I'll Take Manhattan (11 page)

“If I do, darling, there’s a perfectly good bell right here on the bed table and I’ll ring it, I promise. Now go, both of you, before my son wakes everyone in the city.”

While the argument over the influences of environment and heredity will rage forever, no one could possibly deny that Tobias Adamsfield Amberville was destined to grow up a monster. It was unthinkable that a child born to such an adoring father and a mother who regarded him as an extension of herself, a self to whom she denied nothing, could not be overindulged.

“It must be his Anderson blood,” his grandmother, Sarah Amberville, remarked. “The Protestant work ethic, you know.”

Lily, six months pregnant with her second child, laughed merrily. “He does precious little work yet, Sarah.”

“Look at him digging up the garden so seriously and methodically. You’d think he was getting paid by the shovelful. He hasn’t cried once since I’ve been visiting you, he goes quietly to bed when he’s supposed to, and according to Nanny, he gives her no trouble at all. He eats all his
vegetables, and even Zachary didn’t do that. I hope your next baby will be as easy.”

“The next baby is intended to be Tobias’s playmate. It’s bad for a child to be an only child, that’s why I’m bothering to have one so quickly. Otherwise I’d be very happy just watching my son grow up.”

Sarah Amberville said nothing. She still hadn’t grown used to her daughter-in-law and she never would. Actually she was rather frightened of her because she knew that if she got on the wrong side of Lily she wouldn’t get to see her grandson, or much of her son either for that matter. Minnie had been banished for months when she’d dared to comment on the fact that since perfectly good clothes for children were made in the United States it seemed a bit farfetched to have them sent from London, especially since Toby outgrew them so quickly.

“Look, he’s coming back. He must be ready for lunch,” she said to Lily.

“Wait till the gardener comes tomorrow,” Lily chortled.

“Will he be surprised?”

“Tobias has just dug up all the tulips, every last one. They were due to bloom next week. The gardener planted four hundred bulbs last autumn.”

“Dear, dear,” Sarah Amberville murmured. She hadn’t realized that Lily had known all along that Toby was harvesting tulips in full bud. She’d been sitting firmly on her hands for the last two hours, biting her lips and praying for courage to stay silent. Well, perhaps it was easy to find good gardeners in Manhattan. In Andover the problem didn’t present itself. Being a grandmother wasn’t somehow as much fun as she’d thought it would be. But what was?

Maxime Emma Amberville was about as unattractive a baby as Lily could imagine: something like a plucked chicken, without hair at all, a pair of bandy legs, and a heat rash that developed on the first day. She had colic, she screamed when she was hungry and she screamed when she wasn’t hungry. She was apparently the most difficult
child in the nursery as the supervisor of nurses confided in her.

“I hope you told that supervisor to go fuck herself,” Zachary burst out when Lily reported the remark to him.

“Zachary! I most certainly did not. The poor woman was at her wits’ end. I just assured her that the baby would be going home tomorrow. The thing I’m really worried about is Nanny. What if she leaves? She’s so used to Tobias.”

“Nanny is underworked and overpaid.”

“I called the employment agency and hired a second nurse. They have a very well-recommended woman, a Miss Hemmings, who specializes in difficult cases. She’ll be here when we leave the hospital, and take over immediately. Fortunately Maxime’s room is not right next to Tobias’s so she won’t wake him.”

“Jesus, Lily, the baby’s got ordinary colic, not leprosy. I happen to think the kid’s got a hell of a lot of spirit and I
like
the way she looks. She looks like me, damn it.”

“Darling, you’re too silly. You know you’re madly attractive.”

“You’ve never seen my baby pictures,” he said grinning.

Vaguely, Lily murmured, “I assume she’ll improve—with time. She could hardly get worse.”

Maxime’s colic and heat rash disappeared at the same time. Within six months she had put on enough weight so that her skinny little legs were dimpled and straight, her hair, once it started to grow, was straight and thick and, to Zachary’s sweet and triumphant delight, she had a pure white streak exactly the same place as his. As for her spirit, she managed within twenty-two months to break that of the nurse who specialized in difficult cases.

