Snow Angels (13 page)

‘I love it! His parents are kind and Helen and I go shopping. They’re a family like we used to be. I want that again.’

Abby was also jealous of the friendship which had apparently sprung up between Rhoda and Helen. She and Helen could never have been friends and Rhoda was inclined to talk about her a lot and about the coming baby. Abby felt left out. She had not found any close friends among Robert’s circle. Most of them were from the south and made fun of her northern accent. Abby had tried to modify it, but she could almost hear her mother’s scorn. The women talked about one another and the men drank and played field sports. Abby thought that she would not have minded so much if Robert had taken any interest in her father, her friends or her home. He tried to keep her from them and talked of going back to London soon.

‘We’ve just got here,’ Abby had objected, ‘and there’s Rhoda and Gil’s wedding.’

‘Precisely. You don’t really want to go? It’s not the event of the year. He’s nobody and she’s a bucolic fool. They’ve only asked us because of who we are. Collingwood and I can’t stand one another. I’m not going.’

It was the same whenever she wanted to go to Jesmond and spend a little time with her father. Robert always had a good reason not to go. Abby was worried about her father. He had lost weight and seemed distracted about work. Robert complained if she stayed overnight because he had social events planned, people to stay or just that he missed her.

‘You could come with me,’ Abby pointed out.

‘I’ve no wish to stay in that dark little house in the dingy Newcastle streets when I can remain at home in the country. Your father could come to us.’

‘He’s working.’

‘It’s time he gave up working at his age,’ Robert said. ‘There are other things in life.’

Abby suggested this to her father and he stared at her.

‘Sell this business?’

‘There’s nobody to take it on after you.’

‘I’m not dead yet and you’ll have children.’

She didn’t like to tell him that her children were hardly likely to work in a shipyard and was only glad that Robert was not there, or he would have laughed.

‘The yard has been my whole life since your mother died. What else would I do?’ he said.

‘You could retire and come and live with us.’

‘Robert would like that,’ her father said sarcastically. ‘I suppose you think I can take up hunting and prance around in a bloody daft outfit like he does.’

Her father, Abby had realised lately, had only just given up on the notion that his son-in-law would develop a special interest in the shipyard. They had nothing in common, nothing to talk about. Robert saw her father as a foolish old man and Henderson thought Robert useless and shallow. Trying to keep the peace between the two of them was not easy. She knew that her father was lonely, that though he said nothing he hated her to leave and she felt sick and weepy each time, looking back at him standing by himself on the doorstep. Each time she tried to get away from Robert, he had found something to stop her: friends were to visit, they were to visit friends, or there was a social event which she could not miss. It was some time before Abby admitted to herself that social events and many of their friends bored her. She spent too much time with them doing nothing and it all seemed so empty.

*

For a long time now, Gil knew, it had been his father’s ambition to build a ship which would cross the Atlantic faster than any other and take the Blue Riband. He was closer to his father than he had ever been and could do little wrong in William’s eyes. His forthcoming marriage to a girl his father liked who had money was another joy. Gil worked hard, his father praised him and his ideas and Gil clearly demonstrated his ability for shipbuilding, designing and engineering. He was sometimes quite surprised himself. He had no idea where this ability had come from. Edward had none and, though his father was a shrewd and accomplished businessman, he didn’t have it either. Some men would have been jealous, but Gil knew by then that William saw his sons as an extension of himself. This was why he had been so upset with them as children when he saw that they might turn into people beyond his control. He relied on Gil very much at work and it was a huge burden. Sometimes it would have been a relief to be allowed to fail, occasionally to make a mistake, but when he did his father went into terrible rages. Gil’s mistakes were fewer and fewer. He had trained himself to think no longer about Helen, and his growing friendship with Rhoda was a big help. His mind returned to his work and he kept it there. To lose his father’s new-found regard was too much. Helen would have Edward’s child soon and a mother, Gil had discovered, was not nearly as attractive a prospect. If she had been growing fat with his child, he would have adored her and the child, but the fact that each day he was faced with a woman who more obviously than ever belonged to another man discouraged him from wanting her. And there was Rhoda. He was making her happy. Gil had not been able to do that with anyone before, but Rhoda was easily made happy and he liked it. He determined to be faithful, kind and to look after her and he was convinced that once they were married everything would be right.

