Page 8 of The Gathering Storm

‘No, but—’ She thought a bit. ‘It’s sort of like a failure. Like I’m not good enough.’

‘You are never to think that,’ Lennie said sternly. ‘This was all Dean’s fault.’

‘I don’t want to get him into trouble. Estelle says the studios hate that kind of thing. And if it gets in the papers, they might drop him and ruin his career.’

‘In the end, it might come down to his career or yours,’ Lennie said. He saw steel come into her drawn face.

‘Okay. If it’s him or me, then the hell with him, pardon my French.’

‘Good girl. That’s the spirit. Estelle will sort it all out. And it may not come to sacrificing Dean, if some arrangement can be arrived at – I don’t suppose he wants publicity of that sort.’

‘How—?’

‘Leave that to us. I’m going to talk to Al Feinstein. If we can work out something he can sell to the press, I think I can talk him round. After all, I’ve put a lot of money into his productions, and if he wants to keep dipping into my pocket …’

Rose sighed again, and said, in a low voice, ‘I miss my mother. If only she’d stayed here she’d never have got pneumonia and died. I feel so bad that she went back east because of me.’

Lennie said, ‘Your mother was the strongest-minded woman I ever knew. She went back east because she wanted to. But you’ve raised a subject that has to be addressed: you can’t live on your own, not after this. Everything has got to look ultra-respectable.’

‘I don’t know what to do.’ Tears began to leak again. ‘My mother’s dead. Dean’s a wash-out. Everyone just uses me to make money. Nobody cares what happens to me.’

‘I care,’ said Lennie.

‘I wish you were my father. If I didn’t have you, I don’t know what I’d do. What’s going to happen to me? I can’t live at Roselands any more. It will always remind me of Dean.’

Inwardly Lennie sighed, but he wasn’t surprised to hear himself say, ‘Would you like to come and live with me, until all this blows over?’

‘Really? Oh, yes!’ she cried at once.

‘You can bring your people with you – we’ve plenty of room. Wilma will make you comfortable.’

‘Oh, I love Wilma,’ she said. ‘Can I really come?’

‘Yes, but there’s to be no shenanigans. No drinking, definitely no drugs, no running around with men, no wild parties.’

‘I’ll behave like a nun, I promise, if only you take care of me. You won’t leave me, will you?’ For all her fame and fortune, she looked just then very young and very lost.

‘No, I won’t leave you,’ he said. ‘As long as you behave yourself.’

Her eyes widened. ‘I’ve just remembered, you’re going to England, aren’t you?’

‘I’ll put it off. Don’t worry. I said I’d take care of you.’

‘You’re always so good to me,’ she said, smiling at last.

Lennie smiled too, but underneath he could have wept. He thought of Polly, and Morland Place, and felt as lonely as he had ever felt in his life.

‘I’d better send a cable,’ he said, more to himself than to Rose.

When Polly got back to Morland Place she met James just coming out into the yard, wrapped up to the chin in a thick wool coat, wearing the special hat – deerskin lined with fleece, and earflaps that tied under the chin – that dated from his trip to Bear Island. His Elghund, Helmy, came bouncing past him eagerly. With his thick grey coat, he didn’t mind the cold.

‘Ha!’ said Polly. ‘The only dog willing to leave the fireside.’

James looked up at her, resting a hand on Zephyr’s neck. ‘Are you referring to me or Helmy?’

‘Both,’ she said. He was tall and handsome, her brother, easy-going and good-natured, affectionate to her, good with animals, idolised by her son, five-year-old Alec. He would have made a fine Master of Morland Place in good times: he was indolent, and not bookish, but he understood the land. And the tenants would have adored him: Polly they viewed with suspicion, though they were getting used to her now, seeing that she had gone four and a half years without ruining the place. But James had been born to the position, and would have reigned over his kingdom with easy grace.

Death duties had put paid to that, and after a period of severe anguish – he simply was not used to having to worry about anything, and the experience frightened him – he had yielded up the estate to Polly with nothing but relief. There was still a part of Polly that felt like an impostor, that James was the true king. But she believed Papa would have approved of her, if he could see her now.