The Proprietor's Daughter Read online

  “How about making it loop the loop?” Katherine called out.

  Squatting once more beside Henry, Phillips pushed the boy’s hands in the right direction. High above them, the Spitfire looped over onto its back, fell into a steep dive, and leveled out. “Again!” Henry cried excitedly, and pushed at the controls before Phillips had a chance to guide him.

  The Spitfire climbed once more. Instead of looping over onto its back and beginning the dive, it sideslipped. Phillips grabbed at the controls, but it was already too late. The plane continued to slip for a few seconds, its propeller biting the air in vain. One wing dipped, the other lifted. The nose dropped down. While Phillips frantically worked the controls, the model Spitfire plunged toward the group of people on the ground.

  Katherine’s scream rose above the buzzing of the engine. “Jimmy, do something! For God’s sake, the bloody thing’s coming straight for us!”

  At the very last moment, when the plane was only forty yards above the ground, Phillips managed to regain some control. The nose lifted. The steep dive leveled out. The Spitfire flashed over their heads toward the park perimeter, and the houses and trees beyond it. Phillips’s further frantic manipulation of the controls achieved nothing. Engine still racing, the Spitfire smashed into the trees.

  Henry was off like a flash of lightning, running toward the park entrance, only fifty yards away, and yelling, “I’ll get it! I’ll get it!” Before anyone could gather their wits, he was halfway to the entrance.

  “Henry!” Katherine shouted. “Come back here!”

  As she started to run after him, Jimmy Phillips plunged past her. “Stop him, for God’s sake!” Katherine called out. “Stop him before he reaches the road!”

  Phillips did not waste breath replying. Arms pumping like pistons, he sprinted after the young boy. Caring only for the model aircraft, and totally oblivious to the consternation behind him, Henry left the park and ran across the road toward the trees where the Spitfire had crashed. Seconds later, Phillips came through the gate like an express train. Above the beating of his own heart, he could hear another sound, the growling of a heavy engine. Henry was halfway across the road, stopping, turning, freezing into immobility like a rabbit hypnotized by a car’s headlights. Bearing down on him was a furniture truck, wheels skidding on the greasy road surface as the driver stamped on his brakes.

  Another noise drilled its way through Phillips’s head: Katherine’s shriek of horror when she reached the park gate and saw what was happening. The shriek acted on Phillips like a whip to a horse. Without thinking of his own safety, he charged across the road. A horn blasted. The truck’s engine roared in his ears. He flung himself at the statue that was Henry. The truck rumbled past, its driver turning the air blue with profanity as he checked in his mirror to ensure he had hit no one.

  Phillips sat in the gutter, looking down at the boy imprisoned in his arms. Katherine raced across the road and knelt beside them. “Thank you, thank you” was all she could say, and it would never be enough to express the gratitude she felt toward Jimmy Phillips. She had no doubt that his bravery had saved her son from being crushed to death beneath the truck. She sat on the curb and took Henry in her arms. He began to cry, complaining that his left arm hurt. When Katherine touched it, he yelled in pain. Careful not to disturb his injured arm, she held him to her. She did not even notice the people who came out of nearby houses to learn what all the fuss was about.

  “I’ll see to Mr. Kassler and Joanne,” Phillips said.

  Katherine nodded. In the excitement, she had forgotten her husband and daughter. Concerned people from the houses asked if they could be of help. Still shocked, Katherine could do nothing but shake her head and hug her son. Heavy rain began to fall. By the time someone thought to bring an umbrella from one of the houses, mother and son were soaked right through.

  As Phillips returned in the Jaguar, with Franz beside him and Joanne in the back, an ambulance arrived. “You go with Henry to the hospital, Mrs. Kassler. I’ll take Mr. Kassler and Joanne home.”

  A man in a black uniform lifted Henry into the ambulance. Before Katherine followed, she locked eyes with Franz. His face was white and waxen. His shoulders and head were trembling, and though he tried to speak, no words came out.

  “I’ll telephone from the hospital when there’s news,” Katherine promised. She climbed into the ambulance and sat down next to Henry, holding his right hand as the vehicle moved off.

