After that she was sick every morning. Crossing the Atlantic was ghastly.
But New York cheered her up. Freddie and Margaret were there to greet them, along with what seemed like a hundred of Gloria's friends. She told everyone of her mother-to-be status within ten minutes of meeting them. She even seemed excited about her condition but, as Sean realised, she could hardly grumble "I told you we were doing it too often" when talking to Freddie.
Within days of arriving Gloria was saying - "Gee, New York's terrific! London's quaint but not in the same league."
And a day after that she said, "The baby must be born here. Those London hospitals are positively primitive. I wouldn't feel able to trust them."
The next day she was talking about buying a house. "After all, you said we'd spend six months in every twelve over here. We can't stay with Freddie all the time. Besides I need a house for the baby."
She found the house in Scarsdale a week before Christmas. "Sean, can you take time out to look at it tomorrow? You'll just love it. Scarsdale's cute. It will be just perfect for when I have the baby."
On Christmas Eve he agreed to buy the house.
On New Year's Eve he agreed that she should stay behind when he returned to London at the end of January.
"There's so much to do, Sean. Decorators to organise, furnishings to buy. These things all take so much time. Once I get all bloated I won't want to be bothering with pattern books and things ... it makes sense for me to stay ..."
He did not really mind. After all, he was unlikely to be inconvenienced. Consuela, their Spanish maid, had just married and her new husband had joined the household as a manservant. Even now Consuela's rooms in Hill Street were being converted into a staff flat ... so by the time Sean returned the house would be running along the well oiled tracks laid down by Gloria.
As for more basic needs ... "Sean, how could you even think of it? It wouldn't be right... not for a woman in my condition."
It was a relief in a way. Sean's previous love-making had been with enthusiastic partners. The act had been so mutually satisfying that he had imagined all women had the same needs.
As usual Sean lost himself in work. The economy of the United States under Eisenhower's Presidency grew ever stronger. Business was booming. During the nine or ten weeks of his visit, Sean drove himself hard. In fact he saw little of Gloria. She linked up with some of her old girlfriends and spent most days with them - more time with them than with Margaret. When Sean and Freddie were in New York the two couples dined together - they took in a show one weekend - but more often than not Sean was away working on his business interests. So when January ended Sean was still unsure how long Gloria planned to stay in New York.
"I guess it depends how I feel," she said, "maybe I'll come over in the spring, if everything is finished with the house - why don't we see how it goes?"
Sean had intended to fly back to London until he met Bill Hartley. Hartley owned a newspaper in Wisconsin, not a big one but big enough for Freddie to want to buy. Hartley was on the verge of retiring. "My wife died a few years back. It reminded me, there's a big wide world out there I've hardly seen." So he was going to Europe on vacation. "Sailing on the Queen Mary next week. If you're going to London why not come on the boat - we could talk business during the voyage."
So Sean chose not to fly.
Hartley was a youthful looking fifty-five and when he walked into the bar on the first night out from New York he clearly intended to start his vacation without further delay. "Sean, there's some people I just met. I suggested they join us for dinner. They might be fun. Maybe we should leave our business talk over until the morning."
Which was how Sean met Eloise. She was a thirty-year-old divorcee from Denver, Colorado, who was just "knocked all of a heap to meet Sean Connors, the broadcaster." She had chestnut hair, blue eyes, an appealing smile and cheeks full of dimples. After dinner they danced in the night-club, and after that she joined him in his state-room for a nightcap. "Just one teeny-weeny little drink," she said, but they both knew she was joking by then.
Eloise's dimples were not confined to her face. Her deliciously rounded little body abounded with them. "I know," she sighed, "it's the sign of a happy person."
She was happy all night. So was Sean. They made love and dozed, until she aroused him again. She groaned softly, "Oh Sean, that's so good. It feels like ... like when you've been away a long time, and you come home. You know what I mean?"
And Sean knew exactly.
