Chapter 46
Max looked at Schiavi in astonishment. ‘That actually isn’t the worst idea I ever heard in my life,’ he said after a long moment.
‘Of course it is not,’ was the complacent reply. ‘It is I who says it. I do not perpetrate foolishness.’
‘You understand, I suppose, that you cannot go out into the street and simply gather up the first Caribbean-looking man you happen to find of the right age and…’
The old man was laughing. ‘Please. You imagine I am entirely unpractised in deception?’
‘I would never dream of suggesting such a ridiculous thing.’ Max felt as though his head was spinning, and it was not the brandy, or only partly that.
‘I will find a man here in London who originates in the place of your birth…’
‘I believe I have already told you that I am from Martinique, in the Caribbean,’ Max said quietly.
‘Very well, I will discover a man who comes from Martinique, or at least has visited it and remembers it well enough to be convincing – because after all, men have been known to go about a little in the world, especially when there is a woman in the case – and you will tell me what he needs to say, and I will make sure that he will say it. Swear it. When and where and who – it is my experience that it is best to stick as close to the truth as possible in such delicate matters. He will tell whomever you please, in whatever manner seems best to us. And then, generously bribed, he will vanish. And you, who have no history that you care to be known, will have a history for all the world to see.’
‘It might even work…’ said Max almost to himself. There were flaws here, he knew there must be, but were they enough to make the plan entirely impractical? Cruel hope might be blinding him to something that should be obvious.
‘It will work. I would suggest we find a woman, black or white, who could claim credibly to be your mother, to make a more affecting tale, as the presence of a woman always does, but that would be harder, I venture.’
There was no reason why they couldn’t do that, Max knew, and in some respects it would be better, safer, more likely to conceal the terrible truth, if such a woman could be found, but somehow the idea revolted him.
Crazily, it seemed like a betrayal. He had a mother living; he’d never had a father.
He couldn’t betray someone who neither knew nor cared whether he’d even been born, because he hadn’t stayed around long enough to find out. At least his mother had tried.
Schiavi said, with the first hint of diffidence he had shown, ‘You realise, I am sure, that this story, if it becomes widely known, will do your reputation in society no good, if you care for that? Unless you wish to claim some aristocratic connections, of course. That could work in your favour, for it is the sort of sentimental nonsense they like to hear. You could say that your mother was Creole, of noble descent…’
‘No,’ Max said with eerie calmness, his voice echoing disagreeably in his own ears.
‘No. Not that. I don’t care to assert anything of the sort merely to make a more palatable tale.
My mother was of humble birth. A poor servant.
I am content that it should be so, since I don’t give a damn what London society thinks of me – in fact, I’m not convinced my reputation could be any worse than it already is.
And besides, such lowly connections are harder to disprove, you will agree, if anyone should be inclined to try to do so.
’ He had a sudden flashing thought of Alexandre de Beauharnais bullying his way about the Caribbean, trying and failing to discover his estranged wife’s secrets.
She had been beyond lucky then – could he hope for the same good fortune, if enquiries of that nature should ever be set in train?
‘Very well. I concur, in effect. Tales of elevated origins are dangerous, as my daughter has so recently discovered. Stories that seem too neat, too much like fiction, are often distrusted. And in your case, I daresay Martinique is not a large place, and people may remember surprising things, where families of distinction are concerned.’
Indeed. ‘You never did find out how Englishby even knew of your existence, did you?’ Max found he was sweating; he felt an urgent need to change the subject, at least for a little while.
A man could only stand so much uncomfortably bright light being shed on matters that had always been kept concealed.
‘No, but I shall.’
‘I hope no more accidents will be necessary.’
‘So do I. We were not talking about me, but about your affairs. Do you wish for me to find such a man? I do not say, try to find, for I am confident I will succeed. Half the world passes through London at one time or another.’
Max said reluctantly, ‘It does, of course. There are plenty of men from the Caribbean here, I know. From Martinique, even, or the neighbouring islands. I’ve searched – you were right to guess that I had, though I’ve never admitted as much before to anybody. But I never found anyone.’
‘You were looking for your real father, no? A thankless task – who is to say he even lives still, or ever left his home, let alone came here? The chances must be very small. I am not engaged in so difficult an endeavour. Just seeking someone who could be him. Someone sufficiently plausible who will tell a tale of your birth and parentage that will satisfy everyone who concerns themselves with you, so that no more questions can ever be asked.’
Max said nothing, staring down into his brandy, swirling the golden liquid in the glass. ‘Do you believe that this could really serve?’ he asked at last.
‘I don’t think it will ever be tested,’ was the surprising response.
‘I think your anxiety over exposure, though perhaps understandable – how can I say? – is baseless. But whether it is or not, this is the obstacle to my little one’s happiness that must be confronted.
And therefore I advise this course, so that you need not be afraid, and can live your life, and so can she. ’
‘You think I’m a coward.’ Max had wondered this himself, during long sleepless nights recently.
‘Perhaps I am. But my concern is not for myself, not any more. I’d never seriously considered entangling my fate with another’s, until I met Allegra.
And I can’t bear the thought that my selfishness might in the end cause her pain. ’
‘Really? If you have a child, the woman you love will suffer pain, and it will be directly because of you. All men know this, and still we lie down with women. Women then die in childbirth every day; the risk is not insignificant. My own wife did, ragassol. You could say that I killed her. I did, in effect.’
‘I didn’t know, sir. I’m sorry, for you both.
But it’s not the same. This is… I can’t explain why it’s different, but it is.
You’re telling me that a proper life cannot be lived free from danger, and I fully understand that.
I agree. Women lie down with men too, knowing exactly what we know.
I suppose I am willing to take ordinary risks, if Allegra is prepared to do so too – risks that any couple would take, no more or less.
Not… not extra things. Dangers that are unique to us, to me.
You might say that it should be her choice, because she knows the facts.
But the responsibility is still mine. If she had never met me, if she had loved someone else, someone better… ’
The old man rose. ‘I cannot solve this conundrum for you. If I find a man, and I am sure I will, you will have to decide if this insurance I provide you can ever be enough to ease your mind, or ease your mind enough so that you can move forward. What you cannot do is tell my picinina that all will be well, and then renege on that because of some crippling midnight fear that has come to you afterwards. You must commit to living without looking back.’
‘You can offer me no guarantees. I know that. I don’t ask for them; I’m not a child.’
‘But you are not very old, either. Not from my perspective. I will leave you to think on it, and come to see you again, in a day or so, when I may have some information for you.’
Max grinned, though it was a little strained. ‘My butler will enjoy that, no doubt. I think he’s developing a fondness for you already.’
‘It will do him good. It is too easy to become set in one’s ways as one grows older. This is a folly I have avoided.’
‘I shall be sure to tell him you said so.’
Schiavi laughed. ‘Perhaps not, since it would be convenient for both of us if I am admitted without delay next time I call.’
‘Thank you,’ Max said, getting up to shake his hand. ‘I know you’re not doing this for me, but… thank you. I had thought there was no possible solution to my problem, and I’m still not certain there is, but maybe there is a little hope, and that is precious.’
The old man replied more soberly than was his wont, ‘Allegra is my chief concern, of course, but I confess a sneaking sympathy for your situation. My own father carelessly damaged so many lives… but let us not speak of it. I have a great deal to do, and must set about it immediately.’ And with that he was gone.