Memory and Desire

by Lisa Appignanesi

  She told Antonia about it in a hushed voice the night her friend came to sleep over at her house. Normally, she preferred to stay over at Antonia’s when the occasion arose. But this time, Antonia’s mother had rung to ask whether Antonia might stay at the Jardine’s. They were going to be out late and their help was away. The girl’s talked in whispers.

  ‘She hides my work. Breaks my things. She’s after me, out to get me. I know she is.’

  ‘But why.’

  ‘I don’t know why. I just know I have to get away. I have to.’

  ‘But where will you go?’

  Her mother burst in on them. ‘That’s enough from you two. I know what you’re up to. Antonia, you go and sleep in Leo’s room. I’m not having any nastiness in my house.’ Sylvie’s tone would brook no questions. The girls had looked at each other curiously and Antonia had trailed obediently after the older woman. The next day, after Antonia had left, Katherine was told that her punishment was that she would have to stay in her room over the entirety of the weekend. Bread and water would be brought to her. ‘And you’re lucky to get that, given what you’ve been up to.’ Sylvie said coldly. Angry at the injustice of it all, Katherine was yet relieved to have an excuse to stay out of her mother’s way. She was growing increasingly scared. She had noticed, over the last weeks, that her mother had not been wearing her favourite ring. That incident so many years ago when she had been punished for the supposed loss of the ring was etched indelibly in her mind. She was terrified that a recurrence of the scene might present itself. Confinement in her room was preferable to a great deal else.

  On the day when Katherine came home to find the easel her father had given her collapsed on the floor and the careful copy she had been making of Vermeer’s Girl with a Mandolin splattered with red paint, she made her decision. But first, she would give her father a final chance. She had talked to him twice already about wanting to be sent away to school and he had looked at her sadly, ‘But you’re too young Katherine. And I shall miss you.’ She would miss him terribly too, and she hadn’t pursued it. Late that evening she knocked at his study door and tried again.

  ‘Pappy, I want to go away to school. I to go away. It will make things better. For you as well.’

  ‘Yes, Kat.’ Jacob removed the glasses he had taken to wearing. He looked tired. ‘I think you’re right. I shall start looking into places for next year when you begin high school. We should talk about the kind of school which would be best for you.’

  ‘I need to go now,’ Katherine cut him off.

  ‘But that’s not realistic.’

  Katherine took her father’s hand and pulled him towards her room. ‘Look,’ she said. She hadn’t cleaned up. The pots of paint lay splattered all over the carpet. In the midst of them her own besmirched picture, the broken easel.

  ‘Come with me.’ There was anger in Jacob’s voice and stance as he led her towards Sylvie’s bedroom. She was stretched out on the bed, a diaphanous negligée fanned out around her.

  ‘Sylvie. There is a terrible mess in Katherine’s room. What has got into you? It’s the child’s work.’

  Sylvie sat up startled. ‘And you think I did that?’ she asked incredulous. ‘It’s her mess. She always leaves a mess.’

  ‘She doesn’t, Sylvie. You know she didn’t do it.’ Jacob enunciated slowly.

  ‘And you believe her,’ Sylvie’s voice flew off into an upper register. ‘The little tale-carrier. You always believe her.’ Katherine stole away. She didn’t want to hear anymore. In bed, in the dark, she formulated her plans. She would go to the bank tomorrow at lunch time and withdraw all her money. No, perhaps only enough to get her to Boston and a little on top. Otherwise it might arouse suspicions. Then, once in Cambridge, she would convince Leo that she had to stay with him: he would listen to her. She was certain of that. Then she could go to school in Boston or something. Her mind beyond the escape itself went blank.

  Katherine looked at her watch again. It was lunchtime and she was suddenly very hungry. She had been too nervous to eat the evening before and she had skipped breakfast this morning. She walked towards the restaurant car - a long-legged girl with burnished hair and haunted grey eyes who gripped her school satchel as if it contained her life.

  When she got there, all the tables were occupied. She hesitated and then sat down at the far end of one where a lone man was wholly immersed in a newspaper. The waiter handed her a menu and she studied it intently, doing her sums all the while. Everything was far more expensive than she had anticipated.

