Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1

by Ian St. James

  'Oh, how wonderful. Tim will be thrilled."

  "Not Tim," he said, "just us."

  She was a Christmas Princess. They went from one end of Bond Street to the other. He bought her a gift in every salon. In fact he dressed her, making her try this frock and then that - making her walk up and down and swirl her skirts while he sat in the chair and admired her. He seemed as unaware of clothes rationing as everyone else in Bond Street. And the clothes were wonderful - silks and brocades, tulle and taffeta - all wickedly glamorous.

  She had her hair cut and shaped in a very adult style. He bought her a diamond clip in Asprey's and a rope of pearls at Mappin and Webb - and back in her suite at the Savoy she changed behind a screen and paraded for him all over again.

  All wickedly glamorous.

  She guessed what he wanted. She had suspected for days. At the party after Pygmalion Rosemary had whispered - "Now I know why you don't date boys. Your Sugar Daddy wouldn't like it." Kate had protested, but Rosemary was positive, "Eric looks like that when he wants to take my knickers down." Kate's contempt had been icy, "Lord Averdale has only just remarried." But Rosemary said that was irrelevant.

  By the Sunday Kate was looking for signs, though she had precious little experience - Eddie Bailey had kissed her, Ronnie Blackwell kept touching her, and Mr Coleman's eyes seemed to smoulder whenever he looked at her. Mark Averdale did the lot. He kissed her cheek when he collected her in a car hired for the day, he held her hand over lunch, and his hungry eyes devoured her.

  And Kate had thought... "If only Aunt Alison were here ... or even Jenny, dear sweet PREGNANT Jenny!"

  But it was all very proper at the Savoy, separate suites and a kiss on the cheek at bedtime - but his eyes spoke volumes - even seventeen-year-old Kate could see that. She trembled at times. Jenny's pilot must look at her like that ... and certainly Rosemary got that look from Eric ... but Rosemary seemed to get by on love-bites ... Kate doubted Mark Averdale would be interested in biting her, even if she suggested it.

  By day they went shopping, or to the Tate and once to the National. Most evenings were spent at the theatre followed by a late supper. He was such an interesting man. He told her stories about Africa and safaris and big game hunting - and about what Brackenburn had been like in the old days - and he knew so much about art, even more than dear little Miss Broakes.

  Of course he was really quite old, about forty she thought, but not "fat and forty" like the song. He was tall and slim, and he had such an interesting face, lined and creased but brown from the African sun. He had suffered a lot. He seemed to have so many enemies, all determined to deprive him of what was rightfully his - like "those bloody Croppies" in Ireland, or the "idle, thieving WOGs" in Africa, or that "bunch of jumped-up clerks in the Labour Government." Really she felt quite sorry for him ... and sometimes for his enemies because when he became angry she glimpsed a truly terrifying temper.

  When he held her hand she felt none of the magic Jenny had described. "I just melt," Jenny had said. Kate neither melted nor flinched, although once when he accidentally brushed her décolletage a stab of excitement drew her stomach muscles together in a way never experienced before.

  Every day she blessed Pygmalion. Without those months spent learning the role of Eliza Doolittle she could never have coped. The days of Christmas passed like the carol. "On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me." His deluge of gifts became an embarrassment. She wished there was something she could give in return. Then, as she undressed for bed on Christmas night and glimpsed her naked reflection in the mirror, she knew without doubt what she would be asked to give soon. He had been especially affectionate that day. When they danced after dinner he had held her too tightly for her any longer to cling to the lingering pretence that he was merely her guardian.

  So much had happened so quickly, but now, now what? He had said nothing about her future.

  He did the next day.

  He asked her to marry him!

  It would be ten whole years before their wedding. He explained in great detail about his "marriage of commercial convenience" in Africa - and the secret agreement which allowed his new wife to divorce him at the end of ten years. He talked for a long time. Some words were just a buzz in her ears. Others made no sense at all - "I love you Kate, I always have, even before you were born."

