Rachel Lindsay - Mask of Gold Read online

  Rachel Lindsay - Mask of Gold

  "Piotr must have a mother". — Carolyn Clarke, already devoted to the little half-Polish boy, found it impossible to resist the plea from a dying man. And so she became a stepmother, married a few hours before his death to a man she scarcely knew, and burdened with responsibilities of which she had never dreamed. For, taking Piotr to England to meet his relatives for the first time, Carolyn found a situation very different from what she had been led to expect.

  When she learned the terms of Piotr's aunt's will, she realised how suspect her motives must have appeared to the family — but even this did not account for the strange and hurtful attitude of Alvin Thyssen, a man Carolyn might dislike but could never ignore.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Bellingwood Orphanage was set back from the road and separated from neighbouring properties by a wide expanse of lawn. It was a large, four-storeyed house, with long, rambling corridors and countless stairs.

  'Too many dam stairs,' Carolyn Clarke muttered as she breasted the last flight and pushed open the door of the nursery. 'I'm here, Dora. You can go off now.'

  A woman in a white dress got to her feet. 'About time I My head's splitting from the noise.'

  'Sorry,' Carolyn said contritely, 'but I had to put Jimmy to bed. He threw his tea on the floor.' She looked at the group of toddlers playing in the centre of the room. 'They seem quiet enough.'

  'Only because they've exhausted themselves! I'll go and grab a cup of coffee.'

  Left alone with the children, Carolyn sat down on the floor and began to show a small girl how to make a castle of bricks. There was something similar about the two faces: the wide, untroubled brows, the faint, fly-away eyebrows above unusually deep green eyes and the short, straight noses. Even the hair was the same pinkish gold, brushed smooth from the forehead to fall in soft waves to their shoulders.

  The little girl knocked over the pile of bricks and gurgled.

  'Very clever,' Carolyn said. 'Now build it up on your own.'

  'Can't.'

  'Of course you can.'

  'No!' The small mouth opened and a loud scream pierced the air.

  'Nurse!'

  Carolyn glanced up and saw Miss Williams in the doorway with a man and a child.

  'Nurse, do you think you could stop the noise for a moment?'

  'Only by bribery! You know what Jennifer is, once she gets going.'

  Carolyn bent down, took a piece of chocolate from the pocket of her white starched dress and popped it into the open mouth. There was a gulp and immediately the crying stopped.

  Carolyn straightened. 'There! It's easy when you know how.'

  'I'll pretend I didn't see.' Miss Williams came further into the room. 'Mr. Kolsky is leaving his son with us and wanted to see around the orphanage.'

  'I appreciate it is a bother,' the man said in a heavily accented voice, 'but where I come from orphanages were not places of charm such as this. In Poland, children were considered unfortunate who had to go to one.'

  'Children who live in an orphanage are still considered unfortunate,' Miss Williams said quietly. 'We try our best, but we can never capture the real atmosphere of a home. That's not to say Piotr won't be happy here—I'm sure he will—but having you visit him every week-end will make all the difference.'

  'That is so.' The man looked down at his son. 'Every Saturday and Sunday, eh, Piotrus?'

  'I want to stay with you all the time. I don't like it here.' The little boy's eyes glistened and he pressed his face against his father's leg. 'Let me stay with you, Papa, please?'

  Miss Willams moved to the far corner of the room and beckoned Carolyn to join her. 'I warned Mr. Kolsky there'd be tears,' she said. 'The boy is devoted to him. I think you'd better be extra attentive to him for the next few days.'

  Carolyn glanced over at the man and boy silhouetted against the window. 'What happened to the mother?'

  'She's dead: I gather Mr. Kolsky's been trying to look after the child on his own for the past six months, but the last landlady fancied herself as Mrs. Kolsky the second so he had to leave rather abruptly. That was two months ago. Since then he's been in an hotel, but there's no one to look after the child during the day.'

  'Hasn't he any family?'

