Chapter 3
(Correction by sunnyrainbow)
Patricia O'Brien opened her eyes. The daylight pierced generously through her bedroom window curtains and let guess the late hour of the morning. The young woman sat up in her bed, a little ashamed for not having woken up earlier. Candy's bed next to her was empty and well made. The latter had certainly left at daybreak to go to Dr Martin's clinic and had made sure not to make any noise when leaving the room. Patty regretted that Candy had not taken more free time to spend with her. But she could understand very well the interest she showed in her work. She suspected that it might have been a great support when dark thoughts haunted her mind, as well as her teaching profession had given a meaning to her life after Alistair's death. She turned her gaze to the drawer of her night table and sighed with consternation. It was her last day at Pony's home, and she still had not found the right time to give Terry's letter to Candy. One had to admit that the young blonde was very well surrounded. In the evenings, on her return from the clinic, the children would bombard her with questions about her work, and she would answer them patiently:
- No, there had been no punctured eye or any ripped out arm to treat, nor was there blood squirting onto the walls. No, Dr Martin did not amputate any limb, nor did he make any experimentation on dead bodies. Yes, she gave injections and when she took blood samples, the needle did not pass through the patient's arm...
The first night, Patty had turned pale before these angel faces' morbid curiosity, but Candy had reassured her by explaining to her that they were at an age in which they liked to frighten themselves. It was their way to get rid of their anguish. Anyway, they were very good at moving from a topic to another one. As proof, their interest in hemoglobin had straight away disappeared when one of the most angelic of all, had mentioned the pleasant theme of goat droppings and cat wee-wee, eloquent topic, endless source of poetic and refined expressions, until Sister Lane popped her head around the window and, clapping in her hands, put a definitive end to their enthusiasm... until the following day. Candy observed this with a smirk, which showed the loving complicity that made her so close to those kids. In the face of her friend's alarmed expression, she had not hesitated to maliciously finish her off by confessing to her that at the same age, Annie and her had escaped for a day, and stolen Miss Pony's bottle of wine, which led to their first drunkenness. Patty had remained speechless with stupefaction and had found her words back a long time later only. During the whole evening, Candy had laughed about it.
Her stay had thus elapsed quietly. Every morning, Candy would leave to work and would come back, tired of her day, but always in a good mood, available for her friend, her two teachers and the kids. To be closer to her, Patty had come with her one day at the clinic, but she had quickly realized that only seeing a blood drop melted with drugs' smells, turned her stomach upside down until giving her nauseas and headaches, which prevented her from doing anything, such that the following day, she had to give up reiterating the experimentation, refusing to be a useless burden. She would settle then for having good time at Pony's home, for walking around, helping Sister Lane and Miss Pony in their daily tasks, as she waited for Candy's return. Time had elapsed so quickly and she had shared so little of it with Candy, that she had came to the conclusion that maybe it was not the right time to give her Terry's letter. Actually, she had found her so lighthearted, so cheery that Albert and Annie's sinister description of it had not seemed to her so obvious. Talking to her about Terry, at the risk of jeopardizing her whole equilibrium, seemed to her incongruous, as long as she would not have succeeded in knowing her deepest thoughts. All things considered, could Candy be happier without him? After her comeback to Pony's, she had built herself an impassable fortress, a shelter far from everything that could remind her of painful times. Did she, did they, Albert, Annie, and her, have the right to seal her fate? Was it really a good idea, wanting to reunite them while the people concerned had not made that effort? This was what was nagging Patty and troubling her sleep.
But in little more than a month, they would leave together on a trip, alone, both of them, without anybody coming between them or withdrawing Candy from her thoughts. And there, she would be able to probe her and take a decision about the letter. What would represent few weeks in comparison with the elapsed years, all the more so since she was unaware of the plan? Yes, considering the situation, she had just taken the right decision: waiting a little bit more, not dashing for preserving Candy's sake, and for her happiness, maybe...
She moved to the table at the other side of the bedroom, table that Candy used as her desk, and wrote a letter to Albert and Annie in which she explained her choice. The postman would soon be there and she would hand it in to him. Then she stood up and came closer to the window. Sister Lane was teaching class to the kids in the field next to the house, visibly a natural science lesson since the children looked passionate in the grounds turning over the stones, leaves and collecting little beasts. Suddenly, Sister Lane froze, with an angry gaze and frowning, she strode to Robbie, a seven years old little rascal, who was having fun with an earthworm that he waved under little Emma's nose who was howling with fear. The poor Robbie ended the lesson next to Sister Lane, his left ear a little redder than his right one... Patty could not keep herself from laughing before the funny scene and admitted inwardly that Pony's little world deserved the affection, the near adoration that Candy felt for it. Here, nothing serious could happen, except... except getting dragged by the ears by Sister Lane...
The train from Chicago arrived in Grand Central Terminal New York and Candy felt deeply upset. How many years had elapsed since the last time she had put a foot in that city? Seven, eight years may be? A long time ago, she had made the decision not to count them anymore... Moreover, hadn't she expressed the wish not to come back here anymore so painful was the evocation of those places, even after all this time? However, looking at her more closely, one would never be able to guess that deep sorrow that lived inside her. To avoid having her relatives worry, and more than anything to prevent people from talking about him, she had hidden her feelings, shut up her emotions, showing an always-cheerful face, sometimes forced but under control. Recalling Terry remained unbearable, even with her friends, and she was very grateful to them to respect her silence regarding him. But presently she was well and truly in New York and she would have to face it. One had not found the means to move the Atlantic Ocean up to Chicago, and she would have to make the best with Manhattan Harbour to get on board towards the old continent.
The convoy decreased little by little, announcing its arrival with big blasts of whistles, then more roughly, under a blaring of pistons, brake screeches, and piercing vapour jets. It was the turmoil among the acrid smoke's charcoal briquettes of the large smoke stack. Candy stood up and popped her head around the half-opened window of her luxurious cabin. The vapour clouds prevented her from well distinguishing the profiles on the gate. She had to meet Patty on the boat, but Albert had informed her that he would send one of his employees from his New Yorker office to welcome her at the station then lead her to the gate.
She had her suitcases brought down and as they were piled up on the trolley (Annie had made her clean out all the fashion shops of Chicago...), she glanced at the endless gate, expecting an unknown face to come to her. As nobody came, she stepped forward towards the central hall, the baggage official on her heels. Reaching the hall and surprised by the roominess of the place, she followed one of the imposing stairs which led to the first floor in which were numerous restaurants and cafés for passengers waiting for their train. Then, standing up on tiptoe, her frail profile leaning on the balcony guardrail that overlooked the station's heart, she began to observe the crowd downstairs that scattered by little packs towards the galleries that bordered the main hall and led to the distinct gates.
She could see, next to the ticket offices, the station employee patiently waiting for her with his trolley. From her viewpoint, she could not stand the majesty of the place. How had she been able, last time, to miss that splendid building built in the art school's style? How had she been able to neglect the information desk's four-faced clock, in the middle of the hall, which intrigued each passer-by by its originality? Then, when raising her head, the Grand Hall's majestic ceiling, painted by a French artist, and representing the zodiac constellations based on a medieval manuscript. The daylight that entered into the main hall through three imposing 28-meter-high arch-shaped windows allowed the emphasis of the main stars among 2500 other ones. It looked as if gigantic heavenly swords were piercing through the walls to come down on the granite slabs that covered the ground.
Indeed, how had she been able to ignore the majesty of that place? ...
Because that day, while she crossed the station, heart beating, the only thought that occupied her mind was to see him gain, him, at last, after more than a year of separation. Her eyes clouded over with tears, legs wobbly, her heart knocking so strongly in her chest, she would not have been able to notice, in spite of all her efforts, the architectural jewel in which she was. And when, at last, she had found him back, him, all the turmoil that surrounded her had vanished. There were no more train, no more din, no more travellers bumping into her as they passed a bit too closer from her. Only remained his long profile and his greenish blue eyes that were staring at her, shining with light.
She felt, at that time, like living that moment again. Her, squeezing her fists against her heart, refraining, by prudishness, from throwing her arms around his neck while she was dying to. While him, paralyzed by the emotion, was telling her name, gently, tenderly, in a way that he would use for her only.
A hand laid itself on her shoulder and she startled with surprise. Withdrawn form her nostalgic thoughts, she could hardly recover her mind for a while. A red-haired young man, dressed in an elegant navy blue suit, was standing in front of her, holding a chauffeur-cap.
