Black Diamond

by Rachel Ingalls

  ‘But it’s a good name.’

  ‘It’s a twerp name. Your name’s okay. I bet you weren’t named for a joke.’

  ‘It’s all right now, but my real name is longer. It’s Alexandra.’

  ‘Alexandra? Jees, are you lucky. That’s great.’

  ‘It’s too long.’

  ‘It sounds like the name of a princess.’

  ‘It probably was. My mother was reading some novel around that time. She told me she got it out of a book. We all have to put up with things like that.’

  ‘But you got a good one.’

  ‘So did you. If you ever go to Scandinavia, you’ll be surrounded by Eriks. Over there it’s like the name Richard. And meantime, you can call yourself Rick. Like Rick’s Bar, you know.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s from a movie. There’s a nightclub owner in it named Rick. He’s the hero. He wears a white tuxedo and he’s a cool customer.’

  ‘Oh?’

  She looked up as Roy came out of the front door and down the path. ‘Who gets to sit in front?’ she asked. ‘Or can we all squeeze in together?’

  ‘Not in this car. It’s only got seatbelts for two in the front seat. You stay there.’ He got out and climbed in to the back. Roy took his place behind the wheel.

  *

  The house they pulled up at was a new, low-slung beach cottage on the outskirts of town. Many glass windows and doors allowed for the maximum incursion of light. The beach wasn’t in sight, but you could hear it.

  Sandra made an immediate move to ingratiate herself with the ex-wife, Ginette. ‘What a light room,’ she said, looking around as if pleased. She already felt relieved by Ginette’s appearance: bleached hair, tight skin and an expression of casual toughness.

  ‘I like things clean, with plenty of light,’ Ginette said, looking at Roy. ‘No dark corners.’

  Sandra said, ‘My grandparents lived in a house that was so dark, it was hard for more than one person to read the newspapers in the dining room. I used to think it was gloomy but I started to appreciate it later on, when I was working with computers and my eyes began to hurt. I guess all they really needed was better electricity.’

  The husband, Ordway, was introduced: an agreeable, sloppy middle-aged man who wore thick glasses. He seemed perfectly happy to have guests. He greeted his wife’s ex-husband without concern and appeared to be undismayed by Eric’s atrocious manners.

  Eric wouldn’t look at, or speak to, either the wife or husband. He took his book over to a chair by one of the windows.

  ‘Still not on speaking terms?’ Ginette called after him. ‘That’s a long time to sulk, kiddo. A couple more years of that and you’ll be batting even with your father.’ She turned to Roy, saying, ‘Want a drink?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m driving.’

  ‘Not even one little drink?’

  ‘Tonic water?’ Ordway suggested. ‘Ginger ale? Orange juice?’

  ‘Tonic water,’ Roy decided.

  ‘My,’ Ginette said. ‘A reformed character. And you?’ she asked Sandra.

  Sandra asked for a light gin and tonic. Ordway mixed the drinks and did the serving. He took a ginger ale to Eric, who – without raising his eyes from the page – extended a hand to have the glass inserted between his fingers; the operation went so smoothly that it looked like an established ritual.

  How would I act, Sandra thought, if he ever treated me that way? I wouldn’t be able to stand it. And his own mother: what did she do to make him hate her so much? She left. Maybe that’s all it was. She wanted out, so now he’s showing her that he can do it back, even when they’re in the same room.

  ‘Such marvelous manners,’ Ginette said.

  Roy slapped his drink down on the table and stood up. He said, ‘I think I’ll stretch my legs.’ He started to move towards the doors that led out on to the terrace.

  Ginette turned to Sandra. ‘Have you had any experience with children?’ she asked.

  ‘Babies?’

  ‘No, a little older. Eric, for instance. How well do you know Eric?’

  Sandra paused for a second, not wanting to say anything that would hurt the boy. ‘About as well as I know his father,’ she said. ‘How well do you know him?’