  Katherine telephoned home from the hospital forty-five minutes later to tell Phillips that Henry had broken his left arm. When she asked how Franz was, the attendant answered that he had not spoken a word since returning from the park; he was just sitting in the television room, staring at the wall.

  A taxi brought Henry and Katherine home two hours later. Henry’s left arm was in a cast. While Edna Griffiths made a fuss over Henry, Katherine went into the television room. Franz was exactly as Phillips had described him over the telephone: pale-faced, staring numbly at the wall.

  “Franz . . .” Katherine took the seat next to him. “Henry’s all right; a broken arm, that was all. In a few weeks the cast will be off . . .”

  Slowly, Franz turned his head toward her. “I tried, Katherine. I tried to be friends with my children again, and you saw what happened. It almost cost Henry his life. If it had not been for Jimmy, Henry would have been killed.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Franz. You didn’t tell Henry to run after the plane.”

  “But if I had not bought the plane in the first place —”

  “Stop it, Franz! That’s a ridiculous thing to say.” She grabbed his arm, and he turned away, staring once more at the wall, alone in the world of guilt he had created for himself.

  Katherine watched him for fully a minute before leaving the room. Whatever good Franz had done by the purchase of the model aircraft had been more than shattered by Henry’s wild enthusiasm. Something deep within Franz had been smashed at the same time. Trapped within his crippled body, his brain no longer functioned clearly. His reasoning was as broken as his spine. He could not cope with setbacks. All he could do was sit and stare and try to block out the world.

  Had she been too quick to reject his offer of divorce? Too quick, too considerate, and too damned righteous? In that moment, as she left the room, the truth hit her. Her love for Franz was based on memory and pity. And they were a lousy basis for any kind of relationship.

  “Mrs. Kassler . . .” Edna stood in front of Katherine, blocking her progress along the hall. “I really do think you should get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.”

  For the first time, Katherine took notice of her own condition. Her hair was plastered to her head, and her clothes were sticking to her. The insides of her thighs were starting to chafe where wet denim had rubbed. “I’ll have a hot shower and change into some dry clothes.” She looked past the housekeeper. “Where is Henry?”

  “He’s in the breakfast room. With Jimmy. Joanne’s there as well, making a big fuss of her brother.”

  “Would you stay with the children, please? Give them something to eat or drink, whatever they want. I’d rather Jimmy kept Mr. Kassler company at the moment.”

  “Is there something wrong?”

  “No. I just don’t want Mr. Kassler to be left on his own.” She ran up the stairs, thinking that there was no need for the housekeeper to know that Katherine was concerned about her husband’s mental equilibrium.

  She remained under the steaming shower until the water began to run cool. Feeling a thousand percent better, she wrapped herself in a terry-cloth robe and lifted the receiver of the bedside telephone. The number she dialed was that of her father. Arthur Parsons answered, telling Katherine that he had just returned from driving Roland into town.

  “He was having dinner with Miss Roberts. After that, he said he might visit Kendall’s Club in Mount Street.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Parsons.” She glanced at the clock next to the telephone. It was coming up to
seven. She dialed a Mayfair number. “Sally, it’s Katherine. Is my father there?”

  “Yes, he is. Everything all right?”

  Katherine avoided answering the question by asking Sally to call Roland to the telephone. Moments later, Katherine heard her father’s voice. “Kathy, what is it?”

  “Henry had an accident, but thank the Lord it’s a lot less bad than it might have been.” Concisely, she told the story of the boy running into the street, and Jimmy Phillips saving him, in all probability, from being killed. “It isn’t Henry I need to talk to you about.”

  “Is it Franz?”

  “Yes.”

  It never occurred to Roland to ask Katherine whether it could wait until the following morning. If his daughter needed him, he was always available. “Come over here. I’m sure Sally cooked enough to feed an extra mouth.”

  “I’m really not hungry. I’ll drop by at nine o’clock.”

  “All right, Kathy, we’ll be waiting for you.”

