Her Father's House (7 page)

At some point he must have fallen into a doze, for suddenly he was startled to feel that the other half of the bed was vacant. It was after six by the clock. He got up and went to look out the window, where a hard rain was falling under a pale gray dawn.

Where was she? Fear like an arrow shot through his chest. He thought of calling the police, but had no idea what to tell them or even how to describe Lillian. The city was full of tourists and he had not noticed what she was wearing. He did not even know that man Giorgio's last name. The best he could do would be to wait another hour or two, then go down to the desk and ask for help. Back and forth he walked, watching at the window for full daylight, and then put on his clothes to be ready for it. Because there was nothing else to do, he lay down again on the bed; sleep came, and although he felt its coming, he was too exhausted to fight it.

When he awoke, he looked at the clock and was horrified to find that he had slept until half-past eight. He leapt up and ran to the outer room of the suite on his way to the elevator and the front desk. And there she lay, crumpled in disarray upon the ornate sofa, her jacket, soaking wet, tossed on the floor, along with the delicate shoes they had bought in Rome. Beside them on the floor was her handbag with a pile of paper money, coins, and cosmetics.

Donald stood, simply stood, as if unable to move, and stared at the mess, at the open mouth and sodden hair.

Then he must have made a sound because she wriggled up to a sitting position and smiled. Once in a while before now he had seen that smile. It was ugly; it was a flat row of white teeth with no welcome in her eyes or anywhere but on the flat lips; for an instant they opened, and then as quickly closed. It was in fact a mechanical movement, no smile at all.

“Well, I guess I'm in for it,” she said.

“Where were you?”

“You know. At a party. You could have come, but it's just as well you didn't, you wouldn't have liked it.”

“But you liked it.”

“Very much.”

“You stayed all night at Bettina's or Giorgio's?”

“Oh no, there were too many of us. We split up.”

Steady, Donald said to himself. Cautious and steady.

“Who was he, Lillian, the man you slept with?”

“What's the difference? If I should ever see him again, I probably wouldn't recognize him.”

“My lady wife. Why don't you stick a knife in me?”

“It was a party, Donald! People do these things. People have fun. Husbands do these things, but you're not that kind of husband. That's what this is all about, what I've been trying to tell you. Listen to me. Let's end this without anger, do things in a civilized way, as you always say. I don't want any money from you, honestly I don't, not a penny. I'll have an abortion and—”

“You!” he cried trembling. “There are no words for you except filthy ones.” And grasping her by the shoulders, he shook her. “Over my dead body will you dare touch that child. It belongs to me, too. Remember that.”

“Be reasonable. You can't very well stop me, Donald.”

“Can't I? An abortion now wouldn't even be legal! I'll have you followed every time you go out the door. I'll threaten any doctor who does it against my wishes, I'll threaten him with a lawsuit. The minute you walk into a doctor's office, you'll be followed, and no doctor will want to touch you.”

“Do you really care that much? Yes, I suppose you do. It's your family, your parents, isn't it? You want to continue the line. Yes,” she said rather gently, “I remember, you want a son.”

Her hand was dangling over the arm of the sofa. On her finger there glittered the ring that he had bought on that radiant day in London. Which the illusion, which the reality?

“I'm sorry. I wish it was different, Donald. You must know that I never meant to hurt you.”

He knew that. There was no meanness in Lillian.

“It's better now than next year or the year after that. It's bound to happen sometime. You do see that, don't you, Donald?”

He walked across the room to the window and looked out at the rain. Minutes passed, during which he was well aware that she was still sitting there watching his back, and that her eyes were filled with tears. He was aware that his thoughts were only mad, blind fragments rushing about in his head. She wanted to end it! A few short weeks into their second year, and she wanted to end it.

When, when is the instant when a flash of certainty, a harsh, cruel light, pierces through your darkness and brings you to a halt? You may be walking across a room, or watching the rain in your despair, when it stabs you.

So it came, that instant in which he accepted the end. As Lillian said, it was bound to come. Better sooner than later.