- Miss Andrey, I presume? – Asked the young man as she nodded – My name is Douglas, your uncle's chauffeur, Sir William Andrey. I'm very sorry, but an accident a few blocks from here disrupted the traffic and prevented me from arriving on time to welcome you. I would be very grateful to you for excusing me for this delay.
- No problem at all, Douglas – said Candy smiling – Thanks to you, I had time enough to admire the beauty of this place. I did not imagine a station could reunite so much delicacy.
- I'm very pleased about it, miss and I thank you for your indulgency. I've met downstairs the baggage handler and I've asked him to forward your suitcases to your boat. You will find them back in your suite when arriving. Besides, as we have several hours before us before your departure, I'm suggesting you to visit the streets of New York. This is a splendid city by this glorious day!
- Well, rather than waiting sadly in my cabin... I accept with pleasure your company, Douglas!
- I'm delighted to know that, miss! I promise you an unforgettable ride!
- Do I have to take you at your word, Douglas? – She said, laughing – You're raising the bar, you know? Come on, guide me in the fairyland of New York!
- Please, come this way, miss – said the chauffeur with a bow – Your carriage is waiting for you, a few meters from here.
They left the station by the side of Park Avenue, and the place's overgrowth, once again, amazed Candy. The wide street, longed with skyscrapers, straightaway disappeared towards the skyline. The young woman felt tiny in the middle of those buildings which top of them seemed to vanish in the clouds. A succession of taxis grouped together in front of the entry, patiently waiting for their turn then quickly running away with a new passenger on their board. After few meters, Douglas stopped in front of a car, a nice convertible-top, very original compared to the classic allure of the young driver.
- I thought that with the shining sun that baths the city this afternoon, you would appreciate to be open-topped rather than be locked in a limousine... - he said while he made her sit on the passenger's seat.
Candy acquiesced with a smile then they left, their sport car's humming noise easily fitting in the traffic cacophony. The young woman closed her eyes and relaxed, pleasantly welcoming the soft touch of the air on her pretty face. The weather was fine, not too hot, just what it needed to enjoy, hood up, this ride. Her hand holding the lovely cloche hat that perfidiously slipped out of her head, she sat more comfortably and opened big children's eyes on the urban landscape before her green pupils. The tour had nothing academic. They easily moved from the Saint Patrick Cathedral and its neo-gothic front, to the financial district of Wall Street and its statue of George Washington which turned its back to the Federal Hall. Then they went around the big Public Library with its immense reading rooms, and they turned off towards Brooklyn Bridge. They slowed down in front of the Woolworth building, the town's highest building with its sixty floors, reducing the Plaza Hotel on the 5th avenue to the size of a tiny model.
Suddenly, Candy recognized a district she had explored many years before, a place overflowing with illuminated and colored fronts, weighting down with tens of signs and ads screwed to their roofs. A crossing-sign pointed Broadway Street, Broadway, mythic place in which Terry exercised... While the theatres paraded slowly before her eyes, the young Andrey's heart froze. The Palais Royal, the Warner's Theatre, the Ziegfield theatre and its Folies, the Winter Garden, the Maxime Elliott's, the Casino, all those names were making her feel giddy. She closed her eyes, fearing to see Terry's face on one of the posters. He had become a huge star in New York, and she would not have been surprised to see his name, written in full, sparkling on one of those theaters' fronts. Through the newspapers, she was aware of his remarkable rise, but she did not know anything about his private life. During long months, she had waited, hoped for a sign from him, but she did not receive any. She knew he was devastated by Suzanna Marlowe's death, the young actress whom they had broken for, which would give a good reason to his silence. After all those years taking care of her then accompanying her in her fight against the illness, he might have become attached to her and created links that even death could not break. Going back to his first love, after all this time, might have seemed ridiculous to him so much they did not have anymore anything in common, apart few months spent together in Saint Paul and few letters exchanged when she was a student nurse. What contained those letters was so prudish that an unknown person reading it could have been able to think that good friends simply talking about their days wrote them. Finally, she might have dreamed that love that used to unite them, and the tears they both had shed on these hospital's stairs, could only express a regrettable misunderstanding. It was always difficult and painful to part, even more if ones were so good friends. They had showed it that way, certainly because of too much sensitivity...
They might have been indeed friends, but had they really been in love? At least, what about Terry? On her side, she had been able to say it, to yell it, on that Southampton gate which had seen the young man's boat leaving for America. Then she had been able to write it, to proclaim it in her diary, untrusted to Albert when leaving Saint Paul Academy. But she had never heard those words from his mouth. He had never whispered those tender words to her though she was able to swear, at that time, that a very special link united them. There was no doubt at all now about her misjudgment. Terry had obviously moved on, turned a leaf on their fleetingly relationship. She had to do the same and stop living in the past. A tear of bitterness rolled on her fresh air-pinked cheek, quickly wiped by an agile hand in order to hide her trouble. Noticing his passenger's sudden dejection, the driver stepped on the accelerator and took the direction to Central Park. His boss had untrusted him a mission that was not really as pleasant as it looked like.
When seeing her at the station, he had first been dazzled by the grace and beauty that illuminated her from within. It was not so much the elegance of the clothes she wore a Chanel chemise in beige jersey, tied on her hips by a matching scarf, enhanced by a long-sleeved cardigan, displaying a tulle ash pink flower at the buttonhole that fascinated him, but the extraordinary aura that emanated from her, perched on ravishing kitten heel shoes, a kind of natural seduction of which she was not even aware. Her solar smile and her green eyes, the prairies' colors of his childhood Ireland, had finished bewitching him, and he hoped in his heart of hearts, that she would not suspect the emotion she generated in him. It was unbearable for him to have to make her suffer that way, but Sir William Andrey, for an unknown reason, had really insisted that Candy crossed through the district of Broadway at a very moderate pace. On the other hand, he did not understand what could be troubling the young lady so much. Was there a resurfacing sulfurous past that she wanted to conceal? Or a tragedy that had happened in that place in which scandal and strokes of bad luck were commonly in close contact with triumph and glory ? He knew too little about his boss' adoptive daughter to launch into definitive conclusions but he could not prevent his imagination from elaborating all kinds of hypotheses. He was nevertheless sure of something: Broadway had unhinged her and it was unfortunately what was expected.
The tour imagined by Albert was not ended yet, and the young Irish man wondered whether he would be able to keep on being the witness of that distress without reacting. Then came to his mind the big amount of money offered for that job, and the enormous debts he would be able to pay off, and went on regretfully with his task. After all, a ride had never hurt anybody!...
They went around the Museum of Natural History then drove one more street to the South until the 66th. The convertible stopped in front of the park entry, all gates opened on the strollers searching for some fresh air.
- What about a little walk in the park to stretch our legs? – Asked Douglas as Candy remained silent, absorbed by her nostalgic thoughts.
He got out of the car and walked around it to open the young pensive woman's door.
- And the last one who arrives near Bethesda Fountain will offer an ice cream to the other ! – He said, becoming bolder to see her reaction, fearing a retort before his audacity.
She raised interrogative eyes to him, but against all odds, she answered him with a large smile that disconcerted him. She had visibly the gift to conceal, in a flash, her states of mind...
- This is a good idea, Douglas! – She said cheerfully – That ride really gave me an appetite! I already know that I will have the great privilege to offer that ice cream to you because I don't have the suitable shoes to beat you to it !
- No way! I will be the lucky winner anyway because I would never allow a lady of your condition to run the paths like a vulgar common! It was decided before it started!
- You are smart, Douglas! – She answered back, with a malicious eye – You'd better think again! My condition, as you said, does not prevent me from climbing trees or using a lasso. I am may be an Andrey with all her obligations, but I'm mainly a girl from Michigan, a farmer with a bit of education. I wear overalls very well, you know?
- You're kidding me, miss, and it is not nice to laugh at me! – Said the chauffeur bursting with laughter, very skeptical about the pretty blonde's comments.
- Not at all, Douglas! I'm telling you the truth!
- Hahaha! I almost believed you! Please, stop teasing me, Miss Andrey, and let's go and search for an ice-cream shop.