  Wearing a fur-lined leather coat over jeans and a cashmere sweater, Katherine left the house at eight-thirty. The night air was freezing, but she drove with the Triumph’s roof folded back. She needed to blow away the cobwebs and think clearly, because she had reached a point of no return in her life with Franz.

  “You look like you could do with a hot cup of something” was Sally’s greeting as she opened the door of her apartment. She took Katherine’s coat and led her through to the living room. It was furnished in a modern style, leather-covered couches and chairs, side tables made of wood and glass. Roland stood by the window overlooking Curzon Street, hands clasped behind his back. When Katherine entered, he swung around.

  “Did you really drive all the way here with the top down?” When Katherine nodded, Roland added, “Now I know you’re crazy, but I love you all the same.” He walked across the room to hug her. “What’s all this about Franz?”

  Sally pushed him away. “Let the poor girl thaw out first, for God’s sake. Sit down, Katherine. Don’t answer any questions until you’re good and ready.” Sally guided Katherine into one of the chairs, then went off to the kitchen, returning a minute later with a steaming cup of chocolate. Katherine accepted it gratefully, noticing that her father and Sally were drinking the same. Was that a sign of getting older, a cup of hot chocolate instead of an afterdinner liqueur?

  “Take your time, Kathy,” Roland said. “Just tell us at your own pace what’s gone wrong.”

  Katherine found herself pouring out months of bottled-up anguish. Her own inability to handle the situation since Franz’s return, the tension in the house, Franz’s suggestion of divorce, and her immediate rejection of it. And, finally, that afternoon at the park. “I think Franz was troubled before . . . I know he was; he couldn’t cope mentally with being handicapped. He was always talking about people who knew him before, how they made comparisons. Then he had this moment of closeness with the children, only to see it swing around so suddenly. The reverse has absolutely destroyed him, and in some bizarre way he thinks he’s to blame because he bought the damned plane in the first place. Jimmy Phillips has been sitting with Franz for the past couple of hours, and Franz hasn’t spoken a word to him. He just sits there, staring at nothing.”

  “Are you having second thoughts about rejecting the idea of divorce?” Sally asked.

  “How could I leave him?” Katherine wanted to know. “He can’t fend for himself. It’s like having a third child in the house, even more dependent than the other two.”

  “Whatever arrangements were made, he would have the best care available,” Roland assured her. “Don’t tie yourself up with blame. You’ve done everything in your power to help, but you also have to think about yourself, Joanne, and Henry.” Roland took a deep breath and plunged on. “Kathy, darling, if you did not harbor any reservations about divorce, you wouldn’t be human. You’d have a heart of stone, and I would not want to see that particular personality trait in any daughter of mine.”

  Sally waited a few seconds before saying, “The fact that you’ve actually discussed divorce as an option means you’ve just overcome an enormous psychological hurdle, Katherine. Now that you admit the possibility of divorce exists, you can take however long you need to reach the right decision about it.”

  Despite feeling emotionally drawn after the rigors of the day, Katherine laughed. “Spoken like a true women’s page editor. Sally, you would have made a wonderful advice-to-the-lovelorn columnist.”

  Katherine left for home soon after. It had only been a short talk, yet her mind was much clearer now. Her father’s support and Sally’s no-nonsense advice had opened possibilities. They had referred to divorce as an option, a move she could make whenever she deemed it necessary. Because she now understood that such an option was available, she could take her time in reaching a decision. And making sure it was the right decision!

  The house was quiet when she returned. The light in Franz’s downstairs bedroom was out. The top-floor room where Phillips lived was also in darkness. The dramatic excitement of the day had exhausted everyone, including herself. She fell asleep within five minutes of resting her head on the pillow.

  When she awakened the following morning, her throat was raw, her limbs ached, and her head felt filled with cement. She forced herself out of bed, cursing her stupidity with every painful moment. Standing around for hours in rain-soaked clothes, and then driving to Sally’s home on a winter’s night with the roof down — she deserved every germ she’d encouraged.

