There is Nothing like a Dame A novel by Bronwen Welsh Copyright© 2017 Bronwen Welsh A sequel to 'The Might-Have-Been Girl' and 'All the World's a Stage'

Chapter 12   Arriving in New England

Since we were boarding another aircraft, I rather hoped that I wouldn't find myself sitting next to Bob again, but wasn't entirely surprised to find that this was again our seating arrangement. Maybe they just copied it from the first flight. We chatted a bit and then scrolling through the movies on offer, I discovered an historical drama starring Dame Emily. I had seen the film before, but whenever I watched a good movie I made it a practice to watch it twice; the first time for pure enjoyment, and the second time to analyse the acting performances and see what I could learn from them.

It may seem that I overemphasise Dame Emily in my reminiscences, and there is a reason for this of course. I owed her so much for helping me in my career from the very start and many times since. Also, I am proud to call her a friend. However, there are other excellent female actors who appear on stage and screen, both in Britain and elsewhere and I don't for a moment neglect to learn all I can from their performances.

There was another good reason for watching that particular film. It nicely filled in the time we took to fly to Boston. I had already worked out what Bob's next move would be (men can be transparently obvious at times), and I was giving him very little time to make it. The film ended just as we were starting our descent to land at Boston, and right on cue, Bob leaned over to me and in a quiet voice asked if I'd like to exchange telephone numbers.

I acted as though I was surprised and replied as follows: “Bob, you are married and so am I. You have been a thoughtful and entertaining travelling companion, but I think for both our sakes that is where we should leave it, don't you?”

He looked disappointed, but to give him his due he didn't press the point and instead said: “I understand Harriet. I hope you'll forget what I just said and I trust you have a pleasant stay in America and that all goes well for you.”

“And I wish you the same,” I replied.

Bob was a handsome man. I'm sure he had made similar invitations to other women on his business trips and it seemed quite likely that some of them would have been accepted. It was not for me to judge but I knew that I could never have forgiven myself if I had succumbed to temptation. When we got out of our seats to leave the aircraft we shook hands and I permitted him to give me a kiss on the cheek which I hope salved his wounded pride at not making a conquest.

One advantage of being in First Class is that your luggage appears first and so clearing Customs is a good deal quicker than for the other classes of traveller. When I finally entered the Arrivals Hall, I had been told to look out for a tall African-American man dressed in a chauffeur's uniform and holding up a card with my name on it. It was very easy to identify Henry, since he was over six feet in height and easily the tallest of the men standing in the group waiting for their passengers.

I walked up to him and said “I'm Harriet Stow and you must be Henry.”

He smiled at me and said: “Yes Miss Stow, welcome to America. May I take your suitcase please?”

I was on the point of saying that I could manage when I realised that this was part of his job description and that I should let him do as he requested, so I handed it over. At least nowadays, suitcases have wheels; I had brought rather a large one along as I was staying for a couple of months and needed a number of outfits. Also, being a woman, I had made a point of not filling the case as I expected to buy some clothes while I was away.

Henry led me out of the terminal and walked over to what appeared to be a VIP parking area judging by the limousines. He stopped in front of a huge Cadillac, and I was suitably impressed.

“Wow, that's quite a 'Darth Vader',” I said. Henry turned to me with a puzzled expression.

“You know, big, black and shiny,” I said with a smile but it wasn't returned.

'Stop digging, Harriet,' I said to myself, and out loud. “Sorry, it was meant as a joke.”

“Oh, I see, Miss Stow, very amusing,” said Henry as he opened the boot (which I remembered should be called a 'trunk' in America) and lifted the heavy case as though it was a featherweight to put it inside.

There's something about men and their cars. Alright, strictly speaking, it wasn't Henry's car, but it might just as well have been, and my flippant remark had insulted the car and by extension Henry himself. The next thing he did was to open a rear door for me.

“Would you mind very much if I sat in the front with you?” I asked in what I hoped was a humble tone. “Sitting in the back would make me feel like royalty, and I'm far from that.”

“Sure, Miss Stow,” he said, apparently somewhat mollified and opened the front passenger's door for me.

When we were both sitting in our seats I said “Henry, I'm sorry about my remark just now. I don't want to get off on the wrong foot with you. Would you very much mind calling me Harriet, at least when no-one else is around? I don't know what the rules are in other circumstances, but I'll be guided by you.”

“Sure Miss Harriet,” he said with the ghost of a smile and it appeared that I had redeemed myself to some extent.

Henry started the car and the insulation was so good that I could hardly hear the engine. We 'glided' away from the parking lot, there really is no other expression which properly describes it, and headed out of Logan Airport. As we drove along I realised that Henry was deliberately choosing a route to take us through the city centre so that I could admire the buildings, some of which were obviously very historic. Henry informed me, much to my surprise, that Boston is the capital of the 'Commonwealth' of Massachusetts, one of four States to have this official title. He also said that with this area being known as New England, I could expect to see many areas with English names, including of course Boston itself which was founded by Puritan settlers from Britain back in 1630.

I let him talk while giving me the 'guided tour', but didn't engage him in too much conversation because I didn't want to distract him in the city traffic. Then he turned onto the Massachusetts Turnpike, Route 90, a magnificent six-lane dual-carriage highway, and we headed west out of the city and were soon in the countryside. Now I felt able to talk a little more. I started by complimenting the limousine.

