by Helen Spring
'Don't you dare!' Clancy yelled, finally losing his temper. 'It is nothing to do with you. Do you think they aren't capable of reading the paper? That they don't know what is going on?' He came back to the breakfast table and caught Anna's arm. 'Never in all the years we have been married, have I ordered you to do anything Anna, but this is different. You will not get in touch with that family.'
'Not even Jennie?'
'Not even Jennie. Not until this has quietened down. Do you understand me?'
'Yes, Clancy. I understand.'
In the back of his car on the way to the office, Clancy went over the whole affair again and again. He fumed at being dragged into Vittorio's duplicity, he fumed at Anna's acceptance of Vittorio Vetti at face value, and he fumed at James for deceiving him over his friendship with Paolo. But most of all he fumed at himself, for he felt such a bully.
~
A further week elapsed before Tony Cavellini’s brother Giovanni arrived in New York from Chicago. Despite his diligence he was never able to ascertain exactly what had happened to his brother, but he was certain of the identity of his murderer, and of the reason behind the killings. He was in no hurry to extract his revenge on Vittorio Vetti’s person, as he explained to the thin faced little man who sat next to him in the booth at Selby’s bar.
‘That comes later, Dino,’ he said. ‘Don’t be so impatient.’ He glowered into his beer, he had begun to brood again. He had always disliked his brother, but with death Tony seemed to have acquired a more likeable personality. In any case, he reflected, family was family. He took a swig from his glass.
‘The first thing,’ he said, ‘Is to show Vetti we mean business.’ He smiled evilly at Dino. ‘You know how we shall convince him of that. Then... when he’s convinced... I shall finish what Tony started. And if Vittorio hasn’t blown his brains out by that time... you can have him.’
He motioned to the waiter for another beer. ‘Not for you,’ he admonished Dino gently, ‘Not until after the job is done. You have the stuff?’
Dino nodded. ‘No problem boss. There’s still lots of war surplus around.’
‘Grenade or bomb?’ Giovanni asked.
Dino grinned. ‘Both.’
‘Good. There must be no mess up Dino, this time he must be killed. Mind you, I quite like the idea of Paolo Vetti suffering a bit before he dies.’
~
In the event Paolo did not suffer. When Dino threw the bomb into the bedroom of the bungalow at two in the morning, Paolo died instantly. Jennie, lying in his arms in the big double bed, survived until the ambulance arrived, but was dead before it reached the hospital.
Anna Sullivan woke with a start. The rug had slipped down to the deck and it was almost dark. For a moment she hardly knew where she was, then realised she had fallen asleep in the deckchair. She shivered, the night air had a chill to it, and her dreams... if dreams they were... had disturbed her.
She got up from the deckchair wearily and made her way to her stateroom, meeting the cabin steward in the corridor. On impulse she asked him to bring her a whisky and soda, and waited while he opened her cabin door. Once inside, she assuaged her guilt at having ordered such an unfeminine drink, by telling herself that the whisky was medicinal, she had asked for it because she had become cold on deck. She liked whisky, and drank it occasionally at home in New York, but never in public, although she had noticed that some of the bright young things on the ship seemed to drink whatever they liked.
Bright young things. She sat in front of her dressing mirror and looked at herself minutely, realising she had not done this for a very long time. Bright young things, she thought again, so sure of themselves and so frivolous, like that awful Betty Neville.
I'm not a bright young thing. Thirty seven now, and a month ago most people would have said I didn't look it. I do now. Strange how grief and stress affects ones looks. I don't think I ever was a bright young thing, not even in France. I was young, and a bit silly perhaps, but I never... no, not in all my life... never was I frivolous, I always had to work too hard.
Perhaps that was the problem. What was it Clancy had said, that awful night when they heard of the bombing and she had screamed at him, yes, screamed like a fishwife, that it was all his fault and that Paolo and Jennie would be alive if only he hadn't stopped her from warning them...