“I'm going for a walk,” he said, turning about to face her.

“In the rain?”

“It doesn't matter.”

He had a plastic raincoat, but no hat. That didn't matter, either. Squalls of cold rain billowed the coat when he went outside, and beat his bare head as he walked along the river to the old bridge. In his ears, from every direction, there rang a clamor of church bells, the sounds of a European Sunday, of tradition, of habit and ordinary lives.

But now he knew better. Of course he had always known that people and things are so often not what they seem; a child knows that. Still, he had never had to apply that knowledge to himself. And he thought again, as he had once before when first there had been a serious difference between his wife and himself, of the book that you open and find within it what you had never expected to find.

There were so many questions he wanted to ask! Filled as he was with a conflict of anger and grief, he found room for pity. Lillian had so much to offer, so much intellect, charm, oh so much charm; why then, and from where, had come that other streak? What had made her so? He did not know. He only knew that he wanted and needed to fly home.

   

They went downstairs into the lobby and ordered a taxi to the airport. Lillian, in dark blue travel clothes with a glimpse of pearls at her neck and her fine matched luggage at her feet, was the elegant young woman whom Donald had seen on that first April day so long ago. Men glanced at her as they passed. Men glanced at her in the airport.

He had only been able, at the last minute, to get two separate seats, one in first class, which he gave to Lillian, and the other in tourist. They were separate now, as they had never expected to be. And alone, in silence, each bore his burden of regret, while the engines roared to the west, and home.

Chapter 6

M
ay I ask you something? What did you see that you really didn't like when I brought her here?”

It was the second time that Donald had asked this question during the last quarter of an hour. It had been an especially painful quarter of an hour, not because it was painful to talk to Augustus Pratt, who of all people would give wise support—indeed, Donald had been home for two weeks now, and had found it too difficult to tell even the closest of his contemporaries what was happening—but because whenever he looked beyond Pratt's face, his eyes met that old photograph of the united family, the wife, the children, and the cozy dog sitting on a sofa.

“Why? Did I say anything to make you think I—”

“It was what you didn't say.”

Pratt made a small gesture with his hands, palms turned up. “I don't know, I can't give you an intelligent reason, it was just something. It was just an impression. I'm awfully sorry, Donald. You don't deserve it.”

“Does anyone, ever?”

“Oh, you know better than that. Of course some do. Tell me, are there going to be any problems with the divorce?”

“I'm told not. It can be done in no time at all, since there's no argument about anything, certainly not about money. She's the strangest person. I don't understand why she accepts my verbal promise to take care of her and the baby. She has no lawyer and doesn't want one.”

“Strange, indeed. Nevertheless, I would insist on doing this the usual way. You'll have a lawyer, and he'll insist that she have one. You could be ruined, Donald. To you, I hardly need explain how or why. By the way, where are you living now?”

“In the apartment. She doesn't want it.”

“Stranger, yet.”

Yes, it was very odd. They had gone by taxi from the airport to the apartment, where he had begun to pack a few clothes to take to a hotel. And Lillian had stopped him, saying that it was she, not he, who was to leave.

“She went to live, at least for a while, with Cindy, a friend she has.”

Pratt frowned. “You say there's no money and no family? Be careful, Donald. I know you're a private person, and since I am the same, I understand perfectly. I only want to say that I'm here for you whenever you want a pair of ears to listen.”

“Do you know what I keep asking myself? Where has the magic gone? And my strength, too. I feel as weary as if I had been running without rest or sleep, just running.”

Pratt stood up and placed a hand on Donald's shoulder. “You'll be better when you get back to work. Fill your head with other things, so you won't have as much time to think about this shock. A case came in while you were away that calls for a few trips to Florida. How does that sound to you?”

The touch and the words were fatherly, so that Donald felt a surge of emotion that he fought to control. Somehow, he straightened up and got out of the room.

   

One evening a week later, there was a message from Lillian on the answering machine at home. Would it be all right for her to come for a talk about eight o'clock tonight? Unless she were to hear to the contrary, he could expect her.