“Madame,” Miss Hemmings said, almost in tears, “I’ve had sick babies, babies so quiet that you knew there had to be something wrong; I’ve had hyperactive babies who got into everything, including the sewers; I’ve had babies who could and did climb a tree before they were a
year old; I’ve had babies you couldn’t toilet-train for four years, I’ve had every kind of baby I thought was possible, but Maxi … I just have to go away for a rest, Madame, or I’ll have a nervous breakdown.”

“Oh, no! Don’t do that, Miss Hemmings. Please, please don’t leave!” Lily begged.

“I must, Madame. I love Maxi too much. She’s so adorable and she’s so
naughty
. I can’t bring myself to punish her and that’s bad for the child.”

“I thought you were supposed to be able to handle that sort of problem,” Lily said coldly. The woman was obviously determined to leave. “I’m afraid that Maxi has been spoiled rotten. She wants what she wants when she wants it … surely you should have managed to do something about that.”

“I’ve tried, Madame, but …”

“But you’ve failed; it’s that simple, really, isn’t it?”

“If you want to look at it that way, yes.” Miss Hemmings’s tone was that of someone who refused to be drawn out and Lily found herself intensely irritated.

“I hold you entirely responsible for Maxi’s discipline problem, Miss Hemmings, and I’m afraid I can’t give you a good reference.”

“That’s up to you, Madame. But I doubt that Maxi’s problems can be solved just by finding another nurse.”

“We’ll see about that! I’m sure someone else will do quite well,” Lily said furiously.

“I don’t like to blame the parents,” Miss Hemmings said, her professional pride wounded, “but there’s only so much any nurse can achieve. Now if you’ll excuse me, Madame …”

“Just a minute. Precisely what do you mean about blaming parents, Miss Hemmings?”

“Maxi is spoiled because her father gives her everything she wants and you spend all your available time with Toby. She’s trying terribly hard to get her mother’s attention and, since you asked me to speak out, she’s using her father as a substitute.” Before Lily could begin to reply Miss Hemmings left the room and went upstairs to pack. In a long and honorable career she had never spoken her mind
so clearly, and as miserable as she felt about leaving Maxi she was rather pleased with herself.

Toby’s English nanny, Mrs. Browne, was made of sterner stuff than Miss Hemmings. She took over Maxi, referring to her as “our two-year-old” in a way that explained away everything. Lily, unwillingly stung by Miss Hemmings’s remarks, now made a point of reading to the little girl almost every evening before the child’s dinner, and of letting Maxi play with her jewels for half an hour on Sunday mornings, perched shoeless in the middle of Lily’s antique lace wedding cake of a bed. No one can ever accuse me of being a neglectful mother, she thought, raging with resentful boredom as she read aloud.

It was soon after Tobias’s fourth birthday that he began falling out of bed. For two years he had occasionally awakened in the middle of the night and gone to the bathroom when he had to, treading carefully along the familiar route so as not to disturb anybody.

“Could I have a night light, Mother?” he asked Lily one day.

“Oh, my darling, you haven’t had one since you were a tiny thing. Did you have a bad dream? Is that it?”

“No, it’s just that when I wake up I can’t see anything. I can’t tell where I am in bed unless I feel around and if I’m near the edge I fall off. And I can’t find the bed lamp in the dark. It’s happened a few times and it hurts when I fall.”

“Perhaps it
is
too dark in your room.”

“It … it never has been. There used to be enough light on the street to see by … but, I don’t know, I don’t seem to see in the dark anymore.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” Lily said, her heart beating heavily, “but I’ll take you for a checkup to Doctor Stevenson. You probably need to eat more carrots, my baby.”

The pediatrician gave Toby a thorough going-over. “He’s a fine young man, Mrs. Amberville. As for the falling
out of bed, I’m sure it’s not serious but, just to be on the safe side, I think you should have his eyes checked.”

“But you just looked into his eyes,” Lily cried.

“By a specialist. Merely to be on the safe side.”

“To be on the
safe
side?”

“Please don’t worry. Children have all sorts of passing symptoms, particularly when they’re growing as quickly as this young man; but it’s always a good idea to follow up on them, even if it proves unnecessary.”

The famous ophthalmologist, Dr. David Ribin, to whom Dr. Stevenson sent Toby, gave him a complete eye examination. Lily sat in the waiting room trying to read a magazine as the time passed. Suddenly she looked up and saw Zachary standing by her chair.

“No!” she screamed. She knew, the instant she saw her husband, that the doctor had telephoned him to come.

