Rebecca: Daphne du Maurier 1938

 Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier | Goodreads

I picked this up wanting to participate in a local book club. I'm a third of the way through and I don't want to finish it. I got to about chapter 5 and hated the main character so much that I was hoping she was telling the story from a rubber room cause she set a bus load of kids on fire. I decided to look up some of the reviews on Goodreads, focusing on the one-star reviews to find out if there were like minded opinions. You bet! A great many people hated her as much as I did and thought, as I did, that the writing was uninspired, shallow and schizophrenic. Did the book come to a predictable conclusion? The reviews cleared that up. Maxim murdered his first wife and she’s cool with it.

I need to back up a little. Rebecca is… you know what, here’s the Goodreads blurb:

The classic Gothic suspense novel by Daphne du Maurier -- winner of the Anthony Award for Best Novel of the Century -- is now a Netflix film starring Lily James and Armie Hammer. Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again . . . The novel begins in Monte Carlo, where our heroine is swept off her feet by the dashing widower Maxim de Winter and his sudden proposal of marriage. Orphaned and working as a lady's maid, she can barely believe her luck. It is only when they arrive at his massive country estate that she realizes how large a shadow his late wife will cast over their lives--presenting her with a lingering evil that threatens to destroy their marriage from beyond the grave. "Daphne du Maurier created a scale by which modern women can measure their feelings." --Stephen King

I did not agree. What I did get out of it was a creative spark. I like to try and take notes while reading a book trying to develop a writing habit. These are the notes I took after reading what I could of Rebecca. It’s unedited and more of a stream of consciousness. There’s a decent ideal there, but I started running into knowledge gaps. And steam.

I liked that first description of her on the veranda with the Mediterranean sun beating down somewhere between 9 and 11 in the morning. She standing there near a patio table with an umbrella and the ornate cast iron chairs. Maxim sits there a semidetached husk of functioning alcoholic and terminally depressed man-child, slumped on the table with a half-filled glass of vino from the previous evening. All very Madmen 60's chill.

She stands in powder blue capri pants, Laura Petry flats, white halter top with a pink cashmere sweater draped over her shoulders. She'd allowed her hair to grow out and discovered while thick and full was still a dull, dishwater brownish. She had died it a honey blond, disarming by design, then pulled it back into a loose bun at the back of her head. A white head scarf and big white round sunglasses complete her appearance.

She's looking at Maxim with indifference taking a drag of a European unfiltered cigarette with lips smartly wearing bright red lipstick. She pauses in the exhale to touch her lower lip to remove a piece of tobacco. She's hears a domestic approaching from the house. The domestic stops next to her holding a tray with a cup of coffee and a croissant. In addition, a tall gin and tonic with fresh garnish stood behind the others.

She doesn't notice the servant yet. Instead she looks towards the young man tending to the pool on the terrace below. He sees her standing there and smiles before continuing his work. Cabana boys… She turns to notice the tray, pausing before reaching for the gin and tonic.

The servant leaves while she stands there for a moment staring at Maxim while having a long sip on the drink. She then turns and walks towards the steps leading to the lower terrace.

And then, and then, the domestic is a woman whom was related  to Mrs. Danvers. So, so, Mrs. Danvers has got this really bizzare back story who's a refugee from, from, the Stalin purges? So she's an ex-communist revolutionary caught on the wrong side of Stalin's ascendance. Mrs. Danvers young and violent had to escape, leaving a daughter behind cause the father was an apparatchik of the new order.  So Mrs. Danvers is actually Mrs. Dupchek, Soviet refugee hiding in the west. Dupchek daughter escapes from Soviets (or does she?) and shows up at Manderley. Mrs. Danvers reacts with a heart attack or cancer, or whatever to move the plot along, dies. Crafty daughter moves in on the position vacated. A connection develops with Mrs. de Winter, it's not calm indifference and acceptance of the situation, it's more predatory in its resonance. Definitely  Boys of Summer is the sound track.

The war changed everyone. Noone escaped injury or damage. Some weathered the storm better than others. Maxim and Crawley had more going on than the usual business interests related to the his father's industrial legacy. There was a network of loan sharking and illegal gambling served mostly the upper and elite classes. There were layers of plausibility and deniability without a real financial need but Maxim enjoyed the game, the secrecy, the subterfuge. The need to compromise the law and moral norms to achieve profit. His father would disapprove of his skill at it. With the onset of the war, clientele disappeared into the patriotism of a just war. Maxim and Crawley were exempted from service due to the critical industrial need as hostilities began. Giles had used his family name to acquire a commission and was standing about in some transportation depot pretending to know what was going on.

It wasn't war profiteering  outright, but Maxim and Crawley took advantage of any opportunity.  Early in the early war years, Manderley was used as a haven for the well-heeled escaping the blitz. There may or may not have been prostitution in Manderley during this period. There were rumors of Mrs. de Winter and Beatrice concerning the composition and turnover rate of the domestic staff but Maxim and Crawley seemed to either not see it or accept it. There was a constant flow of news as the refugees were displaced by soldiers on leave. They'd been invited by Giles to the quiet countryside afforded by Manderley for rest and relaxation.  

Maxim was good until Manderley was converted into a hospital for the wounded soldiers and aircrews. Again Giles was responsible. The amount of carnage and injury was not good for Maxim. The war ground on and there was always more soldiers. And then the war ended.

