The brigandshaw chronicl.., p.82
The Brigandshaw Chronicles Box Set 2, page 82
part #4 of The Brigandshaw Chronicles Series
“I think the Party controls his teachers. They are brainwashing him. The boy has no mind of his own. Only the future glory of Germany. How do they twist a mind so easily?”
“He’s still our boy.”
“I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Let us go for a walk across our fields and you will feel better. We are not going to lose the estate. Isn’t that more important for us all than anything else?”
“I suppose so. Maybe one day I can pay back the Rosenzweigs after all this is over.”
“There you are. It isn’t as bad as you thought.”
“If I don’t pay my debt it will haunt my mind for the rest of my life.”
“I don’t think we have enough money to go on a long holiday. Just write a chatty letter to Harry and keep away from politics.”
“You’re right. You are always right. Harry will have to read between the lines to understand my fears for our futures.”
“Come on. We’re going to walk. By the look of the sky there isn’t going to be any rain. Did you know some of the swallows have gone on their migration across Europe and down Africa? Even if we can’t go, the swallows have left for Elephant Walk. Harry told me the birds we saw on the farm came all the way from Europe. It’s going to be a cold winter. We need to tell everyone to fill their barns to the rafters with hay. Don’t look so miserable. Life is never as bad as it seems. Can you imagine all those tiny wings flying all the way to Africa? It’s a miracle every year when they come back to exactly the same spot… Here come the dogs. They’ve seen your walking stick. Oh, I do love this place. It feels so permanent. Your family have been here so long. Down all the centuries. What can possibly go wrong with Germany after all these years? What looks like disaster brewing one minute turns out very nicely in the end. If it didn’t, the human race would never have got this far. Like our own little lives, nations have their ups and downs.”
“You make it all sound so simple.”
“Of course I do. Because it is. Life is a lot more simple than we think. All you have to do is believe in God.”
“I love you, Bergit.”
“I know you do. That’s why everything is going to turn out all right.”
Taking his wife’s hand, the dogs coursing out and around them, Klaus walked across the field towards the far gate that led to a path in the woods; through the woods beyond that, they would be able to see the snow-capped Alps far away in Switzerland.
6
They had stayed at Hastings Court for two weeks, Gillian West typing and editing the copy bashed out on the Remington typewriter by Bruno Kannberg, Genevieve reading and approving the final copy. Three heads, as Bruno said, were better than one. Each weekday evening the chauffeur took the day’s work to one of the girls that commuted to the London office of the Longman’s publishing house from her parents’ home in nearby Leatherhead.
Harry Brigandshaw had phoned Arthur Bumley at his home suggesting Bruno take his two weeks’ annual leave, offering Hastings Court as the perfect place to write a book without interruptions. Harry was smiling to himself when he told Bruno about the call.
“You don’t have to go to the office tomorrow. Without all the weekend guests the house will be as quiet as a church. My wife is coming with me to London to do her shopping. Tell the children to keep out of your wing of the house. The staff know what to do with the children in the summer hols. Mostly they scream around outside. Two of them are away with friends. Make yourselves at home. I have an interest in setting the record straight which I owe to Genevieve’s grandfather. When I explained that to Arthur after tracking him down to his home he agreed to two weeks’ leave. The papers made the family out to be snobs who despised the common folk. Took what they wanted giving nothing in return. I will also have a word with Longman asking him not to change the story you give him in any way. We don’t want fancy publishers editing to make the book a cover-up for the newspapers. Gillian hasn’t got a job yet and Genevieve is best out of the way until the premiere of the film and the launch of her book. I’ll see you all next weekend. Good luck. I’m looking forward to reading the book, as will a lot of people who like the truth once in a while. It doesn’t look as if William Smythe is coming down despite my telling him Genevieve would be here. Anything you want, ask the staff.”
In these favourable circumstances the book had been finished ahead of schedule with Genevieve saying her reading ability was a lot better at the end of it. On the third Sunday at Hastings Court the Brigandshaw family chauffeur drove them up to London with the final pages in Bruno’s suitcase, giving him enough time to read the publisher’s galleys before the book went to press. The premiere of Robin Hood was scheduled for the coming Saturday. All three of them in the back of the car had self-satisfied smiles, Bruno’s eyes mingling his smirk with a look of relief.
Once he reached home he planned to sleep straight through a night and a day without lifting his head off the pillow; his mind and body were exhausted. Genevieve was to accompany Gillian West back to her parents’ house where she lived to answer any awkward questions about the two weeks spent at Hastings Court.
Bruno had proposed to her the night before the book was finished, when they took their half hour walk at the end of the working day. Gillian was hopeful her mother would be so excited she would not be able to talk of anything else once she told her the good news. They planned to get married in the following spring, when the book had made them enough money to buy themselves a house of their own.
Genevieve, silent in the car, was consumed with what she was going to say to Gregory L’Amour who was due by boat from America on the Thursday in time to walk her up the long red carpet into the cinema and the first public showing of Robin Hood and his Merry Men; not once had she replied to any of his messages.
