Her Hungry Heart (10 page)

‘What does all that mean?’ asked Juliet.

‘It means I have a place to live, and money to take care of myself, if anything should happen and I have to leave you all. That’s how the man at the bank explained it to me.’

‘Mr Peabody, not the man at the bank, Mimi.’

‘Yes, that’s right, Mr Peabody will arrange things. A school for me to go to, and everything.’

‘What do you think it would be like to live there, in the city?’ asked Pierre.

‘Oh, terrible I should think. Lonely and hard. You would have to know a great many people and go to a lot of places to find some friends. And there would be no one in the flat to talk to, to play with. Not even Cook to talk to and to watch out for me.’

‘Oh, Mimi, that’s because you don’t know the city and all the advantages it offers. For me it is the most exciting city in the world, and I would give anything to live there.’ It was said as Miss Tolset was leaving the room. The children shrugged their shoulders and dismissed her opinion in favour of Mimi’s.

The winter continued, harder on the adults than the children. For them there was always a birthday or a party, an American holiday or one of their own country’s to celebrate. Their projects and amusements were the most important things in their lives. Being so isolated from other children they were dependent on each other and their imaginations to sustain them. And they were happy. So much so they missed the subtle changes going on at Beechtrees.

At last the days grew brighter, the weather warmer. What was left of the snow-drifts melted away under April showers. The trees began to bud, the new grass to turn green, the crocus, daffodils and wild tulips were pushing their way up from the dark towards the sun. Spring in all its glory was busting out all over. And with the season the old
iron gates were creaking open more often.

Cars of high-ranking officers from the various armed forces of several countries came to consult with the Queen and her consort. Several men from Washington, representatives from the President and the Secretary of State arrived for lunch one day with diplomats from London, France and Belgium. There was a buzz in the air, which the younger children enjoyed because it was ‘company’. Only Maxi saw the visitors as signalling intrigue in high places. He spent most of his time trying to gain access to their meetings. Frustrated by living between two worlds, those of childhood and manhood, he felt half in and half out of the adult world at one of the turning points in history.

Chapter 8

Closed gates at Beechtrees was something new. Odd to see those grand old iron contraptions manned by armed security guards, FBI ones at that. For as long as she could remember the gates had remained open. Beechtrees had been a wild and wonderful place where she and her brother had played and run free.

Since her Royal guests had taken up residence she had not been there. Poor old Beechtrees. Built at the turn of the century, like most of the other robber barons’ country houses around the Stockbridge Bowl, it had only come alive with people for short seasons: the summer months, a week at Christmas, some years at Easter. It was faintly bewildering to ride up the avenue of trees as a luncheon-guest in your own house. She felt even more out of sync to see, as the car manoeuvred the gravelled, crescent-shaped drive in front of the limestone mansion, the sovereign and her consort standing at the front door. Lined up on the white marble stairs, flanking either side of the Palladian portico to the house, her staff, her cook, and Beechtrees’ house-maids, estate manager, gardener, stable lads. And there was Hyram Walker, the caretaker and overseer of them all, who had come to the house long before she had been born.

It was an unsolicited and generous gesture by her house-guest. Even more so when the sovereign stepped aside for the real owner to enter her house. In the drawing room, they spoke of many things before finally coming around to
discuss the family’s exile at Beechtrees.

‘I do not know how we can ever thank you for your generosity in lending your home to us during this very difficult time. And now it is so kind of you to make that journey from the city to us here for lunch, when in fact it is we who should have gone to you. But security, and our reluctance to make ourselves conspicuous, has prevented that. I hope you understand,’ the Prince told her.

‘If Beechtrees has the luxury of a family in residence for more than the short visits we always used it for, that suffices for me. When it is empty, I tend to think of it as a depository for my ancestors’ shopping-sprees for antiques and paintings during their grand tours of Europe. And that always makes me sad, because Beechtrees is a place dear to my heart. I have always been happy here. As I told you when I offered the house to you, I make no apology for the genteel, somewhat eccentric, shabby grandeur of the estate. It has always seemed to me to add a special kind of romance to the place that Beechtrees yearned for. Fanciful, you might think, but now you have lived here, I hope you agree.’

Until that moment the adults in the room, the Queen, her husband, the American Naval Attaché, an ambassador from their New York embassy, all seemed very stiff, on their best and most formal behaviour. Their tension now visibly dissipated.

‘Oh, yes. I do know what you mean. We have been most comfortable, and have had the luxury of living a simple family life. My children have been very happy and, though isolated and in exile from all that is dear and meaningful to our lives, we have found something here that has sustained us and kept our courage up.’ The Queen spoke with a genuine gratitude in her voice, though regally unruffled by emotion.