Caterina Illya Yachokovich had escaped from the Soviet Union through Norway during the siege of Stalingrad. Her father had been an apparatchik in Stalin's government until he wasn't. He managed to shield the daughter and she ended up in the military as an intelligence operative and pilot. The father had aways tracked the mother, Mrs. Danvers, so that if the leopard ate his face, the daughter might have a place to escape to. He was an economist whom concluded that while capitalism was corrupt and broken, the Soviet Union was terminal. She was an intelligence operative with an education in western finance and economics, brought her closer to dad. Her escape was not predicated on his arrest and detention. Nor was it the investigation of her own loyalties that would follow. She had served the State proudly and as an intelligence officer conducted her duties to the absolute tee. The war that rage all around her consumed everything and as the invasion of Russia began, she saw how it would end. It wasn't the realization that the Nazis would lose the war, it was that Stalin and the Soviet state would be victorious.

Her pilot qualifications gave her an air recognizance job as the invasion began. The siege began and an opportunity to disappear into the fog of war appeared and she took it. Four years later she was changing  bandages in a military ward near Yorkshire. She stayed in town and took shifts at the clubs at night as a waitress and sometimes gentleman callers. It was here that she met Beatrice and Crawley. Some kind of connection occurs and Caterina is reunited with her mother. 

Beatrice and Giles were a usual English petite aristocracy couple. Beatrice had recognized her position in English inheritance law and had used her privileged upbring to acquire a law degree and marry Giles, a no-money-old-money family name. Maxim was not so much the golden child but grew to fill his father's shoes. While Maxim's father was a marginally honest industrialist, his younger brother was not. He was a marginally successful gangster. It was during his formative years, Maxim had been introduced to "this world" his uncle tried to exist in and found it fascinating. His uncle was a bit of an idiot but Maxim was a sharp observer and met Crawley, the son of a successful gangster specializing in loan sharking and gambling. Crawley's recognized the value of having a conduit to Maxim's father. They took to each other quickly, Crawley's brilliant financial mind paired with Maxim's propensity for recognizing opportunity. 

"Those places " were the places they frequented that summer, he and Crawley. University restarted and Maxim thought the adventure finished but to his surprise, Crawley had been at university the whole time. The die was cast. They continued their perusal "those places" much to the disapproval of both their fathers. Rebecca appeared one alcohol blurred memory and never left.

She became the center of Maxim's life which hurt Crawley deeply. Rebecca was out of his league and could see the fracture in his friendship with Maxim but it was mitigated by the genuine charismatic charm and business acumen she could bring to Maxim's (and his) fortunes. In time, Rebecca had in fact, become the hostess with mostest but it was the evolution of an existing enterprise. Attendance to her affairs not only presented a dazzling gala but offered introduction to an assortment of discrete companions and companionship.  It was a jealousy fueled anger responding to hubris and dismissive alienation that led to her death.  Beatrice was at first an unknowing customer and then a coconspirator.

 Book Published in 1938

 

• Mrs. Dewinter is 21yo born 1927
• Maxim is 42yo born 1896
• Beatrice is a few years older 47?
• Mrs. Danvers is 48yo born 1890
• Pregnant at 27yo 1917
• Flees revolution in 1919-1920
• In 1918 Maxim and Crawley are 22.
• They evaded most of the war but still nominally served
• Caterina shows up in late 1945
• The story picks up in 1952

 Mrs. de Winter stopped at the head of the stairs and sighed. She hadn't heard the receding footsteps of Caterina returning to the house. Turning around she pursed her in a resigned pout before heading toward the French doors leading into the house. Caterina waited as she approached then fell in step next to her, the tray slightly extended.

"I'm keeping the drink." she replied to the gesture without looking. Caterina retreated and followed her into the house.

They passed through the morning room that served as a breakfast area and into the hallway beyond. A short hallway with a door on either side that opened onto an entrance and small atrium. She stepped the few yard to the door on the right opened it and entered. Caterina followed still carrying the tray with the coffee and the croissant.

The room was a large office/library furnished with a couch and two chairs separated by a small coffee table placed in front of the fireplace on the opposite wall. To the left of the conversation pit was a desk of suitable proportion. Mrs. de Winter stood in the center of the room a drink in one hand the still burning cigarette in the other. Caterina walked past her and set the tray on the coffee table before standing up and moving towards the desk. She stopped in front and picked up a small portfolio with one hand and an ashtray with the other. She frowned when saw a return trip was needed for the fountain pen still lying on the blotter. She turned around taking a few steps towards Mrs. de Winter before turning towards the chairs to the right of the table. 

"Please, come sit down." Caterina gestured towards the couch.

She  set the portfolio  on the table near the chair and the ashtray opposite in front of a place on the couch. She picked up a napkin from the tray and placed it next to the ashtray before picking up the coffee and sitting in the chair.

Mrs. de Winter looked at her for a moment before moving to the couch.

"You're like your mother, you know."

"The impression was fleeting." Caterina replied flatly. There was only a tinge of her native Russian in her English although the tone was always Russian.

"Like that." She said sitting down stiffly. She placed the drink on the napkin and carefully stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. She leaned back into the couch and crossed her arms before looking into the fireplace without a fire. "So tell me."

Caterina sipped at the coffee then set it down before picking up the portfolio. She opened it and began to read, "This is the divorce decree dissolving the marriage due to mental decline and instability of Maxim," she removed the document and placed it on the table facing Mrs. de Winter, " this is the transfer of guardianship of Maxim to Beatrice and Giles," she placed this document next to the other, "and this is the transfer of all landed property of the estate to Beatrice in return for the sum of 1 million pounds sterling in cash and treasuries,"

"Really, that all?" Mrs. de Winter interrupted with a sharp glance.

"There's a 1/4 million pound tax bill and another 3/4 million in maintenance. This is before an unsympathetic is accounted for," She placed the paper in the growing row. "Finally, here are the incorporation papers for administration of your shares of the de Winter corporations and your 7 percent share of Crawley's subcontracting business." This she placed at the end of the row then stood up and walked back over to the desk for the fountain pen.

