Tiger Men (72 page)

‘I shall be at the station to meet you,’ Reginald announced.

‘You won’t bring the Rolls Royce, will you, Father?’

‘Why ever not?’

‘I don’t want the press alerted,’ Hugh said. ‘You will make sure not to tell anyone, won’t you?’

‘Of course, Hugh, mum’s the word. I quite understand.’ Reginald considered it a wasted opportunity. Surely Hugh should arrive home in a blaze of local publicity. It didn’t really matter, he supposed. The photographs from the mainland had been plastered all over the front pages of every newspaper throughout Tasmania, and there would be a wealth of local coverage when Hugh’s return was duly announced to the press.

He chastised himself. Of course it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all. Hugh was coming home. Nothing else was of any consequence

‘Oh, my boy, it is so good to hear your voice at long last.’ Reginald could not remember when he had felt such a sense of pure joy.

Hugh rang Caitie at the offices of Kramer, Fox & Hutchinson and informed her also of his arrival, warning her not to tell anyone.

‘Not even Oscar,’ he said, ‘not yet. There’s something I must do before I catch up with the old gang.’

He sounds rather mysterious, she thought. She could understand his wish to avoid the press, but keeping his arrival a secret from his closest friends seemed strange.

‘I promise I shan’t tell a soul,’ she said. ‘As if I would wish to anyway,’ she added in that seductively teasing manner of hers, ‘I want you all to myself.’

Hugh rather wished he hadn’t called his father now, but of course filial respect had demanded that he should.

Reginald pulled up at the train station in his Prince Henry Vauxhall tourer ten minutes before the train was due to arrive. The Model T Ford he’d purchased in order not to appear overly ostentatious during the war years had been a short-lived affair. He’d detested being ‘one of the common herd’. Besides, people must surely realise that, given his position in society, a certain image needed to be maintained. After donating the proceeds of the Ford’s sale to the war effort, he’d purchased the Vauxhall, which, although the vehicle of a wealthy man, was less grandiose than the Rolls Royce that was kept mainly for show. He always employed the services of his chauffeur when driving around the city – he had no wish to be seen crank-starting a vehicle in public – but today was different. Today he did not want the chauffeur’s presence. I’ll have my son all to myself, he thought happily as he climbed out of the car. Besides, Hugh could crank the vehicle.

He took his fob watch from his waistcoat pocket and checked the time. Ten minutes to twelve. Excellent. And he walked through the station and out onto the platform.

She was the first thing he saw. How could one fail to notice the beacon of her hair? She wasn’t even wearing a hat. Damn the girl’s hide, he thought.

Caitie felt someone’s eyes on her and she turned. He was staring at her from barely twenty yards away and made no move to greet her. She crossed to him.

‘Good morning, Mr Stanford.’

‘Miss O’Callaghan.’ He gave a curt nod. ‘I take it we are here for the same purpose.’

‘Of course.’ Refusing to be intimidated, she smiled. ‘You must be so happy to have him home.’

‘I am,’ he said brusquely, ‘very happy indeed,’ and averting his eyes, he looked down the track.

Caitie saw no purpose in attempting to pursue further conversation and they stood side by side, watching for the train in pointed silence.

Once the train had pulled into the station, Hugh was the first person to alight. He’d seen them through the window from some distance away: his father, straight-backed and austere, but also dapper in his perfectly cut suit; and beside him, Caitie, more beautiful than ever. He wondered why Rupert wasn’t with them. Father must have left him at home, he thought, which was probably wise. Rupert would have become overexcited.

‘Father.’ Dumping his kit on the ground, Hugh embraced Reginald first.

‘Welcome home, Hugh.’ Reginald was not given to public demonstrations of affection and would normally have shaken hands by way of welcome, but he found himself returning his son’s embrace with fervour.

Then Hugh turned to Caitie, taking her by the hand, saying nothing, just drinking in the sight of her.

‘Hello,’ she said. He looks so much older, she thought. The boy in him had gone.

‘Hello, Caitie.’

They stood for a moment gazing into one another’s eyes, everything around them disappearing. Then they drifted into each other’s arms.

Reginald watched, appalled. They were kissing in public. It was positively obscene. He backed off several paces and turned away, disassociating himself from them.

A minute or so later Hugh and Caitie joined him.

‘I’m sorry, Father,’ Hugh said as they stood together hand in hand, ‘we didn’t mean to embarrass you.’

