Days of Winter

by Cynthia Freeman

  But the sands in Rubin’s hourglass had run low. He was going home tomorrow, and the reality of that was suddenly more than he could face. He too had played the game of forgetfulness these last weeks. He too had lived in a world of fantasy.

  That night Rubin had slept badly. Getting out of bed at dawn, he put on his bathrobe and went to the kitchen. Preparing his coffee, he looked out the window at the soft spring rain, as though it could ease his journey to London. He took his coffee into the dining room and seated himself at the window.

  He could still hear Magda’s voice, whispering I love you so …Oh, Rubin, I love only you … only you … you. But not once had she said I cannot live without you. Though he knew that was what she wanted to say; she wouldn’t try to trap him. Solange’s words came back hauntingly to him … she’s swimming in a big sea. …

  What was he leaving her with? Only material things. What had he really done for her? Taken her out of one hell into, perhaps, another. Yet when he’d first wanted to secure her future, it had all seemed so right, so simple, then to help her. But he knew she was reaching out for him without her having to say so. After all, he had helped create a new Magda … But Magda would marry … although he couldn’t face the thought of her belonging to someone else. And quickly he told himself there was such a thing as honor. Remember, Rubin, he said to himself, you’re an Englishman, brought up in a certain tradition. And above all remember that you’re a Jew, taught to honor your father and mother. It’s a sacred commandment you can’t forsake. …And Jocelyn, what about her? You can’t find happiness built on the unhappiness of someone else whose suffering you’re responsible for. …

  He covered his face with his hands.

  They stood facing one another in these last moments before Rubin was to board the train. Everything had been said, there was nothing left. Rubin held her very close as the final boarding call was heard. Then he disengaged himself quickly and walked off. Magda watched the train disappear into the mist of steam as the engine moved on slowly. Within seconds it was gone. She was heartsick but she knew that Rubin would return. She was so certain, she was able to smile as she left the station.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE HACKS, THE ENTIRE family, were seated around the table in the oak-paneled dining room. Nothing had changed. Only more chairs had been added as the Hack sons married and the number of grandchildren grew. Conversation was the same. Dinner, too, was the same formal yet convivial affair it had always been. Rubin alone felt alien. None of the other Hacks carried his burden of deception.

  This morning he had come face to face with an excited, jubilant Jocelyn. She ran into his arms when he got off the train at Victoria Station. She held his face in her hands, kissing him tenderly. There was no other way—he had to respond, if not with the same pleasure, at least with a show of emotion. It was almost more than he could stand. His mother and father had stood by smiling broadly.

  “I’m afraid you’ve lost weight,” his mother had said. And his father had added, “Stop fussing so, Sara.” He could not remember the banal amenities which had followed if his life depended on it. He vaguely recalled feeling Jocelyn’s arm in his as the four of them walked out into the soft rain of London. In the silver-gray Rolls-Royce, they drove through the familiar streets … past Hyde Park, Marble Arch … but Rubin didn’t see them. Instead he thought, When I left Paris it was raining, too. Is that a sign, an omen? A warning of what life is going to be like from now on?

  As he lifted his napkin from his lap, he felt Jocelyn’s hand on his. He was chilled with guilt at her touch. How could he do this to someone as tender and decent as Jocelyn … and how could he not? … should he have broken his word to her? …He had hardly been attentive to her all evening, but if Jocelyn noticed his lack of interest, she didn’t make it apparent. Rubin had always been reserved.

  For a moment Jocelyn felt somewhat embarrassed. Perhaps she had been too demonstrative when she saw Rubin get off the train. But she hadn’t seen him for a month, and there had been only one brief note and a letter whose meaning she could only try to understand. But she refused to dwell on anything so negative. He was home, after all.

