Chapter Ten
FLORA
30 December 1930
Port of Montreal, Canada
The tugs pushed and pulled them into Montreal port, a crowd gathering along the quays to watch as the magnificent liner glided serenely to her berth a full month later than scheduled. She was conspicuous by her presence – no other ships were making the crossing now, with the Atlantic in full high swell. Flora looked out from her balcony, seeing the river was already thickly iced in places; they had been lucky to make it here and not be diverted south to St John. Canadian winters came in hard, even the St Kildans’ cruellest season paled in comparison. The air was biting, the sky a shivering pale blue, unable to bring colour to its cheeks. Flora pulled her fur collar closer to her face as she continued looking down at the wharves.
She saw some reporters huddled in among the crowd, those distinctive round flashes catching her eye just as they had when she and her fellow islanders had docked in Lochaline, four months past to the day. Memories popped in her mind, blisters of a past hurt; she’d been so broken back then, mere hours after the birth, struggling to move, to hold herself together as she walked down the gangplank and away from her child. But everything had changed since then. Now she was preparing to walk down another gangplank to reclaim him, and this time she had his father, the man she loved, by her side.
Far below, the dockers were working at speed, looping ropes onto bollards as the Empress sighed to a stop. Flora had scarcely slept, waiting all night for the ancient groan of the engines far below in the belly of the ship that would tell them they were under way at last. The churn of the water was proof that finally this sleeping beast was awakened and they could make landfall. Their escape was coming in stages.
Yesterday, their papers had been approved on board. The doctor had examined them both and declared them free of disease; their personal effects had been inspected and found to be in order. Perhaps it was because they had so little luggage, compared to the other first-class passengers, that the immigration officers moved through with such haste, but the inspection had been perfunctory at best. James had told her it was a different matter entirely for those in steerage.
Now they were at port, finally, but still the wrong one: Montreal or St John, neither one was Quebec City, and they had another journey to make. A distance of 150 miles might be insignificant in a country measuring 4,700 of them, but for a girl who’d grown up on a rock only two miles long, it felt like going to the moon.
And yet the clock was ticking again, and that was something. It was mid-morning, the journey from their sea anchorage a short one. By dinnertime, God willing, they would be in Quebec City and their search could finally begin.
Impatience ferreted through her blood as she paced the balcony, waiting for procedures to be followed. She heard the door close in their suite and turned to go back inside. James had been meeting Dickie and Bertie for a final drink at the bar; the men were well versed in cruising and knew the disembarkation process to be ‘a bore’.
‘I think they’re going to be a while yet,’ she said, slipping into the room and looking up to find James.
The blood pooled at her feet. ‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered.
Tucker was standing in the middle of the room, wearing his hat, his coat folded over one arm. ‘I wanted to clear the air before our departure. It doesn’t feel right to part under a cloud. I fear there was a...misunderstanding between us.’
She swallowed. She had scarcely seen him since their contretemps in the reading room a week and a half earlier. In fact, it seemed as if he had been going out of his way to avoid her, no longer lurking; even James had noticed, commenting that they’d managed to shake him off. For her part, Flora had convinced herself she had overreacted; her emotions were balanced on a hair trigger at the moment and she wasn’t herself.
‘It’s quite all right, Mr Tucker. No hard feelings.’
She swallowed, waiting for him to leave as he continued staring at her.
‘But, if you don’t mind, James will be back any moment, so...’ She pointedly looked towards the door.
‘So?’ He smiled, drawing his hands out wide, clearly not going anywhere. Not yet.
‘Well, it wouldn’t do for you to be in here when he returns.’
‘Why not? Would he think we were engaging in something improper?’
There it was again, the slimy innuendo. It made her skin crawl and put her body on high alert. She was used to male attention, but she also knew when it crossed the line to something more threatening, and she saw now she hadn’t overreacted the other day. And he hadn’t come here to clear the air .
‘Get out,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Come, now, Miss MacQueen, that’s not how one welcomes a guest.’
Her heart beat faster at his use of her given name. She had never told it to him. ‘It’s Mrs Callaghan.’
He seemed to enjoy seeing her shock. ‘Did you really think people wouldn’t recognize you? A face like yours isn’t easily forgotten, especially when The Times is hailing you as the toast of Paris one day and linking you to a murder the next. Of course, you were billed as Flora MacQueen, and to us you presented yourself as Mrs James Callaghan, so it wasn’t immediately obvious to some of the guests at first.’ He shrugged. ‘But word always spreads fast. You know how people love to talk.’
She swallowed. ‘I’m not in hiding , Mr Tucker. This is just a private trip with my husband.’
‘Only he’s not your husband,’ he said matter-of-factly.
Flora felt herself grow cold. ‘Excuse me?’ How could he speak with such conviction?
