Джеффри Арчер - The Prodigal Daughter

After the presentation, Miss Allen tapped the lectern in front of her before she started to speak. ‘In all my years at Girls Latin,’ said the headmistress in clear, resonant tones, ‘it has been no secret that I wanted a pupil to win the James Adams Woolson Prize Scholarship to Radcliffe.’ Florentyna stared down at the wooden floorboard between her feet. ‘And this year,’ continued Miss Allen, ‘I was convinced that we had produced our finest scholar in twenty-five years and that my dream would be realized. Two weeks ago, I phoned Radcliffe to discover our entrant had not won a scholarship. But today I received a telegram that is nevertheless worth reading to you.’

Florentyna sat back, hoping her father was not responsible for some embarrassing message of congratulation.

Miss Allen put on her reading spectacles. ‘ “Name of Florentyna Rosnovski not announced among general scholars because happy to inform you she is winner of James Adams Woolson Prize. Please telegraph acceptance.” ’ The room erupted as pupils and parents cheered. Miss Allen raised a hand, and the hall fell silent. ‘After twenty-five years I should have remembered that the Woolson is always announced separately at a later day. You must put it down to old age.’ There was a polite ripple of laughter before Miss Allen continued: ‘There are those of us here who believe that Florentyna will go on to serve her college and country in a manner that can only reflect well upon this school. I now have only one wish left: that I live long enough to witness it.’

Florentyna stood and looked toward her mother. Large tears were coursing down Zaphia’s cheeks.

No one present would have realized that the lady seated bolt upright next to Zaphia, staring straight ahead, was reveling in the applause.

Much happiness and sadness now surrounded Florentyna, but nothing was to compare with her farewell to Miss Tredgold. On the train journey from Chicago to New York, during which Florentyna tried to express her love and gratitude, she handed the older woman an envelope.

‘What’s this, child?’ asked Miss Tredgold.

‘The four thousand shares of the Baron Group which we have earned over the past four years.’

‘But that includes your shares as well as mine, my dear.’

‘No,’ said Florentyna, ‘it doesn’t take into account my saving on the Woolson Prize Scholarship.’

Miss Tredgold made no reply.

An hour later, Miss Tredgold stood on the dock in New York’s Hudson River waiting to board her ship, finally to release her charge to adult life.

‘I shall think of you from time to time, my dear,’ she said, ‘and hope that my father was right about destiny.’ Florentyna kissed Miss Tredgold on both cheeks and watched her mount the gangplank. When she reached the deck, Miss Tredgold turned, waved a gloved hand once and then hailed a porter, who picked up her bags and followed the stern-looking lady toward her cabin. She did not once look at Florentyna, who stood like a statue on the pier holding back the tears because she knew Miss Tredgold would not approve.

When Miss Tredgold reached her berth, she tipped the porter fifty cents and locked the door.

Winifred Tredgold sat down on the end of the bunk and wept unashamedly.

Florentyna had not been so unsure about anything since her first day at the Girls Latin School. When she returned from her summer holiday in Europe with her father a thick manila envelope from Radcliffe was awaiting her. It contained all the details of when and where she should report, what to wear, a course catalogue and the ‘Red Book’ detailing Radcliffe rules. Florentyna sat on her bed studiously taking in page after page of information until she came to Rule 11a: If you entertain a man in your room for tea, at all times the door must be kept ajar, and all four feet must always be touching the floor. Florentyna burst out laughing at the thought that the first time she made love it might be standing up, behind an open door, holding a cup of tea.

As the time drew nearer for her to leave Chicago, she began to realize just how much she had depended on Miss Tredgold. She packed three large suitcases, including all the new clothes she had bought on her European trip. Her mother, looking elegant in the latest Chanel suit, drove Florentyna to the station. When she boarded the train she was suddenly aware it was the first time she had traveled anywhere for any period of time without knowing somebody at the other end.

She arrived in Boston to find New England a beautiful contrast of September greens and yellows. An old school bus was waiting to transport students to the campus. As the ancient vehicle crossed the Charles, Florentyna looked through the back window to see the sun glinting off the dome of the State House. A few sails dotted the water, and eight enthusiastic students were pulling their oars through the wash while an older man on a bicycle shouted orders through a megaphone as he rode along the towpath. When the bus came to a halt at Radcliffe, a middle-aged woman in academic dress herded the freshmen into Longfellow Hall, where Florentyna had taken the Woolson exam. There they were briefed on which hall they would live in during their first year and their rooms were allocated to them. Florentyna drew room 7 in Whitman Hall. A sophomore helped her carry her bags across to Whitman and then left her to unpack.

The room smelled as if the painters had moved out only the day before. It was clear that she was to share with two other girls: there were three beds, three dressers, three desks, three desk chairs, three desk lamps, three pillows, three coverlets and three sets of blankets, according to the checklist that was left on the inside of the door. As there was no sign of her roommates, she chose the bed nearest the window and started to unpack. She was just about to unlock the last suitcase when the door was flung open and a large valise landed in the middle of the room.

‘Hi,’ said a voice that sounded to Florentyna more like a foghorn than a freshman from Radcliffe. ‘My name is Bella Hellaman. I’m from San Francisco.’

Bella shook hands with Florentyna, who immediately regretted the act as she smiled up at the six-foot giant who must have weighed well over two hundred pounds. Bella looked like a double bass and sounded like a tuba. She began to size up the room.

‘I knew they wouldn’t have a bed large enough for me,’ was her next pronouncement. ‘My headmistress did warn me that I should have applied to a men’s college.’

Florentyna burst out laughing.

‘You won’t laugh so loud when I keep you awake all night. I toss and turn so much you’ll think you’re on board a ship,’ Bella warned as she pushed open the window above Florentyna’s bed to let in the cool Boston air. ‘What time do they serve dinner at this place? I haven’t had a decent meal since I left California.’

‘I’ve no idea, but it’s all in the Red Book,’ said Florentyna, picking up her copy from the side of her bed. She started flicking through the pages until she reached ‘Meals, times of.’ ‘Dinner, six-thirty to seven-thirty.’

‘Then at the stroke of six-thirty,’ Bella said, ‘I shall be under starter’s orders at the dining room door. Have you found out where the gymnasium is?’

‘To be honest, I haven’t,’ said Florentyna, grinning. ‘It wasn’t high on my list of priorities for the first day.’

There was a knock on the door, and Bella shouted, ‘Come in.’ Florentyna later learned that it had not been a shout, just her normal speaking voice. Into the room stepped a Dresden china blonde, not a hair out of place, dressed in a neat dark-blue suit. She smiled, revealing a set of small, even teeth. Bella smiled back at her as though her dinner had arrived early.