  Another moment passed before she realized that she’d said something brilliant that didn’t necessarily have to be taken as an insult. Eric looked up from his book for the first time since he’d sat down. He laughed. And Roy was grinning.

  Ginette didn’t try to hide her displeasure. She said, ‘Better than you, I think. But you’ll find out.’

  Roy said, ‘Coming with me, Ricky?’

  Eric looked back down at his book.

  ‘Well? Are you?’

  ‘Rick,’ Sandra prompted under her breath.

  ‘Coming, Rick?’

  Eric shut the book and put it aside. ‘Sure,’ he said. He walked to the doors.

  Sandra watched father and son step out on to the terrace and begin to walk away. There was no polite way of getting up and following them. She was stuck.

  ‘I know what it looks like,’ Ginette said. ‘It isn’t the way you think. I did my best, God knows. I knocked myself out, trying to help. But that boy is a demon.’ She set her drink down on the table in front of her. ‘Just like his father,’ she added.

  She’s still in love with him, Sandra thought.

  Ordway looked over at her glass. ‘Another drink?’ he asked. Sandra shook her head. He reached for Ginette’s glass. She put her hand over the top of it. ‘I’ll see about lunch,’ he said.

  He walked around to the side of the bookcase, opened a door there and left the room.

  Sandra hung on to her glass tightly.

  Ginette said, ‘So. How long have you two known each other?’

  ‘Not long at all.’

  ‘Yeah. Well, you’re taking on a bundle, I can tell you.’

  Sandra looked towards the windows. She could see Eric, far away. He seemed to be throwing something at a point that was beyond her range of vision. As she watched him, Roy came into sight. Looking at both of them, she thought that there was nothing to worry about. She felt fine about them. What bothered her was simply the idea of marriage at such short notice: it was like stepping off a cliff and hoping that something would be out there in front of you.

  ‘Let me tell you a story,’ Ginette said. ‘I’ve got a cousin whose sister-in-law studied to be a forest ranger. They do a lot of botany, looking at things under microscopes and so on. And then they go through the woods and make reports. She had an assignment to record growth patterns in a certain section of forest. It meant measuring the treetrunks; they did that regularly all the time to check the rate of growth and line it up with what they knew about rainfall and sunshine and temperature averages. And the way you do it, if you’re making a routine survey, is to put your arms around the trunk of the tree. That gives you an approximate figure. Well, she was doing that for a while, taking notes, moving from tree to tree and she didn’t notice, but – somebody else was there too, because all of a sudden she put her arms around the next treetrunk: and from the other side of the tree someone grabbed her wrists and started to pull. They pulled her right up against the trunk and pulled and pulled until it felt like her arms were going to come out of their sockets. And then, just as she thought she was going to pass out with the pain, whoever it was let go and ran away. Luckily. She was so exhausted that she wouldn’t have been able to defend herself in any way. She just dropped down on the ground and shook all over. She didn’t see who it was. She didn’t think of trying to look. Her arms hurt her for weeks.’

  ‘And she didn’t have any idea who it could have been – a stranger, or somebody who might have followed her?’

  ‘No idea, except that it was a man, of course. A woman wouldn’t have had the strength. It’s a funny story: she was just minding her own business, going along as usual, and – wham.’

  ‘It’s a horrible story.’

  ‘That’s what
can happen, even when you’re not expecting it. That’s what men are like. Not all of them. Ordway’s a sweetie. But most of them. In fact, I really used to wonder about Roy and his first wife. Don’t you?’

  ‘I thought you were his first wife.’

  ‘No, honey. I was his second wife.’

  ‘Who –’

  ‘The one that was Eric’s mother. The millionairess who was twice Roy’s age. And she died in such mysterious circumstances.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Oh, did she ever. Ask him about it. If he won’t tell you, you can find out by looking up the records. It was in all the papers.’

  From the distance Roy and Eric ran towards the terrace. The wind blew their clothes and their hair.

  Ordway put his head around the bookcase corner. ‘Soon?’ he said.