  There would be no more Glossops, no coming-out, her childhood was over. She would live in London, so would he for most of the time, but obviously they would not live together. He would buy her a small house, she would have an allowance, they would travel, holiday in Europe, to the outside world she would be his ward and his assistant, "But behind closed doors we shall create a world of our own."

  Her mind reeled.

  Brackenburn would not be rebuilt, the Labour Government would not permit the construction of great houses ... her brother Tim would not know of their private arrangement, her brother Tim would not be told anything until they married in ten years' time. "Believe me, Kate, I didn't plan it like this. I waited so long ..."

  Aunt Alison was in Washington ... Kate was alone ... she was an orphan.

  She did like this man, he was her future, one way or another. She was frightened, reassured, flattered, excited, all at the same time. He would never hurt her. And she so wanted to please.

  So she said yes.

  He came to her room that very night. The sensations of love-making were not at all as she had imagined. She bled and was sore and uncomfortable ... and frightened. "Only seventeen," Aunt Alison had screamed at Jenny, "and you've ruined your whole life!"

  But Mark seemed to know about everything. The next morning he arranged for her to see a gynaecologist in Harley Street and she was introduced to the mysteries of the Dutch Cap. She almost fainted at the prospect of inserting that enormous round, rubbery object inside herself - it was inconceivable that she would ever get used to it, quite impossible to believe that the sexual act would be anything but abhorrent - but she had no choice, it was part of her new life with Mark. A new life and a new year which were starting together, for it was New Year's Eve and 1949 was about to begin.

  Chapter Five

  Sean Connors built a financial empire in the fifties. He enlarged it later during the sixties when his name became known all over the world, but the foundations were laid during ten furious years - from 1949 when he was almost broke, to 1959 when he was a millionaire twice over.

  The Mallon Property Company nearly went bust at the beginning of 1949 - surviving by the skin of Sean's teeth and with the help of his bank manager. They were let down by sub-contractors, defeated by planning regulations and plagued by problems - but they clung on and made enough money that year to acquire W. G. Tillet Ltd, a small firm of builders whom Tubby had used on a recent conversion. Old Man Tillet was anxious to retire, but agreed to work another two years to develop his successors - principally his son Brian and a site foreman named Thornton. Tillet's owned a small office in Pont Street so the Mallon Property Company moved in there, and for the first time Tubby Reynolds worked from a "proper office" instead of the flat in Great Cumberland Place.

  Tubby ran the business day to day, but Sean always dealt with the bankers - and it was becoming obvious that a sizeable amount of permanent capital was required for expansion. "What you really need," said the bank manager one day, "is long term money at a fixed rate of interest. You've got a good business, Sean, why not recruit an outside chairman, someone well known in the City. The right man could raise enough on his reputation, and after that, well I'm damn sure you'll make the right profits."

  Sean knew a dozen men "well known in the City", but one sprang to mind above all others - George Hamilton, whom he still met occasionally. They always greeted each other warmly. Neither could ever forget sitting in the rubble of Coventry when Val was killed. It created a sad bond - had she lived the two men would have become in-laws - as things were they had become friends, although they met only infrequently.

  So Sean went to Geo
rge and was proud to do so - the Mallon Property Company was a growing concern, Sean was moderately wealthy on paper, and it was an opportunity to prove he would have provided for Val. He hoped George might be interested, but George was much more than that. He was amazed at Sean's involvement in business - he had never heard of the Mallon Property Company. Few people had. The company did not advertise, nor display its name on its buildings. It lacked even an entry in the telephone directory until the acquisition of Tillet's. George was astonished. "And why Mallon, for heaven's sake? Freddie's not involved is he?"

  "Freddie was my best friend," Sean said simply. "He once called me his good luck charm. Well he was certainly mine. It just seemed appropriate."

  After which George probed and probed until he learned the details of that fateful New Year's Eve.

  "Well I'm blessed," he said, "so that's what happened. I've often wondered. I asked Margaret once but she wouldn't discuss it - but she always asks after you when we see them in the States."