  'Not from what he said. He emigrated here a couple of years ago. Anyway, he's decided to leave his son here. He'll be among children of his own age and he'll soon settle down.' She touched Carolyn's arm. 'See if you can get him to go with you. I'd like to avoid a scene if possible.'

  'A few tears won't hurt him.'

  'I know. But it's the father I'm thinking of!'

  Carolyn moved back across and held out her hand to the child. 'Hello, Piotr! You see I know your name. Would you like to know mine?'

  'No.'

  'Now, Piotrus,' his father said, 'that's rude.'

  'I'm called Nurse Carolyn,' Carolyn said quickly. 'Can you say that? Or is it too hard for you?'

  'Of course I can say it. Nurse Carol—Nurse Carol.' He screwed up his face and laughed. 'I don't know it. I'll call you Caro.'

  'That's an even nicer name.' Carolyn held out her hand. 'Do you see that little girl sitting over there on the floor? Well it's time for her bath and she usually makes a fuss when I put her in the water. Do you think you'd like to come and help me? We've a lovely boat to sail in the bath tub.'

  'Is it a big one?'

  'It sure is. With real sails too! Coming, Piotr?'

  The boy looked at his father. 'You're not going away, are you, Papa?'

  The man hesitated and Carolyn said quietly: "Your papa has to go home and work, but he'll come and see you soon.'

  'Will you, Papa?'

  'Of course.'

  'Tomorrow?'

  'I am not sure about tomorrow, but assuredly the day after.' He bent and kissed his son. 'Be good, Piotrus.'

  Before the child had a chance to answer Carolyn scooped up Jennifer and left the nursery with Piotr in tow. Surrounded by other children he had no time to miss his father, and he submitted to being bathed, fed and tucked up in bed in the small dormitory with five other children. It was only as the centre light was turned off that his eyes filled with tears. But this moment too was quickly over, for Carolyn slipped a brown fur dog into his bed and kissed the top of his head.

  'Cuddle Tiki,' she whispered, 'he's lonely too!' Kissing the top of the dark head, she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  For a moment she rested against the wall and listened: but all was quiet. She pushed back a damp tendril of hair and went into the bathroom to swab the floor, then downstairs to the laundry-room and the hum of two washing machines as small socks, handkerchiefs and dresses spiralled in the churning water. Finally, with the washing on the line, she popped in for a last look at her charges, tucked in the disarranged bedclothes and then made her way along the corridor to her own bedroom.

  This was the time of day she liked best; when the rush of the past few hours were over and all that lay ahead was a meal and a quiet evening. She slipped out of her uniform and curled up on the bed to smoke a cigarette.

  For as long as she could remember the orphanage had been her home and Miss Williams, the warden, the only mother she had known. Carolyn barely remembered her parents who had been killed in a plane crash and only vaguely recollected a disapproving uncle who had deposited her at the Bellingwood Orphanage. Together with girls of her own age she had attended day school, and not till she was sixteen had she learned that her uncle had died and left her enough money to go to college.

  'I'd like to take up children's nursing,' she had told Miss Willams. 'Then, when I'm qualified, I can come back here.'

  'Once you're a trained nurse you ca
n get a job anywhere. And certainly a better salary than we could give you.'

  Carolyn's long blonde hair had swung in protest. 'The whole idea of qualifying is so that I can come back. This is my home.'

  'No one stays home for ever. It would be better for you to work in a hospital. You'll have a better chance of getting married and making a home of your own.'

  'Right now I'm not interested. Wait until I've trained.'

  'You'll change your mind by then.'

  'And if I haven't?'

  'Then you can come and work here.'

  Two years later Carolyn had kept Miss Williams to her word and, straight from the General Hospital in Toronto, had returned to the orphanage. The pay was lower and the opportunities for meeting people far less, but to Carolyn the work was infinitely more satisfying, and she had never regretted her decision. It was satisfying to work with children, particularly those who were alone in the world. She thought of the long waiting list of people who wanted to adopt a family and wondered how it was that orphanages were still full. 'And understaffed,' she mused tenderly, rubbing one ankle. She stood up, put on a fresh white dress and low-heeled shoes and went down to the dining- room.

