Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection. Barbara Taylor Bradford

the receiver.

      Nick said, ‘Please, Vic, go back to the meeting. I’ll be fine.’

      ‘Are you crazy? I’m staying with you until you step onto that plane. I wouldn’t let you be alone. Jerry said to tell you how sorry he is, Nick, as you probably gathered.’ Victor did not wait for a response, but hurried on. ‘He says he’s got a terrific contact at BOAC, and he’s calling him right now. We’ll get you out, don’t worry. Now, have you eaten anything at all today?’ he asked, his tone brisk.

      ‘No.’ Nick made a face. ‘I don’t think I can get anything down.’

      ‘You ought to try. This might be the last chance you have to eat for a number of hours. How about some soup at least. You should put something inside you.’

      ‘Okay.’ Nick could not be bothered to argue, and he also knew Victor was right. It would be an interminable flight and when he arrived in New York there would be his parents and Hunter to comfort and sustain. And the ritual of death, of mourning, would begin. He closed his eyes.

      Victor observed him in silence, and with concern, and then he picked up the ’phone. When room service finally responded he ordered hot consommé, two soft-boiled eggs, toast and coffee. He put down the receiver, poured another Scotch for Nick, and took it over to him.

      ‘Here, drink this, old buddy. It’ll do you good,’ Victor said in the softest of voices, handing him the glass. ‘Would you like me to fly to New York with you?’

      ‘God no, Vic! Thanks anyway, and it’s wonderful of you to offer, but I’ll cope.’ There was a faint darkening in Nick’s face, and then it became very still. He said slowly, ‘Does it ever get any easier to bear?’

      ‘Yes. Eventually. You bear it because there’s no alternative.’ Victor’s eyes rested briefly on Nick, were gentle in their wisdom and compassion. He looked towards the window, plunged for a moment in his thoughts, and then he went on, ‘Death is the absolute loss, Nick. And so you come to accept it, hard as that is to do. It’s not like a lost love or a broken friendship, which perhaps can be regained in the future. Death is final.’ He clenched his hands together in his lap, and the look he gave Nick was full of love and friendship and sympathy. ‘I went crazy with grief after Ellie died, as I’ve told you before. There wasn’t a day I didn’t think about her, for years, and I still think about her now, and very often. In a way she lives on in me, and in the boys. I’ve derived a degree of comfort from that, although perhaps you’re not able to understand what I mean at this moment. Your grief is too raw, and perhaps I shouldn’t even bring it up now … it’s cold comfort really …’ His voice trailed off, and he sat back, wondering if he had said far too much, and far too soon.

      Nick did not speak, and sat back, staring abstractedly at the wall, brooding to himself, a vacant look in his eyes. He took a sip of the drink eventually, and pulling himself together, he said, ‘I’m grateful you told me to get some of my grief out, Vic, because I’m going to have to clamp down on it for a while. My parents, Hunter, they’re devastated. They’re going to need my courage. I’m going to have to be strong for them, to help them get through this.’

      ‘Yes,’ Victor said, ‘yes, I know.’

      Nick stood up. ‘I think I’d better attempt to pack.’ He went through into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe door, looking over his clothes, seeking a dark suit. For the funeral. Marcia’s funeral. His hand trembled as he reached for the hanger. He blinked back the sudden rush of tears and wished then that the memories of Marcia would go away. But they kept flooding back relentlessly – things he had not realized had been important to him until now. It was curious how the trivial could mean so much, could be so significant and also so crippling in the crushing pain it caused.

      They did not talk much on the way to London airport. Occasionally Victor stole a surreptitious look at Nick, but said nothing, not wishing to disturb him, preferring instead to leave him to his own ruminations.

      Nick’s expression was tight and sombre, and a deadly calm had settled over him. He was exercising an iron-clad control, preparing himself for the ordeal awaiting him in New York. He had been able to subdue his own grief temporarily and was drawing on all his inner resources for courage and in order to give consolation and support to his parents and Hunter.

      All of a sudden, just before they reached the airport, Nick said, in a dim, yet oddly contained tone, ‘Religion is ridiculous, isn’t it?’

      Startled from his own reverie, Victor looked across at him with interest. ‘What do you mean?’

      Nick said, ‘What I really meant was, religious prejudice is ridiculous. I was thinking of my father and how he objected to Hunter because he wasn’t Jewish. He didn’t think Marcia should marry him. In fact, he fought their relationship right up to the day of the wedding. But in the end, Hunter Davidson III, a goy and therefore not appropriate as a husband for my sister, turned out to be a better son to my father than I ever was –’

      ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Victor interrupted swiftly.

      ‘Well, Hunt went into the bank, which is more than I did, and he abides by all the traditions my father holds dear, leads a very proper and conservative life, is totally dedicated to his work, is devoted to my parents. He not only turned out to be a marvellous husband, but he also gave my father a grandchild, which is another thing I haven’t done.’

      ‘But your father is very proud of you, Nick, and of your achievements.’

      ‘Yes, I suppose he is now, but he would have been much happier if I’d followed in his footsteps, if I’d conformed. After my brother Ralph was killed at Okinawa, I inherited his mantle. Dad set his heart on my becoming a banker, carrying on the family tradition and one day heading the family bank, leading a very upright life. He expected me to marry a nice Jewish girl, have a couple of beautiful kids, join all the right clubs –’ He stopped and shrugged. ‘I think I disappointed him in so many respects.’

      Victor said, ‘But you chose to go your own way, Nicky, and dwelling on all this now serves no good purpose. Parents do have enormous expectations of their children, but usually they are expectations which cannot be met under any circumstance. Not only that, parents can’t live their children’s lives for them. Even thinking that this is possible is unrealistic, leads to nothing but resentment, bitterness and eventual heartache. Maybe your father was disappointed initially, but he’s too wise not to understand that permitting you to do what you wanted to do has brought you happiness and fulfilment. And basically, all most parents ever want is for their children to be happy.’

      ‘I guess you’re right.’ Nick leaned forward and glanced out of the car window. ‘We’re almost at the airport,’ he said. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back, Vic. We have to sit shivah for at least three days after the funeral, and I think I should stay on in New York for a few weeks. To be with my father and mother.’

      ‘Yes, you must, Nick. And please don’t worry about the film. Mark Pierce loved the script, and if there are any changes they’ll only be minor.’

      ‘You can always call me, should there be any problems, and I’ll dictate the revisions. I can –’ Nick inhaled quickly. ‘Oh God, Vic, I’ve just remembered our trip to Klosters. I’m sorry. You were really looking forward to it.’

      ‘Hey come on, Nick, that’s not important. We’ll do it another time. Don’t worry about me. You’ve enough to contend with right now. And remember, if you need anything, just pick up a ’phone. Are you sure I can’t arrange a limousine to meet you at Idlewild?’

      ‘Positive. Thanks for offering though. When I spoke to Hunt, to let him know my arrival time, he said he’d send my father’s car and driver.’

      ‘Okay.’

      As the Bentley slid noiselessly to a standstill at the terminal entrance, Nick turned to face Victor. ‘Don’t come in. You’ll be surrounded. You know what it’s like when you show that ugly mug of yours.’ He grabbed Victor’s hand. ‘Thanks, Vic, thanks for everything.’