  ‘I recommend the sole meunière. It’s the only edible thing on this train,’ a voice instructed her emphatically from across the table. Without looking up, Katherine gave her order hurriedly to the waiter.

  ‘I promise you, I’m right,’ the voice intoned again. ‘I travel this route at least once a week. I hate airplanes.’

  At last Katherine glanced at the owner of the voice. He was an old man, older than her father, with a shock of white hair and long drooping moustaches which sat incongruously with his very correct pinstriped suit. Under his shaggy brows, there were eyes of a decidedly twinkling blue.

  ‘So, now you can take that coat off and come and sit opposite me here and put that satchel you’re gripping so decisively there. I’ll watch it, don’t worry. No one will steal it.’ He was laughing at her. Mutely Katherine obeyed his instructions.

  ‘Yes, now that I can see you better, I can say that you are a decidedly pretty girl, even if the cat has eaten your tongue.’ He grinned gleefully. ‘In Berlin, where I come from, oh yes many years ago, before those foul Nazis besmirched the country, they would have said of you that you would make a great beauty, a grande dame sans merci. But that doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?’ Katherine heard a distinct cackle. ‘No one in this godforsaken country speaks any languages.’

  ‘A great lady without mercy,’ Katherine was goaded into responding.

  ‘Well, well, well. Not only beautiful, but also clever. Let me offer you some of my wine, young lady.’

  Katherine shook her head emphatically.

  ‘A little bread then?’

  She accepted greedily and bit into a slightly stale roll. The man watched her. ‘So, now that we are becoming friends, you can tell me your name.’

  Katherine was about to reply and then remembered herself. She bit off her words. Just then the waiter brought their order and she was saved from having to say anything. As soon as her plate was on the table, she dug in ravenously.

  The old man opposite laughed. ‘It does me good to see a young appetite.’ He nibbled at his food and studied her reflectively. ‘So you are off on an escapade. No, no you don’t have to tell me. It’s a secret, I know. And your name is a secret too,’ he lowered his tone in merry complicity. ‘I shall call you Schatzie. That means sweetheart, my little treasure. My name is Thomas Sachs. It’s a real name. See.’ His eyes twinkled and he brought a card out of his wallet and handed it to her. Katherine read, Thomas Sachs, Sachs Enterprises. She handed it back to him.

  ‘No, no keep it. You never know when it might come in useful. And now that you’ve finished bolting your food, tell me something about yourself. Tell me a story. I’ll order you a large ice-cream as a reward.’

  Katherine hardly had a repertoire of small talk. She scanned her mind, but it was blank of everything except the worry of her escape.

  ‘Well, tell me about what young girls read then,’ he persisted.

  ‘I’ve just read Jane Eyre.’ At last Katherine had found a subject. She spoke about the book fluently and with passion almost forgetting to eat her ice cream. Thomas Sachs listened intently and only occasionally interrupted. ‘Yes, it’s as I thought,’ he said when she had finished. ‘You are decidedly an intelligent young lady. Now, if you will excuse an old man his habits, I shall go off and smoke a cigar. I do not like to pollute the atmosphere for other diners.’ He put out his hand and Katherine shook it. It was cool and dry. ‘And do not worry about your bill. It is alread
y taken care of. Thank you for keeping me company.’

  Katherine just managed to say thank-you in return before he walked away. He was small, wiry, Katherine noticed and had the light, quick step of a far younger man. She suddenly realised, as she went back to her seat that she felt far more cheerful. Thomas Sachs had turned flight into adventure.

  When the train reached its destination and Katherine stepped out of the old station, it was already dark and bitterly cold. Light feathery snowflakes were falling. She hesitated. She had intended to take a bus, but in the dark everything looked unfamiliar and slightly forbidding. She had only been here once before. The details of getting to the house her brother shared with three other students in Cambridge now seemed more intractable than she had foreseen. She decided to join the long taxi queue. It moved slowly and she cursed herself for having forgotten her gloves and scarf. She thrust her hands into her pockets and stamped her feet on the ground, willing warmth to come into them.

  It was then that she heard the word. ‘Schatzie.’ She looked up and saw the high, gleaming shape of a Rolls Royce double parked beside a taxi. Thomas Sachs was looking out of the back window. ‘Can I give you a lift anywhere?’