"Beatrice and Frank agreed to all this?" Giles was immaterial.

"They're non-voting shares and act primarily as an income stream." Caterina had returned but stood next to the couch holding the fountain pen at eye level to Mrs. de Winter.

She leaned forward and took the pen from her. Caterina sat down next to her and reached for the divorce decree turning the page and pointing where it needed Mrs. de Winter's signature.

She waited, then lowered the document to her lap,

 "Maxim isn't getting better. No matter how much you wish."

Mrs. de Winter stared at Caterina for a moment before unscrewing the cap. Caterina moved the document to the table so she could sign. Mrs. de Winter leaned forward and began the signing.

Once complete, Caterina reached for the portfolio opening it, "One more thing,"

"Yes?" She paused setting down the pen as Caterina retrieved a final set of papers. "Oh? What is this?"

"Incorporation Papers."

"What?"

"Incorporation Papers. You and I are going to incorporate and create a business where we're equal partners in the proceeds and corporate accounting to bury the losses."

She frowned. "I had assumed we would have needed to address you position and compensation but a business? What are we going to sell?"

"Information."

Mrs. de Winter stared at her blankly.

Caterina met her gaze for a moment then sighed and glanced down. "There is much about Beatrice and myself you do not know."

"The prostitution? Wasn't sure. If that's where we're to mine our 'information'…"

Caterina held up her hand, "Stop. This isn't that. This is going to parties, hosting parties, talking to people and gaining their confidence, making introductions.."

"Prostitution."

Caterina exhaled exasperated, "You're not left with a lot of options here. I'm not a domestic and the money you have is not enough."

"And you think we can make enough by being prostitutes?"

"No! Information brokers!"

Mrs. de Winter shook her head and held out her hand for the document, "I still don't understand the part about not being prostitutes but you say we're not prostitutes."

Caterina quietly handed her the document and watched her sign.

 Mrs. de Winter was truly not the girl that had married Maxim. Their life at Manderley was not ideal  but the war changed so many things. She saw Maxim failing to manage his industrial efforts correctly. The pressure to shift into war production strained the aging industrial facilities that Maxim and Crawley had miserly shorted on maintenance and refurbishment for decades. Crawley's father had had offered the means to help in the crushing financial burden maxim had assumed making promises to the government he couldn't keep. The Blitz was when things started changing. First the guests fleeing London, then the transport trucks coming and going in the fields above the estate. The industries Maxim had borrowed so heavily against became a victim of the blitz. The government walked away and the relationships with Crawley's family strengthened.

There things stayed. Maxim had managed to keep his involvement in marginal activities hidden but the questions swirled. Actually it was a lack of resources rather than cause that prevented investigations.

And then there was Beatrice. She evolved into some combination of family consiglieri and frat house mother. She admired Beatrice's pragmatism and insight. Her law degree spoke to her determination not to be defined by the titled aristocracy she desperately wished to become part of. While her marriage to Giles had only intensified her outrage, her introduction to Rebecca had been a revelation. Her death was a lesson. As the war raged on, her anger tempered and she became some kind of moral compass for the family. Maxim and Crawley had resisted but Beatrice was persistent. She had seen their quiet conversations become more pointed and heated as the months worn on.

It was the arrive of the Army Medical Corp and the hospital that abruptly ended the discussions and negotiations. One day Manderley is a retreat for nar-do-well, the next it's the site of Field Hospital and Recovery/Convalescent Facility. Invasion preparations had begun and with the doctors and nurses came a brigade of Military Police and Engineers. Any space big enough to park a truck on was commandeered by  Army Logistical. Beatrice negotiated leases and compensation for most of the county garnering unimaginable good will but also constructed a black market no-go zone. Crowley was furious. He owed money to people his father couldn't protect him from. Maxim had found the compromise suggesting moving the income to where the invasion soldiers were. Beatrice had volunteered to open negotiations with those in charge of the facilities needed. She hadn't heard anything after that. Admittedly, what she did know had been stitched together from hints and stolen bits of conversation. Rebecca's death was not a mystery to her, she could see it but was confused in how it left her feeling. Maxim's reaction to all of it was a little disturbing. Once things were settled and pushed aside, that confident ease she had admired so much returned. It was different though or she saw it differently. There was something wrong with its affectation. She remembered that it was about the time she took up smoking. Or was it when the wounded started showing up? Yes, that was it.

The makeshift wards soon filled with the horrors of the warfare occurring on the continent. Shattered bodies, shattered minds, shattered lives. Beatrice stepped and continued her mining of goodwill and reputation. Giles happily obliged her lead and became an effective mid-level logistics officer. She and Maxim had moved into the small cottage in the cove, Maxim had struggled but her presence seemed to change the place. Still, she'd come home and find standing at the water's edge staring at the mooring with the missing boat. He had only visited the hospital the one time. She saw it in his eyes when had moved amongst the soldiers spread amongst the gardens. Wheelchairs, bandages and missing limbs. Maxim had tried to interact with them but she could see that it was all too much.

He stayed at the cottage after that. He was quiet and introverted but still could be pulled into the present if she pestered him. It was the way it starts. The distance, that is. No, not distance, reflection. Events swirl around you, completely out of your control. Or can you reach out and create the smallest bit of order in a chaotic world?

She came down the path towards the cottage having finished serving tea and biscuits up at the main house. She had been staring at the path pondering the imponderable coming to the curve where the cottage came into view and stopped. She had looked up and the site of the cottage looked different. She could see him there on the shore but it was not a feeling of empathy and love that filled her. Coward. Murder was the act of a coward and she had married a murderer. That nagging dread, that hidden fear of unpredicted behavior that was always buried deep within her outpouring of love and sympathy for Maxim was gone.