“Lily, Lily.” Zachary enfolded her in his arms. “Whatever it is, medicine can cure it. They can do anything with eyes, it’s the most advanced field that exists, Lily, I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. Come on, the doctor is waiting to talk to us. A nurse is keeping Toby busy, I saw them as I came in.”

“I’m deeply sorry to have to tell you this,” Dr. Ribin said, as they sat before him. “But Toby has retinitis pigmentosa. We don’t know the cause of this disease. Night blindness is often the first symptom.”

“Disease—what sort of disease?” Zachary asked, taking Lily’s hand.

“First of all, Mr. Amberville, I should explain that the retina is a thin membrane that lines the inner eye. It contains rods and cones, which are the structures that are sensitive to light. The rods are the receptors used in dim light, which is why an alteration in their functions, as in Toby’s case, causes night blindness before anything else.”

“Doctor Ribin, what’s the treatment that’s used in this sort of thing?” Lily asked, maddened by the length of the doctor’s explanation.

“We have no treatment, Mrs. Amberville. The nerve cells of the retina cannot be replaced if they are damaged.”

“No treatment? You mean no medicine?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Surgery then? Will he have to have surgery?” Lily cried.

“We have no surgical techniques for retinitis pigmentosa,” Dr. Ribin said gravely.

“It’s not possible! I won’t believe it! Everybody can be treated! He’s only four years old, a little boy, just a little boy,” Lily said fiercely, refusal still stronger than grief.

“What’s going to happen to Toby?” Zachary asked, holding her hand so tightly that it hurt.

“It’s a progressive disease, Mr. Amberville. The sides of the retina are normally affected in the beginning, and although Toby’s central vision may stay fairly stable for many years, there will be a progressive narrowing of his field of vision as he grows older. Eventually, we don’t know exactly when, he will have only a pinpoint of vision left. But that may not happen for many years. He’ll have a long time, I hope, until then, but I can’t promise how long.”

“Forgive me, Doctor, but couldn’t it possibly be something else?” Zachary had to ask, although he knew the answer from the doctor’s expression.

“I wish it could be. For your own sense of sureness I’d advise you to get another opinion, but unfortunately the disease, though rare, is unmistakable and quickly diagnosed. There are clumps of pigment scattered throughout the retina, and the vessels of the retina are narrowed. I hate to be so certain. I wish I thought I was wrong, Mr. Amberville.”

“But how could he have caught it?” Lily cried in her anguish. “How, oh, tell me, how did it happen?”

“When children have retinitis pigmentosa, unlike its appearance in senile degeneration, it can only be hereditary, Mrs. Amberville.”

Cutter Amberville was almost tempted to remain in California after graduation. At Stanford, he had made many influential friends and grown to agree with the local superstition that Harvard was second to Stanford in excellence. Sarah Amberville visited her youngest child several times a year but Cutter spent his holidays and summer vacations on the West Coast. He went on to Stanford Business School and, after graduation, worked for a few years at Booker, Smity and Jameston, the San Francisco investment banking firm, whose president was his roommate Jumbo Booker’s father, a lean, fit, small man, a passionate tennis player who had delighted in taking a number of games off young Amberville.

However, in the early months of 1958, when he was twenty-four, Cutter decided to move to Manhattan. He had discovered that even in California, there was no one whom he was likely to meet who wouldn’t ask him about his brother. Perhaps, Cutter thought, if he moved to China he could escape the inevitable question, but otherwise there was no avoiding the association. Since it existed, he might as well take advantage of it, for the center of all investment banking was in New York City, and to be an Amberville couldn’t hurt his career. He intended to make a great deal of money. Zachary must not be the only rich Amberville.

Cutter had been steeped in the Stanford–San Francisco traditions of manners and culture and an aristocratic attitude that extended to the business world. He found it difficult to adjust to the collective frenzy of Manhattan. Who
were
all these people? Why did they run instead of walk? Why couldn’t they conduct conversation at a civilized
decibel level? Was there really not enough of anything to go around or did they just act as if there weren’t?

Within a week he decided simply to ignore most of the city, not to begin to try to understand it in all of its distasteful manifestations. He had discovered that after all, on certain streets his kind of people lived, and his friends from Andover, Stanford and San Francisco had provided him with instant entry to the homes of the only people in Manhattan with whom he could feel at home.