  Downstairs, she avoided everyone as best she could, taking a cup of tea to one corner of the breakfast room. Edna, the children, and Phillips wisely kept their distance. When she asked, in a croaking voice, about Franz, Phillips answered that he had requested breakfast in his room; appetite, if not sociability, had returned.

  She left the house at nine o’clock, driving as usual to Chalk Farm Station. As she entered the station, she remembered that she had not even looked at the copy of the Daily Eagle that was delivered to the house. She bought one from the newsstand, flicking through it as the elevator dropped her from street level to the bowels of the station.

  By the time the train came, her mood was much brighter. The column about Skrone Motors was a cracker, and “Satisfaction Guaranteed!” was right back on form.

  When she entered the elevator in the Eagle building, Archie Waters greeted her with a salute. “Enjoyed your column, Miss Eagles. Another villain gets his comeuppance at your hands.”

  She crossed the editorial floor, listening to the babble of voices, the ringing of telephones, the erratic clattering of typewriters. After the topsy-turvy weekend she had just experienced, Katherine welcomed the familiar commotion. Reaching her office, she found Heather Harvey and Derek Simon waiting.

  “Telephone’s been ringing ever since we got in,” Derek said. “People who want to speak to you with possible leads.”

  “Keep taking the calls, will you? The only person I’ll speak to is Gerry Waller, when he gets in, because I want to hear from him just how good we look today.” Hanging a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door handle, Katherine shut herself away from the rest of the newspaper.

  She spent the morning doing paperwork. Budget allocations were being made soon, and she wanted her little department to get its fair share. She heard the telephone ring, and each time one of her assistants answered. No one bothered her until just after midday, when Heather knocked on the office door.

  “Mr. Waller’s on the telephone.”

  “Thank you.” Katherine lifted the receiver, ready to enjoy her moment of triumph, certain it would go a long way toward removing some of the sting from the weekend’s events. “Good morning, Gerry. Have you seen the column yet?”

  “I most certainly have. And now I’d like to see you.”

  “As long as you don’t mind me coughing and sneezing.”

  “I’ll take you any way you wish to come, Katherine. Just make it right now, please.”

  She replaced the receiver
, stood up, and straightened her skirt. “Back in a few minutes,” she told Heather and Derek. As she made the lengthy journey to the editor’s office, she could not help wondering why his voice had sounded so strained.

  To Katherine’s surprise, the door to Waller’s office was closed. The editor’s secretary told her to go right in. Katherine knocked, opened the door, and entered. Waller was not alone. He had two visitors: a stocky fair-haired man with a ginger handlebar moustache, whom Katherine did not know, and a tall man with a head full of snowy white hair, whom she most certainly did know. Edward Skrone.

  “Katherine . . .” Waller rose from behind his desk. “Mr. Skrone you know. The other gentleman is Horace —”

  “Grimley,” said the fair-haired man, standing up. “I am Horace Grimley, Mr. Skrone’s solicitor.”

  “Solicitor?”

  “Precisely, madam. Mr. Skrone feels he had been grossly libeled by yourself and by Eagle Newspapers Limited.”

  “What do you have to say, Katherine?” Waller asked.

  “In what manner does Mr. Skrone feel he has been libeled?”

  “In the entire context of the scurrilous article which appears in today’s edition of the Daily Eagle. It is a pack of lies from the first line to the last.”

  “In your opinion,” Katherine added.

  At last, the chairman of Skrone Motors spoke. “On what did you base your allegations against my firm, Mrs. Kassler?”

  “You know what I based them on. Tony Burgess. On what he showed me — the work your company did, or didn’t do, to his car.”

  “While he was telling and showing you all this, did he happen to mention his previous connection to Skrone Motors?”

  Anxiety worried Katherine’s stomach as she said, “What previous connection?”

  Grimley took over. “Mr. Burgess is the technical director of a security company that, eighteen months ago, did some work for Skrone Motors. A complete burglar alarm system. Which, unfortunately, failed the very first time it was tested. Thieves broke in one weekend and made away with some twenty thousand pounds that was in the safe. Skrone Motors had an independent agency check the alarm system. It had failed because it was installed improperly.”