  ‘I can see them coming,’ Ginette told him.

  During the meal Eric kept his head down and ate. Sandra led the conversation. She hadn’t meant to, but the first bite she took drew her to comment; the words burst from her like a blunder. ‘My God,’ she said, ‘this is amazing. I’ve never tasted anything like it. What wonderful food.’ She looked at Ginette, who said, ‘Not me. Ordway’s in charge of the kitchen.’

  Sandra turned to him. His smile showed such pleasure at her appreciation that it was as if all at once they were alone together, two friends at a table of strangers. She said, ‘This is much more delicious than just good cooking. Have you studied somewhere?’

  ‘You could call it private tuition, I guess. My grandfather was a famous chef. I never realized how much he was teaching us when we were children. We were all supposed to grow up to be something on Wall Street. But when I think back, he did have us organized like a team of apprentices and he’d vary the menu all the time. We were building up a repertoire without knowing it.’

  ‘Was he French?’

  ‘Polish.’

  ‘You never told me that,’ Ginette said.

  Ordway shrugged. There was a slight pause. Sandra was afraid that it might turn into an unbreakable silence. She asked Ginette to tell her something about the house.

  Ginette began to talk, at first lazily, then with gusto and at last rhapsodically, about the dream she’d always had of living in that part of the world. She’d been on a school visit to the other side of the bay and she’d never forgotten it. She’d always wanted to have a summer cottage there. And later on, she’d begun to look for a place, but nothing matched the dream she’d had of the perfect house. Then, one day, she was browsing through the magazines in her dentist’s waiting room and she saw an article on modern American architects. There was a picture in it of a house that she liked. Everything started from there. She knew at that moment that she’d have to begin from scratch: buy the land and hire that architect to design the house she wanted.

  The story of the building, with its setbacks, triumphs and surprises, lasted till after dessert. They were back in the living room with coffee before anyone thought of changing the subject.

  Roy had remained silent throughout the catalogue of dramatic events. He’s remembering the divorce settlement, Sandra thought, and he’s telling himself, ‘They did all this building and buying on my money.’

  Roy said, ‘We’ll be getting home early, if you don’t mind. There’s a lot to do.’

  ‘Could we take a little walk on the beach first?’ Sandra asked.

  ‘Sure,’ Ginette said. ‘We’ll all go.’

  Sandra tied a scarf over her head and put on the gloves she’d brought. The wind had picked up, the sun was going behind clouds. Eric ran ahead of everyone. Ordway took Ginette’s hand. He led her straight out from the house, towards the water. Roy hung back.

  Sandra said, ‘They’ve gone off to compare notes about us. And now we’re going to talk about them.’

  ‘What’s she been saying to you? When we came in before lunch, you looked like you’d been hit by a truck. What was it?’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me that he isn’t her son?’

  ‘Oh. I didn’t?’

  ‘You know you didn’t. Why?’

  ‘I guess I thought you’d figure it out. You’re somebody I don’t have to give explanations to.’

  ‘But if she’s got part-custody, of course I assumed that she was his mother. I could have said something terrible.’

  ‘But you didn’t. You’ve played everything fine.’

  ‘But I could have.’ She didn’t understand why he’d let her go on thinking something wrong. Had it been a test? Or had it been like a joke – the kind of thing Eric had worked out when he rang the doorbell at her aunt’s house?

  ‘What else did she say?’ he asked.

  ‘She said I should ask you about your first wife.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  I’m asking, she thought. Why had he done this to her? He must have known how important it would be to her. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to tell her himself; he’d arranged things so that she’d have to ask. Or wasn’t it that complicated?

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

  He’d have to tell her soon. She didn’t like the thought that some day her suspicions would drive her to the public library, where she’d sit at a table and turn over page after page of old newspapers, seeing his face looking out at her. Maybe there were photographs that showed him trying to cover his eyes with his arm, or putting his head down as two policemen hustled him through the crowds. It doesn’t matter, she told herself. It happened, but now it’s over.

