Orphan of Angel Street (43 page)

They had to part. Even though she hoped it would not be for long, Mercy felt her heart was being torn out. She looked up at him with huge, sad eyes.

‘I love you, Paul.’

‘I love you,’ he said, kissing her. ‘Don’t worry.’

*

Margaret Adair was still very weak and groggy.

‘I’m sure I shall feel better just for being off this ship,’ she said. Mercy helped her wash and clothe herself.

They all sat in silence together in the first-class saloon, waiting to disembark. James Adair was very distant, businesslike. Just once, Mercy felt his gaze on her, but when she looked at him he immediately turned away. In that second, Mercy was chilled by the disgust she saw in his expression. The same emotion, and more, had showed itself in her own.

She wanted passionately at that moment to be away from them both. Now she had met Paul she could only feel diminished by them. To them she was a servant – Margaret was exceptionally kind, it was true, but he had shown what he thought of her. She was something to be used, like an old rag, then thrown away. And both of them were deceiving Margaret. Mercy sat full of shame and revulsion. But here, now, thousands of miles from home, she could do nothing. Margaret needed her to care for Stevie more than ever before.

‘I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk far, I’m afraid.’ Margaret’s voice was thin and feeble. She had visibly lost weight during the voyage, eating very little and then not keeping it down.

‘You won’t need to walk. Kesler said he’d send a car.’ James spoke so abruptly he almost snapped at her. He picked Stevie up and went to stand by the window, making a show of talking to his son. Showing what a marvellous father he is, Mercy thought savagely.

‘Oh dear,’ Margaret put her hand to her head in distress. ‘I do feel so ill. And I feel such a fool letting James down like this, but really I can’t help it. And he’s so angry and tense – look at him. I know it’s my fault.’

No, Mercy wanted to assure her. You haven’t let him down. It’s the two of us who have let you down, and far, far more badly than you know.

‘Stay with me, Mercy,’ Margaret implored. ’I’ll be able to bear it all if you’re with me.’

‘’Course I will.’ Mercy squeezed her arm. ‘Where else would I be going?’

‘But you must see him while he’s here, my dear.’ Mercy had asked her earlier for Kesler’s address. ‘That young Mr Louth. I insist. I want you to have a happy time, Mercy. Some freedom. You’ll only be young once.’

Kesler’s driver was a talkative fellow with a stocky body, a jauntily angled Homburg and a thick accent Mercy couldn’t at first identify.

‘A warm welcome to the United States of America,’ he said, after James had spotted him among the throng outside the Battery, holding a piece of card which had,
ADAIRS FROM ENGLAND
printed on it. He introduced himself as Tommy O’Sullivan, shaking their hands with his huge, brawny one.

James said curtly, ‘Do we have far to go?’

Margaret had only just endured the formalities of arrival.

‘No, sir,’ Tommy O’Sullivan said, not seeming to notice James’s rudeness. ‘Not far at all. Well, hello there little fella!’ His stubbly cheeks shifted into a wide smile at Stevie. ‘We’ll have to find you some candy when we get on home.’

The road was busy, but Tommy had managed to park the car remarkably close.

‘Nice machine Kesler’s got there,’ James said, thawing a little at the sight of the stylish black motor car.

‘Yes, sir,’ Tommy said. ‘Ford T – nothing but the best for Mr Kesler.’

Between them they helped Margaret into the back seat and she sank into it gratefully, closing her eyes. Tommy stowed their bags. Mercy sat Stevie between herself and Margaret, and James removed his hat and took his seat at the front. He did not turn round.

Mercy stared at the back of his head. He sat very stiff and upright. Beside Tommy O’Sullivan’s easy lounge at the wheel he looked rather foolish. Mercy could see his pink flesh glistening through his sandy-coloured hair. The thought came to her of his head close to hers, the rasping cheeks, his heaviness on top of her as he strained into her. A horrible blush spread all over her body.

I wish you didn’t exist, she thought. That I’d never met you. She sensed he was feeling the same.

As they left the Battery at New York’s tip, Tommy O’Sullivan nudged the Ford through the cars, carriages and streetcars of Manhattan with some aplomb.

‘Mr Kesler says I’m to show you a thing or two on the way up,’ he said, his hairy hands expertly manoeuvring the wheel.