She sighed. There you go again, no point in going over it, it always comes out the same. You know it wasn't Clancy's fault, it wasn't anyone's fault, except perhaps Vittorio and all he stood for. But if she knew it wasn't Clancy's fault why did she still blame him? Why had her bitterness led her to suggest this trial separation? She could hear herself, hear her own voice tight and controlled, proposing this trip as a way of their avoiding each other for a while. She stared at the mirror but could see only Clancy's face, the hurt in the Irish eyes. Then the cool response, 'If that is what you wish, I've no objection.'
She started as there was a knock on the door. It was the steward with her whisky and soda. 'Will that be all madam?'
'Yes, thank you. Good night.'
'Good night Mrs. Sullivan.'
She sat down at the dressing table again and sipped her whisky. What had she been trying to remember? Oh yes, what it was that Clancy had said that awful night... about her being obsessed by money and putting the business before everything else, dealing with gangsters in spite of the risk to James's safety...
And then that awful moment, when she had screamed how dare he say that, he was not even James's father... She could still hardly believe she had uttered those dreadful words, and the look of shock on Clancy's face still haunted her. She knew now that she was so stung by his accusations that she had been trying to hit back in any way she could, but she would never forgive herself for those words and she could not take them back.
Was it true what Clancy had said? Perhaps it was. She had certainly insisted on continuing to supply liquor at the restaurants when Prohibition came in, but she had never realised it would lead to James becoming involved... She gave a rueful smile at her reflection. She had not realised... any more than Clancy had realised what would happen when he forbade her to get in touch with Paolo and Jennie.
What a mess. And afterwards... whoever was it that coined the phrase "gentlemen of the press?" Gentlemen they certainly were not, and neither were the police, with their questions about Paolo and Jennie meeting at the restaurant, and the endless digging into how much she knew about Vittorio's activities.
Anna sipped her whisky, wondering again why she was making this trip. It had seemed logical at the time, she could hardly wait to get away. Clancy's presence made her nervous, they needed to talk but didn't seem to know where to begin. Perhaps she had been trying to escape from the whole situation, the press and the police, James's grief, her own grief at having lost her dearest woman friend, and of course, Paolo. Dear, funny, handsome Paolo, she thought, with his overactive ego and his charming good manners. There would be no more red roses on her birthday... ever again.
It wasn't simply escape, even if that was part of it. She longed to see Will again. She wondered if her brother would still be the same. Was he still so calm and dependable, or had his stoicism been destroyed along with Billy in Gallipoli? She thought of Mary and Dottie, now married herself, and Andrew, who she had never seen, and who she thought of as "little Andrew" although he was seventeen now.
And Florence. How strange it would be to visit High Cedars again and see the old lady, now in her seventies, and to hear news of Robert perhaps. Anna began to undress, wondering if Florence had received her letter. She had written that she would call at High Cedars first, as she would be staying in Birmingham overnight and could easily call at Edgbaston before making the final journey to Will's new home.
I wonder if my picture is still on the wall in the sitting room, she thought, and had a sudden desire to see "The Chainmaker's Child" again. It was as if in looking at the picture she might find a clue to herself, who she really was. Had she truly become what Clanc
y said, an obsessive businesswoman, who put money and success before everything else, even her own son? Another thought struck her. Was it her experience of the good life at High Cedars, and her rejection by Robert which had made her so determined to succeed?
At least she was thinking about things at last, she realised with some surprise, perhaps the trip was doing her good after all. For weeks her brain had seemed turned to jelly and her thoughts nothing but an incoherent jumble of contradictory emotions, but today, at last, she was able to think more clearly.
She got into bed and turned out the lamp, still considering Clancy's hurtful words. In spite of their recent troubles she had to admit Clancy had been a good husband and friend. She felt tears sting her eyes as she remembered the daily kindnesses, his loving care of herself and James, and the freedom he had always allowed her, so unlike the husbands of some of her acquaintances in New York.
