Page 26 of The Gathering Storm (Morland Dynasty #36)

His walk-up was small, a little shabby, but clean, and monastically tidy.

She remembered how when he had worked at White House Farm, Mrs Bellerby had said he kept his room spotless.

Above all it was private. There was no doorman or concierge in a place like this.

People came and went with their own latch-key and no-one was interested in anyone else’s business.

They were as alone here as on a desert island.

In one corner of the living room she had seen stacked what she knew was his artist’s gear. ‘What happened to the paintings?’ she asked idly. He grunted a query. ‘From the exhibition that was cancelled.’

‘A few of the biggest canvases were already in London. Sophie will sell them for me. There are lots of rich Americans in London with walls to cover. The rest I had packed up and sent on board the ship. Freda’s taking care of them. She might give me an exhibition, or sell them privately.’

‘It seems …’ She looked for the word. ‘… extreme to leave Paris just because your show was cancelled.’

‘It wasn’t only that,’ he said. ‘I had a cable to say my son was ill.’

She had known he had a son, whom he had left at school back in America, and as far as she knew rarely visited.

It had shocked her a little at first, but she had told herself that men did not feel the same way about their children as women – and a small, shameful part of her had been glad he did not treasure the offspring of his marriage to another woman.

So now it surprised her that he should rush across the Atlantic for a mere illness.

She couldn’t think what to say. ‘I hope he’s better now. ’

‘He died,’ Erich said.

Polly sat up so that she could look down at him, to see what he was feeling. It was hard to read his face. ‘What happened?’ she asked.

He took one of her loose, hanging locks and wound it round his finger as he spoke. ‘He was at a special school. He was not normal, you see. After my wife died his grandparents looked after him, but as he got older, they couldn’t cope, so the special school was the only solution.’

‘I didn’t know. I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Don’t be. It is run by nuns, and they are very kind. I think he was happy there.’ He stopped, and started again. ‘It was always known that he would not live to a great age.’

‘What did he die of?’

‘Influenza. One could think of it as a blessed release.’

‘Do you think of it like that?’

‘Yes and no,’ he said, and she understood it was not an evasion. After a pause he went on, ‘I wasn’t in time to see him. The crossing takes so long … But he didn’t really know who I was, even when he was well. They had to tell him each time, and even then … And he didn’t know anyone at the end.’

She lay down again so she could put her arms round him. He gathered her close, and kissed her hair.

‘So, are you staying on here now, in America?’ she asked at last.

‘I haven’t decided.’

‘This place … Not an hotel?’

‘Freda found it for me. It’s cheaper than an hotel.’

‘Aren’t you rich?’

He laughed. ‘You sound like a little girl! I have money, but I have to be sensible with it. I don’t have a steady job and a salary to depend on, like a bank clerk.

I have to make money, so I can never be sure of it.

But my needs are simple and this place serves.

And it’s private. I’d have thought you’d appreciate that, at least.’

‘I do,’ she said, turning her face up, hungry for kisses.

She adored his presence, his body, his touch, the breath of his words on her ear, the taste of his lips, the smell of his skin, the feeling of him moving inside her.

She wanted all of him, every atom, she wanted to consume him and be consumed by him, melt together into one entity.

She felt his instant response, and gloried in it.

They made love again, and thought was chased out by feeling.

Much later, they were hungry and went out for food. There was an Automat on the corner of Broadway. They sat across the small metal table from each other holding hands, her right in his left, because they couldn’t bear not to be touching each other.

‘I feel bad about running out on Freda,’ Polly said.

‘I hope she doesn’t think you’ve been kidnapped. We don’t want the cops looking for you.’

‘Should I ring her and let her know?’

‘Let her know what?’

‘That I’m in good hands.’

‘She served her purpose, bringing us together. She should be happy.’

They walked a little, wrapped in each other’s arms. They walked to Washington Square, where other lovers were, and drunks.

The grass smelt of the warmth of the day.

The fountain had been turned off, and two ducks were resting on the water, the female asleep with her beak tucked into her back, the male keeping one eye open, guarding her.

‘I know how he feels,’ Erich said. ‘I have longed for five years to watch you sleep again.’

The next day she went back to the Plaza to pack her things and pay her bill. Erich waited across 59th Street on the edge of the Park. While she was in her room Freda rang.

‘Well, well, you and Eric Chapel!’ she said archly. ‘I’d forgotten you knew him from before. I suppose we won’t be seeing much of you for the rest of the week.’

‘How—?’

‘Dolly Armitage passed you in the doorway, darling. She said you and Eric were running away and laughing like a couple of naughty kids on a prank. Are you staying on at the Plaza?’

‘No, at his apartment,’ Polly said, feeling awkward at having her private idyll pawed over.

‘That poky place? It’s a bachelor hole, not suitable for a lady. Let me ring round and find somewhere else.’

‘No, please, I’m happy there.’

‘Well,’ Freda said doubtfully, ‘you’ve got my number, if you change your mind. What are you doing with your baggage? It’ll never all fit into that hole.’

‘I’ve packed a valise, and the Plaza is going to store the trunk for me in their baggage room. Freda, I must go. Thank you for all your kindness.’

Freda sighed. ‘I’ll tell everyone you have the grippe . But you must at least go to the Cornfelds’ party – you can’t miss that. I’ll find a girl for Eric, if you don’t want to be seen arriving together. Not that everyone won’t know by then, because Dolly Armitage is like the town crier.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Polly said, knowing she would not be going. ‘Goodbye, Freda, and thanks for everything.’ She put the phone down before there could be any more argument.

Erich didn’t seem at all disturbed that they had been found out. ‘It was bound to happen. Don’t look so troubled. Last time was different – we were married to other people. Now we are both single. We are not harming anyone.’ He ran a finger across her brow. ‘No frowns – it will spoil your beauty.’

At his touch, desire for him sprang up, and she saw his eyes change as he felt it too. ‘Let’s get home quickly. I want you,’ he said.

After the first frenzied slaking of their long thirst for each other, they didn’t need to spend every moment in bed.

Everything they did together was satisfying.

He had a fancy to draw her, and she posed for him, happy to watch him work.

Sometimes he drew her face. ‘But I can’t do you justice,’ he said.

‘Your beauty is elusive, like all true beauty. I can only catch its shadow. It’s frustrating. ’

They had to leave the apartment from time to time to eat.

And sometimes they went for walks, arms twined round each other.

They wandered along the streets, or strolled in Central Park.

Once they went down to Battery Park, more of a park now they’d removed the Els – the elevated train lines that had blighted it – but it still needed improvement.

‘It should be the green toe of New York, welcoming the world,’ Erich said.

‘You do green spaces much better in London.’

‘We’ve had longer to learn how,’ Polly said.

The river was busy with boats and ferries, barges and tugs, and across the water she could see Liberty on her little island, looking out to sea.

A sadness came over her, remembering that her time was almost up.

As so often, Erich felt her mood, and came closer, putting an arm round her waist and kissing her ear.

‘Home?’ he murmured.

She knew he meant the apartment.

‘Home,’ she said.

But it was not her home, was it?

He leaned up on one elbow, looking down at her, with his free hand brushed away the hair that had stuck to her cheek, damp with sweat.

‘I thought I would never see you again,’ he said.

‘That day when you left me at the cottage – it was like having a piece torn out of me. I didn’t know how I could face a life without you in it. ’

‘But you didn’t come and find me when – when your wife died.’ She didn’t like mentioning his wife. She never spoke of Ren to him.

‘You had gone to England,’ he said. ‘And not just to England – to Morland Place, where people would recognise me and know who I was. You were in the one place on earth where I could not follow you.’