“She gives an amazingly smooth ride,” I said. “I have a small car of my own, but it feels nothing like this. I suppose it's the long wheel base?”

“That's right Miss Harriet, that and the weight I guess.”

I decided to press him a little further. “I'm guessing you have a name for her?” I asked.

He glanced at me to gauge my expression, perhaps wondering if I would make fun of his response. He seemed reassured.

“Yes I do, she's called 'Annabel',” he replied.

“That's a lovely name. Did you name her after an old girlfriend?”

“Nothing like that. When I was at school, we had a teacher come out from England for a year and she introduced us to poetry which was kind of unusual for a working-class area. She seemed surprised that we'd never heard of a guy called Edgar Poe, because he was a native of Boston. Do you know him?”

“Edgar Allan Poe?” I said

“Yes, that's him. Well one of the poems she read us, it was 'Annabel' something.”

“Annabel Lee, I think,” I said. I didn't want to sound surprised that he didn't remember it.

“That's the one. It kind of stuck in my mind and when I was given this car, it was so beautiful, I decided that 'Annabel' was the name for her.”

I smiled: “Yes, it's a lovely poem.”

“Do you happen to know it?” he asked and I replied that it was many years since I last read it but I'd do my best, and so I recited it for him.

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

There was a long pause when I had finished, and the only sound was the quiet hum of the engine, and the sound of the tyres on the road.

Eventually, Henry said softly: “That was beautiful.” I saw him wipe a tear from his eye and I pretended not to notice.

“Yes, it's a lovely poem,” I replied.

“Not just that, it's the way you spoke the words. You have a real gift you know?”

“Thank you,” I replied. There was nothing else I could say; but Henry hadn't finished.

“How do you remember all those words, Miss Harriet?”

“Some people can sing beautifully, play a musical instrument or produce stunning paintings. My gift is to remember words and to act them out. I can't claim credit for it, it's just something that was given to me and I never take it for granted,” I replied.

Henry nodded in agreement.

We continued to chat as the miles rolled by and eventually I glanced at my watch and realised that we had been travelling for about ninety minutes and so must be about half-way to East Devon.

“I'm rather thirsty. I wouldn't mind stopping for a coffee,” I said. I realised that a request from me amounted to an order and I didn't want to make it sound that way: “Would you know somewhere where we can pull off the road?” I was sure that Henry, having travelled this route many times would know every inch of the highway.

“There's a rest area about ten minutes further ahead, Miss Harriet. I often stop off there,” he said.

“That sounds good to me,” I replied. “Maybe I'll have something to eat too since we still have a way to go. Do you know if I'll be getting a meal when we arrive at East Devon?”

Henry smiled: “I'm counting on it. Ellen's an amazing cook.”

A little further down the road, Henry pulled off the highway into the rest area and parked the car. After he stepped out of the car he walked around to the passenger door and opened it for me. I thanked him as I stepped out. I really wasn't used to someone opening a car door for me, but took it to be part of his job so accepted it.

As we walked towards the building, Henry said: “I suggest 'Dunkin Donuts', they have amazing coffee.”

I made no objection, so that's where we went.

I suspected that this was one of Henry's regular stops and this was confirmed when the woman behind the counter said: “Hi Henry, the usual?”

“Please,” replied Henry. “Donna, may I introduce Miss Harriet Stow from England? She's visiting to do some consultancy work at Mr Thompson's theatre.” I should mention at this point that during my conversation with Henry, I had indicated that I had no objection to him telling anyone why I was in America.

Donna held out her hand: “Pleased to meet you, Miss Stow. Your first time in America?”

“My third time actually; the first time was a tour with a theatre company, and the second time was to New York on my honeymoon early this year. I'm here for longer this time and I'm really looking forward to it.”

“Well I hope you enjoy your stay. Now, what can I get you?”

“I'd like a white coffee and a jam doughnut please,” I replied.

Donna looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face.

“A regular coffee and a jelly donut, please,” said Henry, acting as an interpreter. He started to take out his wallet and I said “No Henry, it's my shout.”

Henry looked at me bewildered. “Sorry Henry, it's a phrase I picked up from my Australian aunt, it means I'll pay.”

Henry laughed. “I thought shouting was something that actors do.” We all burst out laughing.

“So we have three countries divided by a single language,” I said. “By the way, how did you know what I was trying to order?”

“Well Miss Harriet, you’re not the first British artist we’ve entertained here, so I’ve learned the language differences over the years. For example, if you had asked for a biscuit, I would have told Donna that you wanted a cookie.”

My thoughts still being in food, I said: “Henry, you mentioned Ellen the cook; are there many staff at the house?”

“Just four; besides myself and Ellen, there's Blossom, my wife who acts as housemaid and Rodrigo the gardener. It's not like your stately homes in England.”

Back on the road again with my hunger pangs assuaged, we had about ninety minutes more to travel, and I actually dozed off for a while. Henry, fortunately, stayed wide awake. When I finally awoke I realised that we were now on a two-lane road.

Henry glanced at me: “Not long now Miss Harriet.”

About ten minutes later, we turned off the road and drove through some impressive-looking gates and up a long driveway.

To be continued.

Many thanks once again to Louise Ann and Julia Phillips for spotting my 'typos', thus allowing me to correct them before publishing. A special thank-you to Karen Lockhart, a native of New England who has provided me with local knowledge and correct American idioms for this and the following chapters while Harriet visits the United States.