by Debbie Rix
‘Well, yes it was amazing,’ said Chuck, ‘but not exactly a coincidence. As I just told your father, I was hoping to meet with him. I finished my degree in Vienna and I’m on my way home to the US. I decided to stop off in London for a few days and look you both up.’
He gazed across at Rachael. He took in her flushed cheeks, her dark hair – longer than he remembered. She wore a woollen skirt and a pretty Fair Isle sweater. She looked a little plumper, but still very beautiful.
‘Well I’m glad you did,’ she said. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘Oh, just a little hotel in town – in Knightsbridge…’
‘I hope we can see a lot of you?’ she said, meaning it. She was surprised by how delighted she felt at his arrival. He radiated positive energy. He had brought joy to their lives when they lived in the camp, and he was doing the same now – bringing their little attic to life somehow.
‘I’d love that…’ he said, blushing slightly.
‘You could stay here with us if you like…’ she said spontaneously.
George looked at her with surprise.
Chuck, who had intended to return to his parents’ home in America before Christmas, replied equally spontaneously. ‘I’d love to… if you’re sure that would be OK?’
The room next to George’s was temporarily vacant. The tenant had returned to the country to stay with family for the holidays and so Chuck, or Charles as he now preferred to be known, moved in for a few days.
‘It’s not quite a hotel in Knightsbridge,’ Rachael said apologetically as she showed him round the simply decorated room.
‘Oh… it’ll do just fine. And way better than an impersonal hotel – let me tell you.’
He collected his luggage straight away and moved in that evening. He sent a telegram to his mother, explaining he intended to stay in London for Christmas and promising to be home in the New Year.
They were a happy party. Chuck and Rachael took Angela to the heath for long walks and watched her playing on the swings. He chatted companionably with George about politics and history in the evenings. As the only remaining residents in Willow Road that Christmas, the family ate with Mrs Roper in the dining room each evening and, charmed by Chuck, the landlady took special effort to produce meals he would enjoy. The night before Christmas Eve he invited Rachael out for dinner.
‘I’ve heard a lot about a new jazz club that’s just opened in Soho – it’s called Ronnie Scott’s. It sounds like the clubs in New York. Would your father babysit, do you think?’
‘Yes…’ she said, thrilled to be asked. ‘I’m sure Papa would be happy to.’
Rachael had never been into the centre of town in the evening and was excited as she dressed for the occasion.
‘You look pretty, Mama,’ said Angela, admiring her mother’s simple dark blue dress and pearl earrings.
The taxi stopped outside an Italian restaurant named Bianchi’s in Frith Street.
‘I hear it’s one of the best in London,’ said Chuck, as he paid the driver and guided Rachael into the restaurant.
The manager – a tiny, but impressive lady named Chiara – guided them to a corner table, where they ordered spaghetti vongole and a bottle of red wine. Rachael, who had eaten nothing but Mrs Roper’s sensible British fare since arriving back in England, was delighted.
‘This is delicious,’ she said, ‘it reminds me so much of the food we had in Sardinia.’
‘Tell me about that,’ said Chuck, winding spaghetti onto his fork. ‘It must have been fabulous living there…’
‘Yes…’ she said, dreamily. ‘It was wonderful.’
Rachael so desperately wanted to tell him everything. To explain about Tommaso and the baby. But shame, or embarrassment, prevented her from revealing too much. Chuck sensed her reluctance and sensitively changed the subject. They talked about Angela and how she had grown; of her father’s professional success, and Rachael’s attempts to gain some qualifications.
‘I don’t know exactly what I will do with them, but I missed out on my education – because of my mother dying, and our troubles in Hungary. It was difficult… you know?’
‘I know… But you’re bright. You could anything you set your mind to.’
‘You think so? It’s hard with a child though…’
She stared wistfully into her spaghetti. How could she possibly work, with a toddler and a new baby? She looked up at him and smiled. But it was a smile that hid her real worries, a false smile. There was a part of the puzzle missing, and Rachael suspected Chuck knew it.
