The Edge of the Fall (58 page)

Celia knew it was fair for Arthur to have Louisa's money, that any husband deserved his wife's estate. And yet it was dreadful to hear about it, think that now, in the Ritz, they were eating lamb and fish bought with Deerhurst money, that they wouldn't have had it at all if she hadn't fallen.

In the days after the trial, she'd woken up every night, sweating in the dark. Mr Werth's voice – ‘She shouted
no
!' – had been in her head. In the daytime, doing her usual round of activities – looking after the twins, soothing Euan, going to the shops – if ever the normal train of thought stopped or she was left alone, she heard a woman screaming in her mind and she knew it was Louisa.

She looked at Arthur over the table, drinking champagne, offering Rudolf his lobster. She supposed, knew even, that he must hear the screams too and that was why he was so keen to eat, drink, tell jokes and make them all smile; he was like everyone had
been after the war ended, throwing those violent parties, twirling in feathers and shiny gowns, so desperate to forget.

‘Are you listening, Celia?' Emmeline nudged her. ‘Arthur was telling us his plans.'

‘Oh.' Celia looked at her brother, his eyes shining. It must have been the champagne or the food or perhaps just the reflection of the chandelier, but he'd become the old Arthur again, the lines of his face filled out, his body greater. He had a plan, she realised. He'd invited them here to tell them it.

‘I want to talk about America,' he said. ‘That's where everything is. America! There is no point staying here any more. Britain is a joke. We are over, done. There is nothing now. We can't make any money here. Winter Meats is over, Father. You have to see that.'

Rudolf nodded, gazing at his plate. Celia wasn't sure he was hearing any of it.

Arthur wasn't stopping, he was still talking, waving his hands. ‘I'm going to take the company to America. We still have our reputation, our name is known. We'll change the name back to de Witt Meats. That's the answer. We're going to borrow against what's left of the company and put it in American shares. They're going up so quickly, they rise like you wouldn't believe. So that's what we'll do. We can have enough to start building a new empire there. Just think of them, millions and millions of Americans, who all need to eat meat. They all love meat! They will love our produce.'

‘Stock markets are fool's gold,' said Mr Janus. ‘Why don't you start by actually doing something there, then investing? You could build a shop in New York.'

Arthur waved his hand impatiently. ‘Yes, yes, that as well. But the stock market is the way to go. I'm going to set up meetings. No time to lose! We have to strike now! Otherwise our chance will be gone. In just a few months, it will be over. Now is our moment to make money!'

But you have money
, Celia wanted to say.
Louisa's money. Isn't that enough?
And yet she imagined those great shining towers of
New York she'd seen in pictures, all of them advertising de Witt Meats. American radio stations talking about the company.

‘I've read about this stock market business in
The Times
,' she said. ‘They did say it was the time to invest now. But they also said that you need a lot.'

‘Well, of course you need a lot. That's what I'm talking about. We can't just stick in a little capital. We have to play big. Fortune favours the brave, isn't that right?'

‘Brave or foolish?' said Mr Janus.

Arthur ignored him. ‘This is for the future of the family. Mama, wouldn't you like to see Stoneythorpe improved? You could have the money to do the roof.'

Verena inclined her head. ‘That would be nice.'

‘Well, it's more than nice. Some might say that we'd be lost without it. You could get Stoneythorpe back to how it once was. Grand again. Otherwise, it's just collapsing, really, isn't it? You'd have to sell it.'

Rudolf straightened up. ‘I'll never sell it,' he said, voice thin and weak.

Arthur slapped the table. ‘There you go! America is the answer.'

Rudolf looked at Celia. ‘America,' he said, shaking his head. Verena touched his shoulder. ‘You go to America.'

‘Husband,' Verena was saying. ‘Quiet.'

‘I agree,' said Arthur. ‘Make a new start. No one would know me there.'

‘Not you.' Rudolf pointed his finger. ‘Her.'

‘What do you mean, Papa?' asked Celia. ‘Why America?'

‘You have to go to America. That's where he is.'

‘That's where
who
is?'

Emmeline was gazing at him. ‘Papa? What do you mean?'

‘It's where he is. As I said. He's in America.'

‘No!' Verena grasped his hand. ‘Husband, be quiet.'

Celia plucked at Emmeline's sleeve. ‘What does he mean?' Her sister looked back, her face confused.

‘America!' Rudolf said. He was looking past them, at the
chandelier hanging above the next table, throwing its pools of light over the four men sitting there. ‘Go to America!'

Verena was holding his hand, gripping hard.

Celia looked around the table. ‘What is he talking about?'

Mr Janus raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes indeed. What are you talking about?'

‘It is time to tell me!' said Celia. ‘I'm not leaving here until one of you tells me what you're going on about. Any one of you will do.'

Emmeline shrugged. ‘I don't know.'

Rudolf stood up. ‘You need to go to America.'

Celia stood too. ‘Why? Why do I need to go there?'

Verena was trying to pull Rudolf down. ‘Husband. Let's enjoy our dinner. This is all just talk.' She looked at her children, roundeyed at the table. ‘It's nothing. He doesn't know what he's saying.'

‘What are you saying, Papa?' asked Celia.

‘Yes,' said Arthur. ‘What is all this cryptic stuff? I'm trying to enjoy myself. Why does dear Celia need to go to America?'

Rudolf smiled and it spread across his face, beatific. ‘She must! Because Michael is there.'

Verena screamed and jumped up, far too late. Rudolf was staring across at Celia, smiling.

Celia stared at her father. ‘Michael is dead, Father. He was killed in the war.'

‘Not that Michael. Your son. Didn't you know?'

The table was silent. ‘Well,' said Arthur. ‘Well.'

Emmeline turned in her chair and stared at Celia. Verena was covering her face with her hands.

