The Magic Hour

by Charlotte Bingham

  Ariel had not known what to expect from marriage to Gerald, but she knew now that she had definitely expected him to change. She realised now that she had thought of marriage as being some sort of beautiful doorway through which you drifted to meet this new reformed man – your bridegroom – and that after that nothing would be quite the same.

  She had actually imagined that husbands would be quite different from fiancés or boyfriends, in that once they had married their brides they would become instantly responsible and kind. They would not only open doors for you, give up seats for you, but also manage everything from the paying of bills to the lighting of your cigarette. She sighed, thinking of how wrong she had been – and all this before raising her eyes to the doctor’s face, waiting for his verdict, half hoping that she had something really wrong with her.

  ‘You are expecting a child. You are pregnant, Mrs Hardwick.’

  Ariel tossed back her head and instantly lit a cigarette with a slim gold lighter taken from her chic leather handbag.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Dr Stillman, I can’t be.’

  Dr Stillman could not prevent himself from smiling at that.

  ‘Why are you so certain you can’t be, Mrs Hardwick?’

  ‘Because … Well, if you really want to know because my husband is out most of the time, I have hardly seen him enough to become pregnant. I must have caught pregnancy off a chair.’

  She gave a short laugh.

  ‘In my experience babies are sometimes determined to be born, Mrs Hardwick, as if perhaps God has them in His mind’s eye, long before we ourselves have them in ours.’

  Dr Stillman smiled at her again in his kindly old-fashioned way and his eyes turned towards the leather-framed photographs of his own children and grandchildren.

  ‘If you don’t mind my asking, had the idea never occurred to you that marriage might bring children?’

  Ariel shrugged her shoulders over-elaborately, and blew smoke across the doctor’s surgery while her foot encased in its chic leather shoe swung backwards and forwards restlessly.

  ‘I can’t say that it had, Dr Stillman. As I say, my husband is rarely home of late, sleeps through most of the day, and only gets up in time to go to a nightclub. Between all that, I can’t say that it had ever occurred to me that he could have made me pregnant. No, I can safely say it had never occurred to me. As a matter of fact, I was sure that since my honeymoon, my sickness was due to something I had caught on honeymoon, which I obviously did, if I’m that far gone.’

  Once again she gave a short cold laugh.

  ‘You will have to try to eat more you know, Mrs Hardwick. The fact that the baby is so small means that he might be born underweight if you do not eat more. And drink plenty of milk.’

  ‘I hate milk—’

  ‘Milky drinks are best for baby, you know. And plenty of meat and chicken. Soups are good, full of nourishment. Babies do not take care of themselves, not even in the womb, we do have to look out for them, take care of them, from conception.’

  The doctor paused. He had a smart, thriving practice with many well-to-do patients, but looking at this young lady he, like so many people who knew Ariel Hardwick, could not help feeling a mixture of compassion and impatience towards her. She was an attractive enough young creature, but from his many years as a family doctor, he could see there was an inner worm of self-destructiveness that seemed to be eating away at her, making her wayward and hard, despite her youth and beauty.

  Nevertheless, he continued to smile warmly at her from the other side of his red leather-topped desk.

  ‘Well, at any rate, however this has come about, there is no doubt that congratulations on the little chap will certainly be in order—’

  ‘Why did you say “little chap”, Dr Stillman?’ Ariel asked, interrupting him.

  ‘Did I say that?’ The doctor looked innocently surprised, despite the fact that he was perfectly aware he had said exactly that. ‘There was no reason, no reason at all, just a generality really.’ He smiled and adjusted his half-moon glasses. ‘I’m afraid I tend to call a baby in the womb the “little chap”, until I know better, that is.’

  There was a long silence during which Ariel smoked and he pretended to study her notes.

  ‘The baby should, all being well, be arriving around about Christmas. Just don’t call him “Noel” will you, so cruel I always think, calling babies Noel or Noelle, and then expecting them to like having their birthdays at Christmas, only receiving one set of presents, and all that.’