  After dinner the men went off to the library to enjoy their cigars and brandy while the ladies retired to the solarium, where they talked about the new fashions: Queen Mary’s turbans were becoming the rage of London …The upcoming charity ball had everyone selecting costumes. Sylvia Rothchild Hack was the chairman; the things she had planned were simply captivating. …She was too clever for words. Now what about Jocelyn? …Well, all the china had been selected, the silver, the crystal, the linen …The house was almost ready …And what about the wedding? Oh dear, so many details …She and Mother had a mild tiff about the style of her bridal cornet …Mother thought it should have been less modern, more in the Victorian tradition, but she finally relented and let Jocelyn have her way. …

  In the library, Rubin looked at his watch. Dinner tonight had been in his honor, but now he could leave, having spent enough time with his father and brothers. He was very bored. He couldn’t have cared less about the Prime Minister’s position on colonial rule, or if the Thames overflowed. He wanted to be alone with his memories of Magda. The thought of sleeping in that oversized bed upstairs was too terrible to contemplate. His body ached for her.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Father,” he said, “I’m very tired.”

  “Of course, dear boy. It’s understandable after crossing the channel. Terribly choppy water.”

  Rubin said goodnight to his brothers and crossed the vast hall to do the same with Jocelyn and the others.

  All evening Jocelyn had waited for Rubin to come to her so they could be alone and walk in the secluded garden, perhaps, since it had stopped raining, sit on the stone bench, discuss his trip … then kiss in the cool, crisp air of the London night. Instead she found herself being kissed perfunctorily on the cheek.

  Rubin went upstairs to his room, closed the door, and sat down at the desk. He had always loved home, a fire glowing on the hearth, the portraits, the hunting scenes, the pictures of himself as a boy at Eton, then Oxford, all carefully mounted in heavy silver frames. But that Rubin no longer existed; he was lost … as lost as Magda Charascu. …

  Downstairs, Phillip sat puffing on his cigar. “Our Rubin must have made the most of his last weeks of Paris bachelorhood. I think that, rather than crossing the channel, exhausted him.” Nathan nodded, and everyone smiled except Leon, who had sensed a reserve in Rubin. Leon knew Rubin best. Since childhood they had been closest. Perhaps it was the two-year difference in their ages, but Leon had always understood Rubin, had known his sensitivities, his secret desire to paint. He also knew that Rubin was not in love with Jocelyn. Poor Rubin. Well, they would have a man-to-man talk, not tomorrow, but soon. To pry into his brother’s personal life now would only result in making Rubin even more withdrawn. But when Rubin could no longer cope with the problem alone, Leon would be there to help him.

  But as the weeks passed, Rubin still did not confide in his family. An enormous change had taken place in him. The whole family feared he was ill. Withdrawn into a shell, he couldn’t eat. And his attitude toward Jocelyn was noticeably altered. At first the family rationalized; perhaps he was undergoing prenuptial jitters. Still, few men were this reluctant to relinquish their freedom. And though Jocelyn tried desperately to ignore his lack of interest, she was thoroughly miserable during what should have been the happiest time of her life.

  Rubin’s depression was almost unbearable. He had received no letter from Magda. Going each day to the post office box, where all her letters were supposed to be sent, he would take out the tiny key, open the metal door, and look inside in vain. Why hadn’t she written? Was she ill? Surely Solange would have written if she was? Rubin became obsessed that she had found someone else. …

  Finally, he went to the nearest phone and placed a call to Emile’s apartment. When he reached it, the connection was bad, filled with static. “Where is she?” he shout
ed into the instrument, trying to be understood above the maddening noise. All he could hear were muffled sounds of a voice he believed was Mignon’s. “In Cannes …” Those two words were the only ones which sounded distinct. Then the line went dead. Rubin held the receiver in his clenched hand for a long, very long time, then placed it carefully on the hook.

  It was five when he returned home, after wandering around aimlessly. As he climbed the stairs to his room, he heard the voice of Martin, the butler. “Sir?” he said.

  Rubin turned his head.

  “Sir, your father has asked to see you in his study.”

  “Thank you, Martin.”

  Nathan was seated in the big leather chair at one side of the Georgian fireplace, a chair he had occupied for many years. He was shocked to see Rubin looking so distraught and disheveled.

