Rosemary sniffled. ‘Yes.’
‘All those who love children are loved by them in return,’ Mother Isabel said. ‘But there are some individuals who are blessed with a special gift, because they are especially close to childhood. Something tells me that you are one of these, Rosemary.’
She looked up at last, blotting her nose. ‘I do love children.’
Mother Isabel smiled in a way that reminded Rosemary of the statues of Mary. ‘It’s a sacred love. It’s not like any other kind of love. It’s pure. Divine. Other kinds of love can bring us pain. They can bring us to sin, terrible sin, mortal sin. But God’s divine love can wash away that sin. And God’s love is so often channelled through His little ones. Do you understand, Rosemary?’
Rosemary knew that Mother Isabel was talking about Cubby. She felt her mouth twist into a sullen shape. She missed Cubby terribly. And he hadn’t even written. She groped in her pocket for her cigarettes and put one in her mouth.
‘We don’t allow smoking at Belmont House,’ Mother Isabel said, her voice changing slightly, just enough to show that she was displeased. ‘We’ll have to ask you to get rid of that particular habit.’
‘Perhaps you might make an exception for Rosie,’ Daddy said quickly. ‘She finds the habit very relaxing. Maybe she could be allowed to smoke in the garden? I know she’d appreciate that dispensation. And I’d be personally very grateful.’
Mother Isabel thought about that for a moment. ‘Very well,’ she said, folding her hands. ‘We don’t want to impose unnecessary hardships on Rosemary. But not in the building, if you please.’ She took the cigarette from Rosemary’s lips deftly and dropped it in the wastepaper basket. ‘Your father tells me you will soon have your twenty-first birthday.’
Rosemary nodded, looking longingly at the cigarette which lay in the trash.
‘We’ll arrange something special for that. It won’t pass unmarked.’ She pressed a bell on her desk. ‘I’m going to ask Sister Clare to show you around while your father and I have a little talk.’
But while they waited for Sister Clare, Mother Isabel and Daddy started their little talk anyway, with their voices lowered, as though she couldn’t hear what they were saying.
‘Now, Mother Isabel,’ Daddy said, ‘you just let me know how I can help you here at Belmont House. I’d like to show my gratitude in any way I can.’
‘We always need help, Mr Kennedy. I could give you a list as long as your arm.’
Daddy stuck his hand out, grinning. ‘As you can see, I have long arms, Mother Isabel.’
Mother Isabel laughed. Daddy was tall. ‘Well, let’s see whether Rosemary is going to be happy here.’
‘I have a feeling that Rosemary is going to be very happy here.’
‘Belmont House is a happy place, Mr Kennedy. Our Benedictine brothers say Ora et Labora.’
‘“Pray and work”.’
‘Exactly. We believe that work is the best kind of prayer. We also believe that keeping young people fully occupied is the best way to keep them on the straight and narrow and avoid divagations into sin.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
‘For a young woman with Rosemary’s difficulties – and perhaps weaknesses as well – filling every hour of every day is of the utmost importance. It keeps the mind occupied. And the influence of children cannot be overestimated. They guide us surely and effortlessly to God. Their innocence is often the best medicine for a guilty heart, and their laughter the best medicine for a heavy one.’
‘Amen to that. I have nine, myself.’
‘Needless to say, you may rest easy that here at Belmont House, Rosemary will be well protected from the outside world. She will not be receiving any’ – Mother Isabel glanced at Rosemary – ‘callers such as you would not wish her to receive.’
‘That’s very important to us.’
‘May I ask how serious the – ah – problem was?’
‘It seems they were seeing each other as often as they could.’
‘By seeing each other you mean—’
‘All the way, yes.’
‘And emotionally?’
‘Well,’ Daddy said, also glancing at Rosemary, ‘she doesn’t have the emotional capacity for very deep feelings. I think it was more physical than anything else. She’s not a child any more, if you get my point.’
‘I do, indeed. You may feel that the damage has been done, in that regard. But our experience is that there is no damage which cannot be healed. We’ll get her mind off’ – she waved her hand – ‘certain topics. And we’ll direct her thoughts to higher ones. Whatever can be keeping Sister Clare?’ She pressed the bell again.
‘Her mother and I are also concerned about her weight,’ Daddy said, looking at Rosemary critically. ‘She’s much too fond of sweet things. She’s gotten herself much too fat. It attracts unwanted attention. We’re hoping you can do something about that.’
‘We certainly can. We’ll make sure—’
But Rosemary never got to hear the rest of that, because the smiling nun finally appeared and took her off to tour the school. As soon as she was out of Mother Isabel’s office, she lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The nun’s smile faded.
‘What are you looking at?’ Rosemary demanded.
The Solent
The Manhattan sailed promptly at six. Every ship in Southampton, including the troop transports that were themselves preparing to leave for France, sounded horns, steam whistles or sirens. The unearthly chorus sounded to those on board like wails of woe and despair, despite the customary carnival of streamers and confetti that trailed from the high decks of the liner, fragile links with shore that were soon torn apart, joining the debris in the water.
Masha Morgenstern felt as though her heart were being torn out of her. Unable to watch the docks receding behind Manhattan, she left Rachel waving at the rail, and clung to the huge trumpet of a ventilator intake, pressing her face against the cold metal. She would never see her parents again.
She felt a hand on her arm, and looked up blearily. It was Thomas, his face twisted in sympathy.
‘Oh, Thomas,’ she blurted out, ‘this world is a travesty, a travesty.’ She drew his head on to her breast and held him tightly.
As the great liner steamed down the Solent, Cubby Hubbard hunted for a sight of Rosemary Kennedy. He pushed his way through the emotional throngs of people on every deck, craning to see over the hats (he was not a very tall young man). He knew that the Kennedys were keeping to their stateroom. One of the stewards had told him that. He’d heard nothing from Rosemary for days. He was concerned. He knew that her mother would have made her life difficult, and Rosemary didn’t respond well to having her life made difficult. He wanted badly to see her.
At last, leaning back over the rail on the lower deck, he got a glimpse of Luella Hennessey, the family nanny. She was on the deck above him, waving a handkerchief. Beside her was Patricia, Rosemary’s younger sister. Cubby made for the companionway which connected the two decks, but the going was difficult. The stairs were jammed with people who blocked his ascent. He was breathless and dishevelled by the time he got to the First Class deck.
He glimpsed Pat Kennedy’s blue woollen beret at the rail, and fought his way over to her. He managed to elbow himself a place beside her. Manhattan uttered a deep, bone-jarring blast on her horn. The docks were already a mile away up Southampton water.