Vexed, Candy hit the ground with a furious foot and hurried to join him with long strides. He could not possibly take her for a liar! Coming up to him, she looked at him straight in the eyes and started to tell him the story of her life, without giving details, but in a sufficient way so that he could not deny the obvious anymore. At the end, the chauffeur knew more about the Andrey's heir's life than the usually well-informed gossip magazines. He observed her in silence, taken in by her tale, and still found it difficult to believe that the divine creature walking at his side had grown up in an orphanage, then been a female companion for tyrannical kids yearning for punching-bags, to end up adopted by a great uncle William who had sent her to an high school in England, studies that she had concluded by a nursing formation after her return to America. Mute of admiration, he realized that under his interlocutor's sophisticated look was hidden a rebellious and independent mind who knew how to bravely face each obstacle of her life until diverting the tragic nature of it and changing it into a positive experimentation. Without realizing it, she was giving him a lesson of life and he was admiring her even more for it. In spite of this, he could not understand how such a strong personality had, few minutes before, so easily cracked up? What, WHO then had marked her existence so much to make her well-built carapace crack so easily?
As they talked, they walked deeper in the park, then went back up the Mall, a long alley with trees where used to quietly meet cabriolets with on their board rich walkers who used to come to appreciate the panorama without having to mix with lower status passers-by. The carriages got on file at the end of the alley around Bethesda Terrace, a place considered as the most romantic of the 341 hectares of green landscape.
This little architectural wonder was built on two levels: the first one offered an astonishing view over the surrounding lake and woods, also over the impressive skyscrapers that bordered the park. The ground floor was reachable thanks to two granite stairs, located at both sides of the terrace. In its continuation was a circular square tiled with briquettes, with in its middle, a fountain wearing a bronze statue, the Angel of the Waters.
- Vanilla or chocolate? – He said, smirking mischievously.
- You've just awakened the great glutton who sleeps within me, Douglas! My uncle won't be happy if I get fat because of you – she answered, simulating indignation.
- Let me take the risk!... – he added, his smile widening, revealing a double row of white teeth. Candy laughed inwardly. She had not noticed he had a gap between his upper teeth: the lucky gap... She found that charming.
Before the young man's insistence, she shrugged off and stretched her hand to the chocolate cone that she greedily raised to her mouth. The ice cream was tasty, with inside cracking chocolate chips. It was absolutely delicious!
As they were walking back the path that stretched along the lake on which boats were quietly sailing, Candy's nostalgic mood had disappeared taken over by the satisfaction of her stomach. She remembered a phrase that Miss Pony used to continually repeat but proved in this case all its good sense: "whatever happens, one must get one's belly full. It allows evaluating things differently thereafter...". The precept might not last indefinitely but it had undeniably an invigorating action. The young woman turned her face to her riding companion who opened his eyes widely and burst out laughing.
- I must admit, miss Andrey, that wearing a mustache does not suit you at all!... – he said, hilarious, offering her a handkerchief.
Red-faced, Candy quickly wiped out her mouth and checked the result through a little mirror shoved into her bag. She corrected one or two chocolate rebellious marks, grumbling against her gluttony that was able to make her lose all good manners. If Great Aunt Elroy had been there, she would not have hesitated in mocking her openly. "One cannot change a donkey into a racehorse!" – she had heard the old lady saying about her as Albert forced her adoption. That acid remark had deeply hurt her.
- The afternoon is about to end and you'll have to return to your boat. But we have time enough for a last ride in a very pleasant place, what do you think about it?
Candy hadn't noticed the time passing! That exploration of New York had enchanted her and she was not against a last discovery.
- With great pleasure, Douglas! You've been until now a very instructive guide. I'm curious to know that last place which sounds, according to you, very promising.
Oddly enough, the chauffeur did not answer, settling for leading her to the path that led them back to their car. Hands in his pockets, he stared at the ground to hide his embarrassment. Sometimes, obeying to his boss' orders was very difficult!...
On the way, the change of appearance of the streets they were going through surprised Candy by their irregular and narrow size. The skyscrapers were slowly giving way to red-bricked three-storey buildings. The residential atmosphere of the place was very different from what she had seen of New York since her arrival.
- Appearances are deceptive, miss! – He answered her as she was asking him about this – We are presently in one of the most rebellious district of Manhattan, at least, from a cultural point of view. We are in the heart of Greenwich Village district, which is considered one of the bastions of the artistic culture and a certain way of living that could be qualified as bohemian. Many artists come and live here because they find a way of thinking that is like them, a kind of spirit of freedom. As a proof, few streets only have kept their number while most of them have preferred having a name. This is confusing for the poor New York citizen who comes and ventures here. Most of them cannot find their way back.
- What about you, Douglas? Do you fear getting lost? – Inquired Candy, a bit worried, not wanting to miss her boat.
- It will never happen, miss! I know this place like the back of my hand because... my girlfriend lives here...! – He exclaimed, giving her a knowing glance – Every night, I come and see her at the cabaret, the Greenwich Village Follies. She's a dancer, you know, and she is really very talented.
As they were talking, they went past Washington Square Park and its white Arch dedicated to George Washington. All around, the white tiled pavement used to welcome chess players on permanently fixed tables. Then they drove back toward the north, meeting along the way, art galleries, bistros and vaudeville theatres. Douglas confessed to her that some artists like the musician Cole Porter, or the poetess Edna St Vincent Millay, were living in the area. Candy had read some of her subversive poems and admitted to herself that this village contained some colorful people. Finally, the chauffeur came to a halt on a little square, on the corner of Horacio Street and the 8th. He pointed a little three-storey building with an Italian restaurant on the ground-floor, the Napoli.
- See, miss, I can tell you this. You see that window on the left, on the third floor? Well, it's my girlfriend's apartment, my dear Martha, Martha Graham.
- Graham? – Said Candy, tensing up.
- Yes, Graham! – He chuckled – But I can assure you there is no relationship with the famous actor, Terrence Graham, though I wish her a career as beautiful as his. As fate would have it he moved in that building next to hers, the one that you see, the big one on the left, with red and brown bricks and Greco-antic moldings. Isn't it a funny coincidence ?
- That's right... - she muttered, paralyzed by the surprise of such news. Without wanting it, she was in front of Terry's building whose art-deco front stretched out to another street's corner, Horacio Street.
Horacio, Prince hamlet's friend, the Shakespeare heroes...
The choice of the place suddenly seemed obvious to her. It was really Terry's home! He was really living there, in that building before which they had just stopped by. She could not stop staring at the building. A doorman was standing before the entry, hands crossed behind his back. Raising her head a bit more, she noticed that the construction was wearing a terrace that surrounded it. She was willing to bet that it was the floor on which he was living. Terry was not the kind of man to live locked between four walls. He needed space, to feel free, and she could easily imagine him leaning on his terrace's ramp and looking at the horizon. Could he, from his viewpoint, see the Hudson River, which Horacio Street led to? Perhaps in these times, he would remember his past, and maybe, would think about...
Douglas' strong Irish accent withdrew her from her thoughts.
- I would have liked to introduce Martha to you but she must be repeating at the Follies. Anyway, we mustn't lose time now if we don't want to miss the ship.
Saying that, he restarted the engine which began to snore noisily, hitting the accelerator, then they left their parking place. Slowly, they turned around the square to find back the 8th, which went down to southern Manhattan. Terry's building was little by little disappearing, concealed by the trees and the fountain of the square. Then the 8th street's corner added itself to her field of vision. As they were moving away, she did not dare turn completely, twisting hurtfully her neck. In a few seconds, she would not distinguish anything anymore, the building would become a vanishing point on the horizon line, a point among thousands of other ones.
Terry... So close...
One more time and it won't be anymore...
Right then, prompted by an irresistible desire, her feelings taking possession of her reason, she laid her hand on the steering wheel and said:
- Stop!
Douglas turned towards her, his eyes opening wide with surprise.
- Please, stop! – She asked him, the plaintive tone of her voice betraying her vivid emotion.
The chauffeur agreed with a sigh and Candy promptly jumped out of the car. Maintaining her hat on her head with her hand, she ran back the one hundred meters that separated her from Terry's residence. She stopped right before the massive front door and suddenly realized what she had just done. Which craziness had just taken possession of her? What was she doing before that door, like an enamored groupie? She might look so stupid and ridiculous!... She imagined herself ringing at Terry's door and saying with a stupid smile and hopping ridiculously:
- Hello Terry! This is me, Candy!
The doorman was watching her, from the corner of his eye, speaking aloud to herself. Impassible, he seemed visibly disposed to chase her if she would make one more step. Red-faced, she was about to leave when the front door opened. She almost fainted at that moment, thinking in the space of a second to have discerned the famous actor's profile in the frame door. With a lump in her throat, unable to breathe, she realized that it was in reality a lady in her sixties, rather short and corpulent, a shopping bag hanging on her folded arm. She was looking at her inquisitively.
- May I help you, Miss?
