“But Robert—”
“To be honest I never thought much of the idea in the first place. You’ve got quite enough to do, settling down here, looking for a house and preparing for the wedding, and if those boys come you’ll soon be utterly worn out. Besides, how are we ever going to have any premarital privacy when you’re perpetually chaperoned by two boys on the threshold of adolescence?”
This indeed was the question which I had always been unable to answer.
“But what shall I do?” I said in despair. “I must see them soon, I simply must—look at Rory’s letter! The poor little love’s crying every night because he’s missing me so much!”
“Yes, it’s disgraceful that a boy of his age shouldn’t be able to control his emotions better. A boy crying for his mother at the age of twelve! I’ve never heard such nonsense, and anyway I don’t believe a word of it. He’s just saying that to tug at your heartstrings.”
This also had occurred to me. Darling Rory did so enjoy exaggeration.
“Go to Ireland for a fortnight,” said Robert, “and see them. I absolutely understand that a visit is necessary and of course I shan’t stand in your way.”
“But Robert, I can’t leave them in Ireland for the next five months!”
“Why not? If you explain to them carefully that this is a temporary situation which has arisen because you’re in the process of setting up a new home for them, I’m sure they’ll accept it. Of course they’ll miss you, but I’d be prepared to wager a large sum of money that their father’s relatives are at this moment lavishing affection on them and making sure they’re having a splendid time.”
I was in despair not because he was wrong but because he was right. What he said was logical, sensible and true. The only trouble was that this superbly rational approach to the problem took no account of my emotional muddle.
“Darling …” I took another deep breath, made a new great effort. “There are two difficulties. One is that I hate the thought of going to Ireland for regular visits because I feel I can’t face Conor’s family. They’ll … well, they’ll remind me of Conor and I can’t cope with Conor’s memory at the moment—”
Robert began to shift restlessly against the pillows.
“—and the second difficulty,” I said frantically, “is that I love my boys so much and I want to make sure they know it. They’ve just lost their father, and if I tell them I don’t want them in England at present they’re going to be terribly hurt and upset.”
“It sounds to me as if you spoil those children abominably. Good God, boys of their age shouldn’t expect to have their mother in constant attendance and drooling over them daily! Very well, have them here for the summer if you must, but I think it’s a very big mistake and I’m quite sure you’ll soon be regretting it. If you want my opinion—”
“No, I don’t!” I cried. “You don’t understand anything—anything!” And I burst into tears.
Robert sighed. I could almost feel him praying for patience. “There, there!” he said kindly, taking me in his arms. “It’s not the end of the world.”
“It feels like it.” I felt horribly upset, not only because he seemed to be incapable of understanding my point of view but because I was apparently incapable of explaining it to him. And suddenly I thought: Conor would have understood. But I pushed that truth from my mind.
“This is simply a problem which requires a solution,” Robert was saying with that superb confidence which was so very hard to resist, “and of course we’re going to find the solution and overcome the difficulty.”
“Are we?”
“What an extraordinary question! Why the doubt? Solving awkward problems simply requires the right attitude of mind. Now listen to me, Ginette. Please don’t think I’m hostile to those boys. They’re your children and I’m more than prepared to treat them as if they were my own. But you must realize that I can see this situation more clearly than you can at present because as usual you’re wandering around in one of your emotional fogs. Now, do you or do you not want order in your life?”
“I do.”
“And do you or do you not want someone to look after you and stop you getting into a mess?”
“I do.”
“Then kindly oblige me by taking my advice and desisting from feminine tantrums.”
“I’m sorry but I’m in such a state that I’ve forgotten what your advice was.”
“Leave the boys in Ireland until we’re married and content yourself with regular visits to see them. You’ll just have to grit your teeth about facing your husband’s family. Be honest—in the long run it’ll be easier to grit your teeth than to enter into a situation which is likely to reduce you to a state of exhaustion.”
