Sins of the Fathers (37 page)

Yet it had happened.

I roused myself sufficiently to summon my aide. ‘Get me my sister in Velletria, Ohio.’

It took some time to reach Emily by phone but at last the receiver was put in my hand.

‘Cornelius? Darling, why are you calling? Is something wrong?’

‘Emily, just what did you tell the English Sullivans after the war about my quarrels with Steve?’

‘Your quarrels with – why, nothing! I’ve never told them anything that wasn’t common knowledge – I just said you two had disagreements
which led to Steve leaving Van Zale’s and setting up a new business in London. Cornelius, what
is
all this? You sound very upset. What’s happened?’

‘Elfrida’s just accused me of murdering her father.’

There was an absolute silence.

‘Of course it’s a slander,’ I said, ‘and I’m trying to find out who’s at the bottom of it. Elfrida seems to have formed this
opinion at the time of her eighteenth birthday, but by the January of 1948 there would
have been no one left alive who might have felt inclined to give her such a perverted version of the facts. Unless, of course,
you yourself drew some unfortunate conclusions about the past and then, without telling me, wrote to the twins on their eighteenth
birthday—’

‘I did no such thing!’

Before my bewilderment intensified I had a moment of profound relief.

‘I’ll write to Elfrida,’ Emily was saying strongly. ‘I’m very distressed. Hatred is so self-destructive. She must be very
unhappy.’

This was typical of Emily. As usual she had missed the whole point and got bogged down in the moral angle. I wasn’t concerned
with the consequences of hatred. I wasn’t even concerned about being hated by Steve Sullivan’s three youngest children. What
did concern me was that Steve had been Scott’s father as well as theirs. If someone had given Elfrida a brand new view of
the past what was to stop her passing it on to her half-brother in New York? And what was to stop Scott believing her and
turning against me? Of course I had brought Scott up with my view of the past, but supposing he were to find out … I cut off
all thought of what I didn’t want Scott to find out, and wiped the sweat from my forehead. ‘Emily, you don’t understand. Listen,
Emily—’

‘I’ll do my best, I promise you, to persuade Elfrida to forgive you. You might have done wrong in the past, but you’ve done
your best to make amends and besides, it’s not for us to pass judgement on our fellow-men. That must be left to God.’

I was so horrified that I couldn’t even hang up and cut myself off from all this theological drivel. ‘What the
hell
do you mean?’

Emily, unfazed, started quoting the bible. ‘“Judge not, that ye be not judged—”’

‘No, no, not that! What did you mean about the so-called wrong I’ve done in the past? For Christ’s sake, has someone turned
you against me too? I did no wrong, Emily! Steve and I had a rough fight, I admit it, but he initiated it! I only acted in
self-defence!’

The transatlantic connection hummed emptily between us.

‘Emily!’

‘Yes, dear.’

‘Look, what’s been going on? Who’s been talking to you? Who’s been slandering me? Who—’

‘If you’re so innocent, why are you working yourself into such a panic?’

‘I’m not in a panic! I’m just … well, to tell the truth, I’m concerned about Scott. I don’t want him bothered by Elfrida’s
hysterical
accusations. You know how fond I am of him, and how fond he is of me. This could be very embarrassing to us both.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to worry about Scott,’ said Emily, and as if she felt this statement needed an explanation she added after
a slight pause: ‘Your relationship with Scott shows you at your very best, Cornelius. I’m proud of the way you took charge
of him when he was such a disturbed difficult boy of fourteen and brought him up with such complete success. You can be proud
too. That episode does you nothing but credit.’

Shame gripped me so unexpectedly and so violently that I was speechless. I thought: that was the way things ought to have
been. But was that the way things really were? And then I thought with a terrible, unbearable clarity: what an appalling mess
I’ve made of my personal life, Christ, I’ve been so unhappy, Christ, I
am
so unhappy—

I blocked that thought out, pulled the shutters down over such unspeakable consciousness, switched on the lights of my self-protective
reflexes and prepared to settle down once more in the steel-lined cell I had built for myself so carefully over the years.