The conversation seemed to collapse after she spoke. And the Naval Attaché, a tall handsome blond man, who seemed
just a little in awe of the attractive woman sitting opposite him, rose and cleared his throat before he addressed her. ‘I am afraid I must ask you to keep in confidence what we say to you here today, ma’am. I have been assured that that will not be a problem for you. It is a matter, you see, of the family’s safety, and a degree of secrecy is necessary for various reasons.’

She thought it all just a bit too much double-talk, but did understand, having been around people in sensitive political and diplomatic circles since a child. She answered, ‘You have my word,’ though saying so sounded silly.

The Prince told her, ‘We will be leaving Beechtrees, your hospitality and indeed America behind us – but not forgotten – within the next few days. I am afraid where we go and how is all very – how do you say it here? – hush-hush. So we can say no more about that.’

‘We could not leave without thanking you,’ the Queen told her. Again the awkward collapse in the conversation that tended to follow a royal pronouncement. But the Attaché recognized his cue. ‘Her Majesty and the Prince find this all somewhat embarrassing, but nothing is served by beating about the bush. They feel the need to impose once more on your generosity. But, before they ask a favour of you, they would like you to understand that you are under no obligation to help them with a problem they have taken upon themselves. You must feel free to refuse them, otherwise they would not wish to discuss the matter with you.’

‘What is the problem?’ she asked directing her words to the Queen.

‘As William has stated, I have created a problem. Her name is Mimi Kowalski. She was nine years old when she arrived here at Beechtrees. Since then she has had a birthday, and she is now a beautiful precocious ten year old. We took her in as a playmate for our daughter Juliet, and as a part-time helper in the kitchens. We had only a vague idea
of the terrible circumstances she had been living in for the past few years since she fled from Europe. She is one of those hundreds of thousands of displaced children. She won us over at once, and we are the only friends that she has, the surrogate family that has helped to heal some of the many wounds that fear and loss and poverty can inflict.

‘A few months after she arrived here, and as a result of some discreet sleuthing, as I think you term it, we have found that unbeknown to her, her father had provided handsomely for her. So she is all right financially. However, we do not know what to do with her until her father is found – if indeed the man is to be found at all. You see we cannot take her with us, much as we might like to. The wrench of having to separate from her is difficult enough for us: what it might do to her is too horrible to contemplate. So we have come up with a solution. Not the best, but the best that we can do under the circumstances. Our cook Sophia adores the child and is willing to stay with her until her family is found. We would like to leave them both here, at least until the end of summer, if you would agree to that.’

‘You see,’ the Naval Attaché continued, ‘that would give Mimi some time to adjust to having lost once again the only friends she has, this family. And to get used to Mr Peabody, at the Morgan Guarantee Bank of New York. He has agreed to act temporarily as her guardian, so he can handle the day-to-day running of their lives. School, funds, staff, that sort of thing, because, frankly, in such matters, Sophia is likely to be as much a babe lost in the woods as the child.

‘The idea is eventually to move them both into a flat on West End Avenue that is available to Mimi. It all sounds good for her now, but you have no idea what the child has gone through, how those with whom she was put in care failed her and themselves. A tragic story with a Cinderella ending, we hope. Well, I guess that’s about it. Except that all she lives for is her father’s coming to find her. We have
done our best to try to find him, but to no avail. It has not helped that the child is most reluctant to talk about him or anything to do with her life before she arrived here at Beechtrees. She does on rare occasions, but we do not press her about her past. We feel that as she grows more emotionally strong and secure, she will be able to face up to it and talk about it.’

The woman felt discomfited. She rose from her chair and walked to the window. She thought, no wonder they were embarrassed. What an extraordinary imposition. Of course she would say yes, but she was not happy about it. Although she liked children, she lacked the maternal instincts that all women were supposed to have. Her life and her work lay outside those roles foisted upon most women. And beyond all else she was a very practical woman. She turned to face these people to whom she had surrendered her house. A gesture of hospitality had now evolved into a responsibility.

‘I can see your predicament,’ she told them, ‘but no matter how you look at it, you are abandoning the child. And what about the child and the cook? What kind of life will they have here when you are all gone?’

‘Mimi loves Beechtrees. She feels at home here. She has told us she is happier here than she has been since she left her own home. She will have to understand that only a world war has forced us to do this to her. We have taken her into our hearts, and she will be with us always until we meet again. And I will promise her that we will meet again.’

Clearly the Queen had hardened her heart to do what she must do. Her time of playing families instead of the role of sovereign was nearly over. Some things must be going seriously right in the war, the woman thought, or were about to, or else this move would not be happening. Certainly they would not be crossing the Atlantic for a destination closer to the conflict if that were not true. Hence the secrecy. Something big was going to happen that
must not leak out. Oh, what did it matter? ‘If the child is happy here, of course she can stay in the care of the cook,’ she told them as graciously as she could, having realized how churlish her thinking had been.