“True.” I was still in despair but by that time I was so hypnotized by the power of his personality that I no longer had the energy to resist. “I’m sorry, darling; I know I’m being hopelessly emotional as usual.”
“Never mind, after thirty-one years I’m used to your vagaries. Now for God’s sake let’s put all that emotional energy to better use,” said Robert sensibly, and seconds later all was well but for a moment I couldn’t help comparing this down-to-earth invitation of his with Conor’s imaginative and outrageous seductions in similar circumstances.
“Ginette … what are you thinking about?”
Of course I couldn’t tell him. I just said, “I was wondering how on earth I’m going to break the news to Declan and Rory that I’m planning to remarry.”
“My God, don’t let’s start arguing about those boys again! Give the subject a rest, there’s a good girl—the whole problem’s bound to seem less harrowing in the morning …”
Robert was wrong. It’s more harrowing than ever. I’m in a terrible state because although I know that rationally Robert’s right, I know too that I can’t leave my darling boys in Ireland. If they’re so far away from me they’ll be unhappy, and if they’re unhappy I’ll be a failure as a mother, and if I’m a failure as a mother I’ll be unable to live with my guilt. I know this is emotional stupidity, I know it is, but I can’t help it. It’s what being a parent is all about, but Robert’s never been a parent and so he doesn’t understand.
I’m in such a state that I can’t look at houses today. I go to Harrods instead and buy three enormous picture hats, all costing twenty and a half guineas, all lavishly decorated with flowers and feathers and all looking exactly what they are—the last word in foolish extravagance. But I always feel better when I buy things. This sinful shopping expedition has helped me get through the morning, but now it’s afternoon and I still can’t relax so I think I’ll go out again and buy some cream cakes for tea—terribly naughty, and I can almost hear my corset groan in anticipation, but I simply can’t rest until I’ve sunk my teeth into a divine mille-feuilles … or perhaps an éclair … or—oh God—an utterly sumptuous meringue …
“There’s a gentleman waiting to see you, ma’am,” said Edna the half-witted maid when I returned later with the wickedest assortment of cream cakes I could find. It was my cook-housekeeper’s afternoon off and Edna, in sole charge, had scurried out to meet me as soon as I had opened the door.
At first I wasn’t sure that I had understood her. Her cleft palate made even the simplest words enigmatic.
“Is it Mr. Godwin?” I was surprised because I hardly expected to see Robert before half-past six.
“Yes, ma’am, but—” Incomprehensible syllables followed.
“Very well, make tea, would you, Edna, and put these cakes on a plate.”
I walked into the drawing room and there I found not Robert but Bobby, looking very formal and very embarrassed, and as soon as I saw him I knew that familiar coldness which always assailed me on the rare occasions when he and I found ourselves alone together.
“Bobby, what a lovely surprise!” I said.
“Good afternoon, Ginevra,” he said, remaining rooted to his spot on the far side of the room. “I spoke to Robert on the telephone this morning
and he suggested that I meet him here, but I’m afraid I’m a little early. Perhaps I’ll go for a walk. I don’t want to distract you when you must have so many things to do.”
Of course I wanted to get him out of the flat and of course I knew I couldn’t. He was going to be my father-in-law and we were both morally bound to pretend the past had never happened.
“Don’t be so silly, Bobby,” I said. “Sit down and have some tea. Excuse me, I’ll just make sure the maid brings two cups—she’s rather a half-wit.”
I escaped. When I was sufficiently composed I reminded Edna about the cup, steeled myself against the inevitable repulsion and returned to the drawing room.
“I’m only up here for a couple of days,” he said as I came in. “I wasn’t even going to bother Robert, but Margaret said it would be wrong not to telephone so I had a word with him and he was uncommonly civil, said his case had been postponed and that he’d meet me here at teatime—of course, I won’t stay long—”
I couldn’t bear his horrible humility. “How’s everyone at Oxmoon?” I interrupted, sitting down some distance away from him and praying Robert wouldn’t be delayed.