By the time the Queen Mary docked in Southampton Sean was committed to rather more than just buying Bill Hartley's newspaper.
"You mean it?" Eloise asked breathlessly. "If I stay over a month you'll really show me round? Honestly? My, imagine that, being shown London by Sean Connors. I mean, I'm supposed to go on to Rome but the tour guide would have to be Julius Caesar to match that."
She returned to the States in the middle of March. Sean was sorry and glad to see her go - sorry because he had enjoyed her so much - but relieved because she had cut into his working days more than he had intended. Some aspects of his business had been neglected.
Gloria wrote to say she did not feel up to travelling, and the new house was only half-finished - "Anyway, by the time I get there I guess you'll be ready to come back to New York. Do you realise BABY DAY is only twelve weeks away. I saw the Doctor yesterday and everything's fine, so you're not to worry ..."
Sean had not been worrying at all, as he guiltily realised.
Without Eloise to distract him he plunged happily back into business. The London office building boom was under way. The Mallon Property Company discarded residential developments in favour of a move into the business sector. As the projects grew the amounts of money escalated to gigantic figures. Sir George Hamilton, Sean and Tubby found themselves in endless negotiations with banks, insurance companies, and pension funds. The scale of the business was now so huge that it seemed impossible for the whole thing to have come about as a result of Tubby's problems at Rutland Gate.
And Transatlantic Television was building up too. As commercial television got under way the situation Sean had foreseen began to emerge - the independent contractors needed to win a big share of the BBC's audience, but they lacked the capacity to produce enough programmes. Sean had the best American programmes ... and began to do business.
Meanwhile Seven Days was becoming famous for spotting a trend, and no better illustration of that existed than in its coverage of events in British Colonial Africa. James Cross had been writing for a long time of the need to form multi-racial partnerships, and in 1954 this theme was picked up by the new Colonial Secretary, Alan Lennox-Boyd. In the light of Mau Mau in Kenya, the British Government was shifting its ground. An experiment with self-government was started in the Sudan. The Rhodesia's merged with Nyasaland. And in Salisbury black politicians sat down with their white counterparts in a new parliament for the first time. Colonial Secretary Lennox-Boyd talked endlessly of the exciting prospects which lay ahead for multi-racial partnerships. In the House of Commons his approach was thought to represent radical new thinking, but regular readers of Seven Days knew better than that. They could recall that the murdered Lady Averdale had called for the very same thing.
Sean followed the Kenya story with professional interest, but never without being reminded of Kate O'Brien. She had not telephoned as he had hoped. He blamed himself. He should have been more positive, made some excuse - a follow-up interview perhaps. He telephoned her apartment in Belgrave Square. The number had been disconnected. He tried the main house itself, only to learn it had been sold. He wondered where she was and what she was doing. And sometimes, as he sat alone in Hill Street, drinking a last whisky before going to bed, he was saddened by the thought that he might never see her again.
They did meet again, but surprisingly not until 1957 - almost five years after the Averdale murders. Surprisingly for a number of reasons - they both owned houses in London, within three miles of each other, a
nd they were both bound up with the communications industry. But against that Sean was in the States a good deal, and Kate was back and forth to France - they led busy lives - lives which, like most others, saw success and failure, happiness and sadness.
Sean's biggest failure was his marriage. Gloria almost lost her life giving birth to their son. She was in labour twenty-seven hours, and only an emergency Caesarian operation saved her life and that of her child. After that the marriage was over from a physical point of view. Gloria had found the sex act distasteful before, but after giving birth to Patrick, the very thought of sexual intercourse terrified her. She refused to sleep in the same bed as Sean, in fact she even refused to sleep in the same room.
To begin with he tried to be a dutiful husband - after what Gloria had been through it was easy to understand how frightened she was - and he did understand, he tried to make every allowance, but fate was against him by then. He was mixing with glamorous people. As a rich, successful and influential man he was invited to all sorts of functions - and when Gloria preferred to stay at home, Sean went to parties alone. Mostly they were to do with his business interests, but that never lessened the number of attractive women in attendance. In fact as Sean's television interests burgeoned actresses and starlets made a beeline for him when he entered a room. Eloise Summers, the pretty divorcee from Denver, was merely the first of a number of girlfriends.
