Gerald and Elizabeth: A poignant and captivating family saga Page 2

  That would end the matter, thought Gerald. But it did not end the matter. In spite of his bearish behaviour Mrs Harriman continued to nod to him when she happened to catch his eye in the dining-room and the two girls continued to smile at him when he met them in the passageway outside his cabin. He had a vague sort of feeling that they were interested in him.

  The stewardess who looked after his cabin (and who was the only person on board to whom he spoke) confirmed this suspicion. One morning when she came in she smiled and said that the young American ladies had asked her what he was reading.

  ‘Asked what I was reading?’ inquired Gerald in astonishment.

  ‘I told them it was Robinson Crusoe and they seemed surprised. I hope you don’t mind, Mr Brown,’ she added a little anxiously.

  ‘Oh, no, it doesn’t matter at all,’ replied Gerald. He had finished the book by this time. The second part was less interesting (it was the first part about the island which had appealed to him) so he returned it to the library and took a thriller by Helen MacInnes in its place. The following day he went in to see if Robinson Crusoe was still there but it had vanished.

  ‘It was the young American lady who took it,’ explained the librarian. ‘Miss Penelope – the fair one that is.’

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘The dark one, Miss Marion, has more style,’ suggested the librarian. He hesitated, wondering if he should venture to say that some gentlemen preferred blondes, but decided not to. Mr Brown did not look as if he could take a joke.

  Mr Brown returned to his cabin and lay on his bed reading The Venetian Affair until it was time to dress for dinner. It was a good story but all the same it did not hold his attention completely. He could not help wondering what Miss Penelope Harriman was making of Robinson Crusoe. She wouldn’t get very far with it, thought Gerald with a rueful smile.

  As the ship forged northwards the weather became colder. The awnings which had sheltered the passengers from the blazing sunshine were taken down and put away. The deck-chairs were grouped together in corners sheltered from the wind. Girls, who had strolled about in summer frocks, were now to be seen in brightly coloured pullovers … later they appeared in tweed coats with scarves tied over their heads and knotted beneath their chins.

  It was September and the sea breezes were bracing. Gerald had begun to feel a good deal better but he continued to avoid his fellow-passengers as if had the plague. He was looking forward to London, nobody bothered about you in London. He would take a room in a small hotel or a lodging-house and look for a job. Once he had found a job – any sort of job – he would be less miserable.

  The voyage was nearly over; the Ariadne was steaming up the channel with a following wind. The passengers had been given an especially good dinner and were now dancing in the lounge. Gerald Brown was the only passenger who was not taking part in the fun. He was leaning on the rail looking at the distant lights which were strung along the English coast like a necklace of gems. The sound of talk and laughter and music came faintly to his ears.

  It was a moonlight night and rather cold but Gerald was wearing an overcoat and a thick blue muffler so he found the chill in the air rather pleasant. He had been leaning on the rail for some time, and had just decided to walk briskly round the deck before going to bed when he realised that he was not alone.

  ‘We shall be in London to-morrow night,” said Miss Penelope Harriman. She added, ‘I just love London, Mr Brown.’

  Gerald’s first thought was to reply briefly and fly for his life, but second thoughts were bolder. He decided that as this was the last night of the voyage he might as well talk to the girl. After to-morrow he would never see her again so there was no danger of getting involved. Besides he had been feeling a little sad.

  ‘Do you know London well, Miss Harriman?’ he inquired.

  ‘Oh yes! I was at a school near Ascot for a whole year and we often went to concerts in London.’

  ‘Did you like the school?’

  ‘Well, not at first,’ she admitted. ‘It was so different from home – and the girls were different too – but after a bit I just loved it. I didn’t want to come away.’

  Gerald nodded. The fact that she had been at school in England ‘for a whole year’ explained something which had puzzled him: Miss Penelope Harriman spoke almost – but not quite – like an English girl.

  ‘We’ve been in England often,’ she continued. ‘We’ve travelled a lot. Last time we were over Marion and I saw the Tower and Westminster Abbey and Hampton Court. It’s history come alive. Do you live in London, Mr Brown?’