  Katherine nodded gratefully. Decidedly this man was her good angel.

  The chauffeur held the door open for her.

  ‘Just tell Hans your destination.’

  Katherine blurted out the memorized address and sat back in the comfortable warmth of the car. It was vast. A small bar was open in front of them bearing bottles of whiskey and brandy. Darkened windows separated them from the chauffeur.

  ‘I take it someone has forgotten to come out and meet you.’ Thomas Sachs tsked under his breath. ‘I take it too that you are not a habituée of Boston.’ He didn’t wait for her reply. He flicked a switch and spoke, ‘Hans, the scenic route, please.’

  In the light of passing street lamps, Katherine could feel Thomas Sachs looking at her curiously. ‘Tell me, Schatzie, how old are you.’

  ‘Sixteen,’ Katherine lied. ‘She had prepared her new age, if not her name.

  ‘Mmmn,’ he said reflectively. ‘It’s not an insubstantial age, though everyone looks so young to me now.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Come, come and sit close to me and keep an old man warm.’

  Katherine hesitated.

  ‘Come, I won’t harm you.’ He took her hand and drew her closer. She leaned lightly against the soft wool of his dark cashmere coat. He smelled of a lemony cologne. ‘You see, that over there is the celebrated Boston Common. There are forty eight acres of it. And that granite obelisk is the Bunker Hill Monument which you will have learnt about in school. The people of Boston still take their revolutionary glory seriously. In the daytime you can come back and look at the Old State House we’re coming up to and see the cobblestones which mark the place where blood was shed in the great Boston Massacre. And that is the glorious Charles River…’ He interrupted himself. ‘You know Schatzie, the more I look at you, the more you remind me of a certain Titian. Very fetching, distinctly fetching.’ Dry lips brushed against her cheek. She didn’t pull away. It felt comforting, like when her father kissed her. Except for the tickle of the moustache. Thomas stroked her hair, guided her hand down to his lap. Silence enfolded them. Then his breath in her ear seemed to grow hot, irregular, a little hoarse. Katherine abruptly withdrew her hand, edged away.

  Thomas laughed. ‘Well, Schatzie, it’s a good thing we have arrived. I’m sure you will agree.’ His eyes suddenly crinkled humorously. Katherine, meeting them, found herself smiling in return.

  ‘Yes.’ He patted her hand, grinned ruefully. ‘I shall make sure that you are properly welcomed, and then, if you should need anything or wish to see me, you have my card. Now before you go’ — he took her hand again and held it — ‘you must tell me your name. As a special thank you. I shan’t tell it to anyone else.’

  Katherine believed him. She smiled the special smile which was so rare and which lit up her grey eyes. ‘Katherine Jardine,’ she said. ‘And thank you.’

  She had, though she didn’t realise it, made a friend for life.

  The one thing Katherine hadn’t banked on when she executed her well-laid plans was that her brother Leo might not be home when she arrived. As it was, she was greeted at the door of the ramshackle house by a complete stranger, a young man who looked at her oddly. He had certainly not been here on the day that she and her parents had briefly visited Leo’s quarters.

  ‘Hello,’ Katherine mumbled clumsily. ‘Is Leo here, Leo Jardine?’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s out. Was he expecting you?’

  Katherine shook her head. She stretched a hand out to the gangly youth. ‘I’m Katherine, his sister. May I come in and wait?’ she blurted out.

  The young man stood aside. Katherine walked in and as she did so heard the smooth engine of the Rolls pulling away.

  Nick Stanton examined the young girl, who clasped her school satchel nervously. ‘Leo may be quite late,’ he said. ‘Past your bedtime.’

  ‘That’s all right. I’ll… I’ll just wait, right here,’ Katherine perched on the edge of an overstuffed sofa. ‘I’ve come all the way from New York.’

  Nick Stanton gazed at her with an uncustomary scowl. He was expecting a visit from the young woman he had been wooing assiduously and he had carefully orchestrated the evening so that all his housemates were out and he had the house to himself. Now he had Leo’s baby sister to contend with. Well, not quite a baby. He would have to get her to co-operate. He couldn’t very well throw her out.

  ‘Like a drink of some kind?’ Nick asked, trying to think how to begin.