She backed a few steps before turning and moving back towards the main house. She assumed Maxim hadn't seen her. She hoped Maxim had not seen her. She needed some time. 

 The cruise from Cadiz was tedious. The stateroom was adequate but hardly first class. Caterina's new role as Corporate Officer precluded the possibility of her performing any domestic functions. She found it irksome at first but her own latent domestic experience returned. Caterina promised to bring someone along once they were in New York. She sat on a deck chair protected against the breeze by blanket. She stared at the slate gray waves. She had imagined it bluer. She picked up her sketch book from the table next to her and opened it. Picking up the pencil stored in the binding she began absently dressing the contours of a dress. It wasn't nature that had finally caught her artistic imagination, it was fashion. Throughout the war she had allowed this habit to grow and had in fact grown to quite the portfolio. She supposed that it stemmed from the image of herself from those first years of marriage. She dressed like a sack of potatoes. She looked at the sketch and picked it up. It was then that Caterina appeared at her side.

"What is that?"

She looked up and saw that Caterina was there with a Pepsi in one hand and a gin and tonic in the other.  She the sketch down and reached for the drink. "Thank you."

Caterina took the time to sit down while she took a pull on her drink. She finished then placed the drink on the small table then went back to the portfolio.

"It's a house dress," she said handing it to Caterina. "I started sketching clothes that I wanted to wear awhile back instead of trees and bushes."

"So?" Caterina handed the sketch back.

"So, I have some doubts about being 'information brokers' without being prostitutes…"

"It isn't prostitution!" Caterina had raised her voice in objection. They both stopped and looked around. A woman with a parasol disappeared back around a corner.

"We need a reason to meet with rich fashionable people and not have sex with them. Fashion design could work."

Caterina frowned thoughtfully and stuck out her hand. She scoped the three sketches she had with her and handed them her. Caterina paused over each one and then handed them back.

"How many of these sketches do you have?"

"I don't know ten or twelve."

Caterina nodded. "It's worth looking into." She stood up. "We arrive tomorrow evening around seven."

She watched Caterina retreat wondering about the future. She didn't want to be a prostitute. Only one thing worse than being a prostitute and that’s marrying a serial killer… oh, wait.

She looked down at the sketch and closed the sketch book. She looked up at the Atlantic passing by. Maybe it was a little bluer now. 

 Beatrice wandered amongst the boxes and unpacked furniture looking for activity before finding everyone in the hallway outside the library door.

"Please?", she said to the group listening at the door.

The three movers looked up and made way for her.

She paused at the door. "It'll only be a moment."

She entered the library closing the door behind her. Giles sat in his chair near the fireplace. Beatrice approached from behind and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's time to go."

Giles looked up at her and rose without comment. She took his hand and they left the room and then their home of 38 years.

Giles was getting on and his mind drifted more. Beatrice had noticed it had become more pronounced since Crawley's trial and sentencing. There was so much that he had known nothing about. He had seen the need but doubted the methods.

Beatrice contented herself with the outcomes. Maxim was as he was. Tucked away in a Spanish monastery is the best he could have hoped for. Crowley's defense had brought out all sorts of stories including the circumstances surrounding Rebecca's death. It's relevance to his charges and the absence of proof had done nothing but amount to a note for another day. Beatrice had never acted against Crowley but had acted to put space between the family and he for some time. She worked quietly getting the references buried. Crowley was convicted, sentenced and the investigations stopped. Beatrice still felt it was time to retire to warmer climates.

They approached the car and driver opened the door for them. Beatrice moved Giles forward to help him in then followed. The door shut and Giles turned to look at Beatrice. She could see the question in his eyes. How much was true? What had she done while he had served? She smiled and patted his hand. Another door shut and the car jerked forward.

 They had been in New York for 2 months. They'd taken a three month lease at a fashionable hotel central to their needs and had set about learning about the fashion industry. She set about attending fashion shows and sitting in on lectures while Caterina disappeared into the library. She sat in the common area scribbling notes on a legal pad. She was still interested in fashion but she also understood why she hated the fashion being produced. She hated the people doing it. She picked up the phone to speak to the concierge. She ordered gin and tonic then added a carafe of coffee as the door opened and Caterina entered.

Caterina wandered to the couch and sat down. She had a resigned look on her face.

"You know you're not a very good designer.."

"Yes", she admitted.

"and I have neither the capability nor the experience to run a fashion company."

"Yes?"

Caterina sat for a moment longer before standing and heading toward her rooms.

"Where are you going?"

"I need a bath."

"You take too many you know." She called at the closing door.

Caterina reappeared sometime after the refreshments had arrived. She had finished her first gin and tonic and was staring blissfully at the one remaining in the shaker on the cart. She picked up another of the snacks that had come with the refreshments determined not to get too far ahead.

Caterina entered with damp hair wearing some kind of athletic sportswear.

"I used to dress like that."

Catrina sighed and moved to the coffee and snacks on the cart. She poured and chose a sample before moving to the chair across from her.

"What are you doing with my money?" She decided to be direct.

"Your cash settlement is in a drawable investment account, primarily commercial paper and short term treasuries."

"And the stock in Maxim's and Crawley's industries?"

"They did well during the war but after that…"

"Worthless."

"No, not quite. Beatrice had protected Maxim, and herself, by siphoning off a not insignificant sum."

She nodded. Siphon. She didn't need to know.

"I'm to receive Maxim's share?"

"1.8 million dollars US."

She nodded again then stood up and retrieved the remaining drink from the shaker. She sat back down before speaking again.

"Why is Beatrice doing all this?" She knew the relationship Caterina and Beatrice was complicated. She always assumed it was associated with the rumors. She had never asked.

Caterina frowned a little.

