A Battle of Brains (4 page)

“He has not had one before,” her mother explained, “because he has always been so busy.”

“What does he do, Mama?” Yolanda had asked.  “I have often wondered why he has so much money.”

“He has worked for it.  He came from quite a poor family, but he has worked himself up to being one of the richest men in the country.”

“Is that really true?” questioned Yolanda.

“It is what he has told me, darling, and the way he spends money on me makes me sure he is many times a millionaire.”

No one could have more jewellery than her mother now possessed.

She had several pearl necklaces, diamonds, sets of sapphires and aquamarines.

Yolanda stared at them all in disbelief when they emerged from the safe in her mother's bedroom.

But no matter how much the precious trinkets glittered she still harboured a strange feeling about Mr. Garrack that she could not explain.

She just could not shake the feeling that he was not really what he appeared to be.

‘How can I be so stupid?' she asked herself.  ‘Look how kind he was at Christmas!  And the presents he gave me – a fur coat, a pearl necklace and more horses to ride.'

It seemed wrong and she felt ashamed of herself that she did not like him.

However, as her mother seemed happy, that was all that mattered.

By now her portrait had been painted, not once but three times by different artists, as Mr. Garrack still claimed that none of them had done her beauty justice.

His new house in the country was even bigger than the one Yolanda's father had inherited, but it did not have any atmosphere of antiquity.

It was large, rich and cold and Yolanda thought that it would be difficult to make it come to life.

From the moment she entered it she had wanted to feel happy there and part of a family.

‘Maybe it will improve as the years go by,' she told herself.

But somehow she had no wish to stay there so long.

Now, without the warmth of her mother, she felt that the house was almost repulsive.

*

Her stepfather had welcomed her back from France in a friendly manner that made her feel ashamed of criticising him.

And she still felt guilty for not feeling inwardly as grateful as she pretended to be.

“I sent for you,” he said when she arrived, “because I knew you were leaving at the end of term.  I felt, as you could not come to your mother's funeral, you would like to see her grave as soon as it was possible for you to do so.”

“That is very kind of you,” replied Yolanda warily.

She was aware her stepfather was inspecting her.

He had not seen her for nearly six months and now she was over eighteen.

She was sensible enough to realise she had altered in quite a number of ways.

Finally he commented,

“You are beautiful.  Not as beautiful as your mother was, but quite beautiful enough to turn the head of any young man who looks at you.”

She did not reply, feeling very uncomfortable to be spoken to in such a fashion.

It was as if he was expressing her value in cash and it was somehow degrading.

“What I hope to do now that I have come home,” she said eventually, “is to find something sensible to do.”

She was thinking as she spoke that she might work in some capacity with a local charity, or perhaps she could be interested in the running of an orphanage – one of the girls at school had told her she had done so in her country and it had been a great success.

To her surprise her stepfather laughed.

“There is no reason for you to look around for work, Yolanda, I have something for you that I will tell you about later.  I am sure you will find it very interesting.”

Yolanda wondered what it could be.

She had the feeling that if it was something he had chosen, it would not be what she really wanted.

*

Now standing quietly at her mother's graveside she was praying desperately that her mother would help her.

‘What am I to do with myself now that you are not here?' she asked.  ‘I cannot just stay here in this house in the country or in the one in London.  It was different when you were there and we could talk together.  Even without Papa we were happy.'

She gave a deep sigh before continuing to pray,

‘But, dearest Mama, this is going to be something very different and I am frightened.  Frightened of the future without you and without anything that I can use my brains and energy on.'

She looked up at the sky.

‘Please help me, Mama.  I know you understand.  I need your help desperately and I need it quickly.'

Then because there seemed no answer, she felt the tears come into her eyes and she wiped them away almost roughly.

She knew it would upset her mother if she cried, but she wept until it was impossible to do so any more.

However, she was intelligent enough to realise that she now had to make more practical plans for the future.

What it reduced down to in a few words was that she did not want to stay with her stepfather.

But where could she go?

What could she do?

There was no answer to either of these questions.

When she returned to the house, Yolanda went into the sitting room, where she and her mother had always sat.

It all felt so familiar that as she walked in through the door she almost believed her mother would be waiting for her and look up with her usual smile.

Instead there was just emptiness and silence.

She moved over to the large writing desk, the one her mother had always used, opened a drawer and found all the letters she had written to her from France.

She remembered how proudly she had written of all the exciting things she had done and learnt, knowing that her mother would be interested and pleased for her.

She felt that in some esoteric way they were both sharing the very extensive education she was receiving.

Sighing, Yolanda closed the drawer of the writing desk and walked over to the window.

The garden outside was a mass of flowers with the lawns emerald green and perfectly kept.

It was just another example of what money could do and she could understand why her stepfather demanded the best and insisted on having it.

‘He is so rich,' she ruminated, ‘so rich!  If Papa had made only a little more money, he could have restored our home and made it look like this establishment.'

She felt sure that her mother had often thought the same thing.  Watching day after day as Mr. Garrack poured out endless sums of money, she must have thought of the contrast between her new life and the life she had shared with her beloved husband, when they had often been desperate for just a few pounds.

Then very sensibly Yolanda told herself that it was no use trying to live in the past – what she had to do was to live in the present and make the best of it.

‘I do know, Mama,' she sighed beneath her breath, ‘that is just what you would want me to do.'

The door of the sitting room opened and one of the footmen entered,

“The Master asks, my Lady, if you would join him in the study.”

