The Wheel of Fortune (27 page)

When I realized what the problem was I tried to allay his fears that my past adultery meant I was hopelessly promiscuous, but he cut me off. He couldn’t bear to hear me talk of other men, he couldn’t bear to hear me talk of Conor, he couldn’t bear to be reminded that I had ever loved someone else.

He couldn’t admit that, of course. That was why the whole row took place on another subject: my bedroom manners. He had the nerve to say that “a woman who plays an assertive role in bed isn’t very womanly.” Honestly, if I hadn’t been so upset I would have laughed. Anyone would think from that statement that I was some fierce suffragette who bellowed orders at the top of her voice! The truth is that I’m sensitive and considerate in bed, and although I never lose sight of my own pleasure, I do my imaginative best to give a man what he wants. And the last thing Robert wants is some female who does no more than lie on her back with her legs apart—he’d be bored to death.

This time I didn’t lose my temper and indulge in what he would have described as “a feminine tantrum.” I said politely but firmly that he might not think much of my bedroom manners but I thought still less of his if he treated an intelligent, devoted partner as if she ought to be a mere mindless receptacle for male seed—at which point
he
threw a tantrum by yelling, “Bloody women, bloody sex, bloody hell!” and retiring in a rage to the lavatory. I know men and women are utterly different but sometimes the little similarities of behavior make one wonder if the differences are as great as everyone says they are.

We were soon reconciled but afterwards it hardly seemed the right moment to insist that he faced the reality of my marriage to Conor, and what now worries me is whether the right moment will ever come. It’s obvious that Conor represents a serious problem for us, but it’s equally obvious that Robert’s decided to solve the problem by locking it up at the back of his mind and refusing to speak of it. Is this a solution? No. It’s merely another example of Robert’s curious emotional naivety; he simply can’t see that before we can hope to resolve the difficulty we have to discuss it frankly together.

The trouble with this particular difficulty is that I’m not very good at facing Conor’s memory myself at the moment. I’m too afraid that if I start thinking of him my bereavement will overwhelm me, just as it did at the funeral in Ireland, and then I shall have a nervous collapse which Robert would find an awful bore. The only way I can cope with my life at present is to keep going steadily towards my goal—marriage with Robert—and not look back. If I lose my nerve, disaster will be sure to follow, and then chaos will descend again.

Perhaps I should be optimistic. After all, it’s a fact of life that all second marriages somehow have to adjust to the idea that previous partners existed, and in the majority at least an adjustment is made. The truth is that time will distance us both from Conor and so eventually he’s bound to seem less important.

Yes, I’m sure that after our marriage we’ll find that darling Conor will simply fade away. …

“Marriage!”
shouted my darling Declan, looking at me as if I were the original serpent in the Garden of Eden.

“And Pa not yet cold in his grave!” shrilled my darling Rory, who adores being dramatic and emotional.

“Oh darlings,
please
don’t be upset—”

We were at Oxmoon a week later. After a joyous reunion I had lured them up to my bedroom to give them two new watches (bought on credit from divine Harrods), and as soon as I was sure both boys were delighted I embarked on my confession. I had spent hours rehearsing my speech, and by that time I was so nervous that I could delay no longer. I was afraid sheer terror would drive me into forgetting my lines.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” interrupted Declan, “but I can’t allow this.”

Declan was taller than I was and already an expert in the art of intimidation; he had walked up to me and was glaring into my eyes. Amidst all my fright I was aware of thinking what an attractive young man he would be when he grew up. He had a great look of Conor, particularly around the eyes and mouth.

“Darling, just listen!” I pleaded weakly, backing away until I could subside onto the edge of the bed. “I’m doing this for all of us!”

“Then you’d best go on strike and do no more!”

“She must be mad, Declan—look at her, destroyed with grief, just like Aunt Dervla said—”

“That’s enough!” I screamed. “Be quiet, both of you!”

“Now Ma, there’s no need to be hysterical—”

“None at all,” said Rory, sitting down close to me on the bed and grabbing my hand for comfort.