"My escape from Stalingrad and journey to England was not without compromises. It was after my arrival in England under marginal circumstances, that I was introduced to Beatrice. "

"So it's true! Beatrice was a madame and recruited you for her brothel but discovered you were Mrs. Davers daughter and decided to save you!"

"What?! No! I mean yes, I mean there was some prostitution involved but not like you think!"

She took a long pull on the gin and tonic and waited.

Caterina looked at her for a moment. "I wasn't just a pilot, I was an intelligence officer and as I made my way across occupied territory, I learned some stuff Beatrice wanted to know."

"So Beatrice was a… spy?"

"Handler. It was about information. She convinced me to go back for more before she's tell me where to find her."

"Your mother."

"Yes. I knew who she was, vaguely, but not how to find her. Public record access was restricted. The war. Guess that's how she found me."

"Beatrice?"

"Yes. The records inquires. Raised a few red flags. So that's when Beatrice comes around and offers asylum, an identity, and help finding her. Just had to do a few things for her first."

"Not the prostitution part?"

Caterina laughed a little. "Maybe, just a little. Compromises." She shrugged before continuing, "She sent me back into Sweden and occupied territories to gather information. Twice."

"So the rumors of…"

"It was good cover for Beatrice's needs."

She shook her head again. . She took another pull on the drink in her hand. Caterina waited.

"I don't understand any of this." She stood up and walked towards the windows.

No she wasn't a naïve girl any longer. She was a women of substance and could walk away from all of it. Although no destinations came to mind. Her life was intertwined with these people. There was no one else because there had been no one else. She looked into her drink and with her index finger, she reached in and stirred the ice cubes.

"And now?" She said over her shoulder. She turned as Caterina answered.

"And now Beatrice is retiring to Spain to be near Maxim and cleaning up the mess before she leaves."

"You didn't stay with the family to become the new Mrs. Danvers?"

"No. The search for the missing parent was the vehicle to get me into the country and gain asylum. I desired to escape Stalin, not the war and becoming a domestic was not how I saw myself."

She nodded again. She sat down and placed the remains of the drink on the table beside her. It was all too much. Caterina rose and refilled her coffee from the carafe. She looked up at Caterina questioningly,

"I don't understand why you're here or now that I've given it some thought, why we've signed incorporation documents."

Caterina looked back, "So I could get the monies that became available to me from where it was to where I am."

She was shaking her head again. She stopped. She never did understand the accounts of anything. She remembered all the arguments between Crawley and Maxim. This money needed to be here and that delivery needed to be there, she never understood any of it. Her sole reason for accepting Caterina as a peer was her demonstrated financial aptitude and her accounts would need supervision. 

"Incorporation with an American citizen on the letterhead allows funding from overseas smoother."

Caterina nodded.

"Anything else I should know?"

"While working for Beatrice, I came to learn that my escape for Russia had not been as seamless as I hoped. I had been approached by people interested with staying in touch. I reported it and was told to play along. I extracted information and I passed information. "

"Until the end of the war."

"Well, yes. And no. Beatrice had provided me a new identity as promised. But disappearing from Stalin's handlers proved more complicated. "

"I'm just another vehicle you're using to hide from Stalin? Where did these 'monies' originate?"

"No! Beatrice genuinely cared for you! Manderley and all its intrigues in the guise of cover story had spiraled out of control. She saw it all flying apart at the end and she came to me hoping we might be able to help each when it did!"

She sat thinking for a minute. Her emotions for Caterina were real. Looking at her now, she could see the distress and an honest need to salvage this relationship reflected in Catrina. It was a relationship, real, not artificial or staged. She stood up and headed towards her rooms.

"I need a shower and then we go to dinner. Change your clothes!" She yelled from behind the door.

She looked into the mirror at her reflection.

"I guess I'm in the 'information broker' business. Whatever the hell that is." She said quietly to herself. 

Caterina had not been doing research but on the fashion industry, she knew that was an impossible task,  but on the securities market. Getting a trading license would go a long way with washing her funding. She doubted she could hold the license in her name but that's where Giles came in. She did all the paperwork for their corporation to become a trading house except for the name on the licensing. Giles. Or so she had thought. Finance in New York was not amiable to women. She was a manager of the Mrs. de Winter's finances and could get the time from the financial wizards in their corner offices, but mostly what she heard for investment advice was a means to syphon off 10% in fees and charges while expressing no confidence that she might see a return on her investment. In the end she moved some of the de Winter funding into treasuries and blue chip bonds.

She was walking after having left the brokage firm she finally chose to make her purchases, Mr. Sloan at least recognized her knowledge of finance and in turn was the least dismissive of the entire group. Another Jewish deli. The thought struck her for no reason other than it was on her right as she progressed down the side walk. The west was so different than she had imagined. Her notion of money being the final arbiter was only partial correct. There was always time for the balances she controlled but women, with rare exception, were kept at arm's length from any real  decision making power. She'd already concluded that she'd have to keep a scrupulous eye on the accounts. Her demand for monthly statements was finally capitulated but at an additional $24 annual subscription fee.

She stopped at a corner and waited for the light to change. The meritocracy wasn't as she predicted either. There was the stratification of society on terms of wealth that she expected, there was also that confidence she saw in the soldiers she had met during the war. It was lit up with neon in Times Square but a grinding poverty two blocks away. There were means to better your life, but the rules were so predatory and uncompromising it made Kremlin politics petty and small. She crossed the street and wandered another block. Mrs. de Winter did have interesting ideals in fashion but that talent was no measure against the feeding frenzy that was New York's garment district. 