As for Gloria, she built a shell around herself. If rumour reached her of her husband's affaires she turned a deaf ear. She seemed to accept it. Perhaps just as Sean had tried to understand her, she understood him. There was much in her life to compensate. She loved her house in Scarsdale, she had all the money she needed. She became one of the girls - coffee mornings, charity committee meetings - she was a born organiser, the young matrons of Scarsdale quickly adopted her as their leader. Many had husbands like Sean - away on business, on trips overseas - and even when some husbands were home there were always enough grass widows for an evening of bridge or canasta. Gloria Connors was looked up to locally, after all she was the wife of an international tycoon, and if Sean was away more often than most it was because he was that much richer and more successful. If Gloria was ever concerned with the rumours of Sean's various dalliances she consoled herself with the thought that he was out "on loan", that was all, for a night or a week - but thanks to a good Catholic marriage he was hers for life and she would never let go.
She remained in Scarsdale. Her attachment to London was always minimal. She had no desire to see Hill Street again. It was enough to know that Sean had a comfortable home on both sides of the Atlantic, and she had furnished them both. Her identity was stamped on them as clearly as a portrait signed by the artist.
Initially she used her frail strength as an excuse not to accompany Sean back to London - but in the second year she claimed it would upset the baby, and in the third said much the same - with the added proviso that her social commitments to the girls were now so extensive that she would let them down by going away.
Sean disliked Scarsdale - but then he was a big-city boy who liked to be in the middle of things. That was where it happened - not on the edge - and people who lived on the edge seemed pompous and pretentious to him, whether it was Scarsdale, New York or Rickmansworth, London.
So when he was in New York he often called Gloria to say he was working late and he would stay over at Freddie's - "But tomorrow looks an easier day, I'll be home in time for dinner."
And so the pattern of their lives became established.
If his friends saw what was happening few said anything. Nobody in London really spoke out and even Sean's best friends, Freddie and Margaret in New York, were careful - their usual tack was to criticise the Kennedy’s, and so get at Sean through them. Sean was seeing an ever increasing amount of the Kennedy’s. He was never one of the Clan, but he spent a number of weekends at Hyannis Port and knew the whole family. His favourite remained the Ambassador. He and old Joe Kennedy had a soft spot for each other, a throwback to those pre-war days when the Ambassador had extended a helping hand and in return Sean had been uncritically loyal. As for the rest of the family, he liked Jack, was watchful of Jackie, careful with Bobby, and felt slightly sorry for Teddy who seemed overshadowed by his older brothers. Most of all he admired their togetherness, their fierce loyalty to each other. But the Kennedy’s were raising eyebrows for their non-political activities, as Freddie was always quick to point out.
The Ambassador telephoned Sean at the Mallon apartment once, interrupting supper, and when Sean returned to the table Freddie growled - "You know what that old devil's up to? Trying to hi-jack the White House for Jack. Well he won't get away with it, not in a million years. Jack's too young for a start. The Old Man is grooming him to run in '60. Jack will only be forty-two, forty-three even then. No one that age ever made President. Second reason, none of the big name Democrats have any time for him - Truman hates his guts, so does Sam Rayburn, Lyndon Johnson doesn't trust him, nor does Eleanor Roosevelt - so if they hate the old man they'll never buy his son. And third, the biggest reason of all, he's Catholic and that's the kiss of death -"
"Freddie," Margaret looked embarrassed, "Sean's Catholic too, remember."
"Oh Sean's the one who got away," Freddie grinned. "His father taught him that."
They talked about Sean's father for a while after that, and then Margaret said, "He sounds wonderful."
"He was. Perhaps that's why I like Old Man Kennedy so much. He reminds me of the Da in some ways."