  She breathed in and turned her face to the sea. ‘I really like the beach,’ she said.

  ‘Me, too. So does Ricky. If it weren’t for those two, he’d be having a good time here.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll look back on it later and think it wasn’t so bad.’

  ‘Not a chance. One thing I can tell you right now: as soon as we’re married, we can drop old Ginette from our list of social engagements. The reason she got what she got was that her hot-shot lawyer made a case for a child needing a steady, maternal influence in his life.’

  ‘That’s me, huh?’

  ‘You got it. Oh, and there’s some bad news, I’m afraid. Ricky’s dug in his heels about the wedding. He wants to be best man, you know. So apparently – I don’t know whether it’s the clothes or what, but he’s insisting on a church wedding.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘My God. Which church? I haven’t been inside a church for years.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been in one, at least not for the reasons you’re supposed to. My father was a devout atheist. Whenever anyone brought up the subject of religion, he’d say, “It’s a bunch of crap.” It was his favorite expression. I can still hear him saying it.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘Oh, she did what he wanted. You know.’

  She remembered the painting of St Catherine in Eric’s room. She asked, ‘Does this mean we’ve got to go through some kind of embracing-the-faith thing?’

  ‘Hell, no. We just get some laid-back preacher to let us use his church for the party.’

  ‘From what I picked up when we were looking at the painting in his room, he might like a lot of authentic stuff: a Mass in Latin and –’

  ‘There are limits. He can have the church ceremony, but that’s as far as it goes. If you don’t mind, that is. Does your family go to church?’

  ‘Not any more. My mother’s family were Congregationalists, I think.’

  ‘Okay. Are you game?’

  ‘I guess so. I’d rather not.’

  ‘We can pretend it’s like being in a play. I think we’re going to have to go to rehearsals for it.’

  ‘Are they going to ask us if we believe in God?’

  ‘Probably. You just say, “You betcha.”’

  ‘That’s what I’m saying when they ask me if I take you for my lawfully wedded husband.’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear. We’ll sail right through it.’

  During the d
rive back Eric was talkative. It was as if he had to make up for his long silence. He wanted to play word games, to ask riddles, to talk about the lemurs of Madagascar; he’d read a long article about them in the National Geographic and he’d heard somewhere else that people were supposed to be descended from lemurs, not monkeys.

  Sandra was interested. That was a good sign, she thought. If he didn’t irritate her after a day of nervous anticipation, that was an indication of future compatibility.

  It was dark long before they reached the house. She drove her own car home. Two hours later Roy arrived to take her out for the evening. They went to a seafood restaurant where there was a dancefloor and a band that played the kind of music people used to dance to: foxtrots, waltzes, tangos and the Charleston. They didn’t speak about the afternoon until they were sitting in the car, outside her apartment block.

  He said, ‘Ricky’s completely changed. He’s like a different boy. You know, it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t, but I can’t tell you what a relief it is to me that he likes you so much. He’s taken to you like … it’s like magic.’

  ‘You’ve said something like that before.’

  ‘Can’t say it too often.’

  ‘It’s beginning to make me a little nervous. I already don’t want it to change. It’s still such a short time since we met.’

  ‘That’s not important. It’s getting better and better. Here, let me show you something: this is how the state foresters measure trees. What’s wrong?’

  ‘That was the other thing Ginette told me while you and Rick were out walking. The story about the girl who was going through the woods and had her wrists grabbed.’

  ‘I think it’s a story that has some special significance for her. She didn’t tell it to me till about a year after we were married. But you got it the first day. And that fuddy-duddy, Ordway – you practically galvanized him. Both of them, spouting away on their pet subjects. I think they were even having a good time.’

  ‘So was I, looking back on it. At the time I was too panicked to have fun.’

  ‘You should have been in public relations. People open up to you. Don’t they? Just like flowers.’

  ‘Not usually. And not the other way around, either. It’s because I’m in love.’