THE HEART GOES ON
Chapter Seven
October, 1912
Santa Monica
Jack
The drawings looked wonderful
hanging in Hamish’s gallery. It was only a small collection of about ten
drawings, some of the Santa Monica beach and the roller coaster, some of people
in various guises--a man fishing off the pier, children building sandcastles, a
couple walking on the beach, a dog chasing a ball thrown by his master. My
favorite was a full side profile of a pregnant Rose, standing on the beach with
the sun setting behind her, her hair falling over her face, hiding her
features, and wearing a yellow dress.
We wandered around Inspired,
Hamish’s waterfront gallery. He had presented the pictures beautifully and the
lighting made them look spectacular.
The collection was called Jacques
Calvert, the Santa Monica Collection.
People were milling around,
looking at them. It seemed to be going well. There was a good feeling in the
air.
"They are very good,"
Ruth was saying. "I didn’t appreciate how good you were. You will have to
do a formal portrait of Rose sometime." Rose and I looked at each other and
grinned. Rose giggled. She was beautiful in a green and red gown, her hair up
in a bun. She was feeling so much better with the pregnancy now.
I moved closer to her.
"Remember the picture of you and the Heart of the Ocean in your
suite?" I whispered. "It’s a pity the picture is at the bottom of the
Atlantic. It would look great on display!"
She blushed deeply and swatted my
arm playfully. "Naughty," she said lightheartedly. "You have
done so well with the collection, Monsieur Big Artiste."
I laughed at her reference to our
private drawing session and kissed her cheek. "You cheeky minx," I
joked.
Hamish walked over to us and
shook my hand. "Jack, your work is exquisite. I have even taken a couple
of inquiries about commissions for you. And I am sure we will have sold the
whole collection by the end of the evening."
I beamed. I could not believe
that people thought my artwork was good. In Paris, when I was a grubby drifter,
people wouldn’t look twice at my work. Now, I was presented as a married,
respectable family man in a established gallery. I was being taken seriously. I
had Molly and Hamish to thank for believing in me.
"Well, Hamish," I said.
"The money will be useful when you let the sold pictures go next week,
because Rose and I are taking a vacation and are going to Chippewa Falls for a
while, to visit family and have a honeymoon."
"Oh," Hamish said in
his gruff Scottish accent. "That’s too bad. I will miss your help, but
there is a position here for you anytime."
Rose
I stood back and watched Jack talking
with Hamish. He was so handsome; he was dressed in simple but stylish clothes
made for him by Molly’s tailor. His hair was slicked back and he was clean
shaven. He looked every inch a gentleman.
Jack had the unique gift of being
able transcend class barriers.
On the Titanic, when he was at
the first class dinner, he was able to hold his own amongst the snobby people
and made my mother and Cal’s attempts to make him look silly pointless. He was
so special. He could see people, and people liked him because he was so
genuine. He had taken one look at me and seen through to the real Rose
underneath. He was wise, caring, observant, and I loved him.
The baby kicking in my womb was
another indication of our deep love. Thank goodness this was Jack’s baby. I was
so relieved I had managed to keep Cal at bay when we were involved, though not
for Cal’s lack of trying. I had had to keep my bedroom door locked. I shuddered
as I remembered.
"Please, Rose, let me in.
Open your heart to me, Rose. I want you." I could hear his cloying, fake
voice trying to seduce me when we were on our tour of Europe. "I will be
the first forever," he had whispered possessively to me in my stateroom
when we had first boarded the Titanic. It had made my flesh crawl, my heart harden,
and I had wondered how could I lie and be intimate with a man I never would
love.
Only high class propriety and my
mother’s iron grip on me had prevented him from taking what he wanted.
Jack passed me a glass of water
and smiled at me. Our marriage so far had been blissful, fun in the daytime,
walking on the beach, going with Jack while he drew, picnics, going to the
moving picture theater, and the nights had been slow, gentle nights of passion.
We could not get enough of each other. I was very lucky to have escaped the
chains that had bound me and found the wonderful Jack Dawson, now a successful
artist.