She snuggled into her pillow. She missed Clancy, missed his physical presence, it felt so strange to be alone. She suddenly remembered a quiet moment some years before, when after making love she was lying in Clancy's arms and he had told her how much he loved her. She had smiled and snuggled into his neck, and he had said softly, 'And you Anna? You have never told me you love me...'
She recalled the moment of sudden panic his words had caused. She had smiled and said 'Don't be silly...' but she could not say the words she knew he needed to hear. In all the years of their marriage she had never said 'I love you Clancy.'
How strange to recall that feeling here, in her lonely bed in the stateroom aboard the "Ocean Star," and to know, if she was honest, that nothing had changed. Why was that?
The answer came, like icicles dripping the cold truth into her numbed brain. She had never been able to say "I love you" to Clancy because he was not Robert.
PART FOUR
RESOLUTIONS
ILLUSIONS
Anna stared fixedly at the picture. "The Chainmaker's Child" seemed less impressive than she remembered, and to her surprise it had little effect upon her. If she was truthful she had to admit it was well painted, although the brushwork could not compare with Sylvie's. It was the subject matter which was all wrong. It was untruthful, she thought, an idealised version of the event, as she had tried to explain to Robert so many years ago when they had toasted muffins at Dudley castle. The beautiful apple cheeked child bouncing on the bellows, her golden hair flying against the sparks of the chainshop, bore little resemblance to her memory of herself at that age. And yet, she reflected, who was she to say the image was untrue if that was what the painter saw?
She smiled, remembering how excited she had been when the whole family had trudged off to Dudley Art Gallery to see "our Anna on the wall." Then, her young eyes had revelled in this false portrayal of herself, but since that time her critical faculties had been developed, and she had Robert to thank for that, for lighting her first spark of interest. In New York she had attended many galleries and exhibitions, (often in the company of Jennie, she recalled with a pang) and she had been privileged to see some of the best work of both early and modern painters. She suddenly realised that she still considered Sylvie's painting to be superb, whereas "The Chainmaker's Child" now seemed self indulgent, amateur...
The sitting room door opened and Florence came in slowly, leaning on a stick and attended by a hovering maid. She seemed to have shrunk to two thirds of her original size, and peered carefully at Anna through a lorgnette, secured around her neck by a black velvet ribbon. Her eyes however, were as blue and lively as ever.
'Anna? Anna Gibson? Is it really you?'
'Yes, Florence. After all these years it is me. You were expecting me of course?'
'Oh yes. I had your letter almost two weeks ago. I was so delighted, so happy...'
They embraced, and then the maid helped the old lady to a chair, and said, 'I'll make some tea for you and your visitor, Mrs. Nicholson.'
Florence smiled sweetly, and as the maid departed she said, 'Come and sit near me Anna, so I can see you properly. My, what a grand lady you have become. Look at this... and this...' Her frail old fingers smoothed the rose velvet of Anna's walking suit, lingering on the braid trim, and then travelling to the exquisite cameo brooch on Anna's lapel. She stopped. 'Oh my goodness! How rude of me to comment on your dress, what will you think of me?' Her tone became confidential. 'It's not often I have such an elegant visitor these days, my manners are deserting me as I grow older.'
Anna laughed. 'Oh Florence, it is so good to see you. And as for manners, do you remember the first time I came here, and you had to tell me I didn't have to clear everything on my plate at dinner?'
The next hour was spent in happy recollection for both women. As they enjoyed their tea, Florence was anxious to fill in the gaps concerning Anna's life in New York, her knowledge being limited to the news contained in the annual letters they had always exchanged at Christmas. Her questions reassured Anna that although physically she was frail, Florence's mental abilities were unimpaired. Anna found herself immediately at ease, as had happened when she met Florence so long ago. For the first time since Jennie's death, Anna felt that particular empathy which arises unbidden between close women friends, and she had to fight the urge to pour out all her troubles to the old lady. She resisted this impulse, realising that the pressures of Prohibition would be hard for anyone in England to understand, and instead turned the conversation to Florence and her family.
