Three Words for Goodbye

by Hazel Gaynor

  “Charles knows about your article. His secretary sent an urgent telegram to his hotel.” His expression changed. I saw concern in his eyes. “He is absolutely furious, Maddie.”

  “Good. He brought it on himself,” I said, sticking out my chin stubbornly. “I did nothing wrong. I merely reported what I’d discovered. If he doesn’t want articles written about him, he should stop being such a . . .” I stopped, realizing my tone was acidic, and it shouldn’t be directed at Daniel.

  “You’re right,” he said, holding up his hands. “If Charles doesn’t want negative press, he should behave accordingly.” He leaned forward. “Have you told Clara?”

  I shook my head, and a rising wave of panic washed over me. Once again, I’d put my relationship with her in the crosshairs.

  “I have to go,” I said, standing suddenly. “I need to tell Clara right now, before he does.”

  I rushed for the door and raced to the Hotel Brauner, with one thought on my mind: talk to my sister before Charles Hancock got to her first.

  Clara

  The light drizzle quickly turned to rain as I left the park and made my way to meet Charles at his hotel. My mood was already gloomy after the disappointing visit with Margaret and the prospect of the difficult conversation ahead, and the weather didn’t help. Still, I was beginning to accept that life often didn’t go the way you wanted or expected it to, and that I had to be more willing to confront, not avoid, whatever challenges came my way.

  My stomach tumbled and my pulse raced as I rounded a corner and saw the hotel. My planned speech turned over and over in my mind. I hoped I wouldn’t falter when I saw him. Charles had a talent for disarming even the most determined opponent.

  I ducked into the ladies’ bathroom before going to find him. Madeleine had told me I looked perfect but I added a slick of lipstick for good measure and checked myself in the mirror.

  I’d envied Madeleine as I’d watched her walk away, a spring in her step as she headed off for her lunch with Daniel. I envied the excitement of first lunch dates, the promise of everything still to come. Was it really only a year since I’d been that same excited young woman, waiting for Charles to pull up outside to take me on another extravagant date? I was so impressed by him, so in awe of him, but I had never loved him. I thought about something Matthias had said as I’d sketched his portrait: She made it easy. Violet made everything feel right. That’s how it should be with someone you love. It had taken a trip of thousands of miles to realize that I’d never truly loved Charles. Not in the way I wanted to love the man I would marry.

  I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror one last time, took a deep breath, and went to find him.

  He was waiting for me in the lobby bar, his back to me as he sat on a stool, his eyes trained on the pages of a newspaper. I took a moment to study him, to check my reaction, relieved to discover there was no flicker of passion still lingering.

  “Hello, Charles.”

  He turned, then stood and walked toward me. He reached for me instantly and pressed his lips to mine.

  “Darling Clara. How I’ve missed you!” He pulled back to study me. “And how pretty you’ve made yourself for me!” He kissed me again with a low moan of desire.

  I stood like a statue, my arms hanging like fire irons at my sides before I pulled away and suggested we sit down.

  “So, you survived!” He laughed as we took our seats at a window table, and he ordered two scotch and sodas. “My brave little Clara, traveling around the world!”

  “I’ll actually have a negroni,” I corrected, smiling at the waiter. “Thank you.”

  Charles stared at me. “I see your journey has already changed your tastes.”

  “I never cared for scotch and soda,” I countered as I took off my gloves. “And yes, my tastes have changed. Very much.”

  “Did you like your gifts?” he asked. “I thought they would act as a reminder of my love while you were gone, so you wouldn’t forget me. I was sorry to only hear from you once. You must have been very busy squabbling with your sister.” He stuck out his bottom lip in a fake childish pout.

  “They were nice gifts,” I said. “Very thoughtful of you, but entirely unnecessary.”

  “Nothing is unnecessary when it comes to my Clara.” He leaned forward and took my hand in his. “You, my darling, are entirely necessary.” He paused and leaned toward me to steal another kiss as our drinks arrived.