After dinner, they walked arm in arm to the jazz club in Gerrard Street. As they descended the stairs to the club, loud, vibrant music rose up to meet them. The shabby basement was filled with glamorous women wearing tight cocktail dresses and men casually dressed in sweaters and slacks with cigarettes hanging from their mouths. They looked like movie stars, Rachael thought.
‘I love jazz,’ said Chuck, looking around the dark smoke-filled space. ‘It reminds me of New York… a town that I’m going to live in one day…’
Rachael looked across at Chuck’s sweet face, at his blue eyes gleaming in the half-light, at his fingers drumming on the table in time with the music. He was so alive, so happy. He made her feel exhilarated and safe at the same time. She found herself wishing he didn’t have to leave and go back to New York.
As they climbed out of the taxi later that night, Chuck took her arm.
‘Thank you, Rachael – I’ve loved this evening.’
‘Me too, Chuck. I had a lot of fun. I spend so much time with Angela and see so few adults… I had forgotten what it’s like to be with someone…’
He looked at her enquiringly.
‘…someone my own age, a good friend. Thank you for taking me.’
She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. His skin felt smooth and soft. He took her hand in his and kissed it.
The following day was Christmas Eve and Mrs Roper planned a special supper for the family.
‘I thought we’d do something a bit different. I’ve made a very nice supper and I’ve got some candles for the dining room. I thought we’d have a drink in the parlour before dinner and Angela could wear her party dress.’
When Rachael brought Angela downstairs to show off her red Christmas dress, Mrs Roper was busy setting the table.
‘Oh – who is the belle of the ball,’ declared Mrs Roper, admiring Angela, who twirled around the dining room. ‘Why don’t you leave her with me,’ Mrs Roper suggested to Rachael. ‘Go and get yourself ready; and take your time.’
Rachael wore a dark green cocktail dress. It was a little tight, she noticed, as she pulled up the zip. She turned sideways and noticed, with dismay, the slight bump protruding beneath her waistband. She pulled on a black cardigan, leaving it unbuttoned to disguise it a little. She was just brushing her hair, when there was a knock at the door.
‘You look wonderful…’ said Chuck, coming into the room. He was carrying a record player. ‘Look what I found?’ he said, putting it down in the corner of the room. He went back out onto the landing and returned with a stack of records. ‘You just have to have dancing over Christmas,’ he said, laying the records out on the floor. ‘Here… you choose one.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, looking at the records. ‘I know nothing about modern music – you know that; you choose something.’
He selected a disc and put it onto the gramophone. Bing Crosby’s mellifluous voice filled the attic space.
‘It’s called “True Love”,’ said Chuck, holding out his arms to Rachael. ‘Dance?’
As he held her to him, she laid her head against his chest. He smelt of clean washing, and aftershave. He felt somehow familiar, and she felt safe for the first time in so long.
‘I’ve missed you so,’ he whispered into her hair as he guided her around the room.
‘Have you?’ she felt her body meld with his, blending with him as they danced.
‘I never forgot you,’ he said, ‘t
hat’s why I came to London… to look for you. I had to see you again. To see if…’
‘To see what?’
‘If there was ever going to be any hope?”
‘Hope?’
‘Do I need to spell it out?’ Chuck spun her around the room.
‘Yes,’ she said laughing, ‘I’d like you to spell it out.’
‘All right then…’ He stood quite still and took both her hands in his.
The record had finished and the only sound in the attic, apart from the thudding of her heart, was the rhythmic sound of the stylus stuck in the click track at the end of the record.
‘Rachael Laszlo,’ he began, earnestly. ‘I am in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since we met in Austria…’ He spun her round in a little pirouette and when she came to a stop they stood looking at one another. ‘There,’ he continued. ‘I’ve finally said it. I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long.’
His eyes were filled with such hope and, at that moment, Rachael realised she felt something for him. Whether it was true love, she couldn’t yet say. But it felt good.