‘Yes, I
am
proud of the way I brought up Scott,’ I said. ‘To be frank I’m proud of my whole past. I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.
God deals out the cards of life and you play the hand as best you can, that’s all. It’s not my fault if I occasionally found
myself with a lousy hand.’

‘Yes, dear,’ said Emily. She cleared her throat. ‘Give my love to Sam and Vicky, won’t you? And the little boys too, of course!
Tell Vicky I can’t wait to see some pictures of Paul! I hope there wasn’t too much disappointment that he wasn’t a girl.’

I didn’t bother to answer. Who could be disappointed by having two sons? I said goodbye and hung up before it occurred to
me that I still had no idea who had been talking to Elfrida about the past.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I considered every angle of the mystery over and over again until at last, inevitably,
my thoughts began to focus on Tony Sullivan; I was remembering how strongly he had insisted that the children should be told
the truth.

I had taken charge of Tony in 1933 when I had taken charge of Scott, but Tony and I had never got along and eventually he
had turned his back on me and sailed off to England to live with his father’s last family; Steve was dead by that time, but
Dinah had given Tony a home with Alan and the three little kids at Mallingham in Norfolk where her family had lived for centuries.
Scott, staunchly loyal to me, had quarrelled with Tony at about this time, and after Tony went to England the brothers remained
estranged and never met again. This had, of course, been a great relief to me. I knew what
kind of stories Tony would have heard about me as soon as he had begun his new life at Mallingham.

I went on thinking of Tony. I felt no emotion. That had all been spent long ago. Back in 1931 Tony had given me mumps, that
stupid kid’s disease which was to mar my whole life, and once I had found out I was sterile I had never been able to look
at him without remembering and remembering and remembering … I didn’t blame him exactly – after all, it was hardly his fault
– but I just remembered. He was a reminder. He also looked like Steve. That made me remember too. He was a reminder of too
damned much. I also had this odd feeling that he was destined to be my permanent Nemesis. It’s a strange fact of life that
certain people’s paths intersect periodically with one’s own, sometimes with beneficial results, sometimes with a disastrous
aftermath, and for me Tony Sullivan had always provided the catalyst for disaster.

As I lay awake worrying that night I thought: Tony’s at the bottom of this somehow. But how? He died in 1944. Or did he? Perhaps
he survived … prisoner of war … amnesia … only just recovered … returned to Mallingham …

Sleep mercifully put an end to these neurotic fantasies, but the next morning I woke up and began to worry all over again.
Throughout the day I told myself repeatedly: the past is dead. The past can’t touch me any more. But then came the bombshell.

Elfrida herself arrived at the Savoy and demanded to see me.

[3]

I was dressing for dinner at the time. Sam and Vicky were due to take us out that evening to a show.

‘There’s a Miss Sullivan downstairs, sir,’ said my aide. ‘She wants to know if she can come up.’

I opened my mouth to say ‘no’ but the words which came out were: ‘Let me talk to her.’ I had to get to the bottom of this
mystery before I left England. It was all very well to reassure myself by saying that nobody could prove anything and that
Scott would always take my word against Elfrida’s, but I just didn’t want Scott upset. Taking the receiver from my aide I
said pleasantly into the mouthpiece: ‘So it’s you again! I hope you’re not still playing at being prosecuting attorney! What
charges do you want to press today?’

‘I want to talk to you about Mallingham,’ said Elfrida.

Dinah Slade’s old home had found its way into Paul’s hands in
1922 and when he had died four years later the property had devolved to me as his heir. The house was a charred ruin but the
land was still mine. I had had some vague idea of transferring it to the National Trust since the acreage was in an area which
they wanted to preserve, but I had never been able to summon the mental energy to issue the necessary orders to my lawyers.
I always tried not to think of Mallingham since it inevitably reminded me of Steve and Dinah and a whole series of events
I knew it was wiser to forget. I didn’t want to think of it now.

‘Look, Elfrida, I’m a busy man and I don’t have the time to waste raking over the past with you—’

‘I want to talk about the future.’

I supposed she wanted her old home back. To my relief I suddenly saw how I might appease her and neutralize the danger she
represented. ‘Okay, come up,’ I said, and abruptly severed the connection.

[4]

She was a tall girl, large-boned and masculine, her curly hair cut short. She wore no make-up and her clothes were unflattering.
Her eyes were a bright light blue.