  I took a long sip of my negroni, enjoying the warm bolstering buzz from the alcohol as I summoned the courage to tell him.

  “So,” he continued, leaning back in his chair, “we can spend the last two nights together and return home triumphantly on the mighty Hindenburg! They say she’s quite something. And then we can get on with the wedding. Mother has been remarkable while you’ve been away. She has everything organized. There’s really nothing left for you to worry about.”

  I heard him speak, but the words seemed to float above me, as if he was talking about someone else’s wedding. I sat patiently while he went on and on, until I couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “Stop, Charles. Please, just stop.”

  He paused, midsentence. “Whatever’s the matter?”

  “There won’t be a wedding, Charles. I can’t marry you. I’m sorry.” I blurted it out in a rush, my carefully rehearsed speech disintegrating.

  He laughed, too loudly. “What are you talking about? Of course there’ll be a wedding. Darling, I . . .”

  I leaned back in my chair. “No, Charles. There won’t.” I felt suddenly calm, as if an enormous weight had lifted from me. “I know all about your scheme with Daniel Miller. I know you arranged for him to follow us.”

  At this, he looked taken aback. “I see. He didn’t mention it.”

  “Didn’t mention what? That we’d found out? That I’d discovered your plan to keep an eye on me in case of any ‘misdemeanors’? What were you thinking, Charles? Spying on me?”

  He laughed. “It wasn’t spying! You’re being a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

  “Am I?” I took a deep breath and another long sip of my drink.

  “I only wanted to make sure you didn’t come to any harm, darling. I only ever want the best for you.”

  “You don’t know what’s best for me, though. You smother me, Charles. You order my meals. You decide on my drink. You tell me when and where we are having dinner, and with whom. You even decided on our wedding venue. Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to get married at the yacht club? That I might have set my heart on other places? And as for your gifts, I don’t like roses, and my favorite perfume is Chanel. You think you know what’s best for me, Charles, without ever trying to know me at all.”

  My voice was raised, catching the attention of the other guests.

  “Clara, you’re making a scene.” Now he looked shocked, and angry. “And where’s your engagement ring?”

  I’d wondered when he might notice that. “Don’t worry,” I said, lowering my voice. “I didn’t throw it into the Grand Canal. I know how much it’s worth.”

  I took a small envelope from my handbag and pushed it across the table toward him.

  He stared at the envelope. “You’re really going to call off our engagement over a silly misunderstanding?”

  “This is about far more than a silly misunderstanding. You don’t truly know me, know my heart. You only see me as an extension of you. Things don’t feel easy with you, Charles. And they should feel easy with the person you’re planning to spend the rest of your life with.”

  His cheeks flushed with anger. “I can give you a good life, Clara. You would want for nothing.”

  I shook my head. “What I want is to be happy.”

  He picked the envelope up roughly and pushed it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. No doubt your sister has tried to turn you against me the entire time you’ve been away. She never did like me, but even I didn’t think she would stoop this low.”
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  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Your sister’s exposé. About Hancock Enterprises. Front page news back home.”

  My mind raced. An exposé? About Hancock Enterprises? So that was why Madeleine hadn’t told me what her article was about. It was about Charles.

  He watched me carefully, swirling the ice in his glass as he waited for my reaction. I knew he intended to shock me, to turn me against Madeleine again.

  “You look surprised,” he said, his voice mocking. “Didn’t she tell you?”

  And just like that, he was back in control.

  “No. She didn’t tell me.”

  I couldn’t think straight. I was confused and hurt. I was furious with Madeleine for putting me on the spot and furious with Charles for turning the conversation around.

  “Apparently it was mailed to the editor of the New York Herald Tribune from Venice,” he continued, a look of smug delight on his face. “Oops. I suppose I’ve just made more trouble between the two of you. I assumed you knew about it since you’ve become such good friends.”