Candy's cheeks went up in flames. Nose-diving to her feet, embarrassed, she painfully stammered:
- So... Sorry to have bothered you. My name is Candy... Candice White Andrew. I... I am a friend of one of these building's tenants. Terr... I mean Terrence Graham. We've both studied in the same college, in Saint Paul's Academy, in London.
The old lady remained silent, settling for observing Candy. Feeling more and more embarrassed, that latter added, giving a hint of wanting to sidestep to steal away the quickest possible.
- I'm leaving for Europe tonight, and... As I was in the area, I came to a halt before Terry's house... I mean, Mister Graham's.
- I'm his housekeeper. Mister Terrence has not come back yet from his rehearsals! – The old lady dryly answered.
Candy lifted a reassuring hand toward the woman.
- No no, I did not have in mind to bother him! I don't know why I stopped by here either. Please, forgive me for the inconvenience, Mrs. I'm leaving right now. Good-bye!...
She had barely walked away when she heard a voice calling her back.
- Hold on, please!
Candy froze in her stride, stupefied, and turned around. That time, the old woman was looking at her benevolently.
- You look very out of breath. What about a cup of tea?
- Well... - Candy stammered, dumfounded – As I just told you, I don't know what I'm doing here and...
- This is why a cup of tea will be good to you. There is nothing better to clean one's mind. Don't be shy. Come on, come...
The housekeeper nodded to the doorman who opened the door before them. Like in a trance, Candy obeyed and followed her inside. A long and large hall with marble tiles led to a spiral staircase. At the stair's foot, on its left, an elevator served all the floors, on its right, a reception office's desk behind which stood the clerk. A series of mailboxes were hung on the wall behind it and Candy distinguished Terry's name on one of them. She was really in his building, and she shivered from nervousness.
It was not a dream. Everything was real!...
On the left of the hallway a lift was waiting. The door opened and the old lady pressed the 10th and last floor's button.
- My name is Denise. In the beginning, I was employed by Mrs. Marlowe. But after her daughter's death, I preferred to serve Mister. Under his gruff manners, he is very charming.
Candy nodded, blushing.
- He is in great need of care! – She followed – If I were not there, he would be able to forget to feed himself! Fortunately, I'm keeping an eye on things! I'm the one who goes for his shopping, as you've noticed – she said, showing her bag. I don't want the servants to do it, they would be able to buy anything. I'm also the one who does the cooking. I want him to eat good meals. If he doesn't fatten up, at least he won't lose weight!
Candy could not help laughing. She was imagining Terry, sitting down at the table under Mother Denise's survey, moralizing him if he was not eating enough. It must have been very funny to see.
The elevator stopped and the security gate opened. The housekeeper came out and knocked at the only door that was on the floor. A housemaid's head appeared in the slight opening.
- Ah, Agatha! Let me introduce you to Miss Andrew, a friend of Sir Terrence – cried out Denise as she reached out her shopping bag to her – Could you please lead her to the lounge while I'm going to make myself more comfortable. Then, will you go and prepare some tea for us, some Earl Grey, please?
The maid nodded silently and gestured to Candy to follow her. They crossed the vestibule and walked along a hall which served the living rooms. They passed by a dining room, whose chairs' elongated backs, aligned around the big rectangular table, recalled the Mackintosh style, an English contemporary architect, appreciated for its contrast between strong right angles and floral-inspired decorative motifs with subtle curves proper to Art Nouveau. Then they entered the lounge where a room divider of Japanese inspiration separated it from the former room. Legs quivering, the young woman took a few steps in the white-painted room, contemplating the place without really seeing it, so much troubled she was. Two bay windows, parted by a Carrara marbled fireplace, opened on the terrace, the one she had seen from the street. She was not mistaken about Terry's tastes...
A greenish-colored Persian carpet lied in front the fireplace in the middle of which throned a massive refined-shaped wooden coffee table. A few travelling and decoration books piled up on the corner of the table. Above the fireplace was hung a painting made by little known artist named Pablo Picasso. The one-meter-high oil on canvas represented a boy holding a pipe with his left hand and wearing a crown of flowers on his head. Candy looked at the painting with perplexity.
- See, miss, I can tell you this. You see that window on the left, on the third floor? Well, it's my girlfriend's apartment, my dear Martha, Martha Graham.
- Graham? – Said Candy, tensing up.
- Yes, Graham! – He chuckled – But I can assure you there is no relationship with the famous actor, Terrence Graham, though I wish her a career as beautiful as his. As fate would have it he moved in that building next to hers, the one that you see, the big one on the left, with red and brown bricks and Greco-antic moldings. Isn't it a funny coincidence ?
- That's right... - she muttered, paralyzed by the surprise of such news. Without wanting it, she was in front of Terry's building whose art-deco front stretched out to another street's corner, Horacio Street.
Horacio, Prince hamlet's friend, the Shakespeare heroes...
The choice of the place suddenly seemed obvious to her. It was really Terry's home! He was really living there, in that building before which they had just stopped by. She could not stop staring at the building. A doorman was standing before the entry, hands crossed behind his back. Raising her head a bit more, she noticed that the construction was wearing a terrace that surrounded it. She was willing to bet that it was the floor on which he was living. Terry was not the kind of man to live locked between four walls. He needed space, to feel free, and she could easily imagine him leaning on his terrace's ramp and looking at the horizon. Could he, from his viewpoint, see the Hudson River, which Horacio Street led to? Perhaps in these times, he would remember his past, and maybe, would think about...
Douglas' strong Irish accent withdrew her from her thoughts.
- I would have liked to introduce Martha to you but she must be repeating at the Follies. Anyway, we mustn't lose time now if we don't want to miss the ship.
Saying that, he restarted the engine which began to snore noisily, hitting the accelerator, then they left their parking place. Slowly, they turned around the square to find back the 8th, which went down to southern Manhattan. Terry's building was little by little disappearing, concealed by the trees and the fountain of the square. Then the 8th street's corner added itself to her field of vision. As they were moving away, she did not dare turn completely, twisting hurtfully her neck. In a few seconds, she would not distinguish anything anymore, the building would become a vanishing point on the horizon line, a point among thousands of other ones.
Terry... So close...
One more time and it won't be anymore...
Right then, prompted by an irresistible desire, her feelings taking possession of her reason, she laid her hand on the steering wheel and said:
- Stop!
Douglas turned towards her, his eyes opening wide with surprise.
- Please, stop! – She asked him, the plaintive tone of her voice betraying her vivid emotion.
The chauffeur agreed with a sigh and Candy promptly jumped out of the car. Maintaining her hat on her head with her hand, she ran back the one hundred meters that separated her from Terry's residence. She stopped right before the massive front door and suddenly realized what she had just done. Which craziness had just taken possession of her? What was she doing before that door, like an enamored groupie? She might look so stupid and ridiculous!... She imagined herself ringing at Terry's door and saying with a stupid smile and hopping ridiculously:
- Hello Terry! This is me, Candy!
The doorman was watching her, from the corner of his eye, speaking aloud to herself. Impassible, he seemed visibly disposed to chase her if she would make one more step. Red-faced, she was about to leave when the front door opened. She almost fainted at that moment, thinking in the space of a second to have discerned the famous actor's profile in the frame door. With a lump in her throat, unable to breathe, she realized that it was in reality a lady in her sixties, rather short and corpulent, a shopping bag hanging on her folded arm. She was looking at her inquisitively.
- May I help you, Miss?
Candy's cheeks went up in flames. Nose-diving to her feet, embarrassed, she painfully stammered:
- So... Sorry to have bothered you. My name is Candy... Candice White Andrew. I... I am a friend of one of these building's tenants. Terr... I mean Terrence Graham. We've both studied in the same college, in Saint Paul's Academy, in London.
The old lady remained silent, settling for observing Candy. Feeling more and more embarrassed, that latter added, giving a hint of wanting to sidestep to steal away the quickest possible.
- I'm leaving for Europe tonight, and... As I was in the area, I came to a halt before Terry's house... I mean, Mister Graham's.
- I'm his housekeeper. Mister Terrence has not come back yet from his rehearsals! – The old lady dryly answered.
Candy lifted a reassuring hand toward the woman.
- No no, I did not have in mind to bother him! I don't know why I stopped by here either. Please, forgive me for the inconvenience, Mrs. I'm leaving right now. Good-bye!...
She had barely walked away when she heard a voice calling her back.
- Hold on, please!
Candy froze in her stride, stupefied, and turned around. That time, the old woman was looking at her benevolently.
- You look very out of breath. What about a cup of tea?
- Well... - Candy stammered, dumfounded – As I just told you, I don't know what I'm doing here and...