He had not only no idea what she might have to say, but also no idea which version of Lillian to expect, the considerate, quiet lady, or the brash destroyer with the sardonic smile.

When he opened the door, he saw at once that she had not come prepared for confrontation, or at least not right away. He also saw that she was dressed for the cold in a heavy coat of the blue that she so often chose because it matched her eyes. This one, however, had collar and cuffs of mink; it was extremely expensive, and it gave him some serious thoughts about his finances. She took it off and laid it over a straight-backed chair, remarked that she would not be staying long enough to bother hanging it in the closet.

“You're thinking it cost too much,” she said gaily. “Oh, don't I read your mind? Well, it did cost an arm and a leg, but don't worry, I didn't charge it to you.”

“I wasn't worried,” he said somewhat stiffly.

“Oh, I think you must have been in spite of what you said the last time we spoke. You must have been wondering how in the world I ever expected to take full care of myself and a baby.”

Nature's jokes! He glanced at her waist. All those couples who try for years with no success, those people traipsing all over the world to adopt a baby, all those artificial inseminations, all those, and now this. Poor little thing! From wanting it so much, he had now come to fear for it. Oh God, the poor little thing!

He collected himself. “No, I wasn't worrying. We will let our lawyers work it out decently, fair and square.”

“Donald, I really meant it when I said I don't want anything from you, no money, none of the usual revenge. This crash isn't your fault, nor really mine, either. We both made an unthinking mistake, that's all it was.”

“And how, may I ask, without money, how do you propose to eat?”

“Ah, therein lies my story. First, get me a cup of tea, and I'll tell you. It's windy out. I walked over, and I'm cold.”

Had she no nerves, no emotion? Here she sat in the very room where their wedding party had begun the voyage that was now ending; past the open door, the bed was in full sight. And she was cheerfully fussing with her windblown hair while he—he was empty inside; when he was not dragged down with a weight too heavy to hold, he was empty.

He got up, made tea, and brought it to her. It was then, when she extended her hand to take the cup, that he saw it was devoid of rings.

“I've brought it here for you,” she said.

“Brought what?”

“The ring. That's what you're missing, aren't you? You were looking at my finger.”

“Missing.” It was she who never missed anything. In other circumstances, one could be amused.

Setting the cup down with care, then reaching into her handbag, she took out the velvet box.

“I don't want it, Lillian,” he said, drawing back.

“Don't be foolish. You can get a good price for it if you don't want to keep it for somebody else.”

She had no imagination. If ever there were to be somebody else—and he could hardly imagine it—that somebody else would surely not want this particular ring.

“I said I don't want it, Lillian.”

“Well, I'll simply leave it on the table when I go.”

“Why are we arguing about a stupid thing like a ring?”

“I don't want to argue. I came to tell you something. As soon as the divorce comes through, and I hope it comes fast, I'm going to marry Howard Buzley.”

Howard Buzley!
Fat, old, and ugly.
A gust of laughter almost burst out of Donald's throat as he managed to turn it into an exclamation.

“What? Surely you're joking?”

“No, no, I'm not. He's been saying from the time I went to work for him that he'd like to marry me someday.”

“But his wife?”

“She died while we were in Italy. You see what a decent man he is? She was sick for so many years. A lot of men would have left, you know that. He's a very kind man. He's been very kind to me, I can tell you. He's crazy about me.”

So that was the source of the rent for her and Cindy, the spa vacations, and the fine clothes! For all that, of course, Buzley got his pay. He must have gotten plenty of it. And strangely now, the picture of Buzley and Lillian in bed together aroused not jealousy, but only disgust.

“You wouldn't believe how generous he is, always giving to people. Not only to me. I could tell you stories—we were walking past a shop one day and he went in and bought this watch for me. I hadn't even noticed it in the window.”

“Wait a minute. You said that the Italian aristocrat gave it to you.”

