The Lost Daughters: A moving saga of womanhood

by Whitmee, Jeanne

‘That’s not very nice. If you’re not careful I’ll take him away again.’ She laughed. ‘Seriously, I can’t see anything wrong with a little co-operation, can you?’

  ‘Not at all. It’s good business. I’m glad you thought of me.’

  ‘I happen to think he’s heading for big things. He could make a fortune for you, you know, once the word gets around that you are his mentor.’ He shrugged non-committally and she looked at him searchingly. ‘How are you these days, Gerry?’

  He gave her a quick glance. ‘In what way?’

  ‘You know damn well what way. Healthwise, of course.’

  ‘I’m fine. Never better.’

  She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. He looked terrible. She had been quite shocked by his appearance when they first arrived. His weight had dropped again and he looked gaunt and grey. In the old days she would have told him so bluntly, nagged him into doing something about it.

  ‘I do hope dear little Tinkerbell isn’t wearing you out, darling.’ Her attempt at a joke fell flat and she added: ‘How does marriage suit you, by the way? She’s looking remarkably bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. And I must say she’s done a fantastic job on the house. It’s charming.’ She waved a hand around the room. ‘All these exposed beams and inglenooks. Very chic!’

  He shrugged. ‘You said all that at dinner.’

  ‘Did you use Gideon Maidly, the interior designer I recommended, by the way?’

  ‘Yes, partly. He was very good. Expensive though.’

  She leaned forward. ‘Gerry — what is wrong with you, darling? You’re obviously ill. Are you seeing anyone about it? Are you having treatment?’

  ‘Which one of these would you like answering?’ he asked dryly.

  ‘Any. All if possible.’

  ‘Not much point in going into detail or giving you names of conditions you won’t know the first thing about. Suffice to say that it’s a rare muscular thing.’

  ‘Curable?’

  ‘No, but controllable.’

  ‘So you’re on treatment — medication?’

  ‘Got it!’

  She shook her head in exasperation. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Gerry, do I have to drag it out of you?’

  He banged his glass down and glared angrily at her. ‘I don’t know how you’ve got the bloody nerve to ask me personal questions after what you did last time!’

  Suitably chastened she sank back in her chair. ‘I wouldn’t do that again, Gerry. You have my word on it. It was — I don’t know — a mad sort of impulse. I suppose I was shocked and jealous, seeing Cathy and hearing that you and she were engaged. After all, you and I were close. But I know that’s no excuse. It was unforgivable and I’m not proud of it.’ She leaned forward to touch his hand. ‘I’m only asking out of concern for you, darling, I promise. Whatever you tell me will go no further than this room.’

  He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. ‘All right, it’s Parkinson’s. I see a specialist in Edinburgh at regular intervals. It’s a hell of a drag, having to go all that way but he’s supposed to be the top man in this particular field. He’s done a special research project at the university. I suppose I’m part of it — tests and so on. I have tablets and there are certain things I am advised to avoid.’ He opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘There are also — certain limitations — functions I find difficult, even sometimes impossible. I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you.’

  ‘My God, Gerry, I’m sorry.’ For a moment they looked at each other, then she asked: ‘Is — is there likely to be any improvement?’

  He shook his head. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘Oh, Gerry. Does Cathy know the full facts — about your illness, I mean?’ Again he shook his head and she stared back at him. ‘But, shouldn’t you tell her? I mean, she must be … ’

  ‘I don’t think I want to discuss this any further.’ He stood up abruptly and went to refill his glass. ‘Can we talk about something else?’

  She rose quickly. ‘I’ll have another one of those if you don’t mind. I feel I need it. As for discussing it, Gerry, what you’re doing is madness. You’re simply burying your head in the sand. She has a right to know.’ She turned to him. ‘If you knew about this, why on earth did you marry her? A girl of that age! It was so cruel!’

  ‘It’s none of your bloody business.’

