Chapter 16
16
NEW YORK, 1962
Allegra sat in the window seat in the first-class section of the plane, next to her father. He’d barely spoken to her since they’d left her room and climbed into the taxi, her small suitcase stuffed with her belongings. Her father had disappeared to see the principal for ten minutes, instructing her to pack whilst he was gone. Allegra had contemplated making a run for it but with the news of her mother, not to mention the fact that she didn’t have a passport in her possession, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Scrawling a note to Etienne, Allegra briefly explained what had happened but promised she would be back as soon as possible. She left her address in New York, asked him not to worry about her and told him she loved him. Knocking on the door of the girl across the hall, Allegra begged her to deliver the note to Etienne, writing his address on the front of the envelope. After some persuasion and a small monetary incentive, the girl had reluctantly agreed to do it and Allegra had thanked her, diving back into her own room when she heard her father returning.
The journey to the airport had been horrendous. She knew her father was furious, but his silence was unbearably oppressive. Allegra wished he’d just shout at her, get it out of his system. A few hours into the flight her father fell asleep, largely thanks to the three enormous whiskies he’d had before take-off. As he snored loudly beside her, Allegra imagined Etienne reading the note, hoping he’d do as she asked and not worry.
She tried to sleep, but it was no good. Her mind raced, different scenarios playing out in her head. Much as Allegra didn’t always particularly like her mother as a person, the thought of her being unwell was awful. She had no idea what sort of state she would find her in and despite asking her father about her mother’s illness, he said they would talk about it when they got home.
When they touched down in America eight and a half hours after leaving Paris, her father’s chauffeur-driven car was waiting for them outside the airport. As they drove towards the familiar Manhattan skyline, Allegra’s heart ached more and more with every passing mile. The grey skies reflected her mood as they crawled through the New York traffic and by the time they turned off Fifth Avenue and crossed Madison, Park and Lexington to their apartment on East 72nd Street, it was already dark.
As they made their way in the elevator up to the fifteenth floor – their apartment ran over the entire floor – Allegra readied herself for greeting her mother. But when the door to their apartment was opened, Allegra couldn’t believe her eyes. There was her mother, coiffed hair high on her head, dressed and made up as immaculately as ever.
‘Hello, darling!’
‘Mom, you look…’
Her mother threw her arms around her. ‘I know, I look so well! Come on in.’ She waved Allegra into the apartment.
As soon as she stepped through the front door, Allegra felt a sense of unease.
‘Well, thank goodness we got her back here before she did something really stupid,’ said her father.
It was as if Allegra wasn’t even in the room. ‘I don’t understand.’ She looked from her father to her mother. ‘I’ve been so worried, Mom. Dad said you were really unwell.’
‘Oh, it’s not that serious.’ Her mother waved Allegra’s concern away. ‘The doctors say they can treat it and I’ll be back to normal in no time. Would you like something to eat? You must be starving after your journey. Come and sit down and tell me about Paris, I want to hear all about it. You must’ve had quite the adventure.’
Allegra wondered if her mother even knew about Etienne and their plans to marry. If she did, she was hiding it very well. ‘It’s wonderful. I love it there.’
Her father pecked her mother on the cheek with a perfunctory kiss. ‘I’m going to my study. What time is dinner?’
‘I’ve asked Ida to have it on the table for seven o’clock.’ Her mother smiled at him. ‘Is that alright?’
‘Bring it forward by an hour,’ he called over his shoulder as he left the room.
Her mother sighed and turned back to Allegra, fixing a smile back on her face. ‘Oh, I knew you would love it. Did you see the Eiffel Tower?’
She hated the way her father spoke to her mother. ‘Every day,’ said Allegra, smiling. ‘It’s not like here where everything is hidden behind another building.’ She waited until she heard the door of her father’s study close. ‘Dad said you have cancer.’ She felt sick even saying the words. ‘Please can you tell me what’s going on?’
Her mother dropped her gaze and smoothed down the front of her bouclé jacket. She nodded. ‘It’s breast cancer.’ She looked at Allegra, that smile still in place. ‘But I’m having surgery and then some radiotherapy and the doctors say I have a very good chance.’ She put her hand on Allegra’s and squeezed it. ‘I don’t want you to worry. Now, tell me more about Paris.’
