The Brigandshaw Chronicles Box Set 2, page 52
part #4 of The Brigandshaw Chronicles Series
“Where are these white men?” asked Tembo in English, which surprised the man and stopped the flow of his story.
“No one knows,” he said. “The rumour of the gods has been circling around us for years.”
“How many years?”
“About two.”
“But nobody knows for certain if the gods really exist?”
“Or which tribe they live with. It is just the making of a legend.”
While the older man went off with the young girl down to the lake, Tembo and small nose explained to each other how both of them spoke English. The coal-black man came from Uganda, another country run by the English with their mission stations and schools. The old man with the big nose came from Kenya, a British colony like Rhodesia where he too had been taught to speak English. Both Uganda and Kenya, like the Tanganyika territory they were now in, owned part of Lake Victoria. Along with territory owned by the King of the Belgians.
“Who is the King of the Belgians?” asked Tembo, enthralled by the man’s knowledge.
“Another white man.”
“That explains… Where did the story start? Of gods from the sky?”
“No one knows.”
“Why are you here?”
“We are going to England. To see the King. In our countries, we are important men. We came down the lake. Tomorrow we take the train to Dar es Salaam… The old man likes the young girl.”
“Yes, he does. She is my girl.”
“I am sorry.”
“It does not matter. There are many young girls.”
When the old man came back from the lake, Tembo left them alone. The young girl came back five minutes later.
When the two men were leaving, Tembo was drinking from a bowl of beer.
“How many white gods?” he called.
“Fifty. Exactly fifty. Five times two hands. Why are you interested?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Are not they all?”
“Is there any truth to it?”
“Whoever knows?”
“Have a good trip.”
The old man turned round and glared at Tembo.
In his frustration, Tembo went down to the water’s edge where he threw small stones from the beach out into the water sparkling in the sun. It was all so big. Where should he go? Unless Harry Brigandshaw was alive and walked out of the bush on his own, Tembo would never, in all the lives of his ancestors put together, be able to find where he was… It was just another African rumour. When the others came back on the hired boat with the Arab captain he was going to take them home. With the money in his pocket, he could buy a very young wife and not have to stare at the young girl with the big bottom.
When Tembo fell asleep that night, he was drunk. All night long it was black in his sleep. Not one dream. Not even as he woke to the dawn. His head was throbbing. Even before he got up from the floor, Tembo was in a bad temper. If the Arab wasn’t back soon, Tembo was going to put the tusks of ivory on the train himself… There was something going on that had to do with Harry Brigandshaw, the white man who treated him as more a friend than a servant. He owed it to the man… Otherwise, the rest of the white men could go back from whence they came. All these aeroplanes, trains and boats with steam engines were interfering with the tranquillity of his life. The way he and his ancestors had lived as far back as time.
16
September 1930 – New Beginnings
With the turmoil in the world’s financial markets, Sir Jacob Rosenzweig had a lot on his mind. Not the least, Rebecca’s wedding at the end of the month. The idea that buying out Madgwick and Madgwick in London would explode in his face had never entered his head. The chapter in his life that included Ralph Madgwick had been closed for him once and for all by Colonel Wallace Madgwick, who had vitriolically reacted to Ralph becoming a Jew. Benny Levy, a gold-digger in all probability, was a far better husband for his daughter. A man hungry for success with just the right amount of ruthlessness. Sentimental businessmen in Sir Jacob’s experience almost always went bust. There could be no sentiment in business. Only in charity.
Madgwick and Madgwick were owed large sums of money by their clients who were unable to pay. To prevent Madgwick and Madgwick being put into liquidation, which would lose a lot of money for people other than Rosenzweig Bank, Sir Jacob, through a bank nominee organised by Westminster Bank, had made an offer gladly accepted by Wallace Madgwick who, along with Ralph Madgwick’s mother, had personally guaranteed Madgwick and Madgwick’s overdraft facility with Rosenzweig Bank. In reality, nothing but the staff of Madgwick’s changed. The Madgwick clients still owed the same amount of money, but now directly to Rosenzweig Bank. When business returned to normal, as it always did in the end, Rosenzweig’s would get their money back with interest and own Madgwick and Madgwick for nothing.
When he told Rebecca he had saved Ralph’s mother and Uncle Wallace from having to sell their other assets to make good the guarantees to Rosenzweig’s, he thought it would help to restore a relationship that had gone from bad to worse from the moment Wallace Madgwick pulled his nephew out of America… Rebecca exploded. Flew into a rage. Ran out of the front door of the Abercrombie apartment and slammed the front door in his face.
For hours Sir Jacob had waited for his daughter to come back. Despite the chaos reigning at the bank.
“You did it on purpose. Not enough to ruin Ralph and make him penniless. Now you’ve taken it out on his family… I hate you. Hate you.”
All day long, his daughter’s words kept ringing in his mind, the thought of his wife arriving in America for the wedding not helping one bit.
Rebecca had gone straight to the flower shop and her friend Maryanne. Maryanne was still not married to Shaul. Her life was in the same mess. Both girls agreed it was difficult enough to find the right man to marry without being prevented from doing so… Let alone ending up having to go through life with a spouse picked for them, something that was about to happen to poor Shaul, business and family overriding any kind of love. Other people’s interests were important, the religious incantations an excuse for the family to get their own way.