‘Yes, Mr Stanford, I do beg your pardon.’ Caitie also felt the need to apologise.

‘No matter,’ Reginald said as graciously as possible, determined not to mar his son’s homecoming. ‘War does alter the social code of conduct, does it not?’

‘Yes sir, I believe it does,’ Caitie replied, grateful for his apparent understanding.

‘Come along then.’ He turned and led the way out of the station. War is no excuse for immoral behaviour, he thought. The girl is wanton. The fact might well prove a blessing, however. She’d be easily bedded. Hugh wouldn’t need to marry her: he could keep her as a mistress. Reginald had no objection to that.

‘May I give you a lift home, Miss O’Callaghan?’ he said as they arrived beside the Vauxhall. Loath though he was to make the offer, he was socially obligated to do so.

‘Oh, Caitie must come with us to Stanford House, Father.’ Hugh dived in immediately. ‘I’m not about to let her out of my sight just yet,’ he said with a grin. ‘I’ll drive her home later. Besides,’ he added, ‘Rupert will want to see her.’

Caitie and Reginald exchanged the flicker of a glance.

‘Very well then.’ Reginald climbed into the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition. ‘I shall need you to crank the vehicle, Hugh,’ he said as he adjusted the advance on the steering column.

Hugh opened the rear door for Caitie, who climbed in, and when he’d cranked the car he joined Reginald in the front. He was relieved the station was not busy; the Vauxhall was attracting nearly as much attention as the Rolls Royce. His father’s passion for luxury cars clearly had not deserted him, Hugh thought, amused.

Caitie felt nervous as they drove off, wondering what on earth would happen when Hugh discovered the truth about his brother. She was not only worried for Hugh, she was suddenly also nervous on her own behalf. Perhaps he would hate her for her duplicity.

‘I’m so proud of you, Hugh, so very, very proud.’ Reginald was surprisingly talkative during the drive to Stanford House, perhaps in order to allay any queries about Rupert. He too was feeling a degree of trepidation. Hugh must be informed about his brother in precisely the right manner. He must be told, calmly and quietly, that for Rupert’s own sake there had been no alternative but hospitalisation. In order to do that, Reginald needed complete privacy. The girl was an annoying intrusion.

‘I only wish with all my heart that I could have been at your investiture,’ he said. ‘What a damn shame, the army changing its mind and springing the ceremony on you like that.’

‘Yes, it was a shame.’ Hugh looked guiltily out the window. He’d hated lying to his father.

‘You do realise, don’t you, that as a Victoria Cross winner, there is now nothing you cannot achieve. The VC will open every door of international business you care to knock on.’ Reginald flashed a triumphant smile at his son. ‘The world is yours, Hugh. The world is yours.’

‘I hadn’t really anticipated using the VC for business purposes, Father.’

‘Oh, my dear boy, you won’t be able to help it. There’s no going back now. You’ve immortalised the Stanford name.’

Hugh didn’t answer, but continued to look out the window. How typical of his father. Of course Reginald Stanford would view the Victoria Cross with an eye to material gain. The man simply couldn’t help himself.

When they arrived at Stanford House, Reginald left the car parked in the front courtyard in order for Hugh to drive Caitie home. He hoped she would have the grace not to stay too long.

They entered the house and found the servants gathered in the main hall to welcome the young master home. Hugh was introduced to the new chauffeur and maid and warmly greeted by the cook and others he knew, particularly Clive Gillespie and Iris Watson, who had been with the household for as long as he could remember. But by now, he was feeling bewildered.

‘Where’s Rupert?’ he asked as the servants left.

Reginald steeled himself for the moment of truth. ‘I need to talk to you privately, Hugh. Come upstairs to my office.’ He turned to Caitie. ‘Would you mind waiting in the drawing room, Miss O’Callaghan?’ he said, indicating the door that led to the smaller of the front rooms, the one that had always been Evelyn’s domain.

‘No, Father.’ Hugh took Caitie’s hand as she started to move off. Something was terribly wrong, he realised. ‘Anything you have to say about Rupert can be said in front of Caitie. We shall all go into the drawing room.’

He led the way and his father had no option but to follow.

As Reginald Stanford closed the door behind them, Caitie stepped to one side, leaving father and son to confront each other.

‘What is it you’re keeping from me,’ Hugh demanded. ‘Is Rupert ill?’