‘You’re passing yourself off as man and wife when, in fact, you are not.’ His eyes swept over the double bed. ‘And I see you didn’t even have the decency to book separate sleeping quarters. Do you think your dinner companions would have been so happy to share a table with you if they knew the despicable truth? You’ve drawn good people into your sordid deception.’
Flora stood still for several moments, hearing his disgust and rage. Had he come here to shame her? Humiliate her? She held up her hand, showing him the sapphire engagement ring and the premature wedding band, but she was trembling and she knew he could somehow see straight through the lie.
He tutted and shook his head. ‘Please – desist with the lies. You have been caught red-handed, no matter what you think those rings signify.’
‘You know nothing about us,’ she said quietly.
There was a long pause. ‘Don’t I?’ She watched in horror as he pulled from his jacket pocket several folded sheets of paper. She recognized her own handwriting immediately. In her rush to get away from him in the writing room the other day, she had completely forgotten about the letter.
She saw the black look in his eyes as the smirk grew on his lips. It was a full confession to her mother – every transgression, every secret written down. He knew her private shame, her intimate history; he knew why she was here on this ship.
And she knew now why he was here in this room. He was going to blackmail her for his silence.
She took a step back as the threat asserted itself between them. ‘Leave now, before James comes back.’
‘Oh, I’m afraid he won’t be back for quite some time. I saw him heading for Sykes in the Mayfair lounge, so I told your lover he was in the Observation salon. That should keep him busy for a while—’
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he lunged at her, getting a hand to her thick coat before she could step out of the way. The weight of him brought them both down onto the carpet in a flailing mass of arms and legs. She wriggled and kicked desperately, but though he wasn’t a tall man, he was portly and easily able to pin her down with his weight.
‘No!’ she screamed, feeling the air pushed from her lungs. ‘Help me! Help!’
He slapped her hard across the cheek, once, twice – the shock of it stunning her into momentary silence. She opened her mouth again in the next instant but he clapped his hand over it, his other hand tearing away her coat and clawing at her clothes.
His breathing was ragged, a wild look in his eyes as he overwhelmed her with his rage and lust. ‘You’ve enjoyed toying with us all,’ he panted, spittle on his lips as he got his hand under her skirt and tore her stockings. ‘Flaunting yourself, making no attempt to hide your lewdness, staying in here for hours, for days...’
She screamed beneath his sweaty palm, but the sound didn’t register. She shook her head from side to side, trying to free herself from his hand, but he redoubled the force through his arm, locking her into position, his eyes drilled upon hers.
‘Everyone knows you showgirls are tarts...but we gave you the benefit of the doubt for marrying into respectability...’ His hand was unbuttoning his fly now and she felt a tear of fury and fear trickle down her cheek onto the side of his hand. ‘If I told the other men what you are...a slut ...do you think they wouldn’t be here too, doing exactly the same...?’
She screamed again, pleading with him, but her cries were muffled vibrations against his palm and he laughed—
Until a roar subsumed him. Flora flinched as he was suddenly thrown off her, James hulking above them with a look she had never seen before. She scrabbled on the ground, pulling herself up, her legs in...trying to cover herself as James reached down and grabbed Tucker by the shirt collar.
‘I’ll kill you!’ he yelled, punching Tucker hard, twice in rapid succession, and pulling back his arm to deliver another blow; but the other man fell back so feebly, his head hanging back as if unconscious (though he wasn’t), that James stalled with his arm poised in mid-air.
‘James, don’t,’ Flora sobbed, hugging her knees now as she sat against the wall.
She couldn’t bear to even look at Tucker as she lay half-exposed on the floor; her skin was still hurting from the pressure of his fingers as he had jabbed and pinched and probed her. She knew that if she were to look, her flesh would be reddened from his marks.
‘No. Mercy’s too good for him!’ James snarled, his fingers flexing for the next punch.
‘Please, James!’ Flora cried, and he looked back at her. ‘...I just want him gone!’
‘Did he – did he...?’ James’s voice broke on the question.
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘No. But I can’t bear to see him.’ She realized she was crying. ‘I need him away from me.’
James gave another cry of rage as he hauled Tucker to his feet, still holding him by the shirt collar. He shoved him hard against the wall and pushed in close to him, eye to eye. ‘I knew you were scum the moment I laid eyes on you, Tucker. Always oiling around us. I’m going to make sure everyone knows what you are—’
‘No, James!’ Flora cried again, getting to her feet now. ‘You can’t tell anyone! Promise me you won’t say a word!’
James shook his head. ‘He’s a monster! He deserves to be vilified! People need to know what he is!’
‘ I’m the one who’ll be shamed!’ she pleaded. ‘Don’t you see that?’ She took a few steps across the room, halting halfway. The thought of getting any closer to Tucker made her feel sick.
‘Flora, he can’t be allowed to get away with this!’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘But...not that...Please, James.’ She implored him with her eyes. ‘He didn’t get what he came for! You stopped him.’
But James looked back at Tucker with fresh anger. He couldn’t be mollified on this, no matter how she begged. ‘I ought to throw you out of that window,’ he snarled.