“Oh, everyone’s very well, thank you, in capital form. But how are you, Ginevra? You look a little tired. I hope nothing’s wrong.”
And suddenly I saw not the sad and pathetic stranger who angered me but my cousin Bobby, so kind, so gentle, so understanding.
“Oh Bobby!” I exclaimed in despair, and the next moment I was pouring out my troubles to him. I talked and talked and Edna brought the tea and Bobby said, “By Jove, look at those meringues!” and I answered laughing through my tears, “Aren’t they wonderful?” and at last I began to feel better.
“But my dear,” said Bobby when I gave him the chance to respond to my dilemma, “the answer’s very simple: I’ll have the boys at Oxmoon and then you can visit them as often as you like. It’s such an easy journey to Swansea nowadays, far easier than that long exhausting journey to Dublin.”
I was so grateful I could hardly speak. “Oh, but it never occurred to me to think of Oxmoon—all the awkwardness—”
“Never mind about that. Ginevra, at last I have the opportunity to help you and Robert. Don’t deprive me of it—and don’t worry about those boys either. I’ll make sure they’re as happy as larks.”
I knew he would. Bobby had brought up four sons and was still bringing up a fifth. He understood boys and had a gift for managing children.
“Bobby, I can’t tell you how grateful I am—”
“Would you like me to go to Ireland to fetch them for you? I’d enjoy that.”
I stopped weeping with relief by embarking on an éclair. “No,” I said. “I wish you could but I really must go myself. I have to tell them I’m going to remarry.”
“Do that at Oxmoon. The last place you want to disclose your future plans is in the bosom of your husband’s family.”
Here was advice far removed indeed from Robert’s rational but useless conclusions. Here was sound, sane, utterly realistic common sense.
“My God, that’s true!” I said. “But … oh Bobby, how on earth do I break the news to those boys?”
“Well, tell them the truth, my dear, why not? After all Declan’s fourteen. Tell them that no matter how much you loved their father you can’t be alone in the world without a strong man to look after you, and Robert’s the strongest man you could ever hope to find, I think you’ll find Declan at least is at an age when he can understand your difficulty. You needn’t stress the romance, of course. Just say you’ve no choice but to be practical about the future—for their good as well as yours.”
I felt a new woman. I was even able to abandon my éclair.
“In fact,” added Bobby, “if you have difficulty explaining I’ll help you out. So even if Robert don’t accompany you when you visit the boys, you won’t have to face the difficulty on your own.”
“Robert … yes. Bobby, I’m a little worried …” But I stopped. In the vastness of my relief I had gone too far. The one thing I could never do was discuss Robert with his father.
“A capital fellow, Robert,” said Bobby as he saw my difficulty. “There’s no challenge he can’t master if he has a strong motive for succeeding so you can wager he’ll manage those boys well enough when the time comes. Look how good he was with John.”
“So he was!” I said, much cheered. I had a memory of dear little Johnny, chattering away in Welsh and English, bright as a button and delectably naughty. It was sad to think he had turned into such a boring priggish young man. “But what strong motive did Robert have for succeeding with Johnny?”
“He wanted to kill two birds with one stone—please Margaret and make Lion jealous.”
We laughed—but then the next moment the smiles were wiped off our faces as we heard Robert enter the hall.
I feel much better about Bobby now, and not just because we managed to share something that resembled a normal conversation. I feel better because I can see how desperately anxious he is to put our relationship on a tolerable footing so that we don’t inevitably go through hell whenever we see each other. He’s realized—and so have I—that my boys can provide us with a common ground upon which we can meet as two normal people instead of two people perpetually crucified by guilt. I know I shall never be fully at ease with him and I’m sure he’ll never be fully at ease with me, but at least our compulsory charade can now become more of an automatic reflex and less of a harrowing effort, and that must surely rank as an improvement.