  Sean was embarrassed. He had never told anyone, but it was impossible to avoid point-blank questions when he was seeking George's help.

  George said, "It's the most stupid thing ever. I'm surprised at Freddie. Of course you behaved badly, but... for heaven's sake, under the circumstances ..." Suddenly he chuckled, "Good Lord, half the men in London have made a pass at Cynthia. If I cut them all I wouldn't have a friend left."

  He delved into Sean's accounts like a hungry man starting his dinner. "First class, Sean," he pronounced an hour later, "absolutely first class." He was as pleased as if he owned the Mallon Property Company himself - or as if they really were father and son-in-law. Sean was touched. He was too busy to feel lonely, every day was crammed with activity - but now and then he ached for the warmth of a real family, people of his own with whom he could share his triumphs. And his feelings deepened when George suggested they continue their discussion over dinner - at home in Eaton Square.

  It was Sean's first visit since before the war. The Square was still elegant - all the "in" people lived there: Terence Rattigan the playwright, Bob Boothby the Tory MP, the Princess Aly Khan - but the huge mansions had all been converted into apartments. Even George and Cynthia lived in a penthouse occupying a sixth of the original building.

  "Plenty large enough," said George, "pity I didn't know you were in the business. You could have done the conversions."

  Cynthia, at sixty, was smaller than Sean remembered. Her astonishing looks had faded, but not her vitality. "Sean! What a delightful surprise! Where have you been? It's simply ages since I saw you."

  They spent an enjoyable evening together and when Sean offered George the chairmanship of the Mallon Property Company he was flattered by the response - "I'd be honoured, Sean, honoured and delighted."

  Raising long-term money was not easy, however, even for George Hamilton. The Labour Party was making the business community nervous. But George Hamilton's reputation in the City was rock solid, and six months later he concluded a skilful arrangement. The Mallon Property Company issued two hundred thousand one-pound nonvoting Preference Shares at five percent interest - and George Hamilton's friends subscribed for the lot. "That's just the start," he chuckled, "my people are on standby. They will put up two million the day the Tories win office."

  So Sean had his money for expansion. The two hundred thousand was quickly utilised to buy other properties, and Tubby Reynolds began to compile a secret file ready for a massive leap forward when there was a change of government.

  George certainly earned his modest chairman's fee, but he did much more than that - a week before Christmas Sean received a letter ... from Freddie.

  "... when George wrote you had named your property company after me, well Sean I confess it brought a lump to my throat. You've been on my conscience longer than I care to remember. If it means anything I can tell you I regret that New Year's Eve more than anything in the whole of my life. Margaret won't talk about it - we tried once but she said, 'If I tell you how badly you behaved you will only suspect worse things, but you offended your wife and your best friend so deeply that Sean couldn't be blamed if he never spoke to you again.' She said that early on, when we first went to Germany, and those were her last words on the subject. Of course I knew I was wrong. The trouble was when I was out in Nuremberg covering those trials some of the boys kept ragging me about what was going on in London. They dripped away every day about you and Margaret being seen around town, at parties and things - well I guess it got under my skin more than I realised ..."

  The letter was five pages long. Freddie did more than apologise - he invited Sean to visit them in New York and stay as a house guest. And elsewhere in the letter he wrote:

  "... by the way, George is tremendously impressed with your business. He remembers two penniless news-hounds chasing his daughters before the war - I was worried then,' he admits in his letter, 'but I must say our girls had great foresight. Had dear Val been spared I would have been enormously proud of both of our son-in-laws.' Sean, I thought you'd like to know about that compliment. Margaret, who is reading this over my shoulder, says she has loved you as a brother-in-law ever since Dunkirk - which makes me feel even worse ..."

  Sean was delighted, flattered and relieved, but could not help thinking that the reconciliation had come too late. Had Freddie answered any of Sean's messages in 1946 he would have packed his bags and joined Freddie and Margaret anywhere in the world. They meant so much to him then. He would happily have been Freddie's junior partner for the rest of his life.