  I stood up, fumbling as I picked up my hat and gloves. “I need to go. I need . . .”

  “Clara!”

  I turned to see my sister rushing toward me. She stopped as I turned around, then she looked from me to Charles and back again.

  Charles grinned. “Well, hello, Madeleine. We were just talking about you, weren’t we, Clara? I was updating her on your inventive storytelling.”

  Her face fell as she saw my expression.

  “I’m sorry, Clara. I was going to tell you about the article, but I wanted you to make up your mind about Charles first.”

  “You’re each as bad as the other,” I snapped, looking at them both. “Trying to protect me. Deciding what’s best for me. How could you, Madeleine? After everything? I opened up to you, told you exactly how I felt about things.” I stared at her, searching those green eyes for the sister I thought I’d come to understand. “You’ll never change, will you? No matter how far you travel around the world or how many cities you visit, you’ll always come back to you. Putting the story before everything, and everyone, else. I’m sorry I ever let myself believe you’d changed.”

  At this, she looked wounded, but I didn’t regret a word.

  “I hadn’t decided if I would send the article,” she explained. “But you mailed it from Venice, along with the postcards and letters.”

  “And you wrote it behind my back!” I reached into my handbag and pulled out Nellie’s pocket watch. “Here,” I said, thrusting it at her. “I was planning to give this to you on our way home. You might as well have it now, because I don’t even want to see you on the Hindenburg.”

  She stared at me as she took the pocket watch. “But this is yours. Violet gave it to you.”

  “And I know how much Auntie Nellie meant to you. I wanted to give it to you. As a gift. From your sister.” The words caught in my throat, emotion overwhelming me.

  Charles stepped forward and reached for my arm. “Darling. Calm down. We can talk more about this . . .”

  I stepped out of his way. “And I don’t want to see you on the Hindenburg, either. If you really care for me as much as you say you do, then prove it, and let me go home alone. My decision is made, Charles. You can’t use one of your negotiating techniques to change my mind.”

  I turned then and walked away from them both, tears of anger and frustration stinging my eyes.

  I jumped into a taxi and looked straight ahead as the car pulled into traffic. My heart raced from the confrontation and from the exhilaration of standing up to a man who thought he could tell me what to do, and who to be. From now on, I would make my own decisions, forge my own path.

  As the car tracked the curve of the Danube, I asked the driver to pull over.

  “I’ll walk the rest of the way. It isn’t far.”

  As I had so often, I turned to the water for comfort. Inhaling deeply, I peered over the bridge and looked at my reflection. There are two of us, Violet had said. The version we present to the world behind the polite smiles, and the private person we really are.

  From now on, I would live the life I really wanted, be the real me, without apology, or hesitation.

  Maddie

  There was no point in running after Clara. The damage was done, and now I had to give her time to heal, to calm down, so that she might listen to my side of the story.

  Perhaps she was right in saying I would never change, but perhaps she was wrong to want me to. I hadn’t written my article from a place of spite or vengeance. I’d written it because I cared about the people Charles’s company would be displacing. I cared about making a difference through my journalism. An opportunist like Charles Hancock didn’t think about those on the other end of his transactions. It wasn’t personal to him. And that, in my view, was wrong.

  “This is all your fault,” Charles seethed as soon as Clara had gone. “Turning Clara against me with your so-called journalistic morals. I bet you’ve poisoned her mind at every opportunity.”

  I laughed, incredulous. “Clara didn’t need me to say a damned word. She is perfectly capable of making up her own mind, although you would never give her the credit for that, would you?”

  He shook, he was so furious. “How dare you charge me with ridiculous accusations that entirely miss the point of what I’m trying to accomplish. This article could do irreparable damage to my reputation. To my career. I can’t believe you even had the nerve to attack your future brother-in-law! I—”

  “Ex-future brother-in-law,” I corrected, crossing my arms defiantly. “And I know exactly what you’re trying to accomplish, Charles. You care about nothing but yourself. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to the people who will be forced to move? They’ll end up in the shantytown in Central Park, or worse. Meanwhile, you’ll go back to your mansion on the beach or your penthouse in midtown.”