  Ignoring his indignant protest, she went on, ‘Okay, tell me to mind my own business when it comes to Cathy and your marriage, but what about your work? I mean, if I’m going to be recommending more students, I have a right to know how long you’re likely to be able to do this job.’

  He threw back his drink in one gulp and rounded on her. ‘Do you think I’d have sunk everything I’ve got into this place if I thought I wasn’t up to working for its upkeep?’

  ‘I don’t know. It seems to me that you’ve done some pretty inexplicable things over the past year. Marrying a kid young enough to be your daughter when you knew damned well you couldn’t be a proper husband to her for a start. For all I know you might have done anything! If you won’t level with me how would I know?’

  For a moment he stared at her, then he sank into his chair again. ‘It’s not as desperate as all that. I have good days and bad, but if I pace myself carefully I can teach on a full-time basis. My brain’s all right, thank God. At least that part of it. It’s what they call the motor functions that are affected.’

  ‘And what’s the prognosis?’

  ‘What’s the prognosis for any of us? What’s the expression? Life’s a bitch and then you die!’

  ‘Oh, Gerry.’ She reached out to take his hand again. ‘I’m so sorry, darling.’

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake!’ He snatched his hand away. ‘There’s no need to turn on the soft soap, Kay! It doesn’t suit you. I think I prefer you spitting acid.’

  ‘So work is all right. Okay, I’m glad. But you know you have to confide in Cathy, don’t you?’

  He turned his head away. ‘She knows.’

  ‘All of it?’

  ‘There’s no need to baffle her with a lot of frightening medical stuff.’

  ‘It might not frighten her. Most women are amazingly strong.’ She looked at him. ‘Does it frighten you? When he didn’t reply she asked: ‘Look, Gerry, have you thought? It might be hereditary. Suppose you have a child?’

  ‘We won’t.’

  She stared at him. ‘You mean … ?’

  ‘I mean — we won’t.’

  ‘Without telling her why? Without discussing it? Poor Cathy.’

  ‘She’s happy enough. Ask her. Look at her!’ He avoided her accusing eyes. ‘I make it up to her as much as I can. She’s enjoying her life here. There’s no need for you to worry about her or feel sorry for her, Kay. I’ll make sure there are more than enough compensations to keep her happy.’

  She shook her head. ‘I hope you’re right, Gerry. I hope to God you’re right.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rosalind worked hard through the spring of 1963. So hard that she scarcely noticed how absorbed her mother was. As the time for exams approached she allowed herself only one evening off a week. On this she usually went out with Stuart. Ever since the New Year’s Eve party she had known that she was head over heels in love, and the fact that Stuart seemed to feel the same made life complete. Having someone to love gave life a whole new dimension for her. Now she had a purpose in life. Her whole future was channelled afresh. And since her mother had been so preoccupied she had stopped being obstructive about their relationship. In fact she positively encouraged it nowadays.

  Their outings were usually to the cinema or, as the weather improved, for a short drive or a walk by the river. They were both short of money and couldn’t afford expensive entertainments. Occasionally when Julian was out and Stuart knew that the flat would be empty all evening, he would take her back to Earls Court. It was in Stuart’s cramped little bedroom at the flat that they had first made love. For Rosalind it had been so special that eve
ry time she thought about the wonderful closeness and intimacy of the precious moments they had spent in each other’s arms, her heart swelled with love and pride. At last she felt whole — a real person, who meant something special to someone.

  She already knew how precarious Stuart’s work was. Until he became an established designer he would be living on a knife edge, waiting for the big break. At the moment he was obliged to accept any temporary job he could find, whether it was in the artistic field or not, curtailing the time he would like to spend on his own work. She told herself that if she found a good job as a hotel manageress she would be able to support him; see him through until his outstanding talent was recognised. She would be so proud to be able to do that for him. Now it was even more important for her to do well. Each evening as soon as she had eaten she would shut herself in her room and revise till the small hours.

  For her part, Una was grateful for her daughter’s preoccupation with Stuart. Through him she too had a new purpose in her life. Loneliness was a thing of the past. Once more the future beckoned with a glittering promise. All she had to do was play her cards right. Her plans were taking shape and, although there were various hurdles to overcome she was confident that everything would eventually work out to her satisfaction.