I put my arm around him and planted a kiss on his red hair. I felt racked by guilt, driven by the need to lavish affection on them to compensate for my behavior and beside myself with terror for the future. In short I was in my usual mess.

“Look, Ma,” said Declan briskly, “I know you need looking after, Pa always said you did, but
you don’t have to get married to be looked after.
I’ll do it. I’ll make it my permanent occupation.”

“Oh darling, that’s heavenly of you, but—”

“Now that I’m fourteen, I don’t need to go to school anymore, I know all there is to know and anyway as I can use a gun and play poker I’m sure I’ll have no difficulty taking Pa’s place.”

“But Declan—”

“No, don’t worry about anything, Ma; I’ll organize your life now. We’ll have a swell apartment in Dublin, and you can turn over your income check to me every month and I’ll give you the money for housekeeping just as Pa did, and I’ll be so soft-hearted I’ll even let you smoke in the parlor. And when I eventually get married, you can come and live with us, I’ll take special care to find a girl you can get along with—”

“Oh Declan—darling—”

“But Ma, you can’t get married, not again, not ever, it would be so disrespectful to Pa, so disloyal—in fact how could you even think of such infidelity to the man you always swore was the Love of Your Life? No, no, you’ve got to dedicate yourself to chastity and wear black forever—and maybe now at last you can turn to the Church, just as every decent widow should, you know it was the tragedy of Pa’s life that you stayed a Protestant—”

“Darling, please,” I said, “not religion. Not now. My nerves can’t stand it.”

“But Ma—”

“No, my love, you’ve been simply adorable and I’m deeply moved but now I’m afraid you must listen to me. Listen, pet, I did love Pa. You know I did. And he was without doubt the Grand Passion of My Life, just as I’ve always told you he was. But there are different kinds of love, and the man I love now I love in quite a different way. Robert’s my friend. He’s like a brother to me. I’m terribly lucky that he wants to look after me because he’s a fine man, brilliantly clever and successful, and he wants to do his very best for all of us, not just for me but for you too.”

“I’m not living in England,” said Declan, “and I’m not living with an Englishman. It would be contrary to my principles as an Irish patriot and an insult to Pa’s memory.”

“Robert’s a Welshman, Declan—and before you make any more of those dreadful anti-British remarks please remember that before I went to live at Oxmoon I was born in Warwickshire and that makes me English. I know darling Pa always preferred to gloss over that, but—”

“All right, if you insist on living here I guess I’ll have to live here too to look after you, but I’m not receiving an English education. Rory, you wouldn’t go to an English school, would you?”

“I wouldn’t mind so long as I saw Ma every day,” said Rory, “although of course I couldn’t approve.”

“Darling Rory!” I hugged him lavishly again. “Declan, there are some very, very good Catholic schools in England, places where even Pa would have been proud to be educated. Robert’s been making inquiries at Downside which is a very famous Catholic public school—a private school, as we would say in America—”

“I’m not letting Robert organize my life,” said Declan, “and hell, Ma, I’m not letting him organize yours either. Maybe Robert hasn’t realized I could keep you in the lap of luxury by playing poker and working for Irish republicanism—in fact maybe he’s just offered to marry you out of kindness because he thinks there’s no better fate awaiting you, but don’t worry, I’ll talk to Robert, I’ll set him straight, you just leave it all to me.”

Are there any two people on earth doomed to clash as disastrously as Robert and Declan? I can see the clash coming—I’ve seen it coming from the beginning, although I was too frightened to dwell upon it—and now I’m well-nigh gibbering with terror.

I have four days to devise some master plot that will solve the insoluble, four days before Robert arrives here for the weekend and Declan tries to sabotage our future. Can I confide in Bobby who’s being a tower of strength, winning the boys’ liking and respect and giving them exactly the kind of cheerful, friendly, sympathetic attention that they need? No, I really can’t start hatching schemes with Bobby. Robert might think we were conspiring against him and that would lead to some new frightfulness. And the awful thing is I don’t need to confide in either Bobby or Margaret because it must be as plain to them as it is to me that Robert’s not going to be able to cope with Declan.