‘Have I said too much?’ he asked, anxiously. ‘Do you want me to leave?’
‘No!’ she said, pulling him towards her, laying her head once more against his chest. ‘Don’t do that. Don’t leave me.’
On Boxing Day, Chuck invited Rachael for a walk. George, smiling at them over his book, offered to watch over Angela.
‘You go,’ he urged, ‘Angela and I will have some fun while you’re away.’
Angela clung to her mother’s leg as she tried to leave.
‘Maybe we should take her with us?’ Rachael suggested.
‘No,’ said George, firmly, taking hold of Angela’s hand. ‘She can stay here with me. Come Angela. Come to Grandpa.’
‘Why was my father so insistent that Angela shouldn’t come with us…?’ Rachael asked Chuck, as they walked towards the heath.
‘Maybe because he knows I want to have a private conversation with you.’
Rachael stopped and looked at him.
‘What do you mean… private?’
As the Christmas tree lights twinkled from the windows along Willow Road, and the cold wind blew unforgivingly up the street, stealing into every crevice of clothing, Chuck dropped to his knees.
‘Rachael Laszlo… would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
‘Oh Chuck… I don’t know what to say.’
‘Just say yes.’
‘It’s not… that simple.’
‘Why?’
‘I’d love to say yes.’ She flushed and turned away. She could feel tears hovering. She would have to tell him – it was only fair, only right. But she feared that once he knew her secret, he would walk away and she would lose him.
‘Tell me, what’s the matter?’
‘All right. I’ll tell you. And if you still want to marry me when I’ve finished, then I will say yes… I promise.’
The cafe next to the heath was closed for the holiday, but a few metal tables and chairs had been left outside. As they sat together on the abandoned chairs, a chill wind blowing drifts of leaves up against the cafe wall, Rachael told Chuck of her brief love affair in Sardinia, and about the child she was carrying.
‘So you see, Chuck… it wouldn’t be fair. I’m sure you won’t want to marry me now.’
‘I fell in love with you when you were pregnant with another man’s child,’ Chuck said, reaching across the metal table and taking her cold hand in his. ‘I feel the same way now.’
‘But how can you?’ protested Rachael. ‘You went on loving me all this time. But I fell in love with someone else. Don’t you feel betrayed?’
‘No… No I don’t. You didn’t think you’d ever see me again, and besides, you weren’t in love with me back in Austria. I knew that. You’d just lost your husband, your home. You were in a state of shock. And then you met someone else in Sardinia. He was kind, you were lonely – you fell in love. I understand…’
She smiled at him and squeezed his hand.
‘And you shouldn’t blame yourself for what’s happened to you. He was… foolish. He should have taken more care, Rachael. And what he did was wrong, and unfair to you – he was promised elsewhere.’
Rachael knew that Chuck’s analysis was right superficially, but she couldn’t yet bring herself to blame Tommaso – the truth was much more complicated.
‘Look…’ Chuck continued, ‘I know it’s unorthodox. But if you think you could learn to love me… I promise I’ll do everything I can to make you and Angela and the new baby happy.’
‘You are such a good man,’ said Rachael, ‘I don’t deserve you.’
He leant across the table and kissed her cheek. ‘Sure you do…’
He removed a little jeweller’s box from his pocket and handed it to Rachael.
‘So… do I get the answer I want?’ he asked, slipping the ring – a perfect diamond flanked by a pair of emeralds – onto her finger. ‘I chose emeralds to match your eyes…’
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, admiring it. ‘Are you sure you can afford it?’
‘I’m sure. My folks are not exactly rich, but they’re not poor either. I have a small income from a trust fund, and I hope to go into business when I get back to the States. We could live in Vermont at first with my parents, and then maybe move to New York… How would that be? I’ll take you to all the jazz clubs – you’ll love it.’
‘Live in America?’ said Rachael, slightly alarmed. ‘But what about Papa?’