‘But I do worry, Mom. How long until you have surgery?’
‘Next week, then I’ll be home before you know it.’
Allegra saw a vulnerability in her mother’s eyes and for the first time for as long as she could remember, her mother hugged her.
‘I’m so sorry, Mom.’
‘Oh, don’t be dramatic, darling,’ said her mother. ‘It’ll be fine. Now, I understand you had a boyfriend. What was he like?’
Allegra stared at her mother. Obviously, her father hadn’t mentioned that she planned to marry him. ‘Well, it was pretty serious. In fact, we…’
‘Oh, Ida, there you are,’ her mother called over to their housemaid. ‘John is very tired after the journey, can you make sure we have dinner on the table at six rather than seven?’
‘Of course, ma’am.’ Ida nodded. ‘Hello, Ms Morgon.’
‘Hi, Ida, how are you?’ said Allegra, getting up to give her a hug.
‘Look at you!’ Ida put her hands to Allegra’s face. ‘You look so grown up. Paris suits you.’ She winked, then left the room.
‘I do wish you wouldn’t be so familiar with the staff,’ said her mother disapprovingly.
‘Mom, I’ve known Ida all my life. Of course I’m going to be familiar.’
‘Well, I’ve got to get a few things done so I’ll leave you to unpack. Perhaps you might want to freshen up before dinner?’ And with that, she was gone, leaving Allegra on her own in the vast drawing room. If her mother was aware of her plans to marry, she clearly didn’t want to talk about it.
Allegra desperately wanted to bring up the subject of Etienne with her mother again after that first conversation, but with her mother’s illness and plans being made for her to go into hospital, she decided that it would have to wait. Instead, she wrote Etienne a long letter explaining she would have to stay in New York and help her mother through her recovery but would be back just as soon as she could. Every day, she would go down to the apartment building’s reception in the hope of finding letter for her with Etienne’s familiar writing on the front, but nothing came. Still, she was sure a response would arrive in due course.
Being back in New York after her time in Paris made Allegra see the city through new eyes. Compared with the wide boulevards and grand bridges of Paris, Manhattan felt small by comparison. Crowded, too, with rivers of people walking as if their lives depended on it. After her mother returned from surgery to recover at home, Allegra made herself as useful as possible, spending hours by her bedside reading to her or simply sitting with her. The full-time nurse her father had organised dipped in and out of the bedroom every half an hour or so but most of the time it was just Allegra and her mother. At her mother’s insistence, Allegra would leave the apartment every now and again and she used the opportunity to visit an art museum on nearby Fifth Avenue, either the Met, MoMA or the Guggenheim with its stark concrete walls. Before she’d gone to Paris, Allegra had walked past these buildings often. Never once had she wanted to go inside.
Etienne had opened her eyes to a whole new world of creativity both on canvas and in sculpture. Before, and much to her embarrassment, her mother’s love of art had simply bored her. Now, when her mother was up to it, they discussed paintings and artists at length. Allegra longed to tell her mother about Etienne but, worried that the thought of her leaving again would be too upsetting, she held back.
Of course, she thought of him constantly, especially when walking through the vast rooms of the museums. The art around her comforted her, as she imagined what Etienne would make of this painting or that sculpture. She played out entire conversations in her head, returning to the apartment to write him long letters detailing what she’d seen and loved that day. Allegra continued to write every few days but with no other way of contacting him, all she could do was wait. And hope.
* * *
Her mother died in her sleep, six weeks after she’d first come home from hospital. Allegra had gone to see her in the morning, with a glass of water and a book as she’d done almost every morning, to find her father sitting by the bed, holding her mother’s hand. On the other side of the bed sat the nurse, her head bowed.