  Don had been sceptical at first about putting money into something as unpredictable as a play, especially by three unknown young men. But after long hours of discussion and persuasion on Una’s part she had finally convinced him that with her behind it, Julian’s play could not fail. She had dazzled him with visions of glamorous West End first nights at which they would be honoured guests; dangled the tempting prospect of selling the film rights for huge amounts of money; promised a future gilded with recording contracts and endless royalties. She told him he would be mad to pass up such a chance, and at last he had promised to put the money at her disposal. Now all she had to do was to set the whole thing up and reap the special reward she had in mind.

  The moment she had begun to read the script she had felt in her bones that they were on to a good thing. Sweet Violet was a modern version of the Twelfth Night story, set on a mythical island in the Atlantic, the inhabitants of which were living in a time warp. The story concerned a group of Americans whose private plane made a forced landing on the island and subsequently turned the lives of the islanders upside down.

  Intrigued by its originality, Una paid the boys a surprise visit at the flat to tell them how excited she was. Stuart showed her his slightly surreal designs for the costumes and sets, and Brian French, the young musician who had written the score, played some of the music to her. In spite of the condition of the rickety out-of-tune upright piano at the flat, the romantic songs and haunting, evocative themes reinforced Una’s conviction that the show was a surefire winner and she promised the boys, somewhat rashly, that she would personally see to it that Sweet Violet would get the chance it deserved.

  The weeks that followed were spent making fruitless enquiries and regretting her impulsiveness. In truth she had none of the influence she professed to have and the thought of losing face after all she’d said terrified her. They looked up to her so. If she had to climb down and admit defeat now she’d die of shame. But where could she find a theatre to rent? she asked herself. Or a cast with the talent and professional ability to do the play justice?

  She’d thought at the beginning that it shouldn’t be too difficult when you had the money, but she soon discovered that there were all kinds of snags. To begin with, until she began making enquiries she’d had no idea of the cost of renting a theatre, especially one close enough to London to attract the busy, influential people who mattered. Most of the popular seaside resorts within easy distance were already booked right through the summer season. And even supposing she were lucky enough to find a cheap theatre that wasn’t actually falling down, how would she persuade the appropriate people to come and see the show? Who had ever heard of Una Blair? Why should any West End producer put himself out for her and a new play by a bunch of nobodies? It wasn’t long before she was forced to face the reality that she couldn’t do it alone. So, pocketing her pride, she went along to see Harry Montague, her old agent.

  Remembering the old days of walking Charing Cross Road in down-at-heel shoes, she had her hair done and put on her most expensive outfit … Then, summoning up all her courage, she sailed up the stairs and into the office like a prima donna, determined to succeed in getting Monty to listen to her or die in the attempt. Luckily the girl in the outer office was new and didn’t recognise her, but it still took all of Una’s audacity to convince her that she was here to make Harry Montague an offer he couldn’t afford to miss. At last the girl, somewhat intimidated by Una’s autocratic persistence, buzzed her boss on the intercom to tell him he had an important visitor waiting with a valuable proposition for him.

  As she entered the office Harry Montague looked up from his desk with unconcealed dismay. 'Una! I didn’t know it was you. Thought the girl said Blake, not Blair.’

  ‘She did. I’ve remarried.’

  He indicated the chair opposite. ‘Well, now you’re here what’s this all about? I understand you’re here to do me some kind of favour.’

  Una made herself comfortable in the chair, making a great show of removing the fur stole that Don had bought her for Christmas. ‘I certainly am, Monty. As soon as this came up I immediately thought of you.’ She accepted a cigarette from the box he offered. ‘In spite of the cruel remarks you made to me the last time I was here,’ she added, looking at him over the flame of his lighter. Wouldn’t hurt to remind him that he owed her one, she told herself.