In the meanwhile, he was happy at work and knew that, happy, he turned out his best. His father came to expect that everything he did he did brilliantly and Gil wanted more and
more to bring that proud look to his father’s face. He never again wanted to be that dreadful person he had been as a child and a youth. He knew that his father had despised him. Now it was different. William’s gaze was soft on him and Gil knew that out of his hearing William was inclined to call his son a genius. Gil knew that he was far from it. He had limited abilities in almost every way, as though God had seen fit to endow him with one gift and take everything else from him. Gil had begun to build a reputation as a designer of fine ships. They had plenty of work. People were beginning to respect him.

For some time his father had cultivated a man called John Marlowe. He was a rich man, the owner of a shipping line. He lived in London but had a house in Newcastle, which had been his family home. William invited John and his wife, Edwina, to dinner at Bamburgh House. Charlotte was worried that they would not be good enough for the Marlowes and was surprised to discover that Edwina cared nothing for fashion and John ate sparingly. Afterwards, John sat by the fire with Gil and talked about his ideas and ambitions. The Germans had lately built very fast liners and the government was not happy that British shipping might be overtaken in this way. If the Germans could build bigger and faster liners, they could build bigger and faster battleships. The government wanted to build two big liners and there had been much discussion for almost two years while they looked for the right shipbuilder, Gil knew. Collingwood’s had already submitted a great many designs. The first big problem was the shape of the ship and experiments had to be carried out.

‘We could make a model. It’s been done before. A big model so that we could do testing to see whether the shape would work.’

‘It’s performance I’m interested in,’ John said. ‘The government will provide two and a half million at two point seven five per cent interest and an annual subsidy of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds. The structure and the shape do interest me,
but it’s the speed I’m counting on. You would have to guarantee it. How long to launch?’

‘Eighteen months.’

‘It would cost you money. The river isn’t wide enough and you would need new machinery and sheds.’

‘It’s been my father’s life’s ambition.’

‘And yours?’

‘It would be interesting.’

John laughed.

‘We would interfere a great deal, a committee from the Admiralty and from us. Would you like that?’

‘It would be worth it. You’d pay in instalments.’

‘Do you have the latest prices?’

‘Of course.’

‘I’m taking Edwina to America at Christmas. I understand you’re getting married. We could do some real talking and there are people in New York I want to introduce you to.’

*

William had not been taking part in the discussion. Gil understood that. Later he went to his father in the study.

‘He wants me to go to New York with him, to talk to people and, I think, so that he and I can talk properly about it and in private.’

‘I want to build these two ships like I’ve never wanted anything in my whole life,’ his father said tightly.

‘Don’t worry,’ Gil said, ‘we’ll get them.’

He called himself rash afterwards. He went to bed and worried, but he would have promised his father the heavens and the earth if William had expressed such a desire for them.

*

From time to time the shipbuilders of the river met to discuss ships and men and wages. Henderson was always there and Gil went with his father and Edward. After Abby was married and
went away to France and Italy, it seemed to Gil that Henderson was different, quieter and less interested in business. At one time at these meetings he argued because he was a better man than most. He paid what other men considered to be high wages and was badly liked for it. Worse still, he would not join the federation that the others belonged to, where wages were kept at what they considered to be an acceptable level so that the men who worked for them could not cause problems by leaving to go to another shipyard which would pay better. Henderson built good houses for his workmen and Gil knew that he had financed schools and places of recreation. Bella had been a wealthy woman when she married Henderson and Gil thought that if Henderson had had a son, he would have expanded his yard, his father having shrewdly bought up much land on either side of the present shipyard. Now, however, it was as if the spirit had gone from the man. Gil admired the things he had done and hoped that when he married Rhoda some of the money would be used to better things for the men, though if their bid was accepted for the first of the two liners a great deal of money would be needed. He had estimated it would cost ten thousand pounds to widen the river and they would need huge covered berths so that they could work in bad weather and new electric machinery for faster production.