He gave a running commentary on the journey, turning his head as if he was addressing Mercy, had picked her out. She felt easy with him, as if there was a bond between them. They were both servants of a sort. She listened, craning her neck to see the things he was talking about.

‘We got the tallest buildings in the world here in New York. Space, you see – saves space. Beautiful, aren’t they?’

And they were, dizzily tall, stately skyscrapers crammed in between the other buildings, dwarfing the bustle of life on the streets below.

‘This your first time here?’ Tommy jerked his head round to look at her.

Mercy was so excited, so busy trying to take in all the new impressions, she almost didn’t reply.

‘Yes,’ she said, and at the same time James replied, ‘It is, yes,’ sounding as if he didn’t like to admit it.

‘If you look out this side—’ – he jerked his head to the right – ‘that’s the East River. This here’s Manhattan Bridge.’

He stopped at a junction with the second bridge. Traffic wormed across its gigantic, metal span. The car turned into a busy mesh of streets and Mercy was already beginning to feel drunk on all these new sights and sounds. She found herself wondering what Paul was doing. The thought of him sent an excited rush of feeling through her.

Paul, I love you, she thought. She missed him, ached to see him. Would he find her? Would he come?

Names spilled from Tommy O’Sullivan’s lips: Park Avenue, Grand Central Terminal, and then the park moved past their windows to the right. They were still passing it when they turned into a side street and Tommy drew the car up outside a gracious brown-stone dwelling.

‘So – here’s home,’ he said cheerfully, opening the car door. ‘Mr Kesler’s waiting for you.’

As he spoke the front door opened and a rather short, stout man with ruddy cheeks and spectacles, wearing a tight brown suit, bounced down the steps, beaming.

‘James, my dear friend!’ He was shaking James’s hand through the window before he had even had a chance to get out. Mercy saw James Adair relax visibly, and felt herself do the same, for how could you not in the cheerful face of William Kesler?

‘My wife Margaret . . .’ James managed to extricate himself from the car and step round to her door. ‘I’m afraid she is feeling rather unwell.’

Margaret roused herself, managing to sit up and give a strained smile. Mercy climbed out, lifting Stevie into her arms.

‘Oh – and your beautiful son!’ Kesler enthused. ‘My children will be so pleased. You must come and meet Gerder, my wife – ah, here she is! Gerder, come on down!’

Gerder Kesler was a slight, dignified woman, also not grand in height. She came shyly towards them and Mercy felt immediate liking for her. She was relieved. The personality of the woman of the house always seemed to be what made it homely and welcoming or not. Mrs Kesler wore simple, rather old-fashioned clothes – a grey skirt which reached almost to her ankles and a white blouse embroidered with small blue flowers. Her voice was soft and sweet, the American accent gentle and very different from Tommy O’Sullivan’s.

‘We’d like to welcome you most warmly to our home,’ she said smiling.

‘Mrs Adair needs some assistance.’ Kesler nodded meaningfully at his wife, who peered into the car.

‘Oh my dear,’ she said. ‘What a terrible ordeal for you. We must take you indoors and make sure you are made very, very comfortable.’

At hearing the wonderful kindness in her tone, Margaret Adair covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

The Keslers’ was an elegant, orderly home, every wellupholstered chair in its exact place, Kesler’s collection of china all perfectly dusted on shelves and in a glass cabinet, shining mirrors, and a smell of polish as soon as they walked through the door. Gerder Kesler was its deceptively soft-spoken, efficient organizer.

They had four children: Konrad, fifteen, Lise, twelve and Karl, eight, who were all at school, and little Andreas who was five and was looked after by Helga, a pale, plain woman in her twenties. She barely raised a smile at Mercy, but as soon as she saw Stevie, her face shone with happiness.

‘A baby!’ she cried, in a strange, guttural voice. ‘Oh – let him come to me, won’t you? Andreas is getting such a big boy now – he’ll soon be away to school!’

To Mercy’s surprise, as personally she thought Helga a wee bit odd, Stevie went to her straight away with absolute trust.

Margaret Adair wept even more at the sight of the immaculately made bed in her room, the piles of pillows encased in stiff, white linen. Gerder Kesler was all concern, and Margaret immediately confided in her the nature of the problem.

‘I shall feel better later, I feel sure of it,’ she said, once she was lying down. ‘I just need some time to recover . . . Mercy—’ – She reached her hand out and Mercy took it – ‘Paul Louth asked my permission to see you during the days the ship is in port . . .’