- This is why a cup of tea will be good to you. There is nothing better to clean one's mind. Don't be shy. Come on, come...
The housekeeper nodded to the doorman who opened the door before them. Like in a trance, Candy obeyed and followed her inside. The old lady took her by the arm and nodded the porter who opened the door in front of them. Like in a trance, Candy obeyed and followed her inside.
Contrary to appearances, the lobby was narrow and convoluted. Nevertheless, the marble and the gilding that covered it proved the fortune of the occupants. As they were passing in front of the concierge's lodge, the door opened abruptly, revealing the head of a woman in her fifties, her hair up in a bun, from which some rebellious locks escaped.
"Back already, Miss Denise?" The curious cried, with a strong Polish accent, while looking at Candy from top to bottom.
- As you can see, Mrs Adamski. What insight! As I was leaving, I met my young niece and offered her to come and drink a cup of tea ...
"Your niece?" "The caretaker said, inquisitively, straightening her broom on which she was supporting herself.
"Yes, my sister's daughter who lives in Brooklyn."
- Your sister? I didn't know you had a sister...
The tone of the concierge took on an increasingly suspicious aspect.
"Well , you know by now!" - the housekeeper retorted, concealing her irritation through a forced smile while pushing Candy toward the elevator.
"But ... But Mr Graham is not here..." The curious interrupted.
"Indeed, this is why I take this opportunity to invite my niece!" "You know how much Mr Graham hates visits!" I count on your discretion...
"Of course, Miss Denise!" " The concierge said in a soft voice, with a wink of complicity." Of course! " I shall be silent as a grave!
"I knew I could count on you, Mrs Adamski.
"Oh, my pleasure, Miss Denise." Have a good afternoon!
The two women greeted each other, then the concierge closed the door. Immediately the curtain of her window began to move slightly. She was continuing to observe them, convinced of being unoticed.
Miss Denise ran to the elevator and pressed vigorously on the call button.
"Cursed weasel!" "She muttered when the elevator door closed on them." I lied about your identity, Miss, otherwise, the tabloids would have been aware in the second that a young woman was visiting Mr Graham!
Candy nodded with a knowing smile.
Mr Graham ... Mr Graham ...
She was in Terry's building, and she shuddered nervously.
- You understand, the reporters cause him enough problems! - The housekeeper followed while the elevator began its ascent - Since Miss Marlowe's death, they do not give him any break. They are on the lookout for his slightest deeds and gestures!
Candy's heart shifted to the evocation of Terry's persecution. She had naively thought that he would be more in peace after Suzanna's death and she brutally discovered that she was wrong. She felt powerless and enraged inwardly that she could not be more helpful.
"Have you been in his service for a long time?" - she ended by asking her to drive out from her mind the negative thoughts that were invading her.
- In the beginning, I was employed by Mrs. Marlowe. But after her daughter's death, I preferred to serve Mister. Under his gruff manners, he is very charming.
Candy nodded, blushing. She had kept from Suzanne's mother the memory of an authoritarian and disagreeable person. She understood very easily why the housekeeper had left her for Terry.
- He is in great need of care! – She followed – If I were not there, he would be able to forget to feed himself! Fortunately, I'm keeping an eye on things! I'm the one who goes for his shopping, as you've noticed – she said, showing her bag. I don't want the servants to do it, they would be able to buy anything. I'm also the one who does the cooking. I want him to eat good meals. If he doesn't fatten up, at least he won't lose weight!
Candy could not help laughing. She was imagining Terry, sitting down at the table under Mother Denise's survey, moralizing him if he was not eating enough. It must have been very funny to see.
The elevator stopped at the tenth floor and the security gate opened. The housekeeper came out and knocked at the only door that was on the floor. There was no bell. It looked as if the one who lived on this floor wanted to be as discreet as possible, which was quite characteristic of Terry and his phobia of intruders. A housemaid's head appeared in the slight opening.
- Ah, Agatha! Let me introduce you to Miss Andrew, a friend of Sir Terrence – cried out Denise as she reached out her shopping bag to her – Could you please lead her to the lounge while I'm going to make myself more comfortable. Then, will you go and prepare some tea for us, some Earl Grey, please?
The maid nodded silently and gestured to Candy to follow her. They crossed the vestibule and walked along a hall which served the living rooms. They passed by a dining room, whose chairs' elongated backs, aligned around the big rectangular table, recalled the Mackintosh style, an English contemporary architect, appreciated for its contrast between strong right angles and floral-inspired decorative motifs with subtle curves proper to Art Nouveau. Then they entered the lounge where a room divider of Japanese inspiration separated it from the former room. Legs quivering, the young woman took a few steps in the white-painted room, contemplating the place without really seeing it, so much troubled she was. Two bay windows, parted by a Carrara marbled fireplace, opened on the terrace, the one she had seen from the street. She was not mistaken about Terry's tastes...
A greenish-colored Persian carpet lied in front the fireplace in the middle of which throned a massive refined-shaped wooden coffee table. A few travelling and decoration books piled up on the corner of the table. Above the fireplace was hung a painting made by little known artist named Pablo Picasso. The one-meter-high oil on canvas represented a boy holding a pipe with his left hand and wearing a crown of flowers on his head. Candy looked at the painting with perplexity.
- Sit at ease, Miss Andrew – proposed the maid - Miss Denise won't be late.
Candy thanked her and sat on the leather sofa behind her. She lay down her cumbersome cloche-hat on the coffee table and waited, her hands crossed on her knees. But after a minute, her legs were already restless. The absurd situation was making her uneasy, and she wondered what she was doing here and how would Terry react if he appeared suddenly in front of her? What would she be able to tell him? Which reason would she invoke to explain her presence in his home? He would certainly feel very embarrassed to see her again and she did not want to experience such humiliation. If he had really wished to see her, he would have acted accordingly a long time ago. She really had nothing to do here.
Unable to wait anymore, she stood up, having decided to run away from that place. But as she was leaving the room, she stopped, intrigued by a familiar form that she could see on her left by a half-opened door at the end of the corridor.
No, it wasn't possible...
She came closer, her heart beating and saw the edge of a grand piano, a piano lacquered in black, recognizable among all by its ivory border that hemmed in its four corners. Terry had explained to her that it was a unique piece, a present from his father for his mother, that he hurried to get back after their break up. He had confided it to her in Scotland, during their summer holidays, one of the happiest moments of her life. She remembered the piano lesson he had started to give her and the loving teasings he had inflicted on her. That day, she had realized how much she loved him, that those feelings she had thought forever dead after Anthony's death, were able to come back to life, maybe even stronger, thanks to him and for him only...
Terry might have moved that piano back from Scotland. Why? A little inner voice murmured an explanation but she refused to hear it, stubbornly pushing back the risk of mistaking his intentions. Overcome by an impulse of curiosity imprinted with nostalgia, she opened the door a little more and entered the room that was almost as big as the lounge. It also opened on the terrace bathed with the glows of a late afternoon tired sun. The French window's curtains, dubbed with pale velvet, had been pulled to protect the furniture but were still leaving a way to some rays of light that gave to the room an atmosphere both mysterious and serene. Candy sat on the piano stool, lifted the lid that covered the fingerboard, and her fingers run on the keys, making the wires vibrate which let escape a few notes that recalled to her the air that Terry had composed to the glory of Miss Freckled Tarzan. Remembering this, Candy began to laugh and saw her laughing face reflected on the varnished surface. She nearly thought that Terry was sitting next to her, his shoulder brushing hers, but she realized quickly that it was only the figment of her imagination. Desiring to chase from her mind those embarrassing visions, she deviated from the piano and browsed through the room. Facing her, against the opposite wall, an imposing library sheltered all kinds of old gold-gilded and leathered books. A brown-colored wing chair and its footrest were next to it, followed by a lamp-topped pedestal table for the reader's convenience. On the other side, a secretary was partially opened. It was surely Terry's, the bureau on which he must write his letters and his plays. She could not imagine him settling for exercising his art through other people's talent. Terry was a creative and she would never be surprised to learn one day that he played his own works.
Plunged into the famous actor's intimacy, she wanted to pull up the secretary's small wooden stripped curtain, but she thought better about it. It was not her to be so curious and she immediately reproached herself to be thinking about such bad manners. She turned around and leaned on the desk. She raised her gaze towards the wing chair. But what she saw above it, something that she had not noticed at first on the wall, made her almost faint. She came closer, quivering, her heartbeats hurtfully crashing in her chest. What troubled her so intensely was a painting, a painting that showed a country landscape, a place she knew perfectly well for having lived and grown up there:
Pony's home !