‘Well, I guess he could come too…’
‘No… I don’t think he’d like that. He’s so happy here. Did he know you were going to ask me?’
‘Of course! I asked his permission first. I’ve been properly brought up, you know,’ he laughed. ‘So… what’s your answer, Rachael Laszlo?’
Rachael stared at the ring and then back at Chuck’s smiling face.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘If that’s what you really want. I can hardly believe it. It’s like a dream.’
‘No… it’s not a dream, sweetie. It’s a plan; our plan. We’re going to have a great life. You’ll see.’
‘Papa,’ said Rachael, when she and Chuck returned to the attic, ‘we’re engaged!’
George kissed his daughter and shook Chuck by the hand.
‘Congratulations both of you,’ he grinned. ‘I couldn’t be more delighted.’
While Chuck went back to his room to collect a bottle of champagne, George seized the chance to have a private word with his daughter.
‘I’m really very happy for you.’
‘Thank you, Papa,’ Rachael said, kissing him. ‘Are you sure you’re OK about it? Chuck told me he’d asked your permission. When did he find time to speak to you?’
‘Oh – almost the first moment he arrived in London. He said to me… “I’ve come back to ask Rachael to marry me… If you think I have no chance, I’ll leave now”.’
‘He said that?’
‘He did. I said, I didn’t know what you felt, but that he had my permission to try… I’m glad it worked out.’
‘Oh, Papa… I’m glad you gave him hope.’
‘He’s a good man,’ said her father, ‘and he loves you very much…’
Chuck burst back into the room, popping the champagne cork; he filled three small crystal glasses. ‘Here’s to you, my darling,’ he said, raising his glass to Rachael. ‘We’ll live with my parents at first – they’re good people. They’re going to love you, Rachael. Then, when I can get a job, I’d like to live in New York. Oh, Rachael, you won’t believe New York. It’s just fabulous. Tall, tall buildings. Everyone rushing around.’
Rachael found his excitement intoxicating, but a little overwhelming.
Later that night, after she had settled Angela, Rachael, exhausted, sat on her single bed, thinking about how her life was about to change. There was a knock at the door and her father crept back into the attic. He sat next to Rachael and put his arms aro
und her.
‘Is this what you really want, darling? Don’t marry him if you don’t want to.’
‘Yes, Papa. I do want to marry him. It’s the right thing to do….’
‘Because of the baby,’ he asked.
‘Because of Angela you mean?’
‘No… the new baby.’
Rachael stared at her father in disbelief. ‘How did you know?’
‘Darling… I am your father. I know you think I am a stupid old man, living in the past, completely absorbed in my work, but I observe, and I see more than you think.’
‘Are you angry with me; disappointed?’
‘What for? For loving someone? No…’
‘But Tommaso… you didn’t approve.’
‘No! That’s not right, Rachael. I liked him very much. I just could not see how it would work. He was promised elsewhere. Island people take these things very seriously. In a small close-knit society like that you both would have been outcast.’
‘When did you realise that I was pregnant?’
‘A month, or two maybe. You had a glow about you.’
‘You knew all that time and didn’t say.’ She began to cry. ‘I nearly had an abortion.’
‘No!’ Her father sounded shocked and hugged her closely. ‘Oh, darling… that would have been terrible – for you, for the baby… no. I’m so glad you did not do that.’
‘I thought you’d be so angry about it all – I was desperate. But in the end, I couldn’t do it.’
‘Rachael, my dear child, when have I ever been angry with you?’
She looked up at him, her face wet with tears. ‘Never,’ she said. ‘I told Chuck about the baby – and he says he doesn’t mind.’
‘Well, he loves you,’ said George, logically. ‘And when you love someone, truly love them, you can forgive anything. Do you think you will learn to love him?’
Rachael looked into her father’s watery grey eyes.
‘How do you know I don’t love him already?’
‘I know you don’t. But you care for him. And you can see it’s a way out of your… predicament. I might not mind if you are pregnant, but society is not so kind.’