I had taken a couple of pills for my asthma and was breathing evenly. I had dismissed everyone from the suite except Alicia
and her maid; I could hear them talking to one another in the far bedroom as I went out into the hallway to open the door.

Elfrida was twenty-three years old. She had taken a degree in English at Cambridge University and had afterwards spent a further
year obtaining a teaching diploma before applying for a position in a private school near Cambridge. Her twin brother Edred
taught music at the same school but according to Emily was trying to get a job in an orchestra. The younger boy, George, had
finished his last year at boarding school and was scheduled to go to one of the newer English universities in the fall. Emily
had told me what he intended to study but I had forgotten. I wished I could forget all the English Sullivans, all Europe and
indeed everything and everyone east of the state of Maine.

Opening the door I told Elfrida to come in.

‘Right,’ I said, leading the way into the sitting-room but not inviting her to be seated. ‘I’m about to go out but I guess
I can spare you a minute or two. You should have called for an appointment. Now what’s your problem? Do you want the Mallingham
lands back? I’ve planned to give them to the National Trust, but if you like I’ll donate
them to you instead. I would have offered earlier, but after you and Edred deliberately cut yourself off from me—’

‘Thank you,’ said Elfrida neatly, ‘I accept the offer. How kind of you. And while you’re about it, you can write me a cheque
for a million dollars.’

That rocked me. It was not simply the request for money; I was well accustomed to such requests from the indigent. Neither
was it simply the ridiculous amount involved; I was well aware that the indigent often lose touch with reality. What shocked
me was the hint of extortion, the implication that I owed her a huge sum in order to compensate her for a great loss. What
shocked me was the buried past erupting out of its sealed coffin and even threatening bizarrely to repeat itself. Her mother
Dinah Slade had once asked for ten thousand pounds from my great-uncle, Paul Van Zale.

‘A million dollars?’ I said. I knew I should laugh and exclaim: ‘You’re kidding!’ but all I could say was: ‘What the hell
are you talking about?’

‘I want to start a school,’ said Elfrida, still the picture of serene self-confidence. ‘I’ve decided to rebuild Mallingham
Hall, restoring it as far as possible, and turn it into a boarding school for girls. I shall name it in memory of my mother.
She was very interested in education for women.’

‘I see.’ I got a grip on myself. ‘How very commendable!’ That sounded too silky, too insincere. I groped for a better tone,
a more even tone, the tone of a philanthropist who believed in encouraging worthy schemes. ‘Well,’ I said mildly, ‘I am, as
you know, a charitable man and for many years I’ve set aside a certain portion of my wealth for my educational trust. I see
no reason why I shouldn’t help you, but of course we must approach this project in a sensible manner. I can’t just sit down
now and write you a cheque for an amount which sounds to me totally excessive.’

‘You owe me every cent of it!’

‘I think not,’ I said, still very mild. ‘I did my best for you when you were orphaned, and despite your recent efforts to
insult me I’m prepared to do my best for you now by putting you in touch with the Van Zale lawyers in London and my educational
trust in New York.’

There was a pause. I made a quick calculation. Of course it would all be deductable. My accountants would be very pleased
and so would I. The net loss to me would be minimal and I would have the satisfaction of knowing I had permanently muzzled
the most dangerous of the English Sullivans by smothering her with Christian charity. Even Emily would approve.

Elfrida was looking suspicious. Although inexperienced in the ways of the world the girl was clearly no fool. ‘I want all
that in writing,’ she said.

‘Of course – on the understanding that you stop announcing to all and sundry that I killed your father. If I ever hear that
you’ve been behaving so irresponsibly again I shall withdraw my financial support.’

She gave me a look which reminded me of her father. There was amusement mingled with the scorn, irony with the contempt. ‘Just
give me the money,’ she said, ‘and spare me the exhibition of guilt.’

I laughed. I produced my most radiant smile. ‘But of course you can have the money! I’m happy to give it to you! I just wanted
to make sure we understood each other, but I’m really not the ogre you believe me to be! Oh, and talking of what you believe
… just who’s been trying to persuade you that I was responsible for your father’s death?’