  The following afternoon she was playing on the lawn with a group of five-year-olds when a small car swung into the drive and with a loud yell of 'Papa!', Piotr rushed across to greet the man stepping out. The other children stared longingly as the child was caught in a hug and then, hand in hand, the two walked back to the group on the lawn.

  Carolyn smiled. 'I wasn't sure you'd be coming today, so I didn't say anything to him.'

  'I couldn't get here quickly enough. How has he been?'

  'Very good. He's a credit to you.'

  'To my wife,' the man said quietly.

  Piotr started playing with the other children again and the man looked at Carolyn.

  'I was going to take him out, but perhaps it would be wiser if he stays with his friends?'

  Carolyn nodded. 'Perhaps next time you come..

  He smiled. 'Would you mind if I sat beside you?' 'Not at all.'

  He did so and took out a packet of cigarettes. "Will you have one?'

  'I'm not allowed to smoke on duty.'

  'I'm sorry.' He lit one for himself. 'It's very pleasant here. Already Piotr is looking better. More like he used to when my…he hesitated. 'Miss Williams has told you, perhaps?'

  'Yes. It must have been a great shock.'

  'It was. Alive one minute and then—nothing.'

  'How did it happen?'

  'In childbirth. It was a little girl. They both died.'

  He closed his eyes, and the loss of shiny brown emphasised the dark skin and the high, Slavonic cheekbones.

  'But you've still got Piotr,' she said softly.

  'Yes, I've still got Piotr.' With difficulty he continued: 'We were so happy, Rosemary and I. She was always full of high spirits and bubbling with joy.'

  'Does Piotr look like her?'

  'They had the same colouring.' He looked down at the grass as if in its green surface he could see a reflection of the woman he had loved. 'She should never have had a child. The doctors warned her, but she wouldn't listen. And neither would I.'

  'But she had Piotr,' Carolyn murmured. 'And having another child was as much your wife's decision as yours.'

  He sighed. The words sound good, but I cannot accept them.'

  'You've got to accept them,' Carolyn reiterated. 'You can't go on living with guilt.' He did not answer and she went on: 'Don't you have any friends with whom you can talk?'

  'No. Only the men I work with—and they are not my friends.'

  'Did you come straight here from Poland?'

  He shook his head. 'I lived in England for five years.'

  'Was your wife Polish too?'

  'English.' He turned and for a moment watched his son playing with another boy. 'It is good to be with children, yes?'

  'Yes,' she answered. 'Very good.'

  He turned to look at her. 'May I come back in a few days and see my son again?'

  'Of course. Come whenever you're free.'

  'That is not possible. My work is too far from the city.'

  'What do you do?'

  'I'm a scientist with Imperial Chemicals.'

  'That sounds very impressive,' she grinned. 'What are you working on—another hydrogen bomb?' 'That is not a subject to joke about.' His tone was so emphatic that she was startled. 'I work to save life, not to take it.' He stood up and dusted some grass from his suit. 'The day after tomorrow I will come again. You will be here, please?'

  'I'm afraid not. It's my day off.'

  'Then I will see you next week.'

  From then on, Peter Kolsky called to see his son every weekend, and soon all the children looked forward to his arrival and the large box of chocolates which he never forgot to bring with him.

  'Children are such greedy little pigs,' Carolyn remarked to him one Sunday afternoon towards the end of June. 'They just he in wait for you like locusts!'

  'Do you blame them?' Without pausing for her to answer, he went on: 'In Poland, when I was a child, there were always picnics and parties, and every week-end I was taken to a concert and then out for tea.'

  'Do you come from Warsaw?'

  'Not all Polish people come from Warsaw, Nurse Carolyn!'

  She laughed. 'I asked for that one. But it's the only Polish city I can pronounce properly!'

  'Then I am lucky my name is not difficult.'

  'Peter's an English name,' she said and stopped, embarrassed. 'I do think of you as Peter,' she confessed. 'Mr. Kolsky's a bit of a mouthful.'