  Ariel was not listening to him, as Dr Stillman was well aware, instead she was wishing to God that Dr Stillman had not said ‘little chap’. It meant that the doctor had instantly created a picture of a small boy in her mind. It meant that her blacking out at that cocktail party, and feeling sick when she smelt coffee, were not just vague symptoms of some horrid bug that she had been harbouring since her honeymoon, but that a real person was inside her: a little chap.

  She felt faint with fear. She could not have a baby, for all sorts of reasons. She was not old enough. She was not good enough. Besides, people who had babies did not fall in love with men like Gerald who were only interested in amusing themselves, going out to cocktail parties, socialising, being in the right places. They married other men, decent men like Dr Stillman whose desk and filing cabinets were festooned with photographs of little girls in smocked dresses and boys in silk romper suits, men whose faces lit up with delight at the idea that Ariel was lucky enough to be a parent.

  ‘Do you go to cocktail parties, Dr Stillman?’ she asked suddenly.

  The doctor removed his glasses and laughed.

  ‘I have been to cocktail parties, Mrs Hardwick. But you know, since the children were young our habit has always been to take them away to our cottage by the sea at weekends. Plenty of fresh air and good food is what I prescribe both for myself, Mrs Stillman and our young. Most especially fresh air, so good for growth. Not that Mrs Stillman and I need to grow,’ he joked, ‘rather the reverse.’

  ‘My husband hates going to the country unless it’s to socialise, in which case he will be indoors all the time, and really you might as well be in London.’ Ariel paused. ‘I – I know that you will find this difficult, Dr Stillman, because you have children and grandchildren, but really, I really should not be having a baby. Really and truly, I am not suitable, and nor is my husband, particularly not my husband. This is not a good moment for us to have a baby.’

  The telephone on the doctor’s desk rang. He picked it up, not dropping his eyes from his patient’s face, determined not to let her out of his surgery until he had persuaded her that there was never a good moment to have a baby, and never a bad moment.

  The voice at the other end, as if being directed by some power from above, was that of yet another of Dr Stillman’s patients, requesting a repeat prescription of her sleeping tablets.

  ‘What a wonderful coincidence, Mrs Hardwick, I am only now seeing your daughter-in-law, and she has some very exciting news for you – yes, very, very exciting.’ He smilingly held the telephone across the desk for Ariel to speak into, nodding encouragingly to her. ‘No, no, let her tell you herself, Mrs Hardwick.’

  As she took the telephone receiver from him Dr Stillman had the feeling that, despite the fact that he was not a religious man, the angels above had indeed been smiling down on his surgery that afternoon, if only for a few seconds, before passing on their way to greater matters.

  He started to shut Ariel’s medical file, as if the matter they had been discussing was now happily resolved, when he heard Ariel say mechanically, ‘Yes, isn’t it exciting, Sally?’

  Ariel put down the receiver a minute later, and if looks could kill Dr Stillman was sure that he would be dead.

  ‘My mother-in-law is very excited at the news,’ she said in a flat voice, and having stubbed out her cigarette against the side of his metal wastepaper basket, she promptly and defiantly lit another.

  ‘Yes, well, she would be. She is after all
a widow, and it will be so exciting for her to be able to help you and your husband bring up a Miss or Master Hardwick.’

  There it was again, the baby was no longer a baby in either of their imaginations, instead he or she had become a small tousle-haired person zipping about on a fairy cycle, bringing with him or her happy shouts of laughter, arms held up to be carried.

  ‘I can’t have this baby, Dr Stillman. My husband, Gerald, is just not suitable to be a father, and an alley cat would make a better mother than myself, really. I just can’t have it.’

  It was as if she had not spoken. Dr Stillman leaned back in his chair.