  ‘No,’ replied Gerald. He sighed and added, ‘I don’t live anywhere. My parents died when I was in Africa so I have no home.’

  ‘But I expect you have relatives in England?’

  Gerald hesitated and then replied reluctantly, ‘Yes, I’ve a sister – at least she’s a half-sister – but I don’t intend to be a bother to her. I shall take a room in London and look for a job.’

  ‘It sounds kind of lonely,’ said Penelope.

  He looked down at her. She was wearing a mink coat and her lovely little face was framed in the fur collar which she had pulled up to her ears. The blue eyes which were raised to his were sincerely sympathetic. It was so long since Gerald Brown had been given the sympathy of a fellow creature that his heart was touched and, somewhat to his surprise, he found himself admitting that he did feel a bit lonely now and then … but it was better to depend upon oneself than be ‘let down’ by people whom one had believed to be one’s friends.

  The statement was muddled, and not very well-reasoned, but Miss Harriman seemed to understand.

  ‘Oh dear!’ she said sadly. ‘That’s why you’re so “stand-offish,” Mr Brown! But people aren’t all like that. The person who let you down couldn’t have been a true friend so she isn’t worth thinking about any more.’

  ‘It was a man. I thought he was my friend – but he didn’t believe what I said. I can’t tell you about it,’ added Gerald hopelessly.

  There was a short silence. ‘I’m reading about Robinson,’ said Penelope at last. ‘It was dreadful for him being all alone on that island with nobody to talk to … but he’s got Friday now. I’m glad he’s got Friday. Is it true, Mr Brown? It sounds true.’

  ‘Partly true,’ replied Gerald, trying to remember. ‘I think something of the kind happened to a man called Alexander Selkirk – but I expect Defoe cooked it up a bit to make a better story.’

  ‘It’s still pretty raw,’ declared Penelope with a little chortle of laughter. ‘Marion wants to read it when I’ve finished but I guess she won’t like it much.’

  Gerald agreed that it was ‘pretty raw.’ He had not wanted to talk to Penelope Harriman – or anyone – but he was finding it rather pleasant … and there was no fear of getting involved with her. After to-morrow he would never see her again.

  ‘Listen,’ said Penelope, laying a little white hand on his arm and speaking very earnestly indeed. ‘I’ve been very, very interfering and it would serve me right if you told me to mind my own business – but you aren’t playing fair.’

  ‘Playing fair?’.

  ‘Just because one man disappointed you …’

  ‘Oh, I see what you mean!’

  ‘You’ve got a grouch,’ Penelope told him. ‘You’ve got a grouch against the world. You said you had a sister in England but you aren’t going to see her – you aren’t going to give her a chance. It’s not playing fair, Mr Brown. There, I’ve said it! I guess you’re annoyed.’

  ‘Wait!’ exclaimed Gerald. ‘Wait a moment! You’ve got it wrong. I haven’t a “grouch” against the world.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  ‘It’s difficult to explain,’ he replied, thoughtfully. ‘I want to – to stand on my own feet. I want to make good before I get in touch with – with anyone. I don’t want to go to Bess as a down-and-out asking for help – see?’

  ‘She might be glad to help you.’

  ‘That isn’t the p
oint.’

  ‘I wish I had a brother,’ said Penelope wistfully. ‘If I had a brother I’d want him to tell me his troubles. I’d want to help him all I could.’

  ‘But I’ve told you I must make good. I must do it for my own sake. I must get a job and settle down——’

  ‘She might be able to help you,’ Penelope interrupted.

  ‘Bess is much too busy to find me a job.’

  ‘Is she married?’

  ‘No, she’s on the stage.’

  ‘On the stage?’

  ‘Yes, she has just been given the leading part in a new musical play so she’ll be very busy. I’m not going to bother her with my troubles.’

  ‘A new musical?’ inquired Penelope, pricking up her ears.

  ‘It’s called The Girl from Venus.’

  Penelope gave a squeak of excitement. ‘The Girl from Venus! But that’s Elizabeth Burleigh! Oh, Mr Brown, how thrilling! We saw her in Monday’s Child – she was wunnerful! – and you’re her brother! If only we had known before! Tell me about her. What is she really like? Is it true that she lives a quiet life and won’t go to parties? Is it true that she hates being photographed? Please, please tell me about her.’