Her father didn’t notice her standing there until Allegra realised what had happened and dropped her water to the floor. The shattering of glass brought Ida running into the room, where she took in the scene and immediately went to put her arm around Allegra. The next few weeks went by in a blur as her father organised the funeral, not once asking Allegra for any input despite her regular offers of help. She felt numb, not quite knowing what to do or say around her father. The apartment was so quiet without her mother and slowly, as the weeks went by after the funeral, the flowers disappeared too, leaving it drained of colour. Any hopes that her mother’s death might bring her and her father closer were soon forgotten as he settled quickly into life without his wife of almost twenty-five years. As far as Allegra could tell, he couldn’t have been less interested in how his daughter was feeling and he certainly didn’t want to talk about her mother, changing the subject whenever Allegra tried to do so.
One evening, as they sat eating dinner at the table in the dining room overlooking Central Park, Allegra decided it was time to bring up what she might do next. It had been almost a month since her mother’s death and she desperately wanted to return to Paris. The distance and silence between her and Etienne were unbearable. She wasn’t sleeping, could barely eat. To take her mind off her aching heart, that day she’d gone to a small gallery that had not long opened just two blocks up from the apartment, one that her mother had told her to go and visit. They were to exhibit the works of Andy Warhol later that year and according to her mother, he would one day be a household name.
Allegra broke the silence by asking if her father had had a good day. He’d nodded without even looking up, shovelling more food into his mouth. Determined to make him speak to her, Allegra persisted, telling him about her visit to the gallery.
‘I didn’t appreciate how much Mom knew about art. She really loved it, didn’t she? I learnt so much in Paris, I loved talking to her about it,’ said Allegra.
Her father slowly put down his fork, and continued chewing. He didn’t look at Allegra, saying nothing.
She felt a rushing sound in her ears. Deciding she had nothing to lose, she just came out and said it. ‘This has been a horrible time for our family, especially for you. I’m so sorry, Dad. But I do need to think about what I do next.’ She dug her fingers into her palms. ‘What I really want is to go back to Paris.’
He banged his fist on the table with such force, the cutlery rattled on their plates.
Allegra jumped in her seat. Ida, who’d been hovering at the door, slunk back into the kitchen. Finally, her father looked up at Allegra, his face red. She braced herself for an onslaught. As he started his tirade, she was reminded of the times she’d heard his raised voice from her bedroom as a little girl, the sound of her mother’s voice begging him to stop. Allegra tried to breathe slowly, keeping a steady gaze.
His words came thick and fast. She was selfish and stupid. She was far too young to know what was good for her and the idea of her getting married was a joke. Frankly, she was an embarrassment to him.
The sound in Allegra’s ears grew louder. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. Her father’s face was contorted with anger.
‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself?’
Allegra stood up from the table and put her napkin on her plate. ‘Goodbye, Dad.’ She turned and made her way to the door.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ screamed her father. ‘Do not walk away from me!’
‘Thank you, that was delicious,’ Allegra said to Ida as she passed her in the hall, where she’d clearly been hiding to not miss a word.
Ida kissed her on the cheek. ‘You look after yourself.’
‘I will,’ she said, grabbing her coat from the cupboard by the front door.
She left with nothing but the clothes she stood up in and never set foot in that apartment again. Over the coming years, she would sometimes catch a glimpse of her father as he made his way from the apartment to his waiting car, careful to stay out of view. Only once did they bump into each other, quite literally, on Fifth Avenue. He looked at her, anger in his eyes.
‘Excuse me,’ he’d said, before walking on as if she didn’t exist. Those were the last words she ever heard him speak.
* * *
That night, Allegra ran from the apartment and, ignoring the tears streaming down her face, found herself standing on East 74th Street near the corner of Madison Avenue. Pulling her coat around her, she wondered what to do next whilst she caught her breath. The initial relief at getting out of the apartment was soon replaced by the enormity of what she’d done. She sat down on the stone steps in the doorway of a building and wept. What was she supposed to do now? With nothing except a few dollar bills in her purse, she couldn’t even afford to get a bed for the night. She tried to think of someone she could go to, but couldn’t face turning up unannounced at anyone’s house in the state she was in.
‘Are you okay, honey?’
Allegra looked up to see a woman peering down at her, a concerned look on her face. She had curly brown hair that obviously didn’t like being pinned in place. She wore a big red and brown checked coat with a bright yellow scarf wrapped around her neck and her huge eyes stared at Allegra.
Realising she needed to give an answer, Allegra tried not to sob. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’
‘You don’t look fine to me. Can I help?’