Bringing her hand to her mouth to stifle a shout, she could not stop the too long contained burning tears from rolling like a stream down her cheeks. Trembling, she touched with her slender fingers the painting to be sure that she was not dreaming. It was indeed a depiction of Pony's home, with its chapel and its bell tower standing toward heaven, whose multicolored stained glass window sparkled in the summer sunlight. Side-by-side, like two benevolent hostesses, Sister lane and Miss Pony's profiles standing on the doorstep were easily distinguishable.
How did that painting arrive here? Who had painted Pony's home?
She looked at it closer, and noticed in the corner, down to the right, a signature whose name she could not decipher: Slim. Was it Little Slim she had been raised with, the one who used to wet his bed? Several years later, he had been adopted by a blacksmith, but she did not know more about him. How did Terry find that painting ? Why was there a depiction of her dearest place hanging on a wall in his home, in the most secret room of his apartment? Could it be possible that he had not forgotten her? She was convinced of the contrary until then, but, discovering the unambiguous signs that contained that place, she could not deny the obvious anymore. But why had he never given any news to her? If he still cared for her, why the silence then ? Without any break, questions were firing her mind.
A feminine voice behind her abruptly came and put an end to her wonderings.
- Would you like some milk in your tea, Miss Andrew?
Surprised, Candy started, ashamed of being discovered in that room while she was supposed to be in the lounge. She turned around, revealing an overwhelmed and wet face to the housekeeper who was innocently looking at her, holding a cup of tea.
- I... I feel very sorry, madam! – She stammered, livid – I shouldn't be there... My curiosity has dashed all my sense of conventions. I must look very ill bred to you, please forgive me. But... When I saw that piano, I could not help myself from coming near it. It recalls me so good memories... It...
But she could not end what she was saying, her words broken by a violent sob. Hiding her face with her hands, she rushed in the corridor, Miss Denise on her heels. The fugitive had already reached the door and quickly opened it.
- Come on, don't leave like that! – Cried out the housekeeper as she was trying to keep her by her arm – You're going to miss Mister Graham! He is about to be there, you know!
- I... I'm really sorry, this is too much for me! – She moaned, shaking her head – Good... Good-bye, madam – she added, one last time turning around – Excuse-me...
Then she dived into the elevator, pressing on the switch like a madwoman. The machine began to move and slowly proceeded its descent. Miss Denise bent over the stairwell and looked at Candy disappearing under her eyes, bowing back, and shaking with sobs. When reaching the ground floor, the lift stopped and she heard the hastened young woman's steps vanishing to the exit. Against all odds, a smile of satisfaction appeared on her lips. She went back to Terry's intimate room and walked toward the library. She was visibly looking for a special book and took from the shelf a very rare edition of the famous play of Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet. She quickly glanced through it, then stopped on a page that had, several weeks before, captured her attention. That day, as the book was lying about on the lounge's table, she had decided to put it back to its place. She did not want the servants to damage or to lose it during the cleaning of the room. As she was putting it back to its place, it had opened and from it had fallen a magazine's article. She had picked it up and read it. This several years old article, talked about the entry in the world of a young heir of Chicago, Miss Candice W. Andrew, and the picture which represented her did not leave any more doubt about the young woman's identity she had just welcomed in, a few minutes earlier. Confused, she once again looked at the article's picture then put it back in its hiding place. She sighed with relief. She finally had the explanation to all her questions.
Terrence Graham wearily pushed the door to his apartment. He nodded to Agatha who was coming to meet him to take his jacket and his boater, then he went to the lounge. A good whisky would do him good. Those rehearsals were exhausting!
He poured himself an ounce of amber liquid, swallowed a sip of it, adjusted the radio to a jazz station, and let him fall on the sofa, head and feet laid on the armrests and leaving an arm dangling. He closed his eyes for a while, listening to the lively music that was coming out from the speakers, then stood up to drink one more gulp of whiskey. This is when he noticed an object on the coffee table before him. Taking the hat with his free hand, he looked at it more closely.
- Miss Denise has indeed bought herself a very elegant head piece! – He said to himself as he looked at the haute-couture label's headgear that was sewed in the inner border.
But he immediately thought better of it when his nostrils met the tender smell that emanated from it: a familiar but very special perfume, with violets and country flowers scents. A perfume he hadn't had the pleasure of smelling for years... Anguish-stricken, his heart flutterings almost exploding, he stoop up abruptly, dropping his glass of whiskey which shattered on the ground. Attracted to the noise, the housekeeper rushed into the lounge, and in the meantime tensed up as she discovered her employer's overwhelmed face, holding Candy's cloche-hat.
- Who came here? – He cried out with a shaking voice, brandishing the object that was awakening in him such flow of emotions.
The housekeeper opened her mouth, hesitating.
- Answer! – He roared, losing his patience.
She started before the impulsivity of his reaction and answered straight out :
- A young lady came here this afternoon... She said she was one of your former High School friends. She... She looked so fragile, so troubled, that I invited her to wait for you here.
- Her name! – He howled, gritting his teeth – What was her name?
- Can... Candice White Andrew, sir...
Candy! Candy was here!...
- I'm very sorry if I've hurt you with my initiative. But she did not sound like all those hysterical admirers who usually wander around the building. She seemed so sincere in regards to you...
His ears humming, legs and arms shaking, he closed his eyes to avoid looking at the ceiling whirling over his head. His body was betraying him and he wasn't able to control it anymore.
- Why isn't she there anymore? What happened? – He painfully succeeded in saying.
- I had left her alone a few minutes in the lounge. When I came back, she was not there anymore. I surprised her in your study. She told me that she had been intrigued by the piano that she had recognized...
The piano from my father's manor... The piano on which I taught her a few notes... She has not forgotten...
- She was crying warm tears! She looked visibly overwhelmed. I quickly understood that it was not the piano that had gotten her in such a state, but that little country-style painting which is next to the library.
Terry's eyes goggled with astonishment.
The painting about Pony's home. The painting that I bought in a gallery in London, during my last visit to my father's in which I had announced my decision to renounce to the name of Grandchester. The following morning, as I was on my way back to Southampton Harbor, I couldn't believe it when I discovered it. Pony's home in England, in an arts shop! It was incredible! I was then introduced to this young painter, Slim, the painting's author, who confessed to me that he had lived in the orphanage and had known Candy very well ! What an emotion! What a joy!
Oh Candy, which thoughts crossed your mind when discovering my secret? What did you feel when seeing that painting of Pony's home, the place that saw you growing up, the place that I had so ardently wished to know when arriving to America? I needed to feel that emotion, that feeling as if I was with you and I maintained it through that painting. I can imagine your confusion and the contradictory feelings that may have invaded you. Knowing that I was still thinking about you without actually going to you. Oh Candy, forgive me!...
- Where is she now? – He asked with a dead voice – She should be there and I don't see her. Where has she gone?
- I really tried to keep her but without any result – the housekeeper sighed – Between two sobs, she succeeded in telling me that she did not have the strength to stay and she disappeared.
- Didn't she tell you anything else? – He cried out, shaking her by her shoulders – Don't you have any idea about the place she might have gone to? Please, try to remember!
The old lady thought a moment then her face lighted up.
- When introducing herself, she told me that she was leaving for Europe tonight!
- For Europe?
- Yes. I guess she's going to travel by boat. Besides, I've read in the newspaper this morning that the liner Le France is presently docked, at the Pier 88, and that she was leaving tonight.
- The Pier 88, you said?
- If my memory is good, yes.
- Hopefully, you could get there before the board...
Miss Denise interrupted herself, speechless. An airstream was the only thing left of Terry, caused by the wide opening of the hall-door, followed by the noise of his hurried steps down the stairs...
All along the way to the harbour station, Candy remained immured in a heavy silence, her face turned to the opposite direction, her gaze lost in the emptiness. When Douglas had seen her emerging from the building, in tears and suffocating, he had not asked anything and had settled for boosting the accelerator and leaving the place the quickest possible. He was blaming his boss so much for having entrusted him such a mission! Until the end, he had precisely followed the roadmap that was supposed to end in that district, in which he had to innocently mention the actor's presence. Now, he could understand the emotion that was troubling his passenger, the one he had guessed from Broadway until here. It might have something to do with that young man. Where did she know him from? They must have been very close to provoke such confusion. Why had she run away from his home then? What had happened to put her in such a state?