While Genevieve was still in the car, brooding, Gerry Hollingsworth was back in his old London house confronting the wife he had not seen in over a year. Largely, his three children had ignored him ever since he arrived home from America.
“My name is Carmel Casimir. My children are Rachel, David and Ephraim, who all have the surname of Casimir. Who is this Gerry Hollingsworth?”
Looking at his wife properly for the first time, Gerry Hollingsworth became aware the time for small talk was over. Looking defiant, he kept his mouth shut and waited for the worst.
“You’ve been having a year-long affair with her like all your other tarts you call film stars. Where has the bond between us gone we found again when they chased you out of that working men’s pub?”
“I was frightened.”
“And you aren’t anymore now you have a mistress?”
“I’m not frightened anymore now I am Gerry Hollingsworth of Los Angeles. Why won’t you bring the kids to America?”
“Because they don’t want to go. Because we are English, no matter what our religion or where our parents were born. The children have friends here. Like me. This is our home. What if this film doesn’t make any money?”
“It will, Carmel.”
“Of course. Your mistress is the leading lady.”
“She isn’t my mistress. She wouldn’t look at me.”
“There you are, you see, you did try, you bastard! Now you want us all to live as a nice new family with a nice new name halfway across the world.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Oh yes you did. I’ve been married to you for twenty-six years. David has joined the Territorial Army so he can’t leave England anyway. Ephraim has another two years at Manchester University. Rachel is going to get married, not that you ever asked in your weekly duty letter home.”
“Is she marrying a Jew?”
“As a matter of fact she isn’t. He’s in the Royal Navy. A lieutenant. Dartmouth after Pangbourne College. So nice of you to ask.”
“Carmel, stop being a bitch.”
“What do you want me to do? Take you to bed after you’ve slept with all those women in America?”
“Are you coming to the premiere?”
“And have her laugh in my face!”
“I thought you fancied Gregory L’Amour, who by the way is Genevieve’s lover. It will be all over the papers tomorrow in time to give the film a good boost. Lovers on screen. Lovers in life. The audience will love it.”
“You’d use anyone to make you money. Was it your idea to make fun of her grandfather? You killed him, Louis, or whatever you want to call yourself. The poor old man is dead. You didn’t even let an old man who never harmed you die in peace.”
“It’s all part of the film industry.”
“Then the film industry stinks. Why did you change your name?”
“I don’t want to be Jewish anymore. It’s too exhausting.”
“Well I do. You want to live with your wife and family, Louis, come back here with the right name or you can go to hell with all the others who deny their God… Shame on you.”
“There’s going to be a war, Carmel. From what I hear in America, if Hitler gets his way he’s going to exterminate all the Jews.”
“Chase them out of Germany maybe. We’ve been changing countries for centuries. What else can he do?”
“He’s going to kill us.”
“You can’t just go out and kill thousands of people. What would everyone say?”
“Not much. They’ve always hated the children of Israel.”
“You are saying this to frighten me.”
“Don’t you remember what was in that pamphlet of Mosley’s? And that’s England. Germany and half of Europe are far more anti-semitic.”
“Mosley’s a spent force. This is England. The Jews have been here hundreds of years without a problem.”
“And if Germany defeats England?”
“Don’t be daft. He’d have to beat the whole British Empire.”
“There are a few in that glorious empire who would dearly like to see the back of the British. Gandhi wants independence for India. No one likes to be ruled by foreigners.”
“The whole subcontinent would implode. Russia would invade from one side and China from the other. Then where would Gandhi be? People like that like the limelight.”
“The Japs have invaded China. Russia is still in turmoil. India would survive on its own without the British.”
“I’m not going to stand here arguing with you, Louis. I’m not going to America.”
“My name is Gerry Hollingsworth.”
“Then go to hell.”
“I want to talk to the children.”
“They will also tell you to go to hell. Their friends think you are a skunk. They all know what you have been up to in America. It goes with the film industry. It goes with being a film producer. You said so yourself. You made your bed in America. Leave us alone. Didn’t you know your children are ashamed of you? Probably the best thing you did was change your name.”
The cheap hotel in Hackney cost them each two shillings and sixpence which included a good English breakfast. The students who patronised the Williams Hotel knew a bargain when they saw one. Tinus and Andre shared a small room with twin beds against each wall and a bathroom down the corridor that served all the rooms on the third floor. Before breakfast there was a lot of banging on the bathroom door to hurry people up. On the first Saturday in November the hotel was half full. Andre and Tinus had taken the train down to London leaving the Morgans in Oxford; there was no parking for smart cars outside the Williams, which had decided them to go down by train.
Having stood in line for their morning shower, an African habit that had stayed with them, whereas in England people bathed once a week, they had gone down to the dining room to eat as much breakfast as possible to prepare themselves for the big day. At eleven o’clock, Tinus and Andre were going to the bookshop at Harrods store where Genevieve was signing her book. At eight o’clock in the evening they were going to Leicester Square for the premiere of Robin Hood and his Merry Men dressed in their best dinner jackets with red roses in their button holes, a touch suggested by Andre in the train coming down.
“The three musketeers, don’t forget. Got to look spiffing, Tinus. I suggest a small rose bud in each of our lapels. I’ve never before been to a film premiere. What’s all this about a book?”