Tucker paled, seeing the murderous intent in James’s eyes. ‘Please...I’m s-sorry...I...I lost control of myself...Just l-let me go.’
‘You think I’m going to let you go, just like that? Like you weren’t just trying to rape my wife?’
Tucker didn’t reply. She had been easy prey, but he knew far better than to correct James on the technicality.
Flora watched on. There was no competition between the two men. James could beat Tucker to a pulp if he chose; he certainly had just cause. Who wouldn’t side with him?
‘Give me one good reason I shouldn’t break all your bones,’ he snarled, twisting Tucker’s collar even tighter in his grip, lifting him onto his tiptoes.
‘I...I...’ Tucker stuttered desperately. ‘I have money...’
James shook his head. Tucker might be a rich man, but so was he.
‘Connections, then...’
‘You can’t offer us anything!’ His arm flexed in readiness to land the next punch.
‘Wait!’ Flora took another step forward as a realization came to her. James looked over with a frown. She took a deep breath. ‘...You said he’s in the shipping business?’
James frowned harder, then nodded.
‘Successful?’
‘There’s only his word for it,’ James muttered.
‘No, no!’ Tucker cried desperately. ‘It’s true! It’s a global company.’
Flora looked at him at last, her terror beginning to abate as he hung helpless in her husband’s grip. ‘So, then, your operations extend here?’
‘Yes, across Canada. All over the world!’ He was panting. James had not slackened his hold at all, but he looked over at her, beginning to understand what she was thinking.
‘Tell me what it is you need!’ Tucker whimpered. ‘Whatever it is, I can arrange it for you...If you need someone to look the other way on a...on a shipment, I can arrange that for you. I can make that happen.’
He was shady all the way through, Flora thought. And, in that moment, this was the best thing that could have befallen them.
James slammed Tucker against the wall again, making sure he remained scared. ‘We want a name.’
‘Yes, yes, a name. I can do that...Wh-where?’
James’s voice was low as he pressed his face towards Tucker’s, eyes locked like the lion upon the antelope. ‘Quebec City Harbour Commission,’ he snarled. ‘Immigration.’
‘I won’t be long.’ James kissed Flora lightly on the cheek. They were in the lounge of the Clarendon Hotel, their single case left with the reception desk. They wouldn’t be checking in if they could help it, but there was no guarantee James would be able to procure a car quickly.
That was his plan, to buy a car.
Just like that. Buy a car.
Flora’s definition of luxury had changed. Once, it had been to have a car. Now, the luxury was the freedom it gave them to get on the road quickly and take their destiny into their own hands.
‘You’ll be all right?’
She was still pale and trembling, but no one could see the bruises that were beginning to purple beneath her clothes. To the casual onlooker’s eye, she was simply another rich young woman off the last boat from Europe, one of many in fur coats and cloche hats. The men were in homburgs and puffing on cigars as their steamer trunks were rolled out on trolleys behind them. Flashbulbs had popped frantically as the first-class passengers walked down the gangplank, capturing the display of wealth for a nation caught in the grip of a depression. There had also been a frenzy of flashes for her; Flora’s beauty had registered like an electric shock, the mass contracting as one as she moved slowly, her face downturned. James had sighed, still unused to the celebrity that came with that face, squeezing her hand all the harder as they were ushered quickly to the waiting taxi that had brought them here.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she smiled, even though she felt terrified to be left alone in this new country. She hadn’t known that the Canadians spoke French – or at least, that these east-coast Canadians did – although she did recognize some phrases from her time in Paris. James had ordered her sweet tea – for the shock, he’d murmured – and something to eat.
‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘But what if you can’t find one?’
‘Money always talks,’ he murmured, winking at her and making her stomach somersault.
She watched as he walked away, marching briskly through the revolving doors, heads turning at his handsome profile, his jaw set with a determined jut. No one could possibly imagine, she thought – watching them watching him – the purpose of his quest. They probably thought he was going to buy a pack of cigarettes. How difficult was it to buy a new car, twenty minutes after arriving in a new country?
She slid her thumb over the folded slip of paper. It had been torn from the notepad but it felt silky against her skin, a stolen whisper on a warm night. She could see the Canadian Pacific insignia through the back of the paper, feel the impressions made by the pen as the name had been written down.
She opened it up and stared at it: Joseph Landon.
Joseph Landon. Joseph Landon, she repeated to herself. It was a name she had never heard until an hour ago, but now her entire future – her entire life – depended upon it. This man had no idea of the importance he had suddenly assumed in their lives. There was no one more vital to their happiness than him. Who even was he? Where was he? What was he doing right now? She closed the scrap of paper again as reverently as if it were a prayer book and slipped it back into her coat pocket.
She had a name, and soon James would have a car. They would be on their way, with everything they needed for the next step of this pursuit.
At last, at very long last, their luck was changing.