Anger took possession of him and he started to curse all the ones who had dragged her into that ambush. What was the aim of that unless to make her suffer? What were they expecting from her except a deep distress and endless cries? Why set up that meeting for, if it was to leave her in such despair? Try as he might, he could not find any answer to his interrogations. With a deep feeling of powerlessness, he dropped her off at the pier along which the impressive and luxurious French liner was waiting.
- Here you are, Miss – he said, pretending enthusiasm.
Candy did not answer, still lost in her thoughts. Douglas went to open her door and she got off the car without realizing it, like a robot.
- I know this is not my business – he added, standing straight in front of her to capture her gaze – But you look so desperate that if there is anything I can do to help you, please, let me know. I would do anything to ease your pain.
Candy raised her tear-strained eyes to him and muttered:
- It is very kind of you, Douglas. I'm sorry if I've worried you with my slightly excessive demonstration of emotionalism.
- Miss Andrew, come on!...
- Do not worry! – She added, proudly raising up her chin – Those tears are almost dried. They are just the result of some painful memories that I thought I had forgotten. You see, it was nothing important!...
As she was saying that, her lips parted into a grin that was meant to be a smile, but it did not fool the young Irish.
That girl is really brave and gifted with an iron will!
He could vouch for it. He had just seen her, shaking, almost falling down, and she was now fighting to show a happy face, as if the recent drama had never happened. What a hard life she must have known to strive so much to hide her weaknesses!... He wanted to tell her that he was really sorry for her, that she had the right to cry in front of him, because it was natural, that it would be good for her, but he finally opted for an ostrich-like approach. What was the point of going against her will while he was about to leave her on that pier, as soon as he would have left her to the care of one of the ship's staff members. Responding to her with another smile, he said:
- Aaaaah! This smile suits you to a Tee, Miss! Haven't you ever been told that you look much prettier when you smile?
Candy's gaze turned cloudy again. Noticing her emotion, he blamed himself for his unmeant blunder and chose to shut up to avoid the risk of hurting her again.
- Indeed, I've been told that on several occasions... - she hiccupped with a sad smile – But since you are not the first one to tell me so, I might end up believing it.
The mischievous tone she had employed to end her phrase disconcerted him. And as he was leading her to the gangway reserved to the first class passengers, his embarrassment continued. She gave her ticket to the officer who was standing next to the platform, then she turned towards the one who had been her chaperon all along the afternoon, and held out her hand to him.
- Dear Douglas, let me thank you for this excellent afternoon. I hope we will be able to see each other again soon and that you'll introduce me to your dear Martha.
- Dear Miss – he answered, trying to hide his emotion – It was a great privilege for me to meet you. Let me wish you a very good trip. Let the trade winds bring you joy and serenity.
- Thank you very much, Douglas. That is very kind of you. Good-bye then!
She pivoted on her heels and started walking across the gangway that led to the boat but the driver's singing accent called her back. In two strides, he was in front of her. He took her fragile hands between his own, that were big and strong.
- Miss, you might find me very daring but I can't let you go this way. Please, do accept this advice from a simple being like me but who, I think, still has his good sense... I wanted to tell you that... That if two people are made for each other, one day fate will reunite them. Love can overcome all obstacles. Keep faith! Promise me to never give up!
Candy's eyes widened with astonishment. So much time had elapsed since she had last evoked so directly her feelings and sufferings. Quickly, her gaze clouded with tears.
- Y...Yes, I promise you to do so, Douglas – she whispered with a trembling chin – Thank you for your care. This is very touching.
- Just between us, he would be the king of idiots if he was letting you go that way, wouldn't he? – He spontaneously added, carried away by his enthusiasm.
Candy remained serious before her interlocutor's mutinous observation. She really liked Douglas and his clumsiness, so close to her own nature.
- You are right, my friend. He would deserve the most beautiful of all crowns – she chuckled, holding back her tears.
She nodded to him one last time, then left definitively, hastily moving along her path to avoid a new call back. When she reached the doorway, she turned around and saw Douglas at the other side of the gangway, waving his cap as a farewell. She lowered her head, breathed deeply then straightened up, giving her most beautiful smile to the doorman as she disappeared into the ship's belly.
- Hurry up, come on, hurry uuuuuuuuuuuuup ! – Was yelling Terry to the taxi driver's ear.
The poor man was driving at breakneck speed in the streets of New York but it still seemed too slow for his passenger. Marcello had been wrong to accept that journey though the young actor had offered him to triple the fare. Because of this, he was now risking his life at each crossing, or even worse, a (an) unfortunate meeting with the policemen who could take away his driving license, license which he couldn't do without. Arrived from Italy several years before, that job sounded a very good opportunity to him. Indeed, it was hard, painful, but it paid rather well, and above all, it allowed him to have his little family who had stayed in his native country come and join him. It had not been easy to make that sacrifice and leave them, but when you are starving and when that kind of opportunity comes to you, even if it means going abroad, it must be taken. His dear Anna, his little Roberto and his sister Maria would be there with him soon, unless he died because of this berserk client!... Fortunately, the traffic was rather fluid this evening, and he hoped that the Holly Mother who was dangling down at its rear-view mirror would, more than usual, watch over him. He could feel the young man boiling on the rear seat. He could hear him fulminating and swearing like a trooper. What had gotten into him to be so panicked? That cursed ship was not going to fly off anyway!
- Patty must have given her my letter... - he was thinking to himself, searching answers to the hundred questions that kept bombarding him – This is why she came. But why did she run away then? If I had arrived sooner, if... Once again, we've missed each other! Let's hope I arrive on time!
Sighing, he leaned his head against the windowpane and looked at the streets endlessly going by. He was feeling nauseous, oppressed, praying that he hadn't chosen the wrong boat. He had so often been dogged by bad luck that he was yet again expecting the worse... He was so afraid, so afraid of not finding her!
Please Candy, wait for me!...
Finally, the huge boathouses of the harbor station pierced the horizon and the taxi driver started to breathe again. Pier 92... 90... 88! They had arrived!
Terry hastily paid him and went out of the car without closing the door behind him. This done, the taxi left with a bang, driving away as far as possible from this asylum-escaped one before he changed his mind...
Sitting on her bed, Candy was getting bored to death. Like all first class passengers, her luggage had already been unpacked and meticulously put in the wardrobe. In fact, she did not have anything to do and this really annoyed her, all the more so because Patty hadn't arrived yet. She thought she would have been the last one, but it seemed that her friend was more zealous than her. She had so much wished she could see her on arrival. It would have prevented her from thinking. Still overwhelmed by what she had just been through, she was feeling like emerging from an endless torpor. Groggy, her mind was having difficulty to connect back with reality. The intensity of the moment she had just experienced had brought her years back in time, and the euphoria she had gotten from it had not erased the bitter taste that remained of the ordeal. Discovering that Terry had not healed from his injuries hadn't prevented her from doubting about his feelings for her. He might be nostalgic of a past that was not anymore, to the point of refusing the present with her because of the fear of breaking that part of dream that remained to him and which he had made the best with. Basically, he could be keeping those memories of their past like relics of a happiness that was gone, to take refuge in it when needed, and to avoid facing reality, that reality which she was a part of. He had visibly renounced to her since a long time ago. She was just now a museum piece that he had carefully placed, never intending to touch it again.
A lump in her throat, shaking her head to chase the new tears that lined her pretty eyes, she stood up. She was suffocating, she really needed some fresh air!
She was about to leave her luxurious cabin when she heard knocking at the door that communicated with Patty's bedroom.
- Candy, are you there? May I come in?
With her forearm, the young woman wiped her recalcitrant tears and rushed to the door that she opened widely. A tousled Patty welcomed her with open arms.
- Oh, my dear Candy! I thought I would never be here! – She cried out between two effusions - Guess what, the headmaster kept me until the last minute! It was no good my trying to explain to him we were now on holidays and that we had two months before us to think about the new school year, he didn't let me go and was always finding something to prevent me from leaving! He knew very well that I had a boat to take, but I suspect him of viciously and voluntarily slowing me down. I've always thought that he looked suspicious but that time, he went beyond what I ever imagined!
- The most important thing is that you are here! Forget that horrible man and come with me on deck. According to the engines' noise, I think that the boat is about to leave the harbour.
Patty sighed as she put her hand in her hair.
- Go on, I will join you in a few minutes. It has been such a rush to come here that I'm all sweating. I'm going to freshen up and change my dress. I hope you don't mind?
- Not at all, my friend. We have all the time we need now to be together. Nevertheless, don't take too much time or you might miss the casting off, which must be a real wonder under that sunset.
- I promise you to hurry up! See you shortly! – She answered as she closed the door.