  ‘Yes, please, if it’s not too much trouble,’ Katherine looked round her in some confusion. She was suddenly close to tears. All the turmoil of the past weeks pressed down on her now that she had arrived at her destination: this slightly tawdry student house with its worn second-hand furniture where she was so obviously unwelcome. She gulped down the proffered glass of Coca-Cola quickly.

  Nick cleared his throat. ‘I’d kinda hoped to be alone here tonight. Do you think you could come back later.’ He saw her face fall and the tears fill her eyes. ‘Or, could you go up to Leo’s room and well, wait there? he said in a rush. ‘I’m expecting a friend…,’ his voice trailed off.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Katherine stood up abruptly. ‘I won’t be any trouble.’ She rushed up the stairs to the top of the house where she knew her brother’s room was before Nick had a chance to show her the way. She closed the door softly behind her, took off her coat and folded it neatly on the small divan bed and snuggled down in the flowery corner armchair. Leo’s room. She recognized his intricate paperweight on the desk, his books, the old chess set, the orderly arrangement of things. She was safe at last. The tears now streamed down her cheeks. She was safe. She dozed.

  In her sleep, she saw a body slashed from breast to navel. It was hers. Blood slowly coagulated round the edges of the gash. A youth came in. Who was it? She couldn’t identify him. He was naked. From between his thighs a vast penis jutted. It moved imperceptibly towards the wound. No, a voice shouted. It came from the slashed body. Hers. No, she could see its face now. It was her mother. There was a malicious smile on her face.

  ‘Kat, Kat, wake up. You’re dreaming.’

  Katherine eyes fluttered open. ‘Leo,’ she said in disbelief. ‘Leo,’ she hugged him, held on to him tightly.

  Leo returned her embrace a little stiffly. ‘Kat, what on earth are you doing here?’, His consternation was clear. Leo at the age of twenty-one was a tall, broad shouldered youth with a shock of golden blond hair, sea-blue eyes and a slow, steady manner, and he provided many a Radcliffe girl with ready material for reverie. He loved his sister, but this love was always overlaid with a trace of anxiety. Now, he was more than slightly taken aback to find her here.

  ‘I’ve run away,’ Katherine said simply. ‘I had to. There was nowhere else to go.’

  ‘But Kat, you can’t simply run away. Mom and
Dad will be beside themselves with worry.’

  ‘I had to.’ Katherine repeated. She studied her brother. He wasn’t taking her seriously. ‘She’s going to harm me in some way, Leo. I know it. She wants me dead,’ she said slowly. There was no trace of excitement in her voice, just a statement of cold fact. Katherine wondered at the words herself as they left her mouth. Yes, they were true, though she hadn’t thought them that way before.

  Leo moved away from her and paced the narrow length of the room. ‘You’re exaggerating, Kat,’ he murmured. ‘I know mom gets excited sometimes, slaps you, but not that…’ Even as he said it, his sentence sounded hollow to him. There was a conviction to Katherine, a tremulous sadness about her. Leo couldn’t bear to think what she meant, what she might have been through. It was always that way. Even when he saw his mother behaving unpardonably with her, he couldn’t quite believe what he witnessed. It always seemed like a momentary aberration. Sylvie was so different with him, like another being. And so he gave Katherine all his protective tenderness, but he couldn’t bring himself to blame his mother, to judge her. He watched his sister.

  ‘I want to live here with you,’ Katherine said at last. ‘I won’t be any trouble. I’ll help you keep the place clean. I’ll go to school. There must be one near by.’ She poured out the details of her fantasy.

  ‘But Kat, that’s not possible. You must know that. Look at this place. Four men. Four students. We can’t take care of a little girl. The others wouldn’t stand for it,’ Leo added lamely. ‘Now you go to sleep. I’ll use the sofa downstairs. And in the morning,’ he glanced at his watch, ‘we’ll ring Dad and sort something out.’

  ‘No.’ Katherine said emphatically. ‘No, I’m not going back to that house.’ She looked at her brother, disappointment and fear mingled in her face. ‘If you don’t want me here, I’ll go somewhere else. I’m not a child.’

  ‘But you are, Kat, you are.’ he gave her a tender, persuasive smile. ‘We’ll speak to Dad in the morning. It’ll be alright.’