  ‘The thing is, Mrs Hardwick,’ he began again, clearing his throat at the same time as he tried to get Ariel to pay attention to him rather than the tip of her cigarette at which she kept staring, as if it would provide her with some sort of answer. ‘The way you are feeling is perfectly normal. Everyone feels a certain amount of panic when they know they’re pregnant for the first time. I know my wife and I did, but childbirth methods have come on in leaps and bounds after all. We are no longer in Queen Victoria’s reign. It’s perfectly normal to feel anxious, what is not normal is not to adjust to the fact, not to bring yourself to understand – and you’re an intelligent young woman – that the gift of a healthy baby is one of the wonders of this world. It truly is. When the doctor lays the baby in your arms there is no emotion to compare with it. Even for the doctor, however many babies he delivers, the emotion is one to which he can look back with eternal joy. And I mean that.’

  He smiled, but only because Ariel had at last turned her eyes to look at him, rather than her wretched cigarette. He paused as she stubbed out yet another of her cigarettes.

  ‘I’m not a religious man, Mrs Hardwick, but I do believe in life, the miracle of life. Having children changes us so much for the better. It makes us more rounded, but of course, some people don’t want to change, do they? Maybe you don’t want to change?’

  The expression on Dr Stillman’s face was so kindly, so paternal, so understanding that Ariel found herself leaning forward and putting her face in her hands, if only to get away from the sight of it.

  ‘I want to change so much. You have no idea how much I want to change …’

  ‘If you want to change you must go ahead and have your baby. He will change you; within seconds of holding him in your arms you will become a different person, it’s just a fact. That too is one of the miracles of life.’

  Ariel wanted so much to believe in the doctor’s words, in what he was saying, but supposing he was wrong?

  ‘I think I will go for a walk in the park,’ she said finally, standing up at the same time.

  Dr Stillman also stood up.

  ‘Splendid. What a splendid idea. Go for a walk in the park, good for baby, good for you.’

  Ariel walked slowly through Hyde Park, well aware that she was in a state of turmoil. Somehow she had never thought to consider what would happen if she became pregnant. Her wedding and honeymoon had seemed to pass in such a blur. Gerald in such a state over Laura’s death, everything not at all how it should be. After a while, as she walked slowly around the park, not really seeing the horses trotting by, the Guardsmen from the barracks, or the dogs fetching and carrying balls for their owners, she at last became aware of being passed by beautifully uniformed nannies pushing beautifully groomed babies. She stopped by one and smiled at him, and his nanny.

  ‘He’s beautiful.’

  ‘He certainly is.’ The young nanny smiled proudly at her charge. ‘Most beautiful baby in the park. Everyone says so,’ she added.

  Ariel nodded. He was beautiful. A beautiful baby.

  ‘I’m having a baby – my first,’ she confided suddenly.

  ‘You are?’ The nanny nodded. ‘Well I dare say, looking at you, that yours will be as beautiful as this young man.’

  Ariel stared long and hard at the pram, realising as she did so that she had already made up her mind to believe Dr Stillman. She would have the baby. She would let him or her change her. She would take the chance, and hope that she was doing the right thing. And after all, if she changed, so might Gerald. He might get over Laura. He might stop punishing himself.

  She knew that telling him their good news would not be easy, but she imagined that, like herself, he would come round to it, that pretty soon he would realise their foolish pre-marital vows not to have children were hollow and childish and, as Dr Stillman had said, they would both quickly come to understand how lucky they were.

  She had hardly taken her key out of her handbag to open their front door when she found Gerald downstairs facing her in the hall.

  ‘Good God, Gerald, is something the matter?’

  She glanced at her slim gold watch.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re up, darling, it’s only five o’clock in the afternoon, and you’re up!’

  ‘Shut up, would you, Ariel? Just shut up.’

  Gerald looked terrible, even for Gerald, unshaven and darkly furious. As a matter of fact at that moment there was little about Gerald that was not dark. Dark lines under his eyes, dark hair sprouting from the top of his dressing gown, a trembling hand covered in dark hair reaching for his first drink, his first cigarette, his first view of the day that was even now becoming night.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ he asked her thickly, preceding her up the stairs to the first-floor sitting room.

  ‘To the doctor, darling.’

  ‘Been to see the croaker.’

  ‘Yes. Did your mother telephone you?’

  ‘No idea, she might have done. I took the phone off the hook—’

  ‘So she hasn’t told you?’