Anticipating the freshness on the promenade deck, Candy took a pink silk shawl in her wardrobe and covered her shoulders with it, then left her room. Looking at the giant profiles of Manhattan moving away must be a real sight. A host of people were already crowding against the rail and were getting prepared to the handkerchief ceremony that had the travellers waving them when the boat would leave. Candy made her way between the crowds and finally found a spot on the ship's rear deck.
The sea air smelled a mix of fresh paint and sludge. The floor had just been cleaned. Everything was ready for the crossing. She leaned on the balustrade and looked downward with an odd feeling of vertigo. People looked so small on terra firma but she was able to roughly distinguish their features, like for that woman she sensed in tears, strongly pressing against her heart her marine husband who was about to get on board. They both looked so much in love and so sad to leave each other! She envied them so much!
Suddenly, the gangways moved back. The ship quivered, shaking with muffled vibrations. The water began to bubble, the foam that emanated from it was crashing against the steel belly. The funnels were exhaling bunches of vapour clouds under the whistle's piercing scream. Casting off, Le France began to slowly move away from the dock. Arms and handkerchiefs then began to wave, mingled with the farewells. Kisses were sent, "Good-byes" were shouted until vanishing in echo in the surrounding cacophony. Candy felt a twinge of sadness, unable to participate in the rejoicing, and held a little more her shawl around her. Indifferent to the crowd's calls that were coming from downstairs, she focused her attention on the skyscrapers band that was silhouetted under the sunset. Oddly, it seemed to her that she was hearing her name. She pricked up her ears, convinced of a mistake. But it happened again, then once again, and once more. Intrigued, she bent over a little more and what she saw took her breath away.
As Terry was getting off the taxi, he heard the ship's whistles that were announcing the imminent departure and anguish invaded him. The boarding hall was immense, and the boat was even bigger. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack on that one-hundred-length dock!
The gangways had just been removed, the huge anchors moved back up. The only people remaining on the dock were the families exchanging tearful farewells with the passengers crowding on the decks. He looked up and tried to see among all those unknown faces, the one who had all along those years haunted his nights. For a long time, he looked for her, his heart startling on several occasions when he thought he had recognized her. But it was never her and it discouraged him. He had wished so much, prayed so much to arrive on time, that he couldn't understand why fate was desperately trying to prevent them from reuniting while he was so close to succeed.
The fateful moment came when the engines started to proceed noisily. Untying its ropes from the moorings, the liner began untowing. Imperceptibly, she was moving, following the dock's side to move each second a little farther away from the New York ground.
Good Lord! It couldn't happen that way! No, it couldn't!...
Looking everywhere, scrutinizing every ship's deck, Candy was remaining untraceable, and a wave of despair submerged him. The ship was following his way, irreparably, until outpacing the unfortunate young actor, overwhelmed, exhibiting to him her colossal stern as a final point to his quest. On the brink to give up, he looked up one last time, and dwelled a second on a frail profile that was standing at the end of the upper deck, and that he would have never seen if the ship hadn't outpaced him.
Oh Lord, Candy!
She had cut her hair, she was standing a dozen meters above him, but he was able to recognize her amongst everyone, amongst thousands more. Without thinking, he began to scream her name with all his might, repeating his calls at every deep breathing. Nervending seconds elapsed and then, as he hoped so much, she looked at him. He felt her quivering then pulling herself together, shyly waving her hand at him. Paralyzed by the emotion, his eyes clouding with tears, he stayed for a long time without moving until he realized that the liner had moved away and was accelerating her rhythm.
- Terry! Terryyyyyyy! – She cried out, waving more enthusiastically her hand.
How soft the sound of her voice was to his ears, how wonderful it was to hear her again! He had never really left her, he had many times heard her in his dreams, but that time, he was able to savor the delight to feel that reality. She was really on that boat, he could see her, distinguish her wonderful emerald eyes that were staring back at him, and guess her tears mixed to the sea sprays. He wished she could see his, but contrary to the ones he had shed on that terrible winter night, almost ten years before, those showed the joy, the intense happiness, bordering on the euphoria. He wanted to say something, something else than her name, but the words were stuck in his throat. He was unable to produce anything else than incomprehensible gurgles.
She hasn't changed at all! How beautiful she is! How short hai) suits her well!
My dear Freckles... I cannot believe you are here, before me! I've missed you so much! I wish I could fly towards you like those sea birds who are flying around above you, and surround you with my arms, feeling your body's heat against mine, and keeping you for ever.
Le France was progressing towards the sea and would soon outpace the pier. Still running, Terry was following the boat, following the last hundred meters he had, holding Candy's gaze from which he didn't want to miss anything. Gazes so mixed and so close, but soon separated, once again, by the ocean. He had to stop though, the sea coming between them both, sending back her waves against the bank and wetting his trousers. Breathless, he looked at Candy's profile which was disappearing little by little, and screamed one more time her name. It seemed to him that he was hearing her answer, but the sound came to him half muffled by the boat's whistles. The one who was leaving, the one who was staying... A new separation but which did not leave that unpleasant taste of bitterness because he knew that they had never been so close and that they would soon make their way together. That time, he won't let her get away from him. That was his promise and nothing would be able to divert him from it.
A flash crackled suddenly behind him. He turned around and received another one square in face. Blinded, he moved forward and noticed two men who were bombarding him with their cameras.
Would those vultures of photographers never leave him alone?
The idea to push them into the water crossed his mind. He was imagining tomorrow tabloids' headlines, with as a bonus, his overwhelmed face. But, oddly that time, the happiest of men couldn't care less!...
Terry! My God! That was Terry! – Candy said to herself, hanging on strongly to the ramp, her legs abandoning her. It was really him behind the boat calling her name)! She couldn't believe her eyes! What was he doing here? How had he found her?
In spite of the distance separating them, she could distinguish his lagoon-colored eyes, which were staring at her, this bewitching gaze that used to make her lose all control. She made a slight gesture toward him, shyly, as if she feared he could vanish before her eyes. As an answer, she received in return his disarming smile and burning tears of joy rolled immediately on her cheeks. Shaking with sobs, her chin trembling, she was looking at his rangy profile proceeding with his run, at the pace of the irremediable ship's progression. He hadn't really changed. He had preserved his beautiful face full of grace and improved by maturity. His shoulders had broadened out. He looked grown up. The teenager she had known and loved had changed into a man, and his new appearance marvelled her. She would so much have liked to curl up into the hollow of his reassuring arms, to feel his brown locks caressing her face, to listen to his heartbeats against her chest. Was it beating as fast as hers, hurtfully, foolishly?
- Terry! Terryyyyyyyy! – She cried out, waving more heartily her arm.
Gazes mixing, hands so close, she thought that if she could just hold her arm further she could touch him, feeling the soft contact of his skin against her fingertips.
Oh Terry, my love, you haven't forgotten me then? What a pain it is to see you so close and yet so far! When will we stop getting tortured that way? Are we eternally bound to get reunited and separated? Tell me that all of this is not just a beautiful dream and that, when I wake up, I will be comforted about the reality of that moment!...
The boat left the pier definitively, indifferent and implacable, forcing the young man to stop his running. She would have wanted to stop time to keep him one more moment. She did not want to be separated from him, not like this, so quickly!
The one who was leaving, the one who was staying... Oddly, the roles were being reversed. That time, the one who was standing on the pier, was him. He screamed one last time her name, which came to her muffled by the high offshore winds and the seamen's shouts. In turn, she called him but the whistles' screech reduced mostly its earshot. She looked toward his direction until the distance erased his aristocratic profile and became nothing more than a tiny point on the horizon, that she kept staring at during long minutes until she realized that they had left the bay and that they were approaching the high seas. Oddly, a feeling of calm and serenity invaded her. She knew in the bottom of her heart that it was only a good-bye, that the untied hands would get tied again, that their gazes would mix again with each other. Soon, very soon...
Patty's shivering voice behind her brought her back to reality.
- Brrrr! I should have done like you and worn a woolly before coming here! I didn't imagine that it would be so quickly cold in the high seas!
Candy offered to her friend a vague gaze. A few minutes ago, she was drowning into Terry's. She was having difficulty to recover her spirits.
- Forgive me for not having joined you sooner. It was so good to take a luxurious bath, far from the demands of my horrible boss, that I didn't notice time elapsing... Well... You look very thoughtful!... Was this casting off as extraordinary as that?
A sibylline smile appeared on the young blonde's lips.
- You wouldn't believe it, my dear Patty, you really wouldn't...
End of chapter 3