When Rebecca had come down from the height of her indignation she was not sure if picking a fight over the forced sale of a company in England had not been an excuse. The very thought of Benny Levy even touching her made her flesh crawl. The man was physically repulsive. All he ever talked about was business and himself. The business of Rosenzweig Bank.
Exhausted from finding Ralph running off into the African bush on a wild-goose chase that was going to get him killed, she had had no fight left in her to do battle with her father. Sometimes, she had told Maryanne, taking the line of least resistance was the best alternative. Without really taking a proper look at Benny Levy, she had agreed with her father to marry him. If nothing else, it seemed to make her father happy, the other man in her life she loved.
Benny, ever the calculator, had obsequiously kept his distance until the marriage was arranged. Only then had he come out flying his true colours, something Maryanne was quick to point out to her best friend Becky.
“He’s insinuating himself into the bank. Through you, he can become a partner, especially when you have his children. On his own, he’ll stay an employee. The man’s a creep, Becky. How can you bear the thought of kissing him, let alone anything else? Just imagine what your children are going to be like, rubbing their pudgy hands, insinuating their way through life. Were it me, Becky, I’d vomit.”
Rebecca and Maryanne were both twenty-four years old. At the peak of their power as desirable women.
They both agreed when Rebecca came storming into the empty flower shop that if they did nothing now they were doomed to misery for the rest of their lives. That time was running short. That time was running out.
Moving in that night with Maryanne, Rebecca made up her mind to go to England. From the papers, she knew the expedition to find the English pilot had failed. Ralph would be back in England. There was nowhere else for him to go.
Having carefully saved up half her allowance, Rebecca took her life into her own hands and bought passage to England. To hell with religion. To hell with everyone. This time she was going to follow her heart and not listen to anyone.
What Rebecca did not know was that by following her own desire she was breaking her father’s heart. A condition that was not helped by the arrival of Sir Jacob’s estranged wife for a wedding that was not going to happen.
In the peace and calm of the Abercrombie apartment with only Rebecca as his constant companion, Sir Jacob had forgotten why he was happy his wife had stayed in England. The woman was a foul-mouthed shrew whose only joy in life was finding fault in other people.
Days went into weeks and still no word from Rebecca. Not that Sir Jacob did not know where she had gone. Passages out of America were no secret if the shipping lines were given a good reason. One of which was runaway daughters without money.
After the third week, Sir Jacob telephoned Wallace Madgwick. Uncle Wallace was in the middle of moving out of his office with the help of Rosie Prescott.
“Where’s Ralph, Wallace?”
“No idea, old boy. My word are we having fun. Can’t wait to get into the country. Lovely month, September. Sold everything I own and bought a place in the Cotswolds. Going cheap. Everybody’s selling. Chap was only too glad to get out. Bought the furniture as well… Have to go, old chap… Why did you phone?”
“Where’s your nephew, Ralph? Rebecca’s run away.”
“Always did like that gal. Where’s she run to?”
“England.”
“Well, he isn’t here… Rosie, where’s Ralph?”
“In Rhodesia.”
“Hear that, old chap? Still in Africa.”
“Has Rebecca made contact with you?”
“I’m not very high on her list. About down the bottom with you, old chap. The girl’s in love. Nearly a thousand acres. Don’t shoot as well with one eye but a man can’t have everything. Cheerio, old chap.”
In Sir Jacob’s office at the bank, the line went dead. He’d lost her. This time he had really lost his daughter… There was nothing he could do.
“Just be happy,” he whispered.
If Wallace Madgwick knew where to find Ralph, his daughter would find out and go to Rhodesia. Picking up the phone he called his secretary.
“Find me a map of the world.”
After searching British East Africa on the map, Sir Jacob looked further south. There were two of them. Northern and Southern Rhodesia. Even on the map, they looked like the farthest place on earth.
When he went home that night, his wife said she was going back to England to the rest of the children. He was going to be alone… For the rest of his life… Then he smiled. His wife was still talking and he still wasn’t listening… That part of his loneliness would only be a pleasure… Maybe he would join a club… Maybe. Just maybe he would find himself a mistress… Somewhere he had read it was never too old to fall in love… Only then did he notice the chatter had stopped… His wife had left the apartment… In the midst of all his new thoughts, he had not even noticed she had gone.
The last person Christopher Marlowe expected to see in London was Rebecca Rosenzweig when she arrived at the door of Robert St Clair’s flat in Stanhope Gate. With Brett’s pregnancy making the attic room impractical with its distant bathroom, Robert had lent them his London flat. Freya had finished her play for Oscar Fleming soon after Richard was born. She hoped Christopher’s influence would help Oscar Fleming take on the play.
“Rebecca! What a lovely surprise. How did you know I was here?”
“Where’s Ralph?”
“In Rhodesia. He’s learning to become a tobacco farmer, though for some reason they call it a tobacco grower. On Elephant Walk. Come in. Come in: with Harry dead and Jim Bowman off on his own, Harry’s grandfather offered Ralph a job. In five years he’s going to apply for his own Crown land farm, whatever that may be. Rhodesia is vast and thinly populated… Doesn’t he write?”
