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Authors: David Roberts
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immediately, anyway. I want to make money.’
‘But aren’t you rich?’ Frank asked naively. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. That sounds rude.’
‘No, I don’t mind. I guess we are rich compared with other folk but we’re not rich by the standards of the rich, if you know what I mean.’
‘But there’s always going to be someone richer than you,’ Frank laughed.
‘Maybe, but not much richer by the time I’m through. You can’t go into politics without money, anyway. I expect it’s the same in England.’
Frank considered. ‘Money always helps, I suppose, but politicians aren’t rich the way you mean it. Stanley Baldwin’s father was an industrialist – steel or iron, I think – and the Chamberlains are not poor but we don’t have Rockefellers and Mellons like you do in the States.’
‘Not even dukes? Aren’t they rich?’
Frank blushed but tried to answer coolly, as if talking about how rich you were was something he did all the time. ‘My father is rich in land but he doesn’t have millions in the bank.’
‘Did you go to Eton?’
Frank found there was something distasteful about being questioned so blatantly but he had, after all, started it. He knew it was the American way not to beat about the bush and, in theory at least, he approved.
‘I went to Eton but then I went off to Spain before I was finished to join the International Brigade,’ he said casually.
Perry was impressed. ‘Wow! You’ve been to war? And all I’ve done is prepped at Grotton and now I’m at Harvard – just to please my Pop.’
‘Your parents are here, on the ship?’
‘My mother is. Pop’s in Washington. They’re divorced.’
Frank could not prevent himself being shocked. Where he came from divorce did not happen – or, if it did, it meant social ruin. He had heard divorce did not carry the same stigma in the States, but still . . .
They turned to watch Philly on the end of the board, preparing to dive. She was clearly waiting until she had their full attention. ‘She’s very beautiful,’ Frank said, without meaning to.
Perry looked at him oddly. ‘Don’t let her sucker you. She’s like that girl in
Great Expectations
– they made us read it at college – she has no heart. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Frank wasn’t listening. With a graceful bounce, Philly had dived. Clean as a knife she cut the surface of the water and then swam to the side to join them. ‘Look,’ she whispered, ‘we’re not alone any more. I’m going. I hate being looked at.’
This was so obviously untrue, Frank opened his mouth to object. Then he saw the old man and his wife at the other end of the pool climbing gingerly down the steps into the shallow water. She meant she only liked being watched by people she wanted to impress. He saw that now and it cheered him up no end. He understood that, for some reason, this wonderful girl wanted to impress
him
. He gathered up Philly’s wrap and helped her put it on. He was tender and she shot him a look of gratitude which made his pulse race. At that moment, he would have done anything she asked him. He looked apologetically at Perry who was smiling compassionately at him.
4
Not many hours had passed since those who had boarded the
Queen Mary
at Southampton had looked about them with, as the poet Keats puts it, ‘a wild surmise’. They had struggled to find their way about, found their berths and lost them again, expressed wonder and awe at the grandeur and luxury of their new abode while worrying, at least in the case of the females, at the inadequacy of their wardrobes. These same passengers now watched with amused condescension the absurd floundering of the lost souls joining the ship at Cherbourg. The ‘old hands’ chatted amongst themselves, no longer strangers, but an aristocracy bemoaning the necessity of absorbing these interlopers, many of them, it was whispered, ‘foreigners’.
A sea voyage, it has been said, suspends time so that, whether it last four or
‘But aren’t you rich?’ Frank asked naively. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. That sounds rude.’
‘No, I don’t mind. I guess we are rich compared with other folk but we’re not rich by the standards of the rich, if you know what I mean.’
‘But there’s always going to be someone richer than you,’ Frank laughed.
‘Maybe, but not much richer by the time I’m through. You can’t go into politics without money, anyway. I expect it’s the same in England.’
Frank considered. ‘Money always helps, I suppose, but politicians aren’t rich the way you mean it. Stanley Baldwin’s father was an industrialist – steel or iron, I think – and the Chamberlains are not poor but we don’t have Rockefellers and Mellons like you do in the States.’
‘Not even dukes? Aren’t they rich?’
Frank blushed but tried to answer coolly, as if talking about how rich you were was something he did all the time. ‘My father is rich in land but he doesn’t have millions in the bank.’
‘Did you go to Eton?’
Frank found there was something distasteful about being questioned so blatantly but he had, after all, started it. He knew it was the American way not to beat about the bush and, in theory at least, he approved.
‘I went to Eton but then I went off to Spain before I was finished to join the International Brigade,’ he said casually.
Perry was impressed. ‘Wow! You’ve been to war? And all I’ve done is prepped at Grotton and now I’m at Harvard – just to please my Pop.’
‘Your parents are here, on the ship?’
‘My mother is. Pop’s in Washington. They’re divorced.’
Frank could not prevent himself being shocked. Where he came from divorce did not happen – or, if it did, it meant social ruin. He had heard divorce did not carry the same stigma in the States, but still . . .
They turned to watch Philly on the end of the board, preparing to dive. She was clearly waiting until she had their full attention. ‘She’s very beautiful,’ Frank said, without meaning to.
Perry looked at him oddly. ‘Don’t let her sucker you. She’s like that girl in
Great Expectations
– they made us read it at college – she has no heart. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Frank wasn’t listening. With a graceful bounce, Philly had dived. Clean as a knife she cut the surface of the water and then swam to the side to join them. ‘Look,’ she whispered, ‘we’re not alone any more. I’m going. I hate being looked at.’
This was so obviously untrue, Frank opened his mouth to object. Then he saw the old man and his wife at the other end of the pool climbing gingerly down the steps into the shallow water. She meant she only liked being watched by people she wanted to impress. He saw that now and it cheered him up no end. He understood that, for some reason, this wonderful girl wanted to impress
him
. He gathered up Philly’s wrap and helped her put it on. He was tender and she shot him a look of gratitude which made his pulse race. At that moment, he would have done anything she asked him. He looked apologetically at Perry who was smiling compassionately at him.
4
Not many hours had passed since those who had boarded the
Queen Mary
at Southampton had looked about them with, as the poet Keats puts it, ‘a wild surmise’. They had struggled to find their way about, found their berths and lost them again, expressed wonder and awe at the grandeur and luxury of their new abode while worrying, at least in the case of the females, at the inadequacy of their wardrobes. These same passengers now watched with amused condescension the absurd floundering of the lost souls joining the ship at Cherbourg. The ‘old hands’ chatted amongst themselves, no longer strangers, but an aristocracy bemoaning the necessity of absorbing these interlopers, many of them, it was whispered, ‘foreigners’.
A sea voyage, it has been said, suspends time so that, whether it last four or
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