She approached the next corner and fresh espresso assaulted her. A café stood across the corner and it seemed like the moment for it. She crossed the street and found a seat outside and ordered a cappuccino while she pondered her position. Mrs. de Winter had been presented as a life raft by Beatrice. She had fled Stalin's Russia during the war, as so many had, but she might be someone they hunted down. Not so much for what she had done but what her father had done and what she knew about that.

Caterina's father wasn't an honest man. Neither was most anybody else associated with the revolution. Everybody was stealing everything or at least taking a share in case the revolution failed. Her father and a three other men were in charge of getting a portion of the confiscated wealth of the aristocracy into the hands of the revolution. These men managed to acquire somewhere north of $15 million US in gold bullion which over a period of years ended up in a Swiss private bank. A set of gold bearer bonds were issued against the bullion. The bonds were divided up and that was when the thread was lost. How her father held his position in the Finance Ministry, what happened to three other men, what happened to their shares.

She shook her head and sipped at the capuchino . Very nice.

It was so strange finding him in Stalingrad like that. How she ended up there was a series of blind chance, his arrival she never understood. Had the building they were standing in not been blown to pieces by a tank shell she might have gotten more of the story. As it was she had half a story about bearer bonds hidden in bank safe deposit boxes all over the world that nobody knew about. He shoved a  key and a scrap of paper in her hand and said I needed to find my mother who working as a domestic near Yorkshire. She remembered saying 'what' a lot trying to comprehend everything he was babbling on about when the building exploded. Stalingrad.

She looked down to see that she had finished her drink. She looked up and noticed the name was something Italian with G. It was the part of America that she hadn't known about. Each of these neighborhoods was its own little village, each generating its own wealth, each with its own treasury.

She had retrieved the bonds on Finland and found her mother whom supplied her with three keys; one for New York, one for Mexico City and the third for Hong Kong.

She left the café and headed in the direction of their residence. The compromises made to get the $175000 in bonds out of the bank in Finland and out of Europe were countless. She owed more than her life to Beatrice. She had found the New York bank but had not retrieved them. She still had $137000, compromises, in her dresser she hadn't found a way to exchange without attracting attention. Her research had pointed at private banks, but it needed to be the right private bank.

She'd gone a couple more blocks before stopping. Stepping to the curb to hail a cab, she looked across the street at an imposing edifice. Not for its size, but for its Greek Classic architecture but on a more modest scale. Three stories tall, it stood wedged between a pawn broker and greens grocer, but decidedly detached from them. Nothing marked it as a bank, a simple engraving of the year of commissioning in roman numerals above the entrance. A cab stopped in front of her and she climbed in.

Information broker without using prostitution and blackmail. How the hell was that going to work?

 It was several days later that came into the common room to find Mrs. de Winter awake and having her coffee. A variety of fashion magazines and movie star rags were strewn on the coffee table, she was quietly flipping through one of them.

"Early morning, Mrs. de Winter?" Caterina moved to the breakfast cart and got herself some coffee before taking a chair across from her.

"Information broker isn't actually something real is it." Mrs. de Winter asked without looking up.

"About that…"

"The woman I was working for when I met Maxim… for whom Maxim rescued me from," she rephrased , "was in fact a horrible woman that everyone, I mean everyone, avoided without fail but that said she knew everything about everyone. A horrible gossip."

Mrs. de Winter looked up at Caterina who looked back waiting for her to continue. She hated that.

"My interest in fashion grew in response to Maxim's dislike of it. He preferred a frumpy, unsophisticated look." She went back to flipping through the pages before looking up again.

"These magazines are filled with pictures and gossip. We know where the pictures come from, where does the gossip come from?"

Caterina smiled a little. It was a thought. A bit ridiculous, but a thought.

"You want to stick with the fashion design."

"I don't want to be idle. I've done that. You say we have some money? I'm not sure that either of us are very good at spending it. We need to find people who are."

"You have something in mind?" Ha! Finally an answer! She set down the magazine and dug for the newspaper under a another magazine. Finding what she wanted she turned it for Caterina to read.

"A botanical show?"

"Fashion shows aren't scheduled weekly."

Caterina waited.

"It was all those people who visited Manderley ever talked about. I enjoyed our gardens so I learned something of them."

Caterina picked up the paper and reviewed the details. It was a stall for time. She had thought to "dissolve the corporation" this morning. She hadn't found a purpose for it yet so she needed to be open with her about it. She really didn't understand why. Mrs de Winter interrupted her thoughts.

"You don't wish to be a domestic and I don't wish to be someone's wife. That said, what is there besides that for us to do? You said I don't have enough money and I believe you."

Caterina changed to something hopeful.

"NO! We know what we're not going to do. We need to find a way for this corporation thing you have to work for us."

Caterina nodded. A little disappointed.

"Unfortunately, we will need to take on the trappings of women in good standing. We both need that fashion make over."

Caterina looked down at what she was wearing and frowned. Mrs. de Winter spoke up.

"You're not a domestic, you can't dress like one."

 The makeover they had embarked on was not like in the movies Caterina had seen. There wasn't any orchestral music to accompany helpful delightful staff tending to their every need and desire. And it certainly didn't take an afternoon. They were an odd couple. Their first few encounters with Robert the Concierge were a bit testing. Mrs. de Winter for all her outward appearance of sophistication and maturity still harbored the naive and awkward girl she wished to leave behind. For all her time playing roles during the war, the self she felt most comfortable with one of observation rather than participation.

