Sir Charles went white with anger at her rudeness. ‘Your husband never did anything he didn’t want to. You of all people should know that. No one forced him into the ring and no one is to blame. He is a sportsman.’
Evelyne moved closer to him and her fists clenched. ‘ You forced him and you know it, you never let him off the hook, did you? Because you owned him, from the day you first met him, you bought him.’
Sir Charles snapped that perhaps she would have preferred him to hang, as he most assuredly could have done without him.
‘He repaid you, every penny you spent on that court case. How much have you made out of him?’
He pushed her away from him, his face ashen. His fury, usually so controlled, burst out. ‘If there was anyone to blame, my dear, it was you, you who never let him be, you hung on to your meal ticket as he would have hanged from a rope. Do you think I don’t know that?’
Evelyne slapped his face so hard that he reeled backwards. Taking out a silk handkerchief he dabbed at the corners of his mouth, then replaced his monocle and reached for the door handle. He froze for a moment, his back to her, his voice choked, ‘Forgive me, I should never, never have said those things to you. I cannot say how deeply sorry I am, I can only say that I am as distraught about what has happened as you are. You won’t believe me, but it is the truth.’
Evelyne gave him a bitter smile, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes, but he did turn towards her. ‘I remember him from those early days, at Devil’s Pit. I had such hopes for him, and they did not include you. I am sorry, perhaps I had a reason — you may call it jealousy, whatever you wish. But you have him now, he’s all yours, and I feel sure your love for each other will be strong enough to overcome this sad situation.’
He wanted to leave but Evelyne caught his arm, and only his icy stare made her release him.
‘They say he’ll never fight again, do you know that? And I don’t want him to, ever. Stay out of our lives, stay away from him, we don’t need you.’
He gave her a brief nod, said his contract with Freedom was void as of that day. He opened the door, holding his back ramrod-stiff, and walked out. He said his last words to the corridor, not even directing them at Evelyne, ‘You never needed me, my dear, never.’
Sir Charles walked slowly out of the hospital. His car drew up and he stepped in and leaned his head on the soft leather. He had a clear picture of the very first time he had seen Freedom, there at Devil’s Pit, with his flowing hair and perfect body. How could those foolish people know, understand anything? No other man had had such care and attention lavished on him, but they believed it had been purely business.
‘I wanted him, I wanted him.’
The chauffeur turned a puzzled look to Sir Charles, they were still outside the hospital and he was not sure where he was supposed to take his passenger. Sir Charles opened his eyes and snapped that they were going to his hotel immediately; he had already made the decision not to return to Chicago, there was nothing there for him. He decided to go to Hollywood. Perhaps there he would find what he was always searching for but so afraid to make happen. Hollywood beckoned, the decadence, the freedom to love whom he chose.
Evelyne saw the limousine drive away and knew that an episode in her life, in all their lives, had closed.
At three o’clock the nurse came out with some hot tea for Evelyne and told her Freedom was asking for her. The nurse was worried, the woman looked heavily pregnant, and quietly warned her that he was not lucid, still under the effects of the drugs.
Evelyne walked to the bedside, and sat in the chair the nurse had placed there for her. Freedom’s hands were still, lying on top of the folded white sheet. His face, so bruised and beaten, looked grotesque with the bandages over his nose.
‘That you, manushiy that you?’
She took his hand and kissed it, whispering that she was there, she was there, and to go to sleep.
‘I’m sorry, so sorry, manushi, sorry …’
The tears she thought had dried up flowed freely, dripping on to his hand, and he slept, holding her tight, afraid to let her go. In his sleep he was running through the fields, he was dragging the wild horse towards him and riding bareback through the clean, sweet, fresh air.
In the morning Ed came to find her still holding Freedom’s hand, her head resting on the bed. He eased her away and she tried to argue, but he said it was not tor her but for the baby, she must eat.
The villa’s shutters were closed; Evelyne didn’t want the sunlight, she wanted the dark to wrap around her and comfort her. Freda came and sat beside her, held her hand.
‘Sir Charles was at the hospital. He said Freedom’s contract was cancelled.’
Freda wanted to cry, but she kept herself under control. ‘We’ll go home, Ed says, as soon as Freedom’s well.’
‘How did Sir Charles come to have all that money? It doesn’t seem right, the way he can pick people up, then drop them.’
Freda sighed and patted Evelyne’s hand. ‘Well, darlink, he never even met any of his miners, but he treats them the same way.’
‘What do you mean?’
Surprised she didn’t know, Freda told her Sir Charles’ family money was made from coal mining. She was taken aback when Evelyne laughed, a bitter, humourless laugh. ‘My God, I should have known it. I hate him, Freda, I hate him so.’
‘He has troubles, too, Evie. His trustees, so Ed tells me, always keep him short of money, he has to fight them all the time.’
‘Keep him short? He wouldn’t know the meaning of the word. My brothers worked the mines, their knees cut and their elbows bent, their backs torn to shreds. He wouldn’t know what it felt like to go short, to beg for a crust of bread. I hate him.’
Freda saw the rage in Evelyne, the deep anger, unleash itself. The violent movements of her hands emphasized what she was saying, ‘I wonder how much he made out of him, how much? It’ll be more than we have coming to us. Dear God, Freda, I hate that man so much I could go and … and …’
Suddenly Evelyne was sobbing, her shoulders heaving. Freda stroked her hair, knowing it was best Evie should cry, to release her anger. It wasn’t really hatred for Sir Charles, it was her pain for Freedom.
Ed came home from the hospital, heavy-hearted. He laid his straw hat down. ‘I dunno what’s goin’ ter ‘appen, Freda, they tell me he’s still paralysed down ‘is left side. It must’ve ‘appened when he fell outta the ring. I should’ve stopped ‘im, Freda, I ‘ad the chance first time ‘e went down. I should’ve made ‘im quit. But I wanted ‘im ter win so bad … wanted ‘im ter win, an’ I failed ‘im, I failed my boy, Freda.’ He rubbed his head, held his hand out to Freda. He clung to her and sobbed, and she rocked him in her arms. Ed wasn’t weeping for a fighter, the loss of the championship — he was heart-broken for his ‘golden boy’, his ‘son’.
They could hear Evelyne moving around upstairs; she came down with her face set, pale and drawn from crying. ‘Ed, will you drive me to the cab stand. I’ll go back to the hospital, sit with him until morning.’
Ed wiped his tears with the back of his;hand, afraid Evelyne had seen. He put his straw hat on at a jaunty angle.
‘Right, then, let’s be ‘avin’ yer.’
Sir Charles had been so silent, so preoccupied that Dewhurst crept around the hotel suite. ‘I’ve packed everything, sir, and we are ready whenever you wish to leave.’
Sir Charles gave him a small smile. ‘Jolly good. I’ll be flying, I know how you feel about planes, if you would prefer to travel straight back to the Grange I can arrange your passage.’
‘Oh, that’s very good of you, sir, but I have a great inclination to see Hollywood. They say there’s a guided tour of the film stars’ homes that’s rather special.’