the way I do.’
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br /> He pinned her against the wall, cupping her chin and lowering his mouth once more onto hers. She was shaking. The dream of possessing her had dominated him for so long he was too impatient to employ his usual finesse. He dragged her against him roughly, his fingers digging into her arms, and the pressure he exerted on her tender lips brought a taste of blood. Never before had he subjected a woman to such a brutal onslaught.
He thought she was responding in like manner when she thrust her body towards him. He was exultant. But Ellie jerked her knee upwards, striking him where she knew she could inflict the most pain. He let go of her, doubled over with the agony of that cruel blow, and she stood glaring at him with her hands on her hips.
‘You heard me tell you to get out. Why didn’t you?’
Her lower lip was swelling and she had marks on her arms. Her violent reaction caused a masochistic excitement to flood through him, and the pain he suffered only added to it. This was going to be the most passionate night he had ever spent.
‘You know how to drive a man crazy,’ he gasped.
‘I’m not playing games. I lived among women who knew how to protect themselves and I learnt a lot. I hate you, Julian. Get out.’
She went to the door. He lunged after her.
‘How can you lie to me? I know what you’ve wanted every time we’re together.’
‘Yes, I’ve had feelings I’m ashamed of. Yes, you disturb me.’ She was raising her voice. ‘It makes me hate you as much as I hate myself. You’re like a snake. You’re cold and calculating, and you’ve been trying to take advantage of me ever since we met.’
‘I’ve been responding to your signals.’
‘That’s right — blame me.’
He changed his tone. ‘Ellie …’ He turned his hands palm upwards and appealed to her. ‘I love you. I’d leave Millicent for you.’
‘Don’t be a fool.’
‘I’d give up everything for you.’
‘Get out, Julian, or I’ll ring the bell for someone to come.’