“Yes, of course I will.”

Yolanda wondered again as she walked towards her stepfather's study what he was going to talk to her about.

He had said he had something for her to do and she hoped it would be something really interesting as well as something she was capable of doing.

At the same time it did seem strange that he was thinking of her working, the moment she returned home from the Convent.

The study was impressive and lavishly furnished.

There were some valuable pictures on the walls and the ornaments on the mantelpiece and on the tables were all museum pieces.

When Yolanda had first seen Mr. Garrack's house, she had been extremely impressed and surprised that he had such good taste.

She learnt that it had actually been furnished by two of the most experienced London decorators and all that Mr. Garrack had to do was pay the bills.

He was sitting now at a very beautiful George IV Regency mahogany writing desk.

Yolanda saw that there was a new picture over the mantelpiece – it was a portrait of her mother and she knew it had been painted by one of the great artists of the day.

She closed the door behind her and as she walked towards her stepfather, she thought he was scrutinising her in a rather strange manner.

“You wanted to see me, Step-papa.”

“Please sit down,” he asked, indicating a chair.

Yolanda did as she was told, but now she had her back to her mother's portrait.

Yet she tried to feel as if her mother was present and helping her.

No doubt she would be telling her, as she had done so often, that they must be very grateful for all the kindness they had received from Mr. Garrack.

“You were saying just now,” her stepfather began, “that you would like to have something to do.  Well, I have a very important job for you and I feel that you are bright enough not to fail me.”

Yolanda was somewhat surprised at the way he was speaking, but she replied as though prompted by her mother.

“I hope I can do anything you require, Step-papa, but first I must thank you for the excellent education I received at the Convent.  I am sure that, if you saw my reports, you would be impressed by the number of different classes I attended.”

“I am delighted you can speak so many languages,” replied Mr. Garrack.  “Also I did notice that your reports were so good.  You certainly worked hard.”

“I did my best and I can only say thank you again for sending me to such a good school.”

“What I would like you to do now,” he said, “will require intelligence more than knowledge.”

Yolanda waited wide-eyed and he continued,

“Tonight we will have a guest whose name is Jack Harpole.  He is, as indeed I am, interested in the many industrial developments that have been taking place lately not only in this country but all over the world.”

“I think Step-papa, you are talking about what they are calling the ‘Industrial Revolution'.”

Her stepfather raised his eyebrows.

“Do you know about it?  I would have thought that was hardly the sort of lesson that would be given to such a pretty young lady!”

“I do think the French girls, more than other pupils, appreciate the large increase in trade that is currently taking place in every country.”

Yolanda paused for a moment before she added,

“The nuns therefore taught us all about the Science of Industry and mentioned the new industries that are being founded in various different countries.”

“I am surprised, Yolanda, and equally very pleased.  You will then understand what I am asking you to do.”

“What is that?”

“You will have doubtless been taught that there has been a great advance in the hulls of steamers.”

“You mean that they are now steel-hulled?”

“Yes, indeed.  The first steel vessel to cross the Atlantic was built in Liverpool in 1867.  Now steel hulls are becoming quite commonplace both in England and America.  In fact, the Royal Navy has built two fast despatch vessels.”

“I did not think, Step-papa, that you would be so interested in ships.”

Mr. Garrack laughed.

“I am interested in anything what makes money!  Undoubtedly at the moment every new ship being built will have a steel hull and firms all over this country are struggling to improve their steamers and all other types of ship.

“Fortunately, we are well in advance of other countries that will have to buy from us until they have learnt to make their own.”

Yolanda thought that this was all most interesting, but wondered how it concerned her.

There was another pause before he went on,

“My friend, who is coming here this evening, is very anxious to buy one particular company that has built quite a number of ships that are nearly finished.  What I want to know is what he is prepared to pay for them.”

“Have you asked him?” enquired Yolanda.

Her stepfather smiled.

“I don't think you understand.  I am also interested in these ships and I am anxious that they should become
my
property, not my friend's.”

Yolanda stared closely at him, because she still did not fully comprehend what he was trying to say.

However, Mr. Garrack continued,

“Mr. Harpole does not know that I am also ready to make a deal.  He is staying with me because we are old friends and he also wants my advice on several other firms that have different products to sell.”

“But won't he be upset if he finds out you are bidding against him?”

“I think he will be very upset if I am successful!  But I see no need for him to know that I have succeeded where he has failed before he returns to Canada, which is where he is working at the moment.”

Yolanda gave a little laugh.

“It all sounds rather complicated!  I only hope, Step-papa, that you are successful and get the ships you want.”

“Well, that, of course, depends on
you
.”

“On me!  How can it depend on
me
?”

“That is exactly what I am about to tell you.”

Yolanda looked at him in astonishment.

“When Mr. Harpole dines with us tonight, I shall give him the very best wine from my cellar.  Champagne, claret, port and, of course, excellent liqueurs to follow a magnificent meal.”

Yolanda thought that sounded like enough alcohol for any man.

“When you leave the table as your mother always did after the coffee, I want you to go upstairs and go to the room where Mr. Harpole is sleeping.  He is not bringing a valet and the servants will all be downstairs by then.”

“But what do you want me to do?” Yolanda asked him in a bewildered voice.

“Mr. Harpole will have with him a despatch case.  It will be left upstairs in his room and, of course, it will be locked.  I want you to open it – ”