Master of His Fate

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  * * *

  Later, when he was alone in his bedroom, James could not help thinking about Alexis Malvern, and how tragic her life had become. He also remembered Georgiana Ward speaking about a friend of hers who was involved in mental health, when they had been discussing Albert Venables. She had said he might be a sociopath. When he saw her he would ask her if she had heard of this doctor called Sigmund Freud. He couldn’t help wondering how the doctor could help Miss Alexis and cure her. No doubt Mrs. Ward would be able to explain.

  He moved around his bedroom, looking at all of the things he had collected over the years. Small things, mementos of special occasions, his few pieces of good clothing, and his evening suit. Everything was neat and tidy, just the way he liked it to be.

  He had truly been surprised that his parents had agreed he could share Uncle George’s flat. They hadn’t been too enthusiastic about it when it was first suggested last May. No doubt his grandmother had intervened. Actually, it would be much easier for him to walk down Piccadilly for fifteen minutes than walk across London from Camden Town. He was well aware it took an hour from here to the Strand, and an extra half an hour would have to be added to get to Malvern House, the office building.

  There was a tap on his door, and his sister, Rossi, poked her head around the door. “Can I come in, Jimmy?”

  He smiled and beckoned for her to join him. “Thanks for keeping my room in perfect order,” he said, going over to her, giving her a huge hug, holding her close.

  “Mum and I have made some new shirts for you, James. They’re in the drawer. I think it’s wonderful that you’re going to see Mr. Malvern. Are you excited?”

  “I am yes, Rossi,” he replied, smiling, sitting down on the bed.

  Rossi went and sat in a chair near the table he used as a desk, and said, “You will be here at weekends, won’t you? I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too, and Eddie. He’s grown up all of a sudden, and he’s just the same, cheerful and cheeky. But I wouldn’t have him any other way.”

  They sat and chatted for a while about family things and then they went downstairs together to help set the table for supper.

  * * *

  James set off at eight-thirty on Monday morning, heading down Half Moon Street and into Piccadilly. He was glad he had left his uncle’s flat early. Piccadilly was a busy thoroughfare, full of traffic: horse-drawn buses, hansom cabs, and private horse-drawn carriages. People crowded the pavement, men and women hurrying to work, warmly wrapped up on this cold December day.

  He smiled to himself as he worked his way in and out through the pedestrians, thinking that it looked like a sea of black top hats. Chimney pots, he called them. All the men were wearing one, and he wondered if he ever would. He wasn’t wearing any kind of headgear. Perhaps he ought to; he would ask his uncle.

  Because of the crowds it took him a good twenty minutes to make his way, and he finally arrived at Malvern House a few minutes before nine. There was a uniformed commissionaire in front of the building, who showed him inside. Walking over to reception he announced he had an appointment with Mr. Henry Malvern and was sent upstairs to another floor. A young woman was sitting behind a desk. He introduced himself.

  Within seconds, Mr. Malvern came walking out into the area, smiling. “There you are, Falconer! Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Malvern.”

  After giving James a quick glance, noting his smartness of dress and good grooming, Henry Malvern indicated James should come with him to his office.

  James was impressed the moment they walked inside. It was a spacious room with windows overlooking Piccadilly, furnished with a large desk and a chair on each side. Against the opposite wall, there was a seating area composed of a sofa and several chairs arranged around a low table.

  “Take the chair in front of my desk,” Henry Malvern said, walking around and sitting down to face James. “I am sure your father told you about the tragic event which occurred in my daughter’s life, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did, Mr. Malvern, and I am so terribly sorry. It must be something awful to bear, losing your fiancé just before the marriage, or at any time, in fact.”

  “It was a tremendous shock for her, and for me. Everyone else, actually, because he hadn’t been ill. He caught cold and succumbed to a sudden attack of pneumonia.”