“Publicity I suppose. Oxford doesn’t teach you much about real life and how people make money. The tickets she sent us are right at the back of the cinema according to her note, but beggars can’t be choosers. What a time in her life to think of us. Most people I’m told, when they get up in the world, forget their friends.
“Isn’t she more than just a friend to you, Tinus?”
“How could she be? Well, maybe. There’s something behind those different-coloured eyes that call to me. Not in her beautiful face but deep in the recesses of her mind, as if we know there’s more to come in our lives together. Maybe she does it to everyone. Why Genevieve is a film star. Her charisma that calls to every male on the planet.”
“All I see is the beautiful face and her sexuality. There’s nothing else calling me or the rest of us. I think you two have something going together that is very special. Far away from anything to do with films or you being up at Oxford.”
“Like you and Fleur?”
“We’re chums more than lovers.”
“So you are lovers!”
“Don’t look so shocked. I seem to remember a story about a lifeboat. Did you ever hear from her again?”
“Not a word. Ships in the night except on that night we were both in the same ship. Was I drunk when I told you, Andre?”
“Yes you were.”
“You do know the worst thing in life is a drinking companion with a memory?”
“Sorry, old chap. I’ll forget it right away. Well, you can now read her book to find out everything you don’t want to know. You think she’s spilt the spicy bits in her life?”
“I asked her if she had had a lover. She said it was a question I would not like answered, whatever that meant.”
“In the film business, it’s inevitable, or so I read somewhere in one of those magazines.”
“I think she’s as pure as the driven snow.”
“I say, Tinus, you’re in love with the girl. You know, I like travelling by train. Gives you a chance to look at the countryside. Barely another month and I’m going home for good. I like England but my home is in Africa.”
“What are you going to do with your degree in History?”
“Absolutely nothing. Oxford is an experience to enjoy, a place to learn how to think. The subject matter learnt doesn’t matter. It’s all about training the mind to think clearly, to be able to see what is going on in life. Anyway, that is what Plato had to say. Practical knowledge comes after university.”
“So it was all an excuse to play cricket and rugby?”
“Something like that. At our age, who knows what the future will bring? The trick is to enjoy what you are doing at the time. Right up to the hilt.”
“Are you going to see Fleur this trip?”
“Not this time. Tomorrow is all about Genevieve.”
From the railway station they had caught the Tube and walked half a mile to their hotel. By then it was dark, both were tired and went up to the room, each with a box given them by Mrs Witherspoon containing their supper. After eating their sandwiches they both got into their beds, falling asleep before either of them had a chance to say goodnight.
On the table next to the cornflakes and milk was a section of the morning newspapers being ignored by most of the guests; students found newspapers boring. Having filled a plate with cornflakes, Tinus picked up the jug of milk, glancing at the newspapers. As he did so, his whole stomach flipped over as he read, his eye first drawn to the Daily Mirror’s widely published picture of Genevieve. Next to the picture of her was the picture of a man; a very good-looking man, Tinus thought, as his whole body tensed, making him put down the jug without pouring milk into his plate of cornflakes. The headline was simple:
LOVERS OFF AND ON THE SCREEN. WHEN’S THE WEDDING?
Quietly Andre, who had read the headline, picked up the milk jug and poured for Tinus.
“Bad luck, old chap.”
“I’ve been in a stupid dream ever since I saw her the first time at the Mayfair party with Uncle Harry.”
“There are plenty of fish in the sea.”
“Not like Genevieve.”
“You can congratulate her at the book signing.”
“Of course I can. Whatever was I thinking? Lucky I haven’t made a damn fool of myself.”
“It could just be publicity.”
“You’re a good friend, Andre. Let’s just go sit down and eat our breakfast. The memory will never go. That’s something I will always have for the rest of my life. Thanks for the milk. My right arm locked for some reason.”
“My pleasure, old friend. Just remember next year you’ll be playing cricket for Oxford while I’m looking for some kind of job in Cape Town.”
Later, when she looked up from the desk where she was signing copies of her book and saw him standing at the back of the crowd, Tinus saw pain flicker in Genevieve’s eyes followed by a resigned smile and a mouthed hello. Neither of them had ever said to each other what they were thinking. Andre was thumbing through a copy of Genevieve he had picked off the pile at a long table on the side of the Harrods bookshop. Tinus thought his friend understood the embarrassment caused by the story in all the morning newspapers and needed something to do with his hands. The request for the both of them to attend the signing, in Genevieve’s note with the cinema tickets, had said lunch with me afterwards.
So they waited, in Tinus’s words, ‘like spare parts’, until a literary-looking Harrods flunky announced the signing was over. Half the people with books in their hands yet to be paid for put them back on the pile. Genevieve gave Tinus a wry smile and again mouthed a word over the noise of the disgruntled customers that Tinus thought was, ‘wait’. Very soon the side of the room set aside for the signing was empty. Genevieve, looking more gorgeous to Tinus than ever before, stood up and walked round the desk. Someone turned back from the door, one of those who had put her unsigned book back on the table.
