Redemption - Leon Uris [121]
God in heaven, Freddie felt so alone. The two he held most dear, penning him proper notes these days. Horseshit!
Weed grunted to his feet, checked his pocket watch as the five o’clock whistle sounded. Soon his legions marched under his window toward the factory gate, doffing their caps as they passed.
Would that bloody train ever get in!
“Hello, Freddie, you’re looking well.”
“Hello, Caroline, I look like hell and so do you.”
“Should you be smoking and drinking?”
“All I get to do with this cognac is swirl it in an elegant manner and sniff it. As for the cigar, I only feel it.”
They were both shaken by his words. One of their life’s pleasures was Caroline biting off the end of his cigar and lighting it, just so.
“Jeremy?” she asked.
“He’s at Rathweed Hall in his apartment. He’s locked himself in. We’ve scarcely exchanged a dozen words. Yourself?”
“Things between Roger and myself are extremely rocky. There could well be a separation.”
“Oh dear.”
“Roger has finally succeeded in breaking the boy. God only knows what transpired in Dublin, but Roger has what he wants, an obedient little pissant for a son….”
Weed could not take the disdain in his daughter’s eyes. He lowered his own.
“You and I have spoken about Jeremy for hours. We know he has limited capabilities. How in the name of God could you have joined in this barbaric scheme?” she demanded.
“Caroline—”
“How in the name of God did you permit this to happen!”
Weed closed his eyes and held his hands up in a manner of pleading for her to stop and listen to him.
“I am not going to claim virginity in this matter,” he began, “but let’s put it in its proper context. You know how many ongoing enterprises Roger and I have together. It is not, I repeat, not unusual for him to ask for Brigadier Swan a dozen times a year to check this out, check that out. After Jeremy’s behavior in England and the estrangement I’ve felt from him since that…incident…when I was told he had taken up with a Catholic pub singer—and that’s what they told me, a Catholic pub singer—I said fine, keep an eye on him. I swear to you I had no idea of the depth of his involvement nor the true picture of this young lady. I fully thought that Jeremy was on another of his ridiculous escapades. I’m guilty. I lent Roger the brigadier and I didn’t follow through with an inquiry.”
Caroline hardly seemed mollified. “This is a very, very lovely young lady and she is carrying my grandchild. I am making a stand about this.”
“Marriage?”
“Absolutely.”
“I see.”
“You’d better see, Freddie, indeed you’d better see,” she said, coming from her chair and walking away, dabbing her eyes and bringing under control the chills trembling her.
“Well…I…uh…it should be no problem to have her converted to the Anglican church, quietly. But how will Jeremy stand up to Roger if you’re contemplating a separation?”
“I’ll go back to Hubble Manor with them. It may take a year, it may take longer, but Roger is going to give up his medieval, Reformation mentality. They will have this child in Hubble Manor before he pushes Christopher to the altar to stud an heir.”
“Aren’t we playing Roger’s game?”
“No, goddamnit, we’re playing Caroline’s game! My son is going to inherit the earldom and he is going to do something about the deplorable conditions out there.”
Sir Frederick Weed contained all the winces and groans. If he objected, he’d lose Caroline. She already had a foot out the door. What would then be left? Christopher? Christopher was only slightly less despicable than Roger, and the only reason for that was that he hadn’t lived long enough to pick up all of Roger’s slime.
Roger, Christopher, and Sir Frederick? It had come down to this. The two of them ready to move in and carve him up at the first sign of another stroke.
“Caroline,” he said shakily.
“Aye, Father.”
“We’ve a lot of making up to do, don’t we? I’m standing with you. That’s a start.”
“Do you know where Molly O’Rafferty is?” Caroline asked.
“Yes, she’s left