  'And I think of you as Carolyn.' He half smiled. 'You are off duty again tomorrow, aren't you?'

  'How do you know?'

  'One need not be a mathematical genius to work it out!' He moved a step closer. 'You are perhaps going out with someone else?

  'No.'

  'Then you will come out with me, perhaps?'

  'Not perhaps,' she grinned. 'The word is yes!'

  The following evening Carolyn walked through the revolving doors of the Royal York Hotel and was half way up the steps to the lounge when Peter came down. He stopped and stared at her.

  'You look so different out of uniform, Carolyn. You are much taller than I remembered.'

  'I'm wearing high heels.'

  'That explains it.' He put his hand on her elbow and led her into the lounge. 'I thought we would have dinner here. It is quiet and we can talk.'

  They dined at a corner table in the large dining-room, with the music of a string orchestra as soft background to their conversation. It was unusually satisfying to watch the well-dressed people around her, and dinner—eaten with soft carpets underfoot and a brilliant mosaic ceiling overhead—was infinitely tastier than in the plain, white-walled room at Bellingwood.

  'I've only been here twice in my life,' she confessed. 'Once when I took myself out for my twenty-first birthday and now with you.'

  'But that is impossible! A girl like you should have many friends.' She shook her head and he stared in disbelief. 'One particular boy-friend, then?'

  'Not even that.' She was amused by his surprise. 'The only men I see are under seven!'

  'In my country, a girl of your age would be married.'

  'I'm only twenty-three.'

  'Rosemary was twenty when we eloped.'

  'You eloped? How romantic.'

  'It is not romantic for a girl to marry without her family being present.' A roll disintegrated into crumbs beneath his hand. 'As a friend of her brother I was acceptable, but as a son- in-law—never!'

  'Why not?'

  'Because I was a foreigner and poor.'

  'What happened after you married? Did the family forgive you then?'

  'They were not the kind to forgive. There was an old aunt, though; she was not so much against me as the others—they would never talk to me again.'

  'Is that why you and your wife came to Canada?'

  "Yes. I was offere
d a job in Vancouver and afterwards I got a better one here. Everything was going so well, I was afraid it would not last.' He stopped for a moment and then said: 'And I was right. In a few months it was all over. Rosemary was dead and I had nothing. Nothing!'

  'You still had your son.'

  'A son needs a mother!'

  'What about your own family?' she asked quickly.

  They were killed during the war.'

  'In Poland?'

  His smile was not pleasant. 'In England. In a small village near Chichester where they had gone to be safe while my father was away fighting. Two days after my mother learned he had been killed, the Germans bombed the Tyssen Chemical Works on the other side of Chichester. It was too well protected for them to get anywhere near it, so they jettisoned everything on the village where we lived.'

  She tried to find the right words to say, but words seemed inadequate, and she listened in silence as he continued to speak.

  'Half the village was wiped out,' he said huskily, 'including my mother and my sister. From then on I spent my childhood moving from one family to another, but never belonging anywhere. Old man Tyssen made sure all the orphans were taken care of financially, and as far as he was concerned, that was the end of it.'

  'There wasn't anything else he could do,' Carolyn expostulated. 'After all, you can't blame him for what happened.'

  'I blame him completely. If it hadn't been for his factory, a hundred people would be alive today.'

  'You could say that about any chemical or armaments factory in England during the war,' she said quickly. 'There was a job to do and they did it.'

  'Factories like Tyssens should have been placed miles from where people lived.'

  'You can't rim a factory with robots. You're not being logical about it.'

  'One cannot be logical over love,' he replied. 'And I lost my family because of Tyssen. I grew up hating him. As a child, I used to dream of killing him with my own bare hands.'

  Involuntarily she looked down at them and saw they were clenched so tightly together that the knuckles stood out white.

  'I was seventeen when old Tyssen died,' he continued. 'That's when the son took over.'

  'Don't tell me you transferred your hatred to him!'

  'You may joke about it,' came the quiet reply, 'but that is because you've never been affected by war.'