“That must have been another watch, not this one. Don't you remember seeing the other one?”

She has told so many lies, he thought, that they've become second nature to her. “No,” he said, “but it doesn't matter. Tell me, why should he marry you? I'm curious. Can't you simply live together?”

“We could, but I'm not sure I'd do that. With him, I want everything safe, according to law.” Lillian smiled. “He's not like you, you see. Not your type. Not what they call the ‘old school' honorable gentleman.”

In spite of himself, Donald was fascinated. “And you think you'll be happy?”

“Yes, I know him so much better than I knew you. Howard and I have a lot of fun together. I didn't know you at all, did I? It was pure infatuation for you and me. And admiration, too. I admired your intellect. I think I can say that we had a good many of the same intellectual interests, or am I being too immodest?”

“Not at all. But intellect is not enough, Lillian. You have to know how to use it.”

Lillian shrugged. “We like all the same things, Howard and I. He knows everybody, all the New York celebrities, Hollywood entertainers, theater, everybody. I feel much more free when I'm with him than I did with you. I'm not trying to hurt you by saying this, Donald. I never would hurt you because I still care for you and I'm still fond of you. I'm just telling the truth.”

This time she probably is, he thought.

“I want us to end in a friendly way. I want you to find somebody who will make you happy, who has your tastes and your moral outlook.”

There was a silence, during which Lillian was taking a last look around what had been her home, and he was wondering what she might be feeling, if anything.

“Howard has ordered a spectacular engagement ring for me. So you really must take this one back.”

“An engagement ring? Of course he knows you're pregnant?”

“Well, what do you think?” she responded indignantly. “Of course he does. Even if he couldn't see it, wouldn't I tell him?”

“And it doesn't matter to him?”

“Good heavens, he has grandchildren from here to California. He's used to children, so one more won't matter. Anyway, we'll have a nurse. And the apartment is enormous, twelve rooms with a view all over the city, from the East River to the Hudson. It reminds me of the Sanders' place.”

Ah, yes, the view. She had wanted a view. And ah, yes, the Sanders. At first he had blamed them for corrupting her, but that had been thoroughly stupid of him. Lillian had been what she was long before she ever laid eyes on the Sanders.

“By the way, Howard knows Chloe and Frank. Or at least he's met them. Yes,” Lillian repeated, “he goes everywhere and everybody knows him.” She paused to look around the room. “That painting—you were very nice about it. A lot of men would have raised hell about my spending so much money without asking first.”

“Well, you loved it. I understood that. Take it with you.”

“Thanks, but I wouldn't think of taking it. I'll be able to buy more if I want to. One thing I'll miss, though, going to the galleries and exhibits with you. Howard doesn't know the first thing about art and doesn't want to. But you can't have everything, can you?”

Once, he thought, for a short time, I believed you could. I believed, in fact, that we did have everything. But he did not speak as Lillian rose and put on her coat.

“I suppose we'll meet soon with our lawyers, Donald, since you insist on having them. I'm sure it won't be complicated, since we're not fighting each other.”

“I have only one demand: open and generous visitation when the child is born.”

How much he really would want or use that, he did not know. Perhaps if it should be a boy, he would want it. . . . At any rate, it was of his flesh and blood, and he would provide for it.

“Oh, I want to remind you about the silver. It's worth a small fortune, so don't forget to pay the insurance.”

“The silver?”

“The Danish silver that Howard gave us.”

“Take it. Take it with you now. I don't want it.”

“For goodness sake, Donald, don't be foolish. You may want to use it someday. One never knows. And I don't need it. Howard's got enough silver to equip a hotel.” With a hand on the doorknob, Lillian paused. “Don't be angry at me, will you?”

He looked at her. Beauty incarnate, she was. Those eyes. That heavy, bright hair. The classic face—beauty incarnate.

“For a while, at least, we loved each other,” he said.

“Loved? I'll tell you something that I read. I think some Frenchman wrote it. ‘There are people who, if they had not heard about it, would never fall in love.' Good night, Donald.”