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Authors: Susan Green
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it several times. Then he passed his hand over his eyes, shaking his head. “Perhaps I did wrong. Perhaps …”
“What, Papa? Please tell me.”
“Six or seven years ago this young woman approached my lawyers in Toronto with her tale about being Waldo Parker’s child. I had them look into it thoroughly, for Isabella’s sake. But the letters and documents proved nothing.”
“She says the Parker family lied about Waldo’s death. It is possible, isn’t it?”
“No. Waldo Parker ran away from home, it’s true. A few weeks later he returned. He was very ill and died soon afterwards. My lawyer found not only the death certificate but reliable witnesses to Waldo’s burial. It was an open coffin, Veroschka.” He paused to let that fact sink in. “It is very sad. This poor young creature, brought up in orphanages and foster homes, has somehow developed this
idée fixe
, this obsession about her parentage.”
“But her name – Della Parker?”
“Parker is a common name.” He sighed. “I felt sorry for her. I gave her money. And now she has followed us here. But why?”
“The news of Hiram Parker’s death?”
“But she has no claim, none at all.” He stopped. “What is it, Veroschka?”
“She was at the opera and she handed me a fan. It had a name carved on it – ‘Isabella Savage’.” I hesitated. Papa didn’t like me to talk about my gifts. They worried him. But he had to know about my vision. “As soon as I unwrapped it, I saw Mama. I heard her sing. I believe it really is Mama’s fan.”
Papa shrugged. “It may well have been. Isabella had many fans. She gave them to admirers, she lost them, perhaps some were even stolen. I will send a telegram to SP tomorrow, asking him to get rid of this nuisance. Promise me you will not bother yourself about her any more,
ma petite
.”
“I won’t, Papa. Though…” There was one thing about her that still puzzled me. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” I said. “She’s not a Parker at all, and yet she resembles Mama.”
Papa stared at me. “She what?”
“She resembles Mama,” I repeated. “Surely you noticed it?”
“No. I never saw her.” Papa began breathing heavily. He pressed his hand to his chest.
“Are you all right, Papa? Do you need a drink of water? Do you need to lie down?”
“Tell me what she looks like.”
I described her well as I could and Papa sat thinking for a minute. Then he said, “I will send a different telegram to SP. He will arrange a meeting. I think I need to see this Della Parker for myself.”
10
MEETING HAROLD
It was nearly two o’clock. We were assembled around the dining room table, but lunch had not yet been served and the atmosphere in the room was rather tense. Mr Petrov, with a frown, announced the reason for the delay.
“We are waiting for my great-nephew Harold,” he said. “He is coming home from school.”
“What school is that, Nicky?”
“Cantilever College.”
“Ah, he has his holidays,” said Papa.
“I suppose you could call it that.” Mr Petrov was tight-lipped and grim.
You could have cut the air with a knife.
Then, all in a rush, as if she couldn’t hold back any longer, Helen said, “I hope you are not going to be too hard on him, Nicholas. Remember, I told you we should have sent him to Castlemaine Grammar School. It is good enough for the Leviny children, and–”
“You must excuse Helen,” said Mr Petrov. “She is upset. I’m afraid Harold has been expelled.”
“Oh, that’s terrible!” exclaimed Connie, and then blushed. “I beg your pardon.”
“Actually, it is not so terrible,” said Helen. “Nor is it totally unexpected. It’s happened before.”
“What’s ’e done?” Trust Poppy to come right out with it.
“According to the headmaster, he is not amenable to discipline,” answered Mr Petrov.
Poppy frowned as she tried to take in all those long words.
“I’ll tell you a secret, Poppy,” said Helen. “Harold is cleverer than his
“What, Papa? Please tell me.”
“Six or seven years ago this young woman approached my lawyers in Toronto with her tale about being Waldo Parker’s child. I had them look into it thoroughly, for Isabella’s sake. But the letters and documents proved nothing.”
“She says the Parker family lied about Waldo’s death. It is possible, isn’t it?”
“No. Waldo Parker ran away from home, it’s true. A few weeks later he returned. He was very ill and died soon afterwards. My lawyer found not only the death certificate but reliable witnesses to Waldo’s burial. It was an open coffin, Veroschka.” He paused to let that fact sink in. “It is very sad. This poor young creature, brought up in orphanages and foster homes, has somehow developed this
idée fixe
, this obsession about her parentage.”
“But her name – Della Parker?”
“Parker is a common name.” He sighed. “I felt sorry for her. I gave her money. And now she has followed us here. But why?”
“The news of Hiram Parker’s death?”
“But she has no claim, none at all.” He stopped. “What is it, Veroschka?”
“She was at the opera and she handed me a fan. It had a name carved on it – ‘Isabella Savage’.” I hesitated. Papa didn’t like me to talk about my gifts. They worried him. But he had to know about my vision. “As soon as I unwrapped it, I saw Mama. I heard her sing. I believe it really is Mama’s fan.”
Papa shrugged. “It may well have been. Isabella had many fans. She gave them to admirers, she lost them, perhaps some were even stolen. I will send a telegram to SP tomorrow, asking him to get rid of this nuisance. Promise me you will not bother yourself about her any more,
ma petite
.”
“I won’t, Papa. Though…” There was one thing about her that still puzzled me. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” I said. “She’s not a Parker at all, and yet she resembles Mama.”
Papa stared at me. “She what?”
“She resembles Mama,” I repeated. “Surely you noticed it?”
“No. I never saw her.” Papa began breathing heavily. He pressed his hand to his chest.
“Are you all right, Papa? Do you need a drink of water? Do you need to lie down?”
“Tell me what she looks like.”
I described her well as I could and Papa sat thinking for a minute. Then he said, “I will send a different telegram to SP. He will arrange a meeting. I think I need to see this Della Parker for myself.”
10
MEETING HAROLD
It was nearly two o’clock. We were assembled around the dining room table, but lunch had not yet been served and the atmosphere in the room was rather tense. Mr Petrov, with a frown, announced the reason for the delay.
“We are waiting for my great-nephew Harold,” he said. “He is coming home from school.”
“What school is that, Nicky?”
“Cantilever College.”
“Ah, he has his holidays,” said Papa.
“I suppose you could call it that.” Mr Petrov was tight-lipped and grim.
You could have cut the air with a knife.
Then, all in a rush, as if she couldn’t hold back any longer, Helen said, “I hope you are not going to be too hard on him, Nicholas. Remember, I told you we should have sent him to Castlemaine Grammar School. It is good enough for the Leviny children, and–”
“You must excuse Helen,” said Mr Petrov. “She is upset. I’m afraid Harold has been expelled.”
“Oh, that’s terrible!” exclaimed Connie, and then blushed. “I beg your pardon.”
“Actually, it is not so terrible,” said Helen. “Nor is it totally unexpected. It’s happened before.”
“What’s ’e done?” Trust Poppy to come right out with it.
“According to the headmaster, he is not amenable to discipline,” answered Mr Petrov.
Poppy frowned as she tried to take in all those long words.
“I’ll tell you a secret, Poppy,” said Helen. “Harold is cleverer than his
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