Robert the Concierge was a man who looked like he didn't know how to swim. Their hotel/residence, while full service, was not five star, but Robert was certain to act as if it was. Mrs. de Winter was able to get directions from him but there wasn't any warmth in it. He had directed them to a more upscale salon versus the hotel salon. He said the hotel salon didn't have a full suite of facilities. She caught a glimpse of themselves passing a mirror as they moved towards the door. Admittedly there was a whiff of refugee to their appearance. A doorman stood ready opening the door for them, following after stepping to the curb  to hail a cab. They stood next to each for that moment, waiting for the cab that was swinging out of traffic towards the curb. She was angry but so was Mrs. de Winter and Caterina could feel it. Mrs. de winter felt it too. She turned to Caterina and smiled. It wasn't the smile of an excited girl out to have fun afternoon. The cab stopped, the doorman stepped forward and they were whisked away.

It had been six weeks since that first encounter with Robert the Concierge and his reactions to their appearance when either of them asking for assistance had evolved. It became a joke between the two of them, who received more of Robert the Concierge's approval or disapproval. Caterina had not known Mrs. de Winter for that long, but she had taken after the fashion and societal announcements with a pent up fury and methodology she found surprising. They attended shows, gallery openings, a concert and several fashionable jazz clubs. Caterina's found the events a bit pretentious but Mrs. de Winter seemed directed and focused. She had taken to having a variety of tabloids, magazines and newspaper delivered regularly. She'd started attending lectures at design colleges and books from a lending library.

For herself, Caterina had been torn between academia and a military career. She knew how to study and  these last few months had given her time and place to immerse oneself in a new and interesting subject. She had spent her academic years studying the economic principles of Soviet socialism versus western capitalism. She had inherited her father's love of economics and finance but not his passion for how these forces integrated with existing societies. For her it was about the mechanisms. How all the various parts of an economy worked together to feed and house the population. Her studies had been interrupted by the war, but she had come to the same conclusions as her father had. Communism was the better societal structure in principle, but in reality had produced Stalin to bring order as application of theory led to starvation on an epic scale. For all the miserable failures and blatant exploitations, western capitalism functioned.

Caterina always rose early and took to visiting the pool and small fitness area while it was still quiet. She usually did some exercises and worked the weights and other equipment available. A shopping trip had added swimwear and laps to her routine. After that it was back upstairs for a shower and on some days a coffee and chat with Mrs. de Winter, before heading to one of several libraries in the area. She concentrated on business principles, accounting and tax law, the general structures of how the business of America worked. She would also head for walks in the city. She explored the mass transit system, getting on trains and buses to see where they led. Of course she knew where she was going, but didn't make plans. She'd have a vague idea of the area named at that end of a transit route then find out. She wasn't that concerned with good or bad parts of town, she knew the difference. She was also impressed the number of police officers willing to help or offer a stern warning.

The clothing had helped. She blushed a little when she thought of how much she had begun to enjoy the decadence of fashion. She still had chosen clothing that reflected a subdued tone but she had discovered professional fittings. Then there were the accessories; shoes, purses, clutches, jewelry, scarfs, belts, the combinations seemed endless. Mrs. de Winter's imagination was infectious and Caterina enjoyed it.

She came into the common room after returning from her exercise and was surprised to find Mrs. de Winter up and leaning over a large book lying open on the coffee table with a legal pad and pencil nearby. She looked up.

"There you are! Oh my, that's so much better!" Caterina smiled and set keys on the lamp table near the entrance. Mrs. de Winter had never seen her wearing any of the sportswear they had purchased.

"You're up early this morning." Caterina moved to the breakfast cart and got some coffee.

"Guilt. You're showered, dressed and on your way out to to… where ever, before I'm awake enough for a cup of coffee!"

Caterina laughed a bit as she sat in a chair facing her. "I felt bad about my growing satisfaction in shopping for shoes and purses."

She took a sip of coffee. It wasn't awkward. This.

Caterina looked down at the books with a hand out, "What's this about?"

"Fabric."

"How did you end up at fabric?"

"I don't know. I've been spending time at the art and design college." She paused and Caterina nodded,  "and I was in the bookstore when I came across this textbook." she finished with a small shrug.

Caterina sat with her coffee and Mrs. de Winter went back to reading. She finished and started to stand when Mrs. de Winter decided to speak. She sat back down. She hated when she did that.

"I don't believe we're making much headway in New York society. I was going to contact Beatrice for some advice."

Caterina nodded again. "Maybe some introductions. Do you feel comfortable writing?"

 Mrs. de Winter shrugged a little again, "It's all still very real for me. I'm not sure how we left it."

"I'll send her a note and see how she responds."

 It was six weeks before there was any response from Beatrice and it was rather deflating. They had spent time both together and apart while they waited. Each pursuing their research interests but the morning coffee after Caterina's exercise became habit. It was arranged for showers and dressing first but they shared a light breakfast, chatter about their plans, then out the door together. There was a late lunch or perhaps early dinner, but the nights out at the clubs and shows dwindled. Mrs. de Winter fell into her studies on fabrics. Conversations were filled with dyes and weaves and fabric blends. Caterina didn't see where all this research was leading but Caterina enjoyed her enthusiasm all the more for it.

Her own research had produced knowledge but not much in the way of results. Opportunities for unmarried women were rather limited but she was finding promise in the antiques market. An import export license would be ideal but it was near securities exchange license in attainability. There was no plan for the bonds yet. She had returned to the café for cappuccino several times for both the drink and the location. She could just see the pawn shop and edifice building from a table she determined to like. She assumed the two were like somehow associated. She knew her edifice building was the private bank that housed the next tranche of bonds. She needed a better plan than walking in and asking the pawn broker for an appointment with the private bank next door. Retrieving the bonds and storing them in her dresser wasn't a good solution to begin with. She needed a safe place to store them until she could redeem them without attention. The redemption was another matter entirely. Bearer bonds are unique constructs of commercial paper the most people avoided. No, she needed an invitation into the bank as a customer first. Building trust was more time consuming but it yielded better results. Her stalking of the pawn shop and edifice building had yielded nothing as far as customer traffic patterns. She hadn't seen any on her visits but on her last visit to the café, she was greeted with Italian accented recognition by the waiter. She suppressed the shock of discovery and then welcomed the salutation. She found the role of playing herself quite disarming at first. Applying the charm and coy flirtation in conversation without the seduction, intimate acts and extraction of information that usually followed was uncomfortable. She practiced. Like with the waiter. She enjoyed her cappuccino and then returned to the residence.