  He smiled blandly. ‘Oh, not cruel, surely? Frank, I grant you. It’s an agent’s job to be frank, but never cruel.’

  Una shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Oh, well, whatever it was, it’s water under the bridge now and I’m not one to bear grudges.’ She opened her large snakeskin handbag and took out a copy of the script of Sweet Violet. ‘Some young friends of mine have written this musical play, Monty. I happen to think it’s well worth your while taking a look at it. This is only the libretto, of course, but I could let you have a score if you’re interested — even arrange for you to hear some of the numbers. And I’m sure you’d be impressed by the set and costume designs.’

  Monty picked up the script with a sigh and flicked through it. It was just as he thought. Most of the people who came in to do him a favour turned out to be looking for one themselves. He looked up at her inquiringly. ‘So what do you want me to do about it when I’ve read it?’ he asked.

  ‘Well -I thought you might know of a theatre they could take on a short lease. Not too far away.’

  ‘You mean they want to do a shop window? Got a cast, have they? If they’re amateurs I don’t hold out much hope of getting anyone to … ’

  ‘Exactly!’ Una broke in. ‘This might mean a lucky break for some of your new up-and-coming hopefuls. When you’ve read the play you’ll see that it’s not a project for amateurs. And … ’ She licked her lips. ‘You’re in a position to ask a few of the people who matter to come along and see the show.’

  ‘Mmm. Don’t want much, do you?’ Harry leaned back in his chair looking thoughtfully at the three names on the script’s cover sheet. ‘I take it these fellers have got backing? I know I don’t have to tell you that hiring a theatre, even a rundown old fleapit, isn’t cheap.’

  ‘They have the backing.’

  He raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Cash in hand or just a promise?’

  ‘Cash in hand. No need to worry. It’s all legit.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’ve heard that before. Do you know who’s sponsoring them, Una? I mean does their angel have the necessary wings?’ He spread his hands expressively. ‘Sorry to ask, but if I’m going to help — and I’m not saying I will, mind — I’ll have to know what I’m dealing with. I’d need to be sure there isn’t a hole in the bucket.’

  ‘The money’s not a problem.’ She took a deep breath and added with satisfa
ction, ‘If you really want to know, Monty, I’m backing them.’

  His eyes widened. ‘You are?’

  ‘Yes.’ She crossed one leg over the other, displaying the expensive snakeskin shoes that matched her bag. ‘I told you I remarried last year. My husband is a very generous man. He has an executive position with a leading West End department store. Hallard’s actually,’ she told him with smug satisfaction. ‘And he’s willing to indulge me in this.’

  ‘Oh, very nice.’ He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands over his ample stomach. ‘So — what’s in this for you, Una?’ he asked shrewdly.

  Una affected shocked surprise. ‘For me?’

  ‘Forgive my cynicism, but in my experience no one but a fool puts money into a project without some kind of incentive. It can’t be profit. You know the business too well to bank on that. So … ?’

  Una sighed. ‘These three young men are very talented. Personally, I think there may well be a profit, and a handsome one at that. But you’re right. I know better than to bank on it.’ She gave him a sideways glance. ‘I just like being able to help young talent, that’s all.’

  He looked unconvinced. ‘Bored with spending hubby’s money?’

  Una bridled. ‘Look, are you interested or not, Monty? I can always approach another agent if you … ’

  ‘Calm down.’ He waved the script at her. ‘Look, I’ll read the bloody thing and think about it. Can’t say fairer than that, can I? If it’s got any potential, if there are any parts that might interest anyone on my books, and if I hear of a half decent theatre that’s dark at the moment, I’ll maybe think a bit more. Better than that I can’t promise at the moment. All right?’

  Una tried not to show her relief. At least she was relieved of some of the burden and could actually tell the boys that she had an agent working on it. That would sound impressive. ‘Fair enough. Thanks, Monty.’ She got to her feet. ‘Perhaps you’ll give me a ring when you’ve come to a decision.’ She took a card from her bag and put it on his desk. ‘The number’s on there. I’m home most of the time.’