There were no smiles, but their relief was obvious. ‘I am genuinely grateful to you. You will understand better how difficult a thing this is for us to do when you meet Mimi. But first let me introduce you to Sophia. She is normally a trojan of a woman. Today, however, she has a slight case of nerves that I am certain will vanish when she hears you have agreed to Mimi and her staying on. In anticipation of your consenting to our plan, she has prepared a small speech of thanks. I am afraid I cannot dissuade her from this oratory.’

It was now obvious that she had been invited to Beechtrees for a take-over of her own residence. Although it was still a somewhat bizarre situation, she did feel less strange about being there than she had on her arrival. She walked from the window to the fireplace, and studied for a few moments the handsome John Singer Sargent portrait of her grandmother, one of the great high society beauties of her day. Then she turned her attention back to the people in the room.

It had gone quiet again. She found these silent lapses where all conversation went dead particularly disconcerting. One had to begin all over again. Although she could talk as banally as any drawing room conversation required when she had to, she found it exhausting. Fortunately the cook’s arrival spared her the exercise of her banality.

After introductions had been made, and Sophia informed that she and Mimi might reside in Beechtrees, everyone but she seemed to relax. Sophia, whose English had improved enormously since Mimi’s arrival, seemed to the rightful mistress of Beechtrees to be tough and resilient but kindly on the whole, though very much the tyrant in her kitchen.
Everyone listened while she struggled valiantly to say how grateful she was for the opportunity to live at Beechtrees with Mimi. Then, approaching the lady at the fireplace, she told her, ‘I am very good cook. While I am here, you come, I cook. You come with plenty people, I cook. I like to cook for party. I am free for you wishes.’

She was all politeness with a charm that belied the simple woman she was. But when she said, ‘You understand!’ it was with a sharp tongue and a command in her voice. And that amused the real mistress of Beechtrees. She liked Cook immediately, was seeing in her a tough old bird who had gone soft on the child.

She was saddled with the cook and the child at Beechtrees, and that was that. There was no point in resenting it. Nor in thinking any further of the matter. Their happiness was not her concern. She was not going to take on that responsibility as well.

The children had been told nothing as yet about a departure from Beechtrees. The news had been deliberately kept from them until the Mimi problem had been sorted out. Now there would be just a few days between the news and the departure. Easier to deal thus with the excitement and explanations, the inevitable sadness at having to leave Mimi behind. The demands of security clinched the decision.

There was high excitement among the children over meeting again the mistress of Beechtrees. Endless talk of the movie-starrish lady from New York who had so impressed them the first time they met her.

Mimi listened to them. She caught their enthusiasm. Who was the lady the merest mention of whom could reduce Pierre to blushes? From Juliet she heard of her elegance, her very American chic. She talked of her Rita Hayworth beauty. Every eye was on Maxi, who now insisted they call him Max. ‘Maxi’ no longer sufficed. He was lady film-star crazy. And his favourite was Rita
Hayworth. Her coloured photos were plastered all over the inside of his wardrobe. Juliet and Pierre teased Max relentlessly about the transfer of his Rita Hayworth crush to the lady. His pleasure at the mere prospect of dining with her was blatant. Giggles and teasing, whispers that went out of control, what to wear to lunch so as not to let the side down and to look as attractive as possible.

A serious discussion was held by the four children in Mimi’s room. ‘Mummy is the best mummy in the world, but most definitely not glamorous, not even a little chic. Grand when she is wearing one of her tiaras and all her jewels, but she won’t do that until after the war. I overheard Miss Tolset tell Miss Quinn Mummy was lovely but dowdy. If it means what I think it does, too bad. But I’m afraid it is true, Mimi. You see, Mummy doesn’t understand glamour, nor the movie stars, nor how exciting glamour and chic can be. But we must do our best, don’t you agree, Max?’

He did, and so the children took great care with their appearance. By the time they filed into the drawing room, luncheon that day had become for them the social event of the year, after Mimi’s tea party.

She would not quickly forget her first sight of the woman, that special kind of beauty, so still and cool and sophisticated. So seductive and sensual. But Mimi at ten years old could only find there an attraction, without knowing what it was or why it was so appealing. Nor did she have a name for that kind of female power. She only knew that she wanted it too.

Mimi and the other children were besotted by the woman. They missed nothing. Later they would talk endlessly about her hair, so long and sleek under an ivory-coloured straw sombrero with a red, white and blue-striped band of glass beads around the crown. Her figure outlined under a silk dress of the same ivory colour, simple but chic, with its wide shoulders and long pleated sleeves, a soft bow
at the neck, the skirt finishing an inch below the knees. The woman’s bosom, and whether she wore a brassiere, were topics for endless conversation between the children that night before they went to bed. As were her long legs and high-heeled shoes, her ivory-coloured silk stockings, the ivory alligator skin handbag. They had never seen a woman dress all in one colour before.