  “Oh no, that’s the worst disease!” James exclaimed, thinking of his mother, who had a tendency to catch colds very easily. Pneumonia was a big worry in his family. He sat up straighter, and added, “I hope the doctor in Vienna will be able to help her, Mr. Malvern.”

  “Dr. Sigmund Freud is one of a new breed of doctors … who analyzes patients, speaks to them, draws them out so that they, the doctors, can fathom out what is causing the mental disorder. Then they have to treat it. Dr. Freud has become quite renowned in just a few years. Mr. Trevalian’s sister, Mrs. Rayburn, is with my daughter and will remain with her through her stay in Vienna. Now let’s get down to our business, Falconer. I understand from your father that you’ve spent a year in Hull. Tell me about it, would you? What experience have you had in business?”

  James did so, explaining how he had learned a lot about wine over the years from his grandfather, who was an expert, and how he had worked for his great-uncle Clarence Venables in his shipping company. He also mentioned he had been to Le Havre several times.

  “All that is wonderful experience for you, Falconer, and will serve you well in the future. As you probably know, we have an import-export company with wine warehouses and two ships in Le Havre. And a Paris office. But my brother, Mr. Joshua Malvern, runs that area, and our cousin, Mr. Percy Malvern, takes care of things across the English Channel. In Le Havre.”

  He paused and sat back in the chair. “The job I have in mind for you is looking after our arcades. We have two in London and several in nearby towns. Does that appeal to you?”

  “It certainly does, Mr. Malvern,” James answered without hesitation, excitement echoing in his voice. “I happen to love arcades, and I’m sure I will enjoy the work. What exactly would I be doing?”

  “Supervising, helping those who rent the space from us, checking them against other arcades, making comparisons. My daughter was always keen to be sure the windows were well dressed, were appealing to the public, and that there weren’t too many shops selling the same items in one arcade. I have made a list of her duties, and you can study it. There is one other thing. I hope you won’t mind making several trips a month to the north.” Henry raised a brow. “To Leeds and Harrogate.”

  “No, of course not, Mr. Malvern. I really do want to work for you, and I have for a very long time. Do you have arcades in Leeds and Harrogate?”

  “Yes, we do.”

  James nodded, looked thoughtful for a moment, before saying, “But not in Hull, and that is where an arcade would flourish. Even two would flourish,” he announced with confidence.

  Henry Malvern was taken aback for a moment, and then asked, “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Hull is called the City of Gaiety, and it is just that. They have dances and balls, big fancy suppers, and do a lot of entertaining. The women love clothes and jewelry.” He gave a small shrug. “It was just a thought, that’s all, Mr. Malvern.”

  Henry looked pleased when he said, “Tell me your thoughts all the time, Falconer. I want this company to grow. And you seem to have a fertile brain.” He stared intently at the young man, thinking how bright he was. He said, “I believe I’ve made a good deal hiring you. How do you feel about working here?”

  “That I’ve made a good deal, too, Mr. Malvern.”

  “Then let me take you to your office and introduce you to a couple of young men who will be your colleagues, even though they are in different divisions.”

  Picking up several sheets of paper, he handed them to James, and then the two of them went down the corridor. Malvern knocked on one of the doors, opened it, and went inside. “Good morning, Parkinson, this i
s a new member of our staff. James Falconer. And this is Peter Parkinson, who works in the real estate department.”

  The two young men shook hands, and then Henry Malvern moved on to the next office where he introduced James to Marvin Goring, who was involved in the warehouse real estate.

  Once these introductions were over, Henry opened a third door along the corridor and showed James inside. “This is your office. Nice space, plenty of light. Make it your own, Falconer, and study those lists. There is stationery and the like in the drawers; anything else you might need, just ask. I am going to leave you to your own devices for a few days, and then I will take you to the two arcades and introduce you to those retailers who rent from us.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Malvern.”