I’m beginning to think Margaret was right when she said that the problem in future will be the relationship between Bobby and Robert. Look what happened today. Robert sailed in, shook hands with his father and was impeccably courteous throughout the remainder of Bobby’s visit, yet although no one could have faulted his behavior, the atmosphere was nonetheless subtly cold, indefinably wrong. Sometime in the future—after we’re married and can relax sufficiently to iron out all our problems—I’m going to have to talk to Robert about Bobby because I’ve come to realize that it’s much better if horrid subjects can be aired instead of being buried to fester at leisure. The one subject which I could never discuss, Bobby’s seduction, has been a terrible burden to me in the past, and the reason why I can now see this so clearly is because I feel the burden’s been eased by my confession. I shall never, never be able to recall the incident with indifference but at least now I don’t have to say to myself, “I can’t talk of that or I’ll go mad.” I can say instead, “I talked about it to Robert and stayed sane.”
Robert needs to talk to someone about that morning last month when he heard in shattering detail exactly what kind of man his father was, but the trouble is that if I suggest as much to him he’ll simply say, “Why?” Robert, I suspect, is in the deepest possible muddle over this, but that’s not the main problem. The main problem is that he doesn’t know it, and even if he does he won’t acknowledge it. Emotionally color-blind Robert has made up his mind that so long as he can adopt certain attitudes (courtesy to his father, passion to me), the past can be tied up in pink ribbon, like a legal brief, and locked safely away forever in the vault of his mind. But I’m not color-blind like Robert and I don’t think the answer to his difficulty is that simple. In fact I don’t think it’s any answer at all.
“Ginette, what the devil are these three new hats doing on your bed?”
“Oh darling, yes—well, you see—”
“I gave you fifty pounds last week to spend on essentials, not to descend on Harrods like Attila the Hun!”
“Oh, I know, darling, but it’s all right—I’ve hardly spent any of your fifty pounds yet! I saw the most charming man in the Harrods credit department—”
“Are you trying to tell me you bought these hats on credit?”
“Yes, isn’t it wonderful! I took along the letter from my bank manager to say that my trust money had been safely transferred from New York, and—”
“But you told me you’d already s
pent your income for the rest of this quarter!”
“True, but I didn’t think that mattered, as you were being so divinely generous—”
“Sit down, Ginette,” said Robert, “and listen to me. I think it’s time you and I had a serious talk together.”
We’ve had the most horrible row about money, quite different from any row I ever had with Conor. At least Conor never made me feel a fool and we always ended up going to bed together. Robert merely made me feel a half-wit and then he walked out and didn’t come back.
Well, maybe I deserved his anger. Maybe I was a fool to lose my temper and call him a cold-blooded bastard, but what else can you call a man who has just told you he now believes more firmly than ever that the law is right when it classifies married women with lunatics and children? How dare he behave as if I’m incapable of adult behavior, how dare he!
Very well, I am naughty about money. But I’m not stupid. In fact when I have to be clever with money I can be brilliant (think of that time when I had to pay for the boys’ clothes out of my housekeeping money because Conor had had a disaster at poker). So I don’t like being treated as an imbecile who’s not responsible for her actions. It’s not my fault I had no education. I regret it but Margaret always said the last thing any future wife and mother needed was instruction in academic subjects, so my brain was allowed to atrophy at Oxmoon with a stupid governess.
The trouble with Margaret is that she married at sixteen and coping with the resurrection of Oxmoon, the raising of a large family and the rigors of an unreliable husband has absorbed every ounce of her energy throughout her adult life. That’s why she’s never been able to imagine that an intelligent woman might like the idea of acquiring an education before she acquires a husband and children; Margaret sees education as irrelevant—as in her case indeed it was. Well, I’ve certainly never had any wish to be a bluestocking, but when Robert slings a Greek quotation at me and translates it by Tennyson’s line “Woman is the lesser man,” I’d love to be able to sling back a quotation in Latin to the effect that practice makes perfect and although God did create Adam he was more accomplished when the time came for him to create Eve.
The Wheel of Fortune Page 20