Gil admired Henderson from afar because he knew that Henderson disliked him. Quite often after these meetings the men would go drinking together, but Henderson was never asked. He was lonely, Gil knew, at work and at home. He had no friends in the business and no son and Gil thought that Henderson might have started to realise what kind of a man Abby had married.

At one of these meetings in the late autumn, when Abby was still away, Gil refused several invitations to go out afterwards. His father frowned. Henderson had already left. Gil ran along the streets after him as Henderson rounded the corner into Eldon Square, a pretty place right in the middle of
Newcastle where musicians often played and ladies gathered in teashops.

‘Mr Reed!’

Henderson didn’t hear, or didn’t want to. Gil ran, shouting again, only slowing down when Henderson stopped and turned. Gil stood, panting for a few moments.

‘I almost lost you,’ he said. ‘Will you come for a drink with me?’

‘No,’ Henderson said and walked on.

‘I know you don’t like me—’

Henderson stopped again and looked squarely at him.

‘Your father’s a bastard,’ he said. ‘What does that make you? I’ll tell you. You come from a long line of third-rate people. They may call you a genius, but that doesn’t make you a gentleman.’

‘It doesn’t make you one either,’ Gil said, losing his temper. ‘You’re rude! All I asked you was if you would go for a drink. “No, thank you” would have done. I don’t need to hear how base I am. I’ve got nothing to gain, after all. Abby didn’t ever want me. You had nothing to be afraid of then and you certainly don’t now.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I just want to talk to somebody who improves houses and conditions and things.’

‘I’m amazed you’re interested.’

‘Why shouldn’t I be interested?’

‘Because you’re a bloody Collingwood and all they ever cared for was money.’

‘That’s not true. My grandfather was a boat builder and a good one. He built cobles.’

‘I know he did, lad.’

‘Don’t call me “lad”. I do have a name.’

‘One drink,’ Henderson said.

They had gone into the nearest fuggy little pub and played dominoes and been there until it closed. After that, they met at
least once a week. Henderson wasn’t easy. He tore Gil’s ideas to pieces in a way in which Gil would never have survived from his father. He scorned what he called ‘misplaced philanthropy’ as though it was something he hadn’t heard of, but Gil could see enthusiasm in his newly fired eyes. Also, Gil could talk to Henderson about anything and that was new. Henderson didn’t accept that he was brilliant or that he was stupid, just that he was a shipbuilder who was doing his best. They had long, complicated discussions. He told Henderson his ideas for the liner, knowing that Henderson would not say anything to anyone. It was such a relief to be able to throw ideas around without having to prove anything and, after the ideas had gone back and forward a dozen times, it was as though the discussing of them fined them down, improved them. Gil became more sure, more confident; he trusted Henderson’s judgement and he knew that Henderson enjoyed the discussions. He invited Gil to the house, something Gil was flattered to do. Nobody else knew. They played dominoes by the fire in bad weather.

Gil tried to introduce some of Henderson’s ideas at work, but his father objected strongly.

‘We’re not bloody women, to go interfering in the men’s lives. Stick to designing ships, I’ll do the managing,’ he said.

Gil had also tried to talk to his father about wages for Edward and himself.

‘You have an allowance. You can hardly call it mean,’ William said, ‘and you can run up bills all over town. You go to the best tailor. We have accounts everywhere, jeweller’s, shoemakers’. What the hell more do you want? I keep you extravagantly.’

‘It’s not quite the same thing,’ Gil said.

‘Is there something you want? Name it.’

‘No, there’s nothing,’ Gil said.