  “Sit down, Rubin …”

  Rubin seated himself across from his father, gazing into the fire. Nathan poured two brandies, handed one to Rubin and kept the other himself. He took a sip.

  “Rubin, the time has come when you and I must talk. Obviously something disturbs you. Please tell me what it is. You can speak freely, there are only the two of us here.”

  Rubin remained silent

  Nathan continued, “Rest assured, I will understand.”

  Rubin looked at his father as though he wanted to confide, then retreated into himself again.

  “Since you returned from Paris, you’re a different man. We no longer recognize you. Your mother is especially perturbed and you’ve made Jocelyn desperately unhappy. You don’t have the right to hurt that dear loving child, who is, I remind you, soon to become your wife.”

  Rubin winced, in spite of himself.

  “Are you that frightened of marriage?”

  Rubin answered so softly Nathan had to strain to hear. “No … not marriage, exactly.”

  “Then it must be Jocelyn.”

  “I’m afraid it is, sir. A man can’t love merely because it’s … expedient.”

  Nathan got up and paced the floor, hands behind his back. “Expedient?” he said. “That’s a strange word, Rubin. Are you implying that this marriage is only a merger between the Sassoons and the Hacks?”

  Well, isn’t it? Rubin wanted to answer but he couldn’t, not when he saw the troubled look on his father’s face.

  “Do you feel that we’ve forced you into an arrangement?”

  “We were certainly thrown together a lot. And suddenly, somehow, marriage seemed to be the next logical step. At the time, it all did, I admit, seem so right …”

  “But everyone assumed that your affection for Jocelyn was real … in fact, no one was aware that you were anything less than deeply in love. This is what I find hardest to comprehend.”

  “My affection at the time was certainly genuine. Jocelyn is a lovely young woman—”

  “But you’ve suddenly fallen out of love? How could that happen in so short a time?”

  Rubin was silent

  “Rubin? …why did you stay in Paris so long?”

  Running his hands through this thick black hair, Rubin looked at the vaulted ceiling while Nathan waited for an answer. Finally, he spoke. “Because … well, it happens I’ve fallen completely in love with a woman in Paris. …”

  Nathan sighed deeply. Replenishing the brandy glasses, he handed one to his son, then seated himself again. “Is she going to have your child? Is that the problem?”

  “I wish she was, it might be simpler.”

  “Is she in love with you?”

  “Yes …”

  “Still, you couldn’t have known her for long.”

  “Is time the right barometer? I’ve known Jocelyn for a lifetime—”

  “Forgive me, Rubin, but I always thought love was something that grew. Of course, I come from a different generation …”

  “Forgive me, Father, but I suspect love hasn’t changed so much—”

  “I suppose you’re right, Rubin. But the point is, what do you plan to do about this … woman?”

  “Nothing.”

  Nathan nodded, and smiled for the first time. “You are right, Rubin … love has not changed so much from my generation to yours. …” And then he astonished his son as he told him for the first time … as though suddenly they were old confidants … how “when I was about your age, perhaps a little younger, I, too, thought I was completely in love … with a lovely young ballerina. Ludicrous when I look back on it now, of course, but at the time, believe me, I was inconsolable. …Marriage was out of the question, unthinkable, she could never have been accepted. …We have so much, but we can’t always have what we want. When I think back … about how different my life would have been …”

  And Rubin was hearing his father’s last words merge with what Solange had said …What would have become of my life if I’d had the courage to run away with …? Nathan’s words brought him back. “I have my father, God rest his soul, to thank for setting me straight. I met your mother shortly afterward. And by then, Rubin, would you believe it, I could scarcely remember the girl’s face. Loving your mother as I did, I understood the other was only a passing matter, a young man experiencing life, as they say, for the first time. Now, the most astonishing thing is … quite accidentally, I ran into this woman on the street a few years ago. I would have passed her by if she hadn’t called out my name. When we spoke, briefly, it was like talking to a stranger. She had become, I’m afraid, a rather vain, unattractive woman. I walked away thinking, And for that I almost gave up my heritage, my life. So I know what you are going through, Rubin. I also know it will pass. Jocelyn is right for you. Once you’re married, settled into your life, your affection for her will turn into the love and devotion I feel for your mother. There will be children … and before you know it, this woman in Paris will cease to exist. This, I promise …”