  Forty-three

  After the quietness of his office in Malvern House, the noise in Piccadilly was overwhelming, and James reeled slightly as he came out of the building. Horses’ hooves, metal wheels on the road, organ grinders, and the cries of the newsboys hawking the evening editions of the newspapers … all mingled together to create a huge cacophony of sound that assaulted his senses.

  But as he stepped out in swift strides, weaving in and out through the crowds of pedestrians, James soon adapted to the noise of this great metropolitan city. London. The center of the world, his grandfather called it.

  He had studied Mr. Malvern’s notes for part of the day and had instantly understood that the most important thing about his job was to make sure the windows were cleverly dressed. It was the shops’ windows in the arcades that pulled in the customers who spent money. So the tenants could pay the rent. As for the quality of the products, he knew that was just a question of judgment. How thankful he was that he had spent time wandering through the floors of Fortnum & Mason over the years, looking at their top-notch goods, noting the different weaves of cashmere, wool, gabardine, leather, suede, velvet, and silks. He had a good eye, and his fingers were sensitive. He easily recognized what he was touching and its true quality.

  On the second piece of paper, Mr. Malvern had said he could pay him two pounds a week as a starting wage. He accepted it without a quibble. It would eventually increase.

  The fact that he had a job with Mr. Malvern and was actually earning money pleased James. He also understood that today his life had changed; it would never be the same. He was on his own, standing on his own two feet, in control of his life, his fate, and what the future held.

  He smiled to himself, knowing how lucky he was that he had been invited to share his uncle’s very convenient flat, and that he had a safety net, if anything went wrong: his parents and grandparents.

  The two men, Parkinson and Goring, had each stepped into his office to welcome him properly at different times during the day. They seemed nice enough, had been friendly. Right at this moment he was aware how much he was going to miss William Venables, who had become his closest friend and confidant, not to mention his great-aunt and great-uncle. How good they had been to him over this year he had spent in Hull. And he had learned a lot from Great-Uncle Clarence. He knew he had a friend for life in him.

  Hull. That had been a brainstorm on his part, suggesting an arcade in the City of Gaiety, but he knew he was right about how successful one would be. He had noticed that Mr. Malvern’s dark eyes had sparkled at the mere mention of this. He tucked that idea at the back of his mind. He must formulate a plan. One was already ticking away.

  At five o’clock, Mr. Malvern had strolled into his office, welcomed him again, and asked him if he would be willing to visit their two arcades tomorrow morning. He asked if he had understood the notes. James assured him he knew what to look for and would be happy to accompany Mr. Malvern to acquaint himself with the two properties.

  With a nod and a smile, Mr. Malvern had said goodnight and left, having told him to go home whenever he wanted.

  James’s thoughts veered to another matter altogether as he traversed Piccadilly. Mrs. Georgiana Ward. He had written to her in the first week of November, announcing that he would be returning to London at the end of the month. She had written back and suggested they have supper at her house on Wednesday, December 5. At six o’clock, prompt. He had replied instantly. And he would be seeing her in two days.

  In her letter she had warned him that conditions were not at all good. Recently there had been a lot of fogs, mostly created by coal dust and fumes from other elements used in homes and from the underground railway. James had only been back since Thursday night, but as yet he hadn’t been bothered by any fogs. On the other hand, he knew they were something of a menace and caused a lot of ill health in the city, as well as dirt and filth everywhere.

  It suddenly struck him, as he walked toward Half Moon Street, that Mrs. Ward was the only friend he had in London, other than his family. He made another mental note to make a point of going to see Jack Holden, on Saturday or Sunday, when he was in Camden Town with his parents. To pay his respects.

  * * *

  When James opened the front door of the flat and went in, he was delighted to see the lamplights flaring, the fire blazing up the chimney, and his uncle sitting in a comfortable armchair in front of the fire. Naturally he was perusing one of the competing newspapers.

  “Here I am, Uncle George,” James said, slipping out of his overcoat, hanging it on the coat stand, and walking into the small, comfortable parlor.

  George looked over the top of his newspaper and smiled, “How did it go, James? How was Mr. Malvern? Treat you well, did he?”