No, that’s not true. Robert will cope with Declan. Robert can cope with anyone. But I won’t be able to cope with the way he copes with Declan, and Declan won’t be able to cope with it either.

Horrors.

There’s only one thing to do: warn Robert that this is a situation which will require all his professional skill. That will appeal to his vanity in addition to putting him on his guard. And while I’m about it I may as well stop talking of “Darling Declan” and start talking about “Difficult Declan” instead.

Oh God, how on earth are we all going to survive …

… and so, darling,
I wrote, scribbling away feverishly as I sat at the desk in the morning room,
although the last thing I want to do is mention Conor I really think that you’ll understand Declan better if I tell you just a little more than you already know about the background of my marriage. The truth is Conor wasn’t exactly a restaurant owner. He was a professional gambler who had a financial stake in what he used to call a “cabaret,” meaning a drinking place where they have low entertainment downstairs and even lower entertainment upstairs—a sort of brothel-pub. Of course he kept his family well apart from all this, in fact I never even saw the cabaret (well, actually there were several of them) and neither did the boys, but they’ve grown up thinking it’s the height of manhood to play poker, so you see they’re not exactly very English in that respect …

I paused. I was wondering if I could avoid the subject of Irish patriotism, but I knew that if I didn’t mention the Brotherhood, Declan most certainly would.

I gulped some air and bent over my pen again.

…
and I’m afraid they’re not very English either, darling, when it comes to discussing Ireland, but that doesn’t matter, does it, because I know you’ve always held the most advanced Liberal views on the subject of Home Rule. All the same, I think you ought to know that Conor was involved with some rather rabid patriots, and I’m afraid boys of Declan’s age do think that sort of thing is very glamorous. I was never happy with the situation, but what could I do? I felt it wasn’t my place to criticize Conor when he entertained these people
—
although I did feel so nervous when they started talking about the beastly English, but Conor just told them I was Welsh and they used to say, “Ah yes, another race crushed beneath the Saxon heel!” and quite honestly, darling, it somehow seemed so very much safer just to say, “Oh yes, those beastly Saxons,
such
a bore.” However, never mind, I’m sure the boys will soon realize that being rabidly anti-British simply isn’t the done thing at all …

I paused for another deep breath. Now I had to turn to the subject of the boys’ education but I had trouble phrasing my next sentence. Those boys had to go to boarding school. I accepted that not only because British upper-class boys always went to boarding school but because I knew Robert wouldn’t settle for anything less. However I wasn’t being entirely feeble here, meekly letting Robert dispose of my children for two-thirds of the year. Although I adored my boys, I was still sensible enough to see that they needed both the discipline and, after the great upheaval, the stability of a good school that could provide them with a familiar Catholic atmosphere. I also honestly believed that the massed company of British boys of their own age would help them make the difficult adjustment to another culture and another way of life. But although Robert was in favor of packing them off to Downside as soon as the term began in September, I was now convinced that they needed more time before they were sent away to school. Conor’s death had been a dreadful shock to them.

…
and talking of doing the done thing, darling, that reminds me of our decision to send the boys to Downside in September. Bearing in mind how very un-English they are, don’t you think it might be better if we postponed boarding school till the new year? I’m not saying they should be with me in London
—
I do accept that this solution of Oxmoon is ideal, but if Bobby and Margaret consent perhaps we could engage a tutor to spend the autumn here with the boys
…

I wondered what Robert would think of this suggestion. It seemed reasonable enough, but when I read through what I’d written I thought, He’s not going to like me making regular visits to Oxmoon for the next five months. He’s not going to like it at all.

“I don’t like the idea of you making repeated sorties to Oxmoon during the next few months,” said Robert four days later. “That may be pleasant for the boys, but I think you’re going to wind up exhausted. Why, look at you now—you’re worn out! No, I’m afraid it won’t do. You’re in a muddle as usual, and you must let me sort you out.”

My heart felt as if it had plummeted straight to my boots, but I was aware to my interest that I wasn’t angry with him. What Robert said was true. I was indeed worn out, and repeated visits to Oxmoon would indeed put me under severe emotional strain.