  His face was red with anger. “Who cares? They’re just collateral. It happens all the time. This is business, the progression of industry. But of course you’d never understand that.” He downed his drink in one gulp, and shouted to the bartender to bring another. “You’d better write a retraction, Madeleine, or I’ll slap you and the newspaper with a lawsuit and you’ll never write another damn word again.”

  I knew he was bluffing. He had many more reasons not to pursue a lawsuit than to make an enemy of a prime newspaper or of journalists in New York City. I’d be damned if I’d retract a single thing I’d ever thought or written about Charles Hancock.

  I straightened my shoulders and met his eye, determined not to let him rattle me. “I’m so glad Clara wants nothing more to do with you. She deserves better. You never cared much about her anyway, did you? Only that she made you look good. You can be on your way, Chuck,” I said. “Clara will get along without you just fine.”

  I started for the door and refused to look back. Charles Hancock could go to hell.

  Clutching the pocket watch in my hand, I went straight back to the hotel, hoping to find Clara there. The only thing that mattered now was to make amends with my sister, to explain why I’d written what I had and how important it was, even if the truth was difficult to accept. Because the truth was almost always difficult. Something I’d learned the hard way these last few weeks.

  Clara wasn’t at the hotel, so I put the pocket watch in the drawer, grabbed my journal, and decided to get some air.

  I walked to the Stephansplatz, where I stood for a while, admiring the Stephansdom, Vienna’s Gothic cathedral. I continued up the Graben, the famous street packed with boutiques and vendors, and suddenly remembered Mr. Klein’s office was located nearby. Given that Clara was nowhere to be found, now was as good a time as any to stop in and say hello, especially since tomorrow was our last day in the city.

  I dug out his business card to check the address and studied the street map the concierge had given me. I walked across the square, and down several side streets. As I reached Mr. Klein’s addres
s, I began to cross the street, but stopped.

  Three soldiers stood outside his office door. Nazi soldiers. I paused, taking in their uniforms, their demeanor. I’d read so much about them I was strangely fascinated by their physical presence. And then the reality of what I was seeing hit me. Nazi soldiers were standing outside of Mr. Klein’s office—a kind Jewish gentleman’s office—with guns.

  I recalled Mr. Klein’s warnings and the conversations we’d had on the Queen Mary. He’d been so worried about what was to come for his family and his country, and now I could see all too clearly what that meant.

  Immediately on the defensive, I continued across the street.

  One of the soldiers met my eye and nodded. I noticed his hand rested on the hilt of a gun at his side. Pulse pounding in my ears, I forced a polite nod in reply.

  Another soldier gestured at a man walking toward them in a dark suit. He walked with the assistance of a cane. I recognized him instantly.

  “Mr. Klein!” I called, waving my hand in greeting.

  Mr. Klein’s footsteps faltered as one of the soldiers barked an order at him in German. He replied and tried to continue past the soldiers to his office door, but one of the soldiers grabbed him by the lapels and shook him violently. His cane clattered on the cobblestones as it fell. As Mr. Klein cried out, the soldier punched him squarely in the face. The elderly man grunted and crumpled to the ground.

  I gasped, horrified as the soldiers began to kick his ribs several times, shouting and taunting him before sauntering away. I had to do something, but I stood frozen in place, too shocked to move.

  Mr. Klein waited for the soldiers to go before sitting up. His face was deathly pale, his eye already bruising and swollen. Several people glanced his way, but walked by, as if he were invisible.

  Then, his eyes met mine.

  I exhaled a breath and ran to help him. He called out something in German, his hand seeming to wave me away. He didn’t want my help, or perhaps he thought I would be in danger? I didn’t stop. I had to help him anyway.