“Not since he went to Africa with Keppel Howland. He said it hurt too much. That time and distance would leave us with wonderful memories. The only thing we had left… Oh my God. I don’t have enough money to get to Rhodesia. I had an allowance but not very much. Father wasn’t stupid… Your poor family. Forcing you to sell him your business.”
“He did us a favour, Rebecca. Rather ironic. Now Ralph and I don’t have to think about our family obligations. Poor Ralph paid the price. He hated working in the City.”
“He was loving New York. Then Uncle Wallace pulled the rug from under him. We all believe in the same God. Everyone forgets that.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I just arrived on the boat train.”
“Who told you to come here?”
“Rosie Prescott.”
“Poor Rosie Prescott. She’s loved Ralph since he joined the firm.”
“I never knew.”
“Neither did Ralph… My brother is a lucky man… When do you wish to go to Rhodesia?”
“As soon as I can.”
“I’ll phone Colonial Shipping and book you a passage to Beira. It’s only a day to Salisbury from Beira on the train. From Cape Town, it’s three days on the train.”
“Isn’t Cape Town quicker? How am I going to pay?”
“I think I owe that much to my brother. As the elder brother, it was my job to join the family firm and run the business… Brett’s taking a nap. She likes to sleep a lot with the baby on the way. Says it is good for him.”
“She’s pregnant?”
“Five months. You can stay here until you go. Robert’s only coming up from Dorset next month. For the launch of a book. An American by the name of Hank Curley. Max Pearl launched The American Patriot in America. Robert’s British publishers are doing the honours in London. You’ll be long gone on the way out to Ralph. You should get to know Brett. You’re going to be sisters-in-law if I know that look of determination.”
Rebecca, looking at Christopher’s kind face, burst into tears.
“Who’s here?” called Brett from the main bedroom.
“Rebecca. She’s come over from America to marry Ralph.”
“Good for her.”
While Christopher Marlowe was arranging passage for Rebecca to Cape Town, Percy Grainger was sitting at his desk feeling pleased with himself. The sale of Mrs Brigandshaw’s assets was over, including the Berkeley Square house. The figures were in front of him, the sum total enough to pay the British government what was their due with a few thousand pounds left over for the widow. A woman who at one time had thought she was going to be telling him what to do. The Brigandshaw family were finally out of Colonial Shipping, a company he had been running for so many years, without due respect.
With a carefully chosen syndicate of investors including top management he was now in control of Colonial Shipping. In a deal with the tax inspector, the syndicate had bought Harry Brigandshaw’s shares. The Rolls-Royce and driver were at his command. The executive dining room his to entertain. Power, real power, was right there in his hands.
Percy Grainger had never felt better in his life… A whole new world was in front of him. New clubs who would now let him join. New friends who before would not deign to talk to him. New respect… For the first time, people who mattered were going to look at him as an equal. He was now a society man.
As was his duty, Percy Grainger cabled the figures to the widow in Rhodesia, signing his name with the deepest respect for the last time.
Only when the cable was sent did he catch a glimpse of a smiling face in the small picture frame on his desk. Instead of the photograph of his daughter, Percy Grainger saw the face of Harry Brigandshaw.
With shaking hands, the new chairman of Colonial Shipping went to his cocktail cabinet. The drink was partly to lay the ghost, partly to celebrate.
“To life,” he said, holding the empty glass up to the ceiling. Only then did he shiver. As though someone had walked over his grave.
Merlin St Clair had finished the exact same breakfast he had eaten for ten years in the alcove of his flat overlooking Hyde Park. The weather outside had changed from a brief shower to warm sunshine. At the age of forty-six, life was good. He still smiled at keeping his money in three per cent government bonds while everyone was telling him to buy stock. For Merlin, the secret of life was not to have to think about money. The chequebook, an instrument that paid the merchants without worrying how much money was left in the bank.
Merlin had heard the front doorbell ring, something he ignored. The financial pages of the paper were full of bad news which had nothing to do with him. Flipping to the sport’s page, Merlin read the cricket scores with more satisfaction. Middlesex had beaten Surrey by an innings and six runs.
Smithers’s cough made Merlin turn round and look at the door.
“The Honourable Barnaby St Clair, sir,” announced Smithers as if he did not know his own brother who was standing in the door to the lounge.
“Thank you, Smithers. What do you want, Barnaby?”
“A cup of coffee.”
“Tea, I’m afraid. Bring my brother a cup, Smithers. There’s enough in the pot… Do you want breakfast?”
“That would be nice.”
“You’d better sit down… What’s it about, Barnaby?”
“Is it always about something?”
“Always.”
“Freya has written a play. Fleming showed it to me. Wants me to back a production. Funnily enough, there’s a young girl in the play.”
“She doesn’t know enough yet!”
“It’s said some learn faster on the job. Genevieve looks much older than she is. Loves the part.”
“You showed her?”
“She wants to talk to Daddy… Did I tell you I saw Frank?”
“Don’t even mention that sordid story.”
