A Twist in the Tale (27 page)

I didn’t need to ask my secretary any more questions and I won’t
trouble you, Father, with my detective work. But, armed with those snippets of
information, it didn’t talc me long to discover where Christina lived, that her
husband was an overseas director with BMW, and that they only had the one
child.

The old rabbi breathed deeply as he glanced up at the clock on his
desk, more out of habit than any desire to know the time. He paused for a
moment before returning to the letter.

He had been so proud of his lawyer son then; why hadn’t he made the
first step towards
a reconciliation
? How he would have
liked to have seen his grandson.

My ultimate decision did not require an acute legal mind, just a little
common sense - although a lawyer who advises himself undoubtedly has a fool for
a client. Contact, I decided, had to be direct and a letter was the only method
I felt Christina would find acceptable.

I wrote a simple message that Monday morning, then rewrote it several
times before I telephoned “Fleet Deliveries” and asked them to hand it to her
in person at the shop. When the young man left with the letter I wanted to
follow him, just to be certain he had given it to the right person. I can still
repeat it word for word.

Dear Christina, You must know I live and work in Toronto.

Can we meet? I will wait for you in the lounge of the Royal York Hotel
every evening between six and seven this week. If you don’t come be assured I
will never trouble you again.

Benjamin I arrived that evening nearly thirty minutes early. I remember
taking a seat in a large impersonal lounge just off the main hall and ordering
coffee.

“Will anyone be joining you, sir?” the waiter asked.

“I can’t be sure,” I told him. No one did join me, but I still hung
around until seven forty.

By Thursday the wailer had stopped asking if anyone would be joining me
as I sat alone and allowed yet another cup of
coffer
to grow cold. Every few minutes I checked my watch. Each time a woman with
blonde hair entered the lounge my heart leaped but it was never the woman I
hoped for.

It was just before seven on Friday that I finally saw Christina
standing in the door-way. She wore a smart blue suit buttoned up almost to the
neck and a
while
blouse that made her look as if she
were on her way to a business conference. Her long fair hair was pulled back
behind her cars to give an impression of severity, but however hard she tried
she could not be other than beautiful. I stood and raised my arm. She walked
quickly over and took the seat beside mc. We didn’t kiss or shake hands and for
some time didn’t even speak.

“Thank you for coming,” I said.

“I shouldn’t have, it was foolish. “

Some time passed before either of us spoke again.

“Can I pour you a coffee?” l asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Black?”

“Yes. “

“You haven’t changed.”

How banal it all would have sounded to anyone eavesdropping.

She sipped her coffee.

I should have taken her in my arms right then but I had no way of
knowing that that was what she wanted. For several minutes we of
inconsequential maters, always avoiding each other’s eyes, until I suddenly
said, “Do you
realise
that I still love you?”

Tears filled her eyes as she replied, “Of course l do. And l still
feel
the same about you now as I did the day we parted. And
don’t forget I have to see you every day, through Nicholas.”

She leaned forward and spoke almost in a whisper. She told me about the
meeting with her parents that had taken place more than five years before as if
we had not been parted in between. Her father had shown no anger when he
learned she was pregnant but the family still left for Vancouver the following
morning. There they had stayed with the
Willings
, a
family also from Mu-
nich
, who were old friends of the
von
Braumers
. Their son, Klaus, had always been
besotted with Christina and didn’t care about her being pregnant, or even the
fact she felt nothing for him. He was confident that, given time, it would all
work out for the best.

It didn’t, because it couldn’t. Christina had always known it would
never
work,
however hard Claus tried. They even left
Montreal in an attempt to make a go of it.

Klaus bought her the shop in Toronto and every luxury that money could
afford, but it made no difference. Their marriage was an obvious sham. Yet they
could not bring themselves to distress their families further with a divorce so
they had led separate lives from the beginning.

As soon as Christina finished her stop I touched her cheek and she took
my hand and kissed it. From that moment on we saw each other every spare moment
that could be stolen, day or night. It was the happiest year of my life, and I
was unable to hide from anyone how I felt.

Our affair – for that’s how the gossips were describing it – inevitably
became public.

However discreet we tried to be, Toronto, I quickly discovered, is a
very small place, full of people who took pleasure in informing those whom we
also loved that we had been seen together regularly, even leaving my home in
the early hours.

Then quite suddenly we were left with no choice in the matter: Christina
told me she was pregnant again. Only this time it held no fears for either of
us.

Once she had told Klaus the settlement went through as quickly as the
best divorce lawyer at Graham Douglas & Wilkins could negotiate. We were
married only a few days after the final papers were signed. We both regretted
that Christina’s parents felt unable to attend the wedding but 1 couldn’t
understand why you didn’t come.

The rabbi still could not believe his own in-tolerance and
short-sightedness. The demands on an Orthodox Jew should be waived if it meant
losing one’s only child. He had searched the Talmud in vain for any pas-sage
that would allow him to break his lifelong vows.
In vain.

The only sad part of the divorce settlement was that Klaus was given
custody of our child. He also demanded, in exchange for a quick divorce, that I
not
be
allowed to see Nicholas before his twenty-first
birthday, and that he should not be told that I was his real father. At the
time it seemed a hard price to pay, even for such happiness. We both knew that
we had been left with no choice but to accept his terms.