October, 1912
Philadelphia
Gerard
The evening light was fading
fast. It was a pleasant October evening at Crosswinds. My father and mother
were out at the theater to watch a new play.
It was after dinner, and I went
into the library to have an after dinner cigarette and a brandy.
I was feeling low. Emily and I
weren’t getting on as we had been. She had left for her parents’ house. She
seemed to have lost her spark and was very morose and quiet.
"Emily, sweetheart,
please talk to me," I had said to her. We were sitting by the lake at
Crosswinds. It was sunny, warm, and we were drinking champagne, but the smile
did not reach her eyes and she did not talk to me as animatedly as she had
weeks before. The happy girl who had danced with me and made me laugh was gone.
Even my mother had mentioned Emily’s mood swings.
"What is the
matter?" I had reached for her hand. It lay there in my palm, motionless.
"Are you ill? Is there anything I have done?" She turned her small,
pale face to me. Tears slipped from her wide, baby blue eyes. I held her to me as
she cried like a child. That was what I had liked about her originally, her
innocent naivety and childlike dreaminess. She was uncomplicated and sweet.
"Why do you cry so?"
I asked. She whispered that she had wedding nerves and that my family
intimidated her.
"I know my father is
powerful, but he is an important man. My mother is French, outgoing, and has
Crosswinds to manage. This is how she is. And Caledon…well, he is grieving and
raw after Rose’s escapades," I soothed her.
As I mentioned Cal’s name, the
tears flowed more. His dark moods frightened Emily. "Emily, I know he is
moody and surly, but he has been hurt." She clung to me, saying how she
loved me and always would. It was concerning me, these crying fits and
melancholy. I just hoped it was all the big plans for the wedding that were
scaring her. She was so young and vulnerable, but she’d be fine with me to
guide her. She would be a caring, tender wife and mother to my children, and
she had a good name to boot.
Caledon walked into the library
at that point, a glass of brandy in his hand. He has been better tempered
recently. Father had let him run one of the mills. It kept him busy, and his
valet, Bonner, seemed to be on the verge of discovering the runaway bride.
My brother was different from me.
He always had been hotheaded. As a child, he had terrified me, the ten year age
gap mighty. My mother made sure she protected me from his rages when she could.
"Gerry!"
fifteen-year-old Caledon roared. "You have taken my polo stick again,
haven’t you?"
I had run helter-skelter from
the nursery as Cal chased me, his black eyes burning like hot coals, but my
five-year-old legs were no match for my athletic teenage brother. He grabbed me
roughly and dragged me back to the nursery.
The nursemaid was not there.
The intensity and coldness of my brother frightened me, and I started screaming
for my mother. He sat in a chair and smacked me with hard blows across my rear.
I yelled as the pain ripped
through me.
"This will teach you! I
am your elder! I am better than you! Say you are sorry!" he snarled.
"I am sorry! Let me go!
Mommy!" I screamed. He tipped me roughly onto the floor and casually
walked away.
"I am my father’s
firstborn, Gerard," he mocked. "You are the French whore’s
brat."
I had never forgotten this, and
kept well out of his way in the future.
"Cigarette?" Cal
offered. He seemed to be taking the news that Father was giving half the
fortune to me on the eve of my and Emily’s wedding well.
"Don’t mind if I do," I
replied. We sat in the wing chairs, smoking in companiable silence.
"Has Emily returned
home?" he asked in an amused tone.
"Yes, unfortunately. She
seems to be having wedding jitters," I said.
We eyed each other. My brother
was very handsome--dark eyes, hair, my father’s strong personality and
determination, and his pleasant, polite façade, which hid the cold Hockley
temper. My brother was a man to admire and a man you would not want as your
enemy.
I could not understand why Rose
had left. They had seemed so well-matched, and Cal had been well-pleased. They
both had the same cultured upbringing and the same outgoing ambition and
personality. She was fiery, redheaded, and beautiful, a great foil for Cal’s
temperament. What had made her run?
Caledon and I made polite small
talk about the mill and then went to our rooms for the night. My brother was an
enigma. I would never understand him.