Mercy waited, nervously.

‘Is that what you’d like?’

‘Oh yes,’ she replied fervently. ‘Yes please, if that’s . . .’

Margaret looked at Gerder. ‘Mercy is my very special friend as well as Steven’s nanny. Owing to my illness on the voyage she has been working very hard. I wonder if Helga would mind . . . ? For a day or two?’

Gerder smiled at Mercy. ‘You could see, I think, how delighted Helga would be! She’s a simple girl, but you’ll find she is nothing but kindness and she has a rare gift with small children. So please, Mercy, feel relaxed here. I can see—’ – she sat down on the end of the bed with a graceful movement – ‘that Margaret and I are going to be firm friends. And I don’t suppose we’ll be seeing very much of the men, do you?’ She laughed softly.

Margaret squeezed Mercy’s hand and then let go. A spasm of nausea passed across her face. ‘There you are – and you deserve some time to yourself.’

‘Oh, thank you!’ Mercy went to find Helga, her heart singing.

As soon as James Adair stepped into the Keslers’ house a huge tide of relief swept through him. His emotions during the voyage had reached such extremes of agony, desire, relief and shame that his life had felt like a shattered glass, the pieces distressingly scattered and misplaced. Quite apart from what had taken place with Mercy, Margaret’s sickness had confined him. He had been reduced, on the ship, to a kind of passive, semi-domestic situation. But he could reassemble himself here with Kesler, step back into the comforting, manly world of work.

He dined with the Keslers that night at an oval, rosewood table, a silver candelabra unlit at the centre. To his relief he found that Mercy was expected to eat with Helga and the other servants. He enjoyed the simple but flavour-some meal of soup and beef and fruit tart, and questioned Kesler about the ornate pieces of china he saw arranged round the room.

Once Gerder had excused herself, he and Kesler spent the evening discussing business. Kesler, ruddy-cheeked, offered him brandy and a cigar, and the two of them sat back into slippery leather chairs so large they looked as if they might swallow them up.

‘What I propose’, Kesler said, resting one plump leg on the other and blowing smoke towards the ceiling, ‘is that we take a few days here in New York City. After that we can go on down to Rochester and I’ll show you the new place. It’s coming on. Another couple of months and I’d say we’ll be on the move. But I’m glad for you to visit now. Of course, New York City has far more to offer a visitor.’

James appreciated Kesler’s directness and enthusiasm. He gave off an air of anything being possible. ‘That all sounds very satisfactory to me.’

‘So—’ – Kesler leant forward – ‘while you’re here – let’s sit down and design the greatest damn racing cycle the world has ever seen. Agreed?’

James blew out the smoke from his cigar and grinned, suddenly boyish. ‘Agreed.’

Retiring to bed that night, James was full of drive and excitement from his conversation with Kesler. After the afternoon’s rest and all this enthusiastic talk the last thing he wanted was sleep. He’d like to have been out on the town, dancing, laughing, throwing off the constraints of his life again. He was restless, amorous.

Very quietly he opened the door of his room. Margaret was awake, to his surprise, watching him as he stepped close to the bed.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Goodness, you smell of cigars.’

‘Kesler’s a generous man.’

‘You had a good evening then, darling?’

‘I did!’ He spoke with rather overdone enthusiasm. ‘He really is rather marvellous. And are you feeling better?’

She thought about it. ‘I’m not sure how permanently, but yes, at this moment I don’t feel too bad.’

He could feel her eyes on his as he undressed for bed. Then they lay together, in a rare, companionable position, each on the left side, he wrapped round the back of her.

‘I’ve given Mercy permission to spend some time with Paul Louth,’ Margaret murmured.

His jealous, at odds feeling returned. ‘What, go gadding off? But she’s a servant for goodness sake. And you need her more than ever . . .’

‘Nonsense. Helga, that pale creature downstairs, will take over Stevie. Mercy’s in love. Haven’t you noticed? But then no, I don’t suppose you have!’

He was silent. Of course he had noticed. He felt relieved, in some way vindicated. He nuzzled Margaret’s neck. Her rounded, soft body pressed against him made him harden with desire.

‘Won’t she need a chaperone?’ he murmured.

Margaret elbowed him playfully. ‘Don’t be such an old fuddy-duddy. And anyway, Paul seems very nice and responsible to me. She arched herself against him, surprising him with her sudden, slightly wanton energy.