Allegra shook her head, suddenly embarrassed.
‘Well, what are you going to do? This might be a nice neighbourhood but even around here it isn’t safe for a girl on their own once it gets late. Do you live near here?’
‘Yes, on East 72nd.’
‘Want me to walk you home? I can go that way.’
‘I don’t want to go home.’ The words were out of her mouth before Allegra could stop them.
‘Then what are you going to do?’
Again, Allegra shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine, really.’
The woman sat down on the step beside her. ‘Won’t your mother be worried sick?’
‘She died,’ Allegra whispered, desperately trying to hold back another flood of tears.
‘I’m sorry.’ She put a hand on Allegra’s arm. ‘How about your father?’
‘He’s the reason I left.’
‘Oh, okay.’ The woman thought about it for a moment. ‘Why did you come here?’
Allegra looked up at the door, realising she was on the steps of the gallery she’d visited earlier that day. ‘My mum told me about it before she died.’
‘That was you in the gallery today? I thought you looked familiar. Except for the tears, that is.’ The woman held out a tissue for Allegra.
‘Thank you,’ said Allegra, taking it and wiping at her face. ‘Is this your place?’
‘It is. You like it?’
‘Like it? I love it.’ Allegra sniffed.
‘Here,’ said the woman, holding out another tissue. ‘My name’s Valentina. Call me Val. I always feel like I’m in trouble when people call me Valentina.’
‘It’s a beautiful name.’
‘Thank you. What’s yours?’
‘Allegra.’
‘Okay, you win.’
Allegra shrugged. ‘I always hated it growing up; I wanted to be called Susan. Just a nice, normal name.’
‘It’s good to be different. So, you like art?’
‘I do. I was in Paris last year. I hope to go back soon.’
‘I lived in Paris for a while when I was about your age. Such a beautiful city.’
‘My fiancé is there,’ said Allegra, unable to hold back a huge sob as soon as the words were out.
‘Ah, I see. Is that what the argument with your father was about?’ Val’s voice softened.
‘Kind of. He won’t let me go back.’
Val placed a hand on Allegra’s arm. ‘Shouldn’t you try and fix things with your dad before it gets any worse?’
Allegra sighed heavily. ‘I’m not going back to that apartment.’
Val took a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket and lit one. ‘How old are you?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘So, if you want go back to Paris, you’ll have to get there on your own somehow.’
‘You’re right, I need a job. That’s what I’m going to do tomorrow. Get a job. And I’ll work for as long as it takes to get myself a plane ticket. I’ll sort myself another passport somehow and then go back to Paris.’ She was saying it to herself as much as to anyone else.
‘I think I have a solution to both your problems.’
‘You do?’ Allegra looked at her, wide eyed.
‘I had to fire the janitor of the gallery today. Which was annoying because he was a very good janitor. Unfortunately, he was also a thief. So, you can start tomorrow, and I will pay you a weekly wage. You can stay with us for a bit, just until you find somewhere to rent. My husband is at home; he’s a writer so you’ll need to make yourself scarce during the day but you’ll be at the gallery so that’s fine.’
Allegra couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Are you a guardian angel or something?’
Val took one last draw on her cigarette and blew out the smoke into the cold New York air. ‘Definitely not,’ she said, stubbing it out on the step. ‘But I was in your position once, so I know what it’s like. Leaving is the easy bit. Making it on your own is the hard part. People helped me when I was down so the least I can do is help you get started.’ She stood up and offered Allegra her hand.
Allegra took it and pulled herself up from the step. ‘I don’t know what to say. Thank you.’
‘Let’s just hope you’re not a terrible janitor.’ Val stepped out into the road. ‘Taxi!’ she yelled, just as one pulled up. She called through the open window. ‘Jones Street, please. Between Bleeker and West 4th.’
‘You live in the West Village?’ Even though it was just a few miles away Allegra had only been a few times, without her parents’ knowledge obviously. They barely travelled south of Central Park.
‘Well, I certainly don’t live on the Upper East Side,’ laughed Val, holding open the door of the cab for Allegra. As they turned onto Park Avenue and headed downtown, Allegra felt lighter with every block they passed.