Florence chatted amiably about her eldest son Andrew and his success in the family business, and Anna noticed that she seemed reluctant to mention Robert. Eventually Anna took the initiative.
'And Robert... how is he? Is he still painting? His family must be quite grown up now.'
'Yes, his boy is seventeen this year, he is also called Robert you know.'
'Yes, he is just a little younger than James,' Anna said faintly.
'Yes. He has two girls as well of course, I think I told you in one of my letters. Cressida is fifteen this year and Beatrice a year younger, both at such a lovely age.' Florence's eyes misted as she added, 'Of course I don't see them any more, I haven't seen them since they were quite small.'
'Oh?' Anna said with concern. 'Do they not travel to see you? Perhaps you could have gone to Cannes...'
'No Anna, you don't understand,' Florence interrupted gently. 'Robert and Delphine do not live together now, not for some years.' She hesitated. 'I did try to put it in a letter to you, but I tore it up. It's not the sort of thing you can write down somehow...'
The subject was obviously distressing, and Anna said gently, 'I'm so sorry Florence. It must have been painful for you, not to see your grandchildren.'
'Yes it was, but to be honest I can't blame Delphine. After she and Robert separated... (well, perhaps separated gives the wrong impression, she threw him out), Delphine wanted to sever all links with Robert, and that included his family. She wrote me a long letter explaining what had happened. Of course it was only her point of view but in all the circumstances I can't blame her.' Florence looked up, and Anna saw her eyes were full of tears. 'He is my son, Anna, and you know I love him, but he has always been such a... such a... libertine.'
It was not the word Anna had expected, and she felt a momentary shock. 'Oh I'm sure not Florence,' she soothed, and was astonished at the old lady's bitter response.
'Don't try to make excuses for him Anna,' she said. 'I have heard them all, over and over again, and from his own lips. You knew him for a short time when he was young, and even then I was worried about him, he has never been able to leave the ladies alone.' Her mouth twisted. 'Ladies is the wrong word, I mean women... or worse.'
'Florence!' Anna said, genuinely perturbed. 'You don't mean that.'
'Oh yes I do.' Florence gave a rueful smile. 'You know Anna, when Robert said he was taking you to France that summer I thought the worst, even then. I thought he intended to try to take advantage of you.' She smiled again. 'I should have known you had too much sense to allow yourself to be
compromised.' She sighed. 'I knew him so well you see, even then.' She hesitated, and then asked quietly, 'Was I right? Did he try ...?'
Her eyes met Anna's, and there was more than a question there. It was a plea.
Anna was merciful. 'You were wrong,' she said. 'Robert was always a perfect gentleman towards me.'
Florence's smile was of relief as well as gratitude. 'I'm really glad,' she said, 'I was always a little worried about that. You probably think I shouldn't talk of Robert this way, but since he came home he's been such a trial.'
'Came home? You mean he's in England?'
Florence looked surprised. 'Of course, didn't I tell you? He came home about two years ago, he had nowhere left to go you see, nowhere he would be welcome. After years of racketing around France, pretending to paint...'
'Pretending?' Anna interrupted.
'Yes, I call it pretending because he always said he was painting but he never completed anything. The paintings he did of you here, and that summer when you were at "La Maison Blanche," were the only real paintings he ever did.'
'I see.' Anna found these revelations astonishing. She attempted lightness. 'Well at least you must be able to see Robert more often, now he's in England,' she said.
'See him? Sometimes I wish I didn't. Men are such dreadful patients, and Robert must be one of the worst.'
'Patients? Is Robert ill then?'
Florence looked embarrassed. 'Oh Anna, I'm sorry, I thought you understood. Robert has come home to die. He's upstairs, I'll take you to see him if you wish.'
Florence got slowly to her feet, and then caught sight of Anna's anguished face. 'I'm sorry dear, perhaps you would prefer not to see him, but he has so few visitors apart from Andrew and me. It will be quite proper, I shall come with you.'
Anna found her tongue. 'Yes, of course. I'd like to see him.'