Celia shook her head. ‘No. I didn't know,' she whispered. ‘You all told me he was dead.' She was still standing, the world turning around her. ‘Where in America?'

She could hear, just behind her, that Emmeline had begun to sob. Arthur was drinking fast from his glass.

Rudolf smiled across at her, dumbly. She stared at Verena. ‘Where in America?'

‘I don't know.'

Arthur rolled his eyes. ‘Why don't you tell, Mother? If this is true. Otherwise we'll be here all night.' He shook his head. ‘Put Celia out of her misery, can't you?'

‘I can't remember,' Verena whispered, gazing at the table.

‘Emmeline?'

‘I don't know anything.' She looked horrified, and Celia believed her.

Rudolf looked ahead, past all of them. ‘The baby was taken and given to a religious agency. We said it had been a maid's and she wanted him to have a better life in America. They sent him on the boat.'

Celia was still standing, staring at her father. ‘On his
own
?'

‘I believe they took them over in batches. Accompanied by nurses. Anyway, that's where he was sent.'

‘And then what? He was just to sit in New York by himself?'

‘He was sent to a kind family north of New York,' Verena said, stiffly. ‘A farming family. He's their child now. He's happy.'

‘You've received letters from them?'

‘Not exactly letters. We received a report from the agency last year. They said he was helping on the farm, growing up strong.'

‘Or cheap labour,' said Mr Janus, but quietly.

‘I want to see that report. And then I will go and find him. You're right, Papa. I have to go to America.'

Verena shook her head. ‘He's their child now, Celia. Not yours. They've brought him up. He calls them mother and father. You can't go and interrupt their lives.'

‘He's mine.'

‘The agency won't give you the address, anyway,' said Emmeline. ‘One of Mr Sparks's friends did the same. She's changed her mind now. But they said she signed away all her rights and can't see him.'

‘I didn't sign anything.'

‘We did for you,' said Verena. ‘Look, Celia, what's done is done. It was for the best, can't you see? He has a better life there. He's happy. He has a mother and a father.'

‘He already had a mother.'

‘Children need a father too.'

And in that minute, Celia's blood rose. She was bigger, angrier, furious, her heart beating, her mind moving her forward, her face on fire. She was walking towards her mother. There was someone else, another voice in her mind. Her mother shrank back. Celia reached up her hand. She could bring it down on Verena's face and everything would be better, over, clear once more. Then two arms wrapped around her from behind. She was up off the ground and she was screaming. ‘Stop it!' Arthur shouted. Men were coming towards them from all across the restaurant. She looked down, saw her mother, face all fear. ‘Let me go,' she said to Mr Janus, who was holding her. ‘You can let me go now.'

Arthur waved at the men. ‘We're quite alright, thank you. Actually, two more bottles of champagne.' The tables alongside stared again then turned back to their dinner.

Emmeline was round by her mother, coaxing her back on to the chair. Rudolf sat, eyes closed, clutching himself. Celia leant against Mr Janus, let him take her back to her chair. She put her head in her hands.

‘Come now, everyone,' said Arthur. ‘This is too much drama. We are disgracing ourselves in public. Celia, you wanted to know where your son was. Now you do. And I am decided. I shall be going to New York in the summer to make us rich. If you wish to come with me and try to find the boy, you can. You could always enlist the help of that friend of Michael's who used to write to you. What was his name?'

‘Jonathan Corrigan,' said Emmeline. ‘He was rich. We saw him recently, didn't we, Celia?' Her look was pointed.

‘Exactly. He can only direct us to further and better investment. America is the place to put our money.'

‘I am not sure about the investment—' Mr Janus began. Arthur shouted over him.

‘It is time to celebrate. We shall celebrate America.'

The men came with the bottles of champagne and the glasses, started laying them on the table. Celia heard the stuff being poured into hers.

‘Come!' said Arthur. ‘Let us all be upstanding. To America and our marvellous future there!'

And Celia looked up at Arthur, the bright chandelier behind him, the reflection from the edges of the glass, the candles flickering, and even though the shock in her heart was heavy, the thought of the boat arriving in New York, Michael waiting, rose up in her; hope unfurling, reaching for the light. She held her glass high. ‘To America!' she said.

EPILOGUE

He started playing truth or dare at Winchester Hall. It was the only way he could get through that first term. He'd dare himself to hold the water in his mouth for longer at lunch, until his eyes were watering and he was nearly sick. Or he'd see how long he could push the nail under his desk into his knee before the pain was too much. He made bargains – he'd hold his breath for this long, and then the next teacher wouldn't mock him for not knowing the answer. Or when he was on his own, he'd hold his arm out until it wobbled with pain and then the other boys would leave him alone at lunchtime, not hit him when he walked past or throw stones at his back. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it did not. But he did it over and over, banking on those few times when it worked and he managed to hold his breath for two minutes and then Lethbridge and the rest didn't come over to hit him while they walked down to the cricket field. He felt flooded with relief and lightness, knew that the game had worked.

By Harrow, for the most part, nobody was hitting him at break time and because he'd grown tall, he was decent at cricket, which helped. Everyone picked on Petherlet, a skinny, small boy whose father had saved every penny to send him to Harrow and had no money for anything else. Sometimes, when they were pushing him around after lunch, hitting him or chasing him down the corridor, Arthur would walk past. Petherlet would look at him, eyes begging for help. It made Arthur uneasy. He started to wonder whether he could see that Arthur had once been the one that everyone hated. Maybe Petherlet
sensed
the weakness. Arthur felt sick at the thought. If Petherlet could, then maybe the others would too, and so perhaps they'd move away from Petherlet and he'd be back
where he started, attacked, the weak chick in the bunch, pecked at by the others.