Page 135 of The Gathering Storm

‘Well, I understand they’re not Christians. And I wouldn’t hold it against them, poor things, given it’s the way they’re brought up. But I like to see prayers said at night before bed in my nursery, and I make sure Alec says them, but what about these two? It’ll set him a bad example if they don’t say ’em, but—’

‘I’m sure Jewish children say prayers before bed too. They worship the same God, you know, Nanny, just in a different way. Let them do it in their own words when Alec says his. I’m sure it will comfort them.’

‘Very good, madam.’

When Polly went up, she took the dogs with her. Like nannies, dogs were the same everywhere, and excellent ambassadors where language was a problem. She found Bibi and Mimi sitting on the hearth-rug by the nursery fire looking at a picture book. Mimi was wearing a dark red woollen dress she seemed to remember had been Laura’s, and Bibi was in shorts and a jumper she knew Alec had outgrown last year. Evidently Nanny had decided everything they had brought with them needed cleaning. They looked even paler than they had the night before, which might have been the result of professional washing by a determined hand, and their hair was clean and shiny – mid-brown hair, slightly wavy. They scrambled to their feet as Polly came in, and looked at her warily, though with a degree less fear than the night before. She smiled and said good morning, but there was no answering smile or speech.

And then the dogs surged in behind her, and the ice was broken. Fand could never see a face he didn’t want to wash, and they were within easy reach of a tall Morland hound. Kithra didn’t want to be left out of any fun or affection that was going, and Helmy bustled in to give a laughing greeting and then check the hearthrug for dropped toast or biscuit crumbs. The children started, then smiled at last, and soon were patting and stroking the dogs. Alec, who had been fetching another book, came back in time to tell them the dogs’ names.

‘I’m teaching them English, Mummy,’ he explained earnestly to Polly. ‘I’ve given them a picture book, and I point to the things in the picture and say what it is in English. And now I’ve got one with words as well.’

‘It’s lucky the snow’s keeping you off school today,’ Polly said. ‘You’re being a good host to them.’

Alec smirked under the praise. ‘It’s going to be my house one day, so I have to, don’t I? Will they be going to school?’

‘Eventually, of course. You’ll be breaking for Christmas soon, so perhaps after that, when they’ve had time to settle in. It’s a big change for them. Have they spoken to you about their home?’

‘They don’t really speak much at all,’ he said. ‘Should I ask them about home?’

‘I think that would be a good thing. Encourage them to talk to you. But don’t worry if it makes them cry. People need to cry sometimes, and their father died.’

‘My father died too,’ he said.

‘But that was before you were born. Theirs died not long ago, and they must be very sad.’

He gave her a determined, grown-up look. ‘Don’t worry, Mummy. I’ll look after them.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The snow was down in New York, giving it a magical look. Everything seemed cleaner sketched in black, white and grey. Central Park was like an illustration from a Hans Andersen story: any horse-drawn carriage might prove to be the Snow Queen’s sleigh. In the streets, steam rose from gratings like a giant’s tea-time, and hot-chestnut vendors in bright-coloured stocking hats hopped from foot to foot and blew on their fingers. The shops along Fifth Avenue were lit up with Christmas displays, and in front of Saint Pat’s a choir collecting for charity sang carols.

Lennie had done a great deal of business, but had also been saying goodbye, not knowing when he would see it again. He visited some old haunts, ate in favourite restaurants, saw a few Broadway plays – Androcles and the Lion, I Married an Angel, and Danton’s Death – and went to a number of parties and dinners. He was still a popular guest, and could have gone to two or three every night if he’d wanted to. He didn’t tell anyone it was a farewell: he didn’t want any fuss.

Then he took the train back to California, where there was no snow and very little mention of Christmas. Wilma was glad to see him back. ‘People been asking ’bout you, when you’re coming home,’ she said.

‘What people?’

‘Folks in general.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘And females in particular, ’quiring ’bout the big party, and who you’re taking with you. I’m just about sick o’ saying I don’t know. Miss Adeline Colby, she brung me a basket o’ fruit,’ her voice rose in indignation, ’spectin’ me to put in a good word for her.’

‘Is that what she said?’ Lennie asked, amused.

‘She never said it, but I know that’s what she want. Bribin’ me! And what would I want with a basket o’ fruit? If I want a peach, I’ll go out and buy maself one. It was mos’ly jus’ one big pineapple, anyways, makin’ it look bigger,’ she sniffed.

‘How’s Rose?’

‘I couldn’t say. She ain’t hardly been at home, goin’ out gallivantin’ every evening.’

Lennie was alarmed. ‘She’s not getting into trouble, is she?’

‘I don’t think so, Mr Lennie. Mr Van, he’s been squirin’ her around. He’ll take good care of her.’

‘It wasn’t Van every time, though, was it?’

‘Pretty much,’ Wilma said, which meant yes.

Rose returned late that evening, and came rushing straight in to see Lennie and flinging her arms round him in a bear hug. ‘You’re back! I’m so glad to see you!’

‘How come? What have you been up to?’ he said suspiciously.