  Gerald groaned inwardly. Too late he saw his mistake. He should never have talked to this girl-it had been madness!

  ‘Tell me about her,’ repeated Penelope. ‘What is she like in real life? She’s lovely on the stage – just lovely. We went to Monday’s Child three times and we’re going to The Girl from Venus on Thursday night – we wired to the theatre and reserved a box. Why is she called Elizabeth Burleigh?’

  ‘It’s her name,’ replied Gerald reluctantly. ‘Elizabeth Burleigh-Brown. She dropped the “Brown” when she went on the stage because she thought it sounded better.’

  ‘So you’re really Mr Burleigh-Brown?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh dear, how exciting!’ cried Penelope. ‘Marion will be thrilled to bits when I tell her.’

  ‘Please don’t!’ exclaimed Gerald in alarm. ‘Please don’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s a secret. I didn’t mean to tell you. I don’t want anyone to know that Bess is my sister, it would be dreadfully embarrassing for me – really it would. You’ve been kind and – and understanding so I’m sure you’ll understand.’

  ‘A secret?’

  ‘Yes, a secret,’ repeated Gerald in desperation. ‘You’ll keep my secret, won’t you, Miss Harriman? Please say you will.’

  ‘Elizabeth Burleigh! But she’s marvellous! Why are you ashamed of her?’

  ‘I’m not!’ he cried. ‘I’m proud of Bess. She has made a success of her life– and all by her own efforts. It’s the other way about.’

  ‘I don’t understand!’

  ‘She’s a success in her chosen career. I’m a failure. I had a good post and I’ve lost it. I was sacked without a reference.’

  Penelope was silent.

  The ship steamed on. Thick clouds, billowing up from the south west, had swallowed the moon and it had become quite dark, too dark for Gerald to see the girl’s face – he wondered what she was thinking. He hadn’t intended to say it, of course, the words had burst out of his mouth involuntarily, but now that he had said it he saw that he would have to explain further.

  He said quietly: ‘Well, Miss Harriman, you’ve guessed my secret. You know why I’m unsociable. If I told you my story you wouldn’t want to speak to me again. I’m a failure – a man under a cloud.’

  ‘But look!’ she cried. ‘The clouds are blowing away!’

  It was true. The moon had come out from behind the swiftly moving clouds and was shining brightly.

  ‘My cloud isn’t so easily scattered,’ said Gerald bitterly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Penelope sadly. She added, ‘Don’t worry, Mr Brown, I’ll keep your secret. There’s just one thing I want to tell you – to show you that I understand. Long ago something happened to me – something horrid: I was “under a cloud.” I was miserable because I thought it would go on forever – I didn’t see any chance of it being put right. When … well, then something very unexpected happened – something I had never thought of – and the trouble was all cleared up in ten minutes.’

  ‘My trouble can never be cleared up,’ declared Gerald.

  ‘That’s what I thought about mine,’ Penelope told him … and with that she drifted away like a little grey ghost and left him alone.

  For a long while Gerald stood there, leaning on the rail. He had watched the girl from a distance; he had seen her surrounded by a crowd of admirers, laughing gaily and chattering nineteen to the dozen, and had assumed that she was a beautiful little butterfly with no thought in her head except to have a good time … but the assumption had been entirely wrong. Penelope Harriman was intelligent (a bit too intelligent, thought Gerald ruefully). He reviewed the conversation and tried to remember how he had given her the clue to his secret: the last thing he had intended was to claim relationship with Bess. The fact was he had lived so long in the wilds that he had not realised how famous his adored sister had become. I ought to have known, thought Gerald. There was always something wonderful about Bess!

  Gerald’s father had been married twice. Bess was the child of his first marriage, Gerald of his second, so Bess was already a beautiful little girl when Gerald was a baby. They had been brought up in an old farm-house in Scotland and had run wild together over the moors. The land was poor – much of it was boggy – so the crops were scanty. The only plant which flourished was the white bog-cotton, or ‘cannoch,’ which was useless, of course. It was strange that anything as beautiful as cannoch could be a menace to a farmer, but such was the case at Cannochbrae.