  Of course he answered Freddie's letter ... and Freddie replied ... so that within a few months they were regular correspondents. The breach had been healed - but deep in Sean's heart he knew things were different. He was no longer Freddie's apprentice. He was his own man now, building his own fortune. Freddie was prospering in New York but Sean intended to do better - in fact he was well along the road to making that point. The property company was expanding and London & Continental News was close behind. They had acquired offices in Fleet Street ,and now had staff correspondents in Paris, Bonn, Rome and Zurich, as well as five reporters in London. Sean worked harder than ever. It was hard to say which excited him most, converting old houses or reporting the happenings in the capital - in truth he loved them both. London was as fascinating as ever for Sean - London was still the heart of the Empire -and the Empire was claiming many headlines. There were other big stories of course - UN troops were fighting the Chinese in Korea, Britain and the US were re-arming, and the cold war with Russia got frostier every day. In London itself the Labour Government, burdened by rearmament costs, was trimming social services despite an outcry from its supporters. But there were other stories - stories from the Colonial Office - which made Sean wonder if Britain could maintain the Empire when dealing with so many financial demands. He judged that the average man in the street cared little about the Empire anyway, "the average man" knew little about it - but some people cared passionately. Empire Loyalists fought in General Elections and a new pressure group called "Britain in Africa" had emerged, headed by none other than Lord Averdale. Sean was surprised, doubting at first that it was the same Lord Averdale who had sold the Dublin Gazette all those years ago - but it was, and by 1951 London & Continental News had quite a file on Lord Averdale's "Britain in Africa".

  Jimmy Cross maintained the file - Jimmy ran the "Africa desk" and was Michael O'Hara's right-hand man. So when Sean was curious about Lord Averdale he had everything he needed in his own office - including his own expert to fill in the details. Jimmy Cross related his impressions of Averdale's performance in the House of Lords: "Very forceful, he knows his facts and tears opponents apart."

  Of Averdale's holdings in Kenya: "Vast, I've forgotten how many thousands of acres - but I worked it out once as being the same size as Yorkshire."

  Of Averdale's marriage: "Nobody knows much about her. An old Kenya hand, I think. She seems to run that end of things, while he concentrates on Westminster. Must be a
funny sort of a marriage though, with him in London so often." And of the "Britain in Africa" campaign:

  "As far as I can make out it's financed by the white settlers themselves. They don't have an office. His ward runs it from her flat. And his ward is the most beautiful girl in the world."

  Sean smiled. He had known the most beautiful girl in the world. She was five feet two with eyes of blue. Corn-coloured hair and a complexion so fair. She had died in the Coventry Blitz.

  Jimmy flushed, "I know it's hackneyed, but you should see this girl. She's something else. Averdale's secret weapon, if you ask me. None of the press boys like Averdale much, he's too bloody arrogant - but when this Kate O'Brien takes over at press conferences - well everyone melts. The thing is she's got brains too. She presents a hell of a good argument. Fleet Street eats out of her hand -" "You too by the sound of it."

  Jimmy hesitated, "Put it this way. I'm glad I don't have to write bad things about her."

  "And Averdale gets the benefit?" Sean's eyebrows rose. "I'd hate to think we pull punches because someone has been smart enough to hire a pretty girl to run his front office."

  Jimmy flushed, "I'd hate that too, Mr Connors, especially when it's not true. I disagree with a lot of Colonial policy and my press clippings prove it, but some of Averdale's schemes make sense. I try to present a balanced view. Africa is a lot more complicated than some people make out - especially in the States, where they seem mesmerised by what goes on at the UN."

  Sean had to agree. African lobbyists at the UN in New York were wiping the floor with the British at propaganda. Sean read the stories without feeling personally involved. His job was to make sure the news was reported without fear of favour - and that was easier said than done once a pretty girl was involved. He made a mental note to ask Michael to go to Averdale's next press conference and check things out. Sean was too busy himself. He was interested in Averdale simply because of their old link through the Dublin Gazette - but it was only a casual concern. Certainly his interest was not heightened by the mention of a good looking female.