  You’re wrong, Father, our stories are not parallel … I won’t forget Magda’s face … I won’t stop loving her … You can’t promise me anything, it isn’t yours to promise. …But I’ll be your loving, obedient son, the son you respect. …

  At least he would try. One thing, he was relieved he no longer had to go on deceiving his father. And for a moment, he felt almost rewarded in his misery as Nathan stood up and put his arms around his son’s shoulders.

  From that day, Rubin became a mechanical man, doing all the right things … saying what was expected. His conduct was exemplary. He was with Jocelyn constantly, working doggedly at the alchemy to change respect and affection into desire and love. He barely felt alive.

  Two weeks before the wedding, Jocelyn showed Rubin through their new house, now completely furnished. Hand in hand she led him from room to room, in the fine mansion off Regents Park, the gift of her parents. Rubin found himself being led into the bedroom. He felt nothing as he looked at the large four-poster bed. He had to turn away and walk to the window. It was Magda he saw in that bed … Magda who—

  “Are you pleased, darling?”

  He looked at her. “Oh, yes, it’s very nice, very …”

  Jocelyn put her head on his shoulder. “We’re going to be very happy here, Rubin …Darling, I do love you so.”

  He stroked her hair, honestly wishing he could feel the same, hating himself because he couldn’t.

  The days would not be held back. Nor the hours or minutes. It was his wedding day.

  That morning he re-read his most recent letter from Magda—they’d finally begun to arrive after the wait he had thought meant she no longer cared. His eyes sped down to the very last sentence. …“And I can only wish you the greatest happiness with your Jocelyn …Love as always, Magda.”

  Oh, Magda, I want you … I need you …

  And as Rubin sat alone reading her letter, Magda lay crying on Emile’s bed in Paris. Solange tried to comfort her, but nothing could. “He doesn’t love me, Solange. I was so sure … so sure he’d never be able to live without me—”

  “That was a mistake …Your strategy … those lapses betw
een letters to draw him back to you …But there are ties that can go beyond love, Magda … Rubin is being sacrificed, not you.”

  “But don’t I count for anything?”

  “Stop being ungrateful Look at all Rubin has done for you—”

  “But what have I got? Nothing but things … things …”

  Solange shook her, then held her close, wiped away her tears. “Yes … things which make it possible for you to live like a princess. You should get down on your knees and pray that man finds some peace. He’s the one who’s going to have to spend the rest of his life in hell …Ask me. I know what it’s like living with someone you feel nothing for …”

  Magda turned over and buried her face in the pillow.

  Jocelyn and her entourage were sequestered in the bridal room. The temple was filled with flowers. As the organ played softly, the guests were ushered into pews. The bride’s mother was escorted down the aisle. The seat beside her was vacant, but soon it would be occupied by her husband, after he had led his daughter to the altar and relinquished her to Rubin Hack. Sara and Nathan Hack were next. What a handsome couple they made, Sara, so sedate, in a rose lace gown, and Nathan in his cutaway jacket and gray-striped trousers.

  Sara glanced at the bride’s mother, Annette Sassoon, who smiled with perfect decorum. The altar was breathtaking—the white satin canopy festooned with white roses, lilies of the valley, satin streamers and green maidenhair fern. The glowing candles in the candelabra made the sanctuary look ethereal. This was one of the most important weddings of the year. The Sassoons had outdone themselves.

  Sara reached for Nathan’s hand and held it tightly. The years had rushed by so rapidly …We never notice them slipping away. …Only yesterday Rubin was tugging at my skirts …And now he’s a man, ready to take his place as husband and father …She sighed and looked at Nathan. Life had been good to them. They had brought four sons into the world. Soon there would be four daughters-in-law … daughters, really … and six grandchildren so far. No one could wish for more. …