Robert the Concierge had actually become helpful. There were various inquires and solicitations, an anonymous gentleman or three. Two striking women acting rather independently did attract some attention. For a man who couldn't swim, Robert screened calls and inquires with deft insight. Today he was bubbling with suppressed excitement as she stopped to check for messages.

"Are there any…", she began with a smile.

"Mrs de Winter and yourself have received an invitation from the Billings Foundation to a charity cocktail party and auction being hosted at the Museum of Natural History next Friday." she admired him for keeping his composure and maintaining his professional detachment. He extended the post card size invitations. She took them and had a look. Two invitations with Mrs. de Winter's name printed on one and hers on the other. She smiled a little with eyes as she handed them back to Robert.

"This is an invitation we should except?" she teased.

"Oh, yes."

"What's the charity for?"

"Does it matter?"

"Formal?"

"Very."

She paused for a dramatic moment.

"I need to check schedules with…"

"She has been informed and was waiting for you."

It was with a real smile she replied, "Could you RSVP for us, Robert?"

"Of course."

 

Mrs. de Winter had been sitting quietly enjoying the view out the windows. The city was so much more than what she was used to. Her pursuit of fabric was starting to wear. She had enjoyed the books and the lectures at University were fascinating but reality was showing. She wasn't enrolled and only attended to listen but there seemed so much to learn. She had hoped for the invitation from the society gatekeepers but now its arrival was anticlimactic in that it opened a path into a world she had avoided in her time with Maxim. Mrs. Hopper came to mind, they were all like that to one degree or another. They avoided her because she reflected so much of themselves. Saying the quiet part out loud.

She heard the keys at the door and sat up from lying across the couch. She reached for her drink and looked for a cigarette then remembered Caterina didn't like her smoking in the room.

The door closed and Caterina was in the entry putting down her bag and keys, slipping out of the light gray overcoat.

"I was expecting more excitement." said over her shoulder.

"Yes, I was too. And then it wasn't."

Caterina walked over to the drinks cart and poured a glass from the tumbler. She sipped. Gin and tonic. What else. She headed over to the chair. "Were you hoping for something more from Beatrice?"

"I don't know what I was hoping for. We don’t even know it was Beatrice." It wasn't anger or petulance in her tone, nor was it helplessness. Caterina took another sip. Maybe Robert needed to add a bottle of wine to their drink cart. This was disgusting.

"Things really didn't go well for Beatrice at the end of the war."

"Well that spy thing explained a lot but that awful Frank Crawley too. I thought he was a teddy bear."

She hadn't mentioned Maxim. Caterina waited a moment then,

 "We'll need the proper attire and need to go shopping." Caterina suggesting a shopping trip was supposed to lighten the mood. It didn't.

"I think I'll just turn in early. There's some reading I need to finish." She vaguely waved over her shoulder at her room. She set the half-finished drink on the coffee table and stood up.

Caterina looked up at her, "We'll have lunch tomorrow, then?"

Mrs. de Winter nodded and headed towards her rooms. Caterina watched her leave. Truthfully, she had also hoped for something more from Beatrice. She might be help her with her own situation.

 Caterina woke at her usual time but instead of the exercise room she chose a meander through a nearby park. Summer had faded the mornings had turned cool. She passed someone walking their dog. A subtle glance of greeting was exchanged as they passed, the dog tugged gently along as he tried to assess the stranger. The moment over, Caterina looked around at the landscape as she strolled. This manufactured expression of nature. Each tree, flower and bush chosen and placed according to a design intended to elicit the most serene emotions in those that visited. She assumed that her reaction would be to recoil from this caricature of an opulent paradise as just more bourgeois self-indulgence. She looked for it and it wasn't there. She worn clothes that fit and shoes that were comfortable. All of the compromises of the past had placed her here, now. There was some guilt in her path but no shame, there was nothing to be ashamed of. There was opportunity here.

The park entrance was ahead, shoe could hear the sounds of traffic growing louder. Two short brick columns flanked the gravel path and separated the path from the sidewalk beyond. Passing through onto the sidewalk and paused. The blaring of a taxi horn not so much assaulted her but greeted her. She glanced at her shoes. The toes a bit damp and a dusting of dirt rimmed the sole. She flexed her feet warm and dry. Mrs. de Winter frowned sometimes at what line between comfort and fashion Caterina chose but there things she was adamant about. She claimed the pair she wore now bordered on 'institutional'. Uncomfortable shoes were to be worn only when absolutely necessary. No, she shouldn't feel guilty for enjoying this.

 The auction was a fund raising event to create a scholarship program to provide lower and middle income students from a variety of backgrounds with funding to attain undergraduate and graduate level degrees. Alfred Billings was the name on the event and some obscure private school in northern England was his alma mata. Mrs. D had recognized the event from her consumption of the society gossip columns,

 And that’s where I left it. I haven’t looked at it in a few months and didn’t remember writing so much. Maybe I should read through it. I remember starting to get a little uncomfortable telling a story about two women trying to make a go 1950ish New York City. I saw a story forming but I didn’t want to start making up interactions that couldn’t actually occur due to cultural and legal restrictions. How much agency did a woman have? Were they going to need a “beard”?

 

Anyway. This blog is about what a book makes me think about. It’s not always what me or the author intended.