  “To answer the last part of your question first, Mr. Malvern is just the nicest man, as Father had told me he was. Plain speaking, to the point, but kind. He gave me notes he had made about the job. Tomorrow he’s going to take me to see the two arcades they own in London. Oh, and he told me I might have to travel to the north occasionally, to Leeds and Harrogate, where they own arcades. I don’t mind that at all, since I can easily do a hop, skip, and a jump, and land in Hull for Saturday nights on the town.”

  His uncle chuckled and put down the paper. “You’ve got it all worked out, I see.”

  “Not really. But I would visit Hull. William and I became really good friends. He’s genuine and trustworthy, and I miss him already.”

  “I know what you mean. A good pal is worth his weight in gold, take my word for it. And one is hard to come by.”

  James sat down in the other chair and warmed his hands. “It’s turned nippy tonight. But there’s no fog, thank God.”

  “Thank God twenty times over! Do you know, about two years ago there were over eighty fogs in central London. Damn near unbearable. I don’t know why this blasted government doesn’t do something about our polluted air.”

  “Neither do I. What could they do, Uncle George?”

  “I’ve no idea either. Stop using coal, and whatever else causes the atmosphere to become dangerous. Actually dangerous. Well, the two of us can’t mend the world, but we can go out and enjoy ourselves. It’s my day off, James, got any plans?”

  “No, I haven’t. Nobody to make plans with.”

  “That’s true. So, you’re coming with me. I’m going to have dinner with my best pal, and you’re tagging along.”

  “Who is he, your best pal?”

  “A copper, what else, a bloody good one at that.”

  * * *

  George Falconer, somewhat a creature of habit, had booked a table at the Bettrage Hotel. But this evening he had chosen the hotel’s less formal brasserie for supper.

  He and his nephew James walked through Mayfair to Davies Street where the hotel was located, chatting amiably about family matters in general.

  As they went down Davies Street to the front entrance of the hotel, they saw something of a fuss going on with several porters and a large pile of luggage outside the front door.

  Instantly, George came to a stop, put his hand on James’s arm. “The arrival of two posh ladies,” he murmured. “Let the porters get the trunks in first, the ladies will follow, and then we can enter.
” George grinned. “The young one is rather a looker, I must admit. The mother’s not bad either.”

  “How do you know she is the mother?” James asked.

  “They look alike, don’t you think? The older woman is slightly plumper.”

  The trunks were being hurriedly rolled inside on a form of long barrow, and then the ladies went into the hotel.

  Stepping out, pulling James forward, George steered his nephew in through the front door after the women. In the bright lights of the hotel’s foyer the women were truly visible, and they were indeed very good-looking, elegantly gowned and bejeweled. In a low voice, George said, “Americans. And no doubt buccaneers.”

  James gaped at his uncle, frowning. “What are buccaneers?”

  “I’ll explain when we get into the brasserie,” George said, his voice low, his eyes following the fashionably and richly gowned women, who were standing at the desk of the concierge, talking to him animatedly.

  The maître d’ of the brasserie greeted them warmly as they entered. “Good evening, Lomax,” George said. “I would like to introduce you to my nephew, James Falconer.”

  After the two men had greeted each other and shaken hands, Lomax said, “The inspector just arrived a few seconds ago, Mr. Falconer.” He steered them over to a round table in a far corner of the restaurant, which was George’s preferred place to sit. It gave him an overall view of the entire room, which as a journalist was important to him. He could see who entered and left with ease.

  George quickly introduced his friend Detective Inspector Roger Crawford to James, and the three men sat down. Looking at each of them, George said, “How about a bottle of bubbly? It’s a little celebration for me tonight.”

  “Sounds good,” the inspector said.

  James simply nodded.

  George looked at Lomax. “Don’t bother to send the sommelier over with the wine list, Lomax. Have him open a bottle of my favorite champagne, please.”