I used to wonder how each day could be so much better than the last. If
I was apart from Christina for more than a few hours I always missed her. If
the firm sent me out of town on business for a night I would phone her two,
three, perhaps four times, and if it was for more than a night then she came
with me. I remember you once describing your love for my mother and wondering
at the time if I could ever hope to achieve such happiness.

We began to make plans for the birth of our child William, if it was a
boy – her choice; Deborah, if it was a girl – mine. I painted the spare room
pink, assuming I had already won.

Christina had to stop me buying too many baby clothes, but I warned her
that it didn’t matter as we were going to have a dozen more children. Jews, I
reminded her, believed in dynasties.

She attended her exercise classes regularly, dieted carefully, rested
sensibly. I told her she was doing far more than was required of a mother, even
of my daughter. I asked if I could be present when our child was born and her
gynaecologist
seemed reluctant at first, but then agreed.
By the time the ninth month came the hospital must have thought from the amount
of fuss I was making they were preparing for the birth of a royal prince.

I drove Christina into Women’s College Hospital on the way to work last
Tuesday.

Although I went on to the office I found it impossible to concentrate.
The hospital rang in the afternoon to say they thought the child would be born
early that evening: obviously Deborah did not wish to disrupt the working hours
of Graham Douglas & Wilkins. However, I still arrived at the hospital far
too early. I sat on the end of Christina’s bed until her contractions started coming
every minute and then to my surprise they asked me to leave. They needed to
rupture her membranes, a nurse explained. I asked her to remind the mid-wife
that I wanted to be present to witness the birth.

I went out into the corridor and began
pacing
up and down, the way expectant fathers do in B-movies. Christina’s
gynaecologist
arrived about half an hour later and gave me
a huge smile. I noticed a cigar in his top pocket, obviously reserved for
expectant fathers. “It’s about to happen, “ was all he said A second doctor
whom I had never seen before arrived a few minutes later and went quickly into
her room. He only gave me a nod. I felt like a man in the dock waiting to hear
the jury’s verdict.

It must have been at least another fifteen minutes before I saw the
unit being rushed down the corridor by a team of three young interns. They
didn’t even give me so much as a second glance as they disappeared into
Christina’s room.

I heard the screams that suddenly gave way to the plaintive cry of a
new-born child.

I thanked my God and hers. When the doctor came out of her room I
remember noticing that the cigar had disappeared.

“It’s a girl, “he said quietly. I was over-joyed. “No need to repaint
the bedroom immediately” flashed through my mind.

“Can I see Christina now?” I asked.

He took me by the arm and led me across the corridor and into his
office.

“Would you like to sit down?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I have some sad news. “

“Is she all right?”

“I am sorry, so very sorry, to tell you that your wife is dead. “

At first I didn’t believe him, I refused to believe him. Why? Why? I
wanted to scream.

“We did warn her,
“ he
added.

“Warn her? Warn her of what?”

“That her blood pressure might not stand up
to it a second time. “

Christina had never told me what the doctor went on to explain – that
the birth of our first child had been complicated, and that the doctors had
advised her against becoming pregnant again.

“Why hadn’t she told me?” l demanded Then I realized why. She had
risked everything for me – foolish, selfish, thought-less me- and l had ended
up killing the one person I loved.

They allowed me to hold Deborah in my arms for just a moment before
they put her into an incubator and told me it would be another twenty-four
hours before she came off the danger list.

You will never know how much it meant to me, Father, that you came to
the hospital so quickly. Christina’s parents arrived later that morning. They
were magnificent. He begged for my forgiveness – begged for my forgiveness. It
could never have happened, he kept repeating, if he hadn’t been so stupid and
prejudiced.

His wife took my hand and asked if she might be allowed to see Deborah
from time to time. Of course I agreed
They
left just
before midnight. I sat, walked, slept in that corridor for the next twenty-four
hours until they told me that my daughter was off the danger list. She would
have to remain in the hospital for a few more days, they explained, but she was
now managing to suck milk from a bottle.

Christina’s father kindly took over the funeral arrangements.

You must have wondered why I didn’t appear and I owe you an
explanation. I thought I would just drop into the hospital on my way to the
funeral so that I could spend a few moments with Deborah. I had already transferred
my love.

The doctor couldn’t get the words out. It took a brave man to tell me
that her heart had stopped beating a few minutes before my arrival. Even the
senior surgeon was in tears. When I left the hospital the corridors were empty.

I want you to know, Father, that I love you with all my heart, but I
have no desire to spend the rest of my life without Christina or Deborah.

I only ask to be buried beside my wife and daughter and to be
remembered as their husband and father.
That way unthinking people
might learn from our love.
And when you finish this letter, remember
only that I had such total happiness when I was with her that death holds no
fears for me.

Your son, Benjamin.

The old rabbi
placed the letter down on the table in front of him. He had read it every day
for the last ten years.

Table of Contents

AUTHOR’S
NOTE

THE
PERFECT MURDER

CLEAN
SWEEP IGNATIUS

À LA
CARTE

NOT
THE REAL THING

JUST
GOOD FRIENDS

THE
STEAL

COLONEL
BULLFROG

CHECKMATE

THE
WINE TASTER

A
CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

THE
LOOPHOLE

CHRISTINA
ROSENTHAL