  Goodness! thought Gerald. I haven’t thought of Cannochbrae for years. It was that girl made me think of the past … but it’s no good thinking about the past. I must think about the future and make plans. Above all I must avoid talking to people. I was a perfect fool to talk to that girl. It was because she was kind.

  Yes, Penelope Harriman had been kind and to tell the truth her kindness had comforted Gerald. He had liked her so much that it would have been pleasant to have her as a friend; she was so nice that he would have liked to tell her his troubles – the idea of pouring out the whole wretched story had actually crossed his mind – but fortunately he had realised in time that the story was much too long and complicated. Worse still it was incredible! Who would believe it? Certainly not a chance acquaintance. His best friend hadn’t believed it. All the same Penelope’s words had given him food for thought. He hadn’t a ‘grouch against the world’ but he saw that he must wash out the past and start life afresh. He must get a job which would restore his self-respect – that was the first thing to do. Then, when he was settled in a worthwhile job, he would get in touch with Bess.

  3. THE GIRL FROM VENUS

  Gerald had decided to get a job before seeing Bess, but after a week in London, living in a comfortless lodging-house and jostled by unheeding multitudes, he was feeling so lonely and miserable that he changed his mind. He could see Bess without being seen – and just to see her would be a comfort.

  Under the blazing African sun he had longed for London, he had yearned for crowds and lights and drizzling rain, but now that he had come to London and had got what he wanted he felt more lonely than he had ever felt in all his life. Already he had discovered that without a reference he would never be able to get a reasonably good post in a respectable firm. His experience in electrical engineering was useless without credentials. He could wait, of course, for during his years of work in the diamond mine he had saved up a substantial sum of money – there was no temptation to spend money in that desolate place – but his few thousands in the bank would not last for ever. Oh well, if the worst came to the worst he could dig or carry coal so there was no need to panic!

  Gerald’s first purchases in London were warm clothes, a waterproof coat and an umbrella. Thus armed against the cold drizzle
he set out for Shaftesbury Avenue. He was too early, the doors were not open, so he sheltered in an archway on the other side of the street and stared at his sister’s name in neon lights over the portico of the theatre:

  the girl from venus

  elizabeth burleigh

  and

  arnold knight

  Although it was still early the queue for the cheaper seats stretched all the way down the street and round the corner: people in mackintosh coats, people with umbrellas, all waiting patiently in the rain to see the show!

  A young policeman in a shiny black cape stopped for a moment and looked at Gerald inquiringly.

  ‘It’s a wet evening,’ said Gerald. He nodded at the queue and added, ‘Would there be any chance of my getting a seat?’

  ‘Not a hope there,’ replied the constable. ‘It’s been a full house ever since it started – but you might get a returned seat in the stalls. That’s your only chance. People will stand for hours in the rain to see Elizabeth Burleigh.’

  Gerald nodded.

  ‘Perhaps you saw her in Monday’s Child?’

  ‘No, I’ve been abroad for three years.’

  ‘She’s better in this,’ declared the young policeman, adding in a burst of confidence, ‘I’ve been twice and I’m going again tomorrow night and taking my mother.’ He walked across the road, took a look at the patiently-waiting crowd and came back to the archway. ‘It’s a good story,’ he said, continuing the conversation. ‘She’s the girl from Venus, of course. She arrives in a space-ship. The door opens and out she comes. She doesn’t know where she is – it’s all quite different from Venus – but it seems a lovely place to her, specially the flowers. There aren’t any flowers in Venus. Then while she’s singing, the space-ship suddenly shuts itself up and flies away.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Gerald. ‘What happens after that?’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to spoil it for you, sir. You ought to see it for yourself,’ replied the young policeman He chuckled and added, ‘There are funny bits, you know. The girl has queer ideas – she’s a fish out of water. She’s so beautiful that all the chaps fall in love with her and their wives and sweethearts don’t like it. Why don’t you have a try at the box office and see if there’s a seat?’