To Be the Best. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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her and nodded maternal approval and encouraged her at every opportunity.
She wished her parents were still alive. And her little sister, Kerry Anne, who had died when she was four. And Joe and Lonnie. Her two brothers had been killed in Vietnam. She missed them so very much, just as she missed her baby sister and her parents, and at times she felt as though she had no roots, no centre to her life, with all of them gone from her. They had been close knit as a family, and very loving of each other. She considered her losses over the past few years, thought of her sorrow, and her heart clenched. Resolutely, she pushed the pain away.
Madelana took several deep breaths, keeping absolute control of herself and her emotions, as she had taught herself to do after her father had been buried four years ago. Only when he was lying in the ground did her sense of aloneness truly overwhelm her, and only then did she fully comprehend that she no longer had any family left, except for Aunt Agnes, her father’s sister, who lived in California and whom she hardly knew.
The cab drew up outside the Residence Jeanne D’Arc. She took the receipt from the driver, said goodnight, grabbed her shopping bag and alighted. She ran swiftly up the steps and into the building.
The minute she walked inside, Madelana felt herself relaxing.
This place was so familiar and cosy and welcoming … she had lived here in one of the rooms when she had first come to New York, had stayed for three years. It had been her home. She still thought of it as home, even though she now had her own apartment uptown in the East Eighties.
She crossed the small entrance foyer and turned right, heading for the office.
‘Hello, Sister Mairéad,’ Madelana said to the nun behind the counter, who was in charge of the office this evening. ‘How are you?’
‘Why, Madelana, it’s nice to see you, and I’m just fine, very fine indeed,’ the sister replied, the faint Irish lilt echoing softly in her voice, her rose-apple cheeks dimpling with pleasure. The sister had had a soft spot for Madelana when she had lived here, and she was always delighted to see this lovely young woman who was such a credit to her parents, God rest their souls, and who in every way exemplified her good Catholic upbringing.
‘Sister Bronagh’s expecting me,’ Madelana said with a smile, and put the large Harte’s bag on the counter, took out a gift-wrapped package and looked at the sister, ‘Can I leave my shopping bag with you, please?’
‘Of course you can, Madelana.’
‘It’s full of my papers from work, so please put it somewhere safe, won’t you? It’d be more than a disaster if it got mislaid.’
‘Now don’t you be fretting yourself about it, I’ll keep it safe, and you know there’s no need to be worrying about anything you leave here. Sister Bronagh said for you to go to the garden. She’ll be up to join you in a few minutes. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.’ Sister Mairéad beamed and nodded to herself and picked up the phone, began to dial.
‘Thank you, Sister,’ Madelana murmured, and swung around, heading for the small, box-like elevator that would take her up to the fifth floor and the stairs that led to the roof of the building.
Surprisingly, the roof garden was empty.
Usually in the summer, on pleasant evenings, some of the girls who lived at the residency came up here to chat and socialize with each other, and with the sisters, to share a drink of wine or juice, or read a book or simply be alone.
It was a charming spot, planted with rambling ivy, and there were vines growing on trellis panels, and window boxes of bright red and pink geraniums, and pots of yellow and peach begonias, and the sisters grew vegetables up here. Scattered about were chairs and several small tables, and the atmosphere was inviting and suggested conviviality.
She paused to look at the statue of the Blessed Virgin, surrounded by masses of flowers as it generally was in the summer, recalling how often she had tended the flowers when she had been living here. She had always thought of this spot as a little oasis, a lovely patch of green-growing things in the middle of the concrete canyons of Manhattan, and it had given her a feeling of wellbeing, had nourished her soul.
Gliding forward, she went to one of the tables, put down the gift and her handbag, and seated herself in one of the chairs facing uptown. Straight ahead of her, in her direct angle of vision, were the Empire State and the Chrysler Buildings thrusting up above the higgledy-piggledy roofs and chimney pots of Chelsea and the less-distinguished skyscrapers of the city.
Dusk was already falling, and the lavender-and-grey tinted sky was changing as a deep cobalt blue seeped in like ink and slowly extinguished these paler hues. The lights that washed over the towers of the two dominating buildings had been turned on, but the grandeur of the architecture would not be properly visible until the sky was pitch black. Then these towers would be thrown into relief, would shimmer magnificently against the dark velvet backdrop of the sky, and it was a sight that never failed to make her catch her breath in delight.
Even in winter, Madelana had enjoyed coming up here when she had lived at the residency. Wrapped in warm clothes, she had huddled in a sheltered corner, admiring these two extraordinary edifices and a skyline that stunned with its unique beauty.
The Chrysler, with its Art Deco sunburst motif on its elegant tapering tower, was only ever flooded with clear white light that gave it a pristine beauty and underscored the purity of its design, whereas the Empire State changed its colours to suit the season and the holidays. At Thanksgiving, the two tiers and the slender tower above were flooded with amber, gold and orange; at Christmas with red and green. The lights changed to blue and white for Chanukah and other Jewish holidays, became yellow at Easter, green on St Patrick’s Day, and red, white and blue for the fourth of July. And if the Chrysler Building really was the more beautiful of the two, then certainly the Empire State was the most eyecatching when it blazed with a celebratory selection of its rainbow colours.
‘Good evening, Madelana,’ Sister Bronagh called as she walked across to the table, carrying two glasses of white wine.
Madelana sprang up at the sound of her voice.
‘Hello, Sister.’ She hurried forward, smiling, and took the glass being offered to her, and the two women clasped hands affectionately, before sitting down together at the table.
‘You’re looking extremely well,’ Sister Bronagh said, peering at her in the gathering dusk.
‘Thank you, I feel good.’
They touched glasses and sipped their drinks.
‘This is for you, Sister,’ Madelana said, after a moment, and slid the gift across the table.
‘For me?’ Sister Bronagh glanced at it, raised a brow, her warm hazel eyes suddenly twinkling merrily behind her spectacles, her face wreathed in smiles.
‘That’s why I came tonight … to bring you the present and to say goodbye. I won’t be able to come to your farewell party next week. I’ll be in Australia by then.’
‘Australia! My goodness, so far away, Madelana. But exciting, I think, for you. I’m so sorry you won’t be at the party … your absence will be noticed. It always has been, when you haven’t been able to make one of our little get togethers. And thank you for the gift, it was thoughtful of you.’
‘You’re quite welcome.’
‘May I open it now?’
‘Of course,’ Madelana said, laughing, enjoying her obvious delight in the small token she had brought.
Sister Bronagh untied the yellow ribbon, dispensed with the wrapping paper and lifted the lid of the Harte’s silver cardboard box. Underneath the layers of tissue paper were three different-sized toilet bags made of deep blue silk and trimmed with a lighter blue welting.
‘Oh, how lovely they are!’ Sister Bronagh exclaimed, taking one out, turning it over in her hands, opening the zip, looking inside. Her small, birdlike face was bright with sudden happiness and she took Madelana’s hand resting