  Gerald stared at her through bloodshot eyes.

  ‘No. She hasn’t told me anything, and I haven’t told her anything, which is probably just as well, because when she hears what I have to say she is not going to be very happy.’

  He gave a huge juddering sigh.

  ‘She hasn’t told you that I’m pregnant.’

  Gerald lit a cigarette and poured himself a drink in one swift and faintly terrible movement before turning to his wife.

  ‘Good God, Ariel. You can’t be. I’ve hardly been near you.’

  ‘Well you must have been near me enough, Gerald, enough for me to become pregnant.’ She went on quickly before he could say anything. ‘And before you say anything, I must tell you that whatever happens, I’ve decided I am having the baby. I am going through with it, Gerald.’

  ‘Babies and you, Ariel? They are surely about as likely as, well – beer and salmon!’

  Ariel nodded, sitting down suddenly and staring ahead of her.

  ‘I know, I know, I thought you might say that, or something like it,’ she admitted.

  ‘You hardly knew your own mother, what makes you think you’ll be any different?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Ariel fixed her eyes on something in the distance, something that Gerald could not see, but which seemed to him to be something that he should see, if he were not feeling so lousy. ‘The thing is, Gerry, Dr Stillman has just persuaded me what a wonderful thing it is to have a healthy baby. He has just explained to me how much you and I will change in our ways, how we will become different, less selfish people. And I think it’s true. So, Gerald, I think we must have this baby. And I’m sure you will agree, when you have thought about it.’

  Gerald stared at her.

  ‘I don’t think you will want to have a baby, when you hear what I have to say.’

  He refilled his glass. ‘I’ve lost everything. We’re ruined.’

  Part Two

  MANY YEARS LATER

  Alexandra

  When she was young the feeling that there was always silence downstairs would come to Alexandra as she dressed in the mornings, already longing to be standing with her best friend, Frances Chisholm, waiting to answer her name at the roll call held in the small village school that had been founded by local farmers in thanksgiving for the defe
at of Napoleon at Waterloo. From an early age Alexandra had always dressed herself, not liking to be fussed over. For this reason she was always up and washed long before Gran came into the old oak-beamed room that was her bedroom, making sure to have laid out her school clothes in strict dressing order on the round-backed cane-seated oak chair the night before.

  Once at school the silence of the first hours of her day was broken, never to return until evening. Hurry, hurry, hurry, the voices in her head would command her as she brushed her hair under an Alice band and cleaned her teeth with a Mickey Mouse toothbrush; hurry to friendly noise and no more tick tock of the old Grandfather clock in the hall, no more hearing her own footsteps ringing out across the old wooden floors as if she was the only person in the house, which of course she was not, but she always felt that at any moment she might well discover herself to be.

  Sometimes she thought that she had quite forgotten what her father looked like, until he would suddenly appear in the kitchen when she was having her supper, eye her with the look of a man who had not expected to come across such a creature as herself, only to back out again through the kitchen door, thankfully leaving her with Mavis, his old cook, and Charlie and Michael, the boys who helped him on his farm, and who were fed three times a day in the kitchen by the ever maternal Mavis.

  ‘Three gypsies stood at the garden gate, they sang so high and they sang so low, three gypsies stood at the garden gate – I’ve gone with the raggle taggle gypsies oh!’

  The first time Alexandra sang that at school she felt a frisson of excitement, and a feeling rose up inside her that she would like to find gypsies at her garden gate, and that when she did she would run off with them, to become barefooted and wild, her hair tangled, her food cooked on an open fire, her hands ungloved, her body browned by the sun and the wind; but when she did see gypsies on the road, she always thought better of it, because they looked careworn and worried and their ponies thin and miserable.

  She picked up her school bag every morning, and walked the long route through her father’s farmland to the top of his drive, some three miles long, until she would find herself standing on the corner of the sign that read ‘Lower Bridge Farm’ and eventually, usually very eventually, along would come her best friend’s mother, driving in the middle of the road in an old van with the mud and the rain, as it was this morning, splashing generously up the sides.