"I'm sure your father was a much nicer man," Margaret said quickly.
Sean cocked an eyebrow, "Oh? You don't like Kennedy either?"
"I only met him once -"
"And he made a pass at her," Freddie scowled. "I tell you, that man should be castrated!"
"Freddie," Margaret's hand moved across the table to cover his. She smiled at Sean. "It's a reflex action with Kennedy, he makes a grab for anything in skirts, I'm sure I wasn't singled out, after all he's usually surrounded by a dozen blondes." Her smile faded as she concentrated, "No Sean, I don't like your friend the Ambassador. He's a man of strong will and low tastes. He's anti-semitic, anti-black, anti-liberal, in other words a bigot. How his wife copes is a mystery, that's her business, but frankly I think he is everything bad in American public life. To imagine him anywhere near the White House frightens me silly. His attitude towards women is not just a scandal ... it's, well, downright unAmerican!" She flushed. "In the main American men are kind and generous and chivalrous, I should know I married one, and thank God he's not like Kennedy at all."
Freddie sat back and applauded. Then he leant across the table to kiss her. Margaret blushed and glanced anxiously at Sean, "I'm sorry, I ought not to have said that -"
"In America?" Sean grinned. "What happened to free speech?"
She smiled and gave him a long look. He knew why. She wasn't just talking about Kennedy, she meant him too. She was saying the rumours had reached her and she disapproved.
They meant well. Sean knew that both Freddie and Margaret were concerned about him. But they had each other, and Sean's bed was empty.
Kate's bed remained empty too - though in her case from choice. Over the years she had discovered that some photographers thought no session in the studio could commence until - "We get to know each other. After all, we are artists you and I. The camera must make love to you, oui? And so must the man behind the view-finder. We must make music ... and afterwards, you will see ... it will show in our work."
The first time she heard that line she was embarrassed. The second time she was prepared. She rummaged through her work-bag and produced an harmonica. "I'll sing if you play," she smiled. For the man who talked of "making chemistry" she carried a small bunsen-burner and a microscope - and those who talked of "sharing a beautiful experience" were handed tickets to the local art gallery.
It was the same with the journalists in London. Kate went to enormous lengths to win press coverage for her clients. M
any reporters became firm friends, but those who wanted to go further were told - "Harry" or "Bob" or "David" - "I'd love to go to bed with you, believe me, a good looking man like you, a girl would be crazy to miss an opportunity like that - but what would it do to your reputation? Imagine when you write about my clients? People will scream you only wrote it because, well, you know. And if you don't write about my clients I will scream. You'll be caught in the middle. Darling it would be too awful for you. You can't make the sacrifice, I won't let you."
She joked her way out of endless situations while smoothing their egos and retaining their friendship. Some were more difficult to dissuade than others, but once Kate made them grin she knew she was safe.
In France her face smiled down from hoardings from Marseilles to Dieppe. In Paris it brightened the Metro and lent beauty to the newsstands. At the end of the first year her contract was renewed at twice the fee - exactly as Pierre and Paul had negotiated.
In London her flair for winning the right sort of publicity for clients brought more work than she could handle. She chose carefully, restricting herself to products she liked and could believe in, and rejecting all others. She turned her back on all offers of political work political campaigns, she decided, were just too dangerous. The "Britain in Africa" programme was the last of its kind she ever wanted to be associated with ... and that, she said firmly, was her last word on the subject.
She worked hard but played hard as well. Most nights she had a date - dinner, the theatre, a preview at an art gallery - sometimes they were "working evenings" spent with clients, but often they were just a few precious hours spent relaxing with friends.
She had become a successful and independent young woman.
She was proud of herself.
Whenever uncertainties plagued her she remembered Yvette's advice - "It's your opinion of yourself that matters" and Kate had grown confident enough to believe she had little with which to reproach herself - although she was sometimes concerned about Tim.
Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1 Page 155