‘I’m afraid so, yes,’ Reginald replied gravely. ‘As I’m sure you’ll understand, I had no wish to burden you with the news while you were away, it would only have added to –’

‘What has happened?’ Hugh was alarmed. Had there been an accident? ‘What has happened, Father? Tell me!’

‘Rupert had a mental breakdown, I’m sorry to say. He went completely to pieces. It was so sad to see.’

‘When?’ Hugh glanced at Caitie. The news was upsetting, but also confusing. He’d received letters from Caitie in London, she’d said nothing about a breakdown – it must have been very recent. ‘Why did he have a breakdown? When did this happen?’

Reginald presumed that would have been obvious. ‘Following your mother’s death, of course,’ he said.

‘But that was three years ago!’

‘Yes indeed. He was driven insane with grief, poor boy. He lost his mind altogether and there was no coming back, I fear, no chance of recovery. For Rupert’s own sake, it was necessary to provide specialist care . . .’

Hugh was now in a state of utter confusion. He turned to Caitie. ‘But you visit Rupert here every Saturday. You didn’t tell me he’d gone insane.’

‘He hasn’t. And I don’t visit him here.’

Reginald glanced at the girl. She’d been visiting Rupert?

‘Oh my God,’ Hugh turned back to his father, ‘what have you done?’

‘I had no option,’ Reginald said firmly, ‘you must understand that.’ Damn the O’Callaghan girl, he thought. Things were not going as planned, and it was all her fault. ‘Rupert had to be hospitalised for his own safety’s sake, he could have damaged himself –’

‘Hospitalised? Where?’

‘New Norfolk. They have specialists there who –’

‘The lunatic asylum!’ Hugh burst out, appalled.

‘The Hospital for the Insane,’ Reginald stiffly corrected him.

‘The bloody lunatic asylum! Jesus Christ, you had him committed!’

‘I most certainly did, in the boy’s own interests.’ Reginald took the high moral ground in an attempt to stamp his authority. ‘And I would ask you not to use that tone of voice with me. I will not have bad language and blasphemy uttered in this house.’

Hugh gazed at his father, horror-struck. ‘Rupert was grieving for his mother and you had him committed! Your own son! Dear God, man, where’s your compassion? Where’s your humanity?’

‘You have no right to judge me, Hugh.’ Reginald tried to remain authoritative but he was getting desperate. ‘You didn’t see Rupert. You were not witness to his demented state. He was insane, irreparably insane –’

But Hugh wasn’t listening. He’d grabbed Caitie’s hand and was heading for the door.

‘Get back here, boy,’ Reginald called after him. ‘Where in Hell do you think you’re going?’

‘I’m going to get my brother.’

Reginald didn’t follow. He knew it was useless. A minute or so later, he heard the car being crank-started, and he watched through the drawing-room window as the Vauxhall drove out through the main gates.

During the hour’s drive to New Norfolk, they talked. Caitie reassured Hugh about his brother’s condition. Rupert had been well cared for, she said. He had recovered from his initial distress and was strong. Lonely though he still was for his mother, the strain of his grief had not broken him, nor, fortunately, had the strain of institutionalisation.

‘You should have told me, Caitie.’

‘Why? What could you have done?’

‘Nothing,’ he admitted, ‘but I should have known.’

‘You would have worried yourself sick, Hugh. You would have been utterly powerless and tormented by the truth. I thought it kinder to keep you in ignorance.’

Hugh fell silent, his eyes trained on the road. She is right, he thought, she is actually right. And she’d never once lied: she’d just allowed him to believe she visited Rupert at home, all the time sending caring accounts of his brother. Indeed, had he ever learnt the truth, Caitie’s reports would have assured him that Rupert was not the dire case his father would surely have purported him to be. Everything she’d done was right, Hugh realised. Caitie’s deception had been an act of love.

His silence worried her. ‘I’m sorry I deceived you.’ She sounded forlorn. She had believed so strongly that she was doing the right thing. ‘I hope you will forgive me.’

‘There’s no call for apology, Caitie. I owe you a profound debt of thanks. I thank you for loving me as you do. And I thank you for looking after my brother.’

They arrived at the hospital, which now boasted a change of name. No longer the Hospital for the Insane, it had officially become the Mental Diseases Hospital.

‘A sign of the times,’ Caitie explained as they walked into reception. ‘Eunice Cartwright says the intention is to change community attitudes towards mental illness. I must say, having learned quite a deal during my visits here, I consider it an excellent idea.’