Sins of the Fathers (29 page)

‘Fantastic, yes. But we were different people then.’

‘I guess we were. But in some ways you’re even more attractive now than when you were just a cute little kid with an angel
face and fifty million dollars! It’s sweet you’re still so fond of Alicia. Do you screw a lot of other women in your spare
time?’

‘Mind your own fucking business.’ This was evidently destined to be the day when I was hounded into using obscenities in front
of the opposite sex.

‘I remember when you were just a nice well-brought-up little boy who never used that kind of language in front of a lady!’

I somehow refrained from making the obvious comment. If we were ever to survive the visit to the hospital without coming to
blows I had to ignore all her attempts to needle me with her idiotic chatter.

It was nearly ten o’clock by that time but I had no trouble gaining
admittance to the hospital which in its efforts to accommodate its rich patients was run on the lines of a de luxe hotel.
The head-nurse on the fourth floor confirmed that Vicky was not to be disturbed, but a junior nurse took us to the nursery
where Eric Keller was sleeping in the company of three other infants.

‘Oh!’ said Vivienne thrilled as the baby was brought out of the nursery for our inspection. ‘Isn’t he
lovely
! Can I hold him?’

She held him. The nurse smiled indulgently. Sam’s son slept on serenely, eyes closed, little pale oval face unmoving.

‘Isn’t it exciting?’ whispered Vivienne. ‘Just think, Cornelius – our grandson! Ours! Isn’t it wonderful?’

All I could think was that I was with an oversexed bitch whom I detested and that she was trying to tell me Sam Keller’s son
was some kind of a miracle. The depth of my misery startled me. Groping for a more conventional response I stared down at
the baby in an effort to share the emotion which was transforming Vivienne’s hideously artificial face, but I felt nothing.
I was back on the crosstown bus again, surrounded by people yet remaining in isolation.

‘Yeah, he’s great,’ I said. I wondered vaguely if I was jealous of Sam but I didn’t see how I could be. The baby had to have
a father and what better father could I have wished for him than my best friend?

I wondered if Sam was still my best friend. I was almost one hundred per cent sure he was but twenty-four years of surviving
in a world where the most unexpected people became insane enough to believe they could doublecross me with impunity had given
me somewhat cynical views on friendship. However, my fears for Sam’s sanity had receded considerably since he had married
Vicky the previous June. I had no doubt now that he genuinely loved her; certainly he seemed so wrapped up in marital bliss
that I thought it unlikely he would upset Vicky by stabbing me in the back for snitching Teresa – assuming, of course, that
he still held it against me for snitching his mistress when she herself had regarded the affair as dead as a doornail.

I shuddered as I remembered the circumstances surrounding my acquisition of Teresa. How could I have known she’d misled me
about Sam’s feelings for her? And how could I possibly have guessed that Sam, who had always chased blonde glamour-girls with
no talent, no brains and no hope of luring him to the altar, should have fallen so crazily in love with Teresa that he had
even talked of marrying her? I had sailed blithely into the biggest possible mess and had been damned lucky to scrabble my
way to safety without getting my throat cut, but occasionally I still fingered my neck warily and had nightmares about blades
flashing in the dark. Perhaps I should have played safe and
given up Teresa, but she was such an ideal mistress for me and when Sam, out of pride, had insisted that I kept her, it had
almost seemed less awkward to keep her than to give her up. Certainly Sam’s later devotion to Vicky had helped convince me
that he no longer cared whether or not I had once annexed his girl.

Or did he still care? I didn’t like him choosing those German names. It was like a gesture of defiance, a hostile act reminding
me that he had the power to name the baby and I had no power at all. I didn’t like any situation where my power quotient was
nil, and I very much disliked Sam reminding me how powerless I was on this particular occasion.

Erich Dieter. My God.

‘Oh, I feel so happy!’ said Vivienne with a little sob as the baby was borne back to the nursery. ‘Darling, let’s go somewhere
and have a little sip of champagne!’

‘Forget it.’ A second after I had spoken I realized that my behaviour with Vivienne that evening was the clearest possible
give-away of my misery. If I wanted to prevent anyone guessing how disappointed I was that Eric’s father obviously had no
intention of sharing him with me – if I wanted to ensure no one realized my pitiable fancies of the last few months had come
so abruptly to an end – I had to make an effort and make it fast. The one nightmare of my life was that everyone would secretly
think me pathetic because I had no sons of my own.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said rapidly. ‘Yes, of course I’ll buy you some champagne, but will you excuse me, please, if I don’t drink
with you? The fact is I’ve been feeling lousy all day – it’s the new medication I’ve been given for my asthma. Where would
you like to go to celebrate?’

‘The Plaza. You don’t have a suite there by any chance, do you?’

‘No. Do you want one?’

‘Oh darling, that
would
be heaven! I’m sorry I said all those horrid things to you earlier – you’re now reminding me of how adorable you used to
be when you were twenty-two—’

‘Have you got enough money to tip the bell-hop?’

‘Darling, I thought you were never going to ask! Could you possibly …’

In the Cadillac I phoned the Plaza to ensure they had a suite available, and wrote her a cheque for a thousand dollars.

‘Well, Vivienne,’ I said as the car drew up in front of the hotel, ‘order up whatever you like from room service and have
a good time. You’ll excuse me if I go home now, but—’

‘Cornelius.’

Her hand gripped my arm, and taken by surprise I swivelled to stare at her. In the bright light which streamed from the hotel
lobby I saw her eyes were very blue and for the first time that evening I was able to connect her with the woman I had married
long ago.

‘I must talk to you,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Please come in with me.’

After a pause I said: ‘Okay’ in a voice without expression and followed her out of the car. We had already picked up Vivienne’s
bags from the small drab hotel near Grand Central, and as the bell-hop carried them into the lobby of the Plaza we walked
together to the reception desk. Vivienne checked in. We still did not speak to each other and even the ride upstairs in the
elevator passed in silence. In the suite I absent-mindedly tipped the bellhop five dollars and moved to the phone to order
the champagne.

‘Will Californian do?’ I said, glancing at the room-service wine list.

‘No, Cornelius, it won’t. We used to have this conversation in the old days when we debated what wine to serve at dinner-parties
– I’m surprised you don’t remember. I guess Alicia just gives in to this fad of yours about not consuming anything made outside
of America. I’ll have some Heidsieck, please, and make it vintage.’

‘Caviar?’

‘Yes, and make it Russian.’

I gave the order, hung up and turned to face her. She was watching me. Her face was pale but calm.

‘Yes?’ I said politely.

‘Cornelius,’ she said, ‘we’ve got to come to terms with one another. I’ve decided to move to New York to be near Vicky and
the baby – oh, I can’t afford Manhattan, of course, but that’s only one of the five boroughs, isn’t it? I’m going to get a
little place in Queens. I used to think the world would end if I was reduced to living in Queens, but now I can see the world
would end if I stayed away.’

There was a pause before I said carefully: ‘I can understand that Fort Lauderdale isn’t what you’ve been used to in the past.
Perhaps if I bought you a house in Palm Beach—’

‘Cornelius, it’s just no good trying to bribe me to remain in Florida. I’ve made up my mind to return to New York, and if
I’m going to be living in the same city as you I think we owe it to Vicky to make some attempt to be friends.’

‘I think we owe it to Vicky to keep a thousand miles apart! Be realistic, Vivienne! Of course it would be better if we were
devoted friends shedding rays of sunshine whenever we crossed Vicky’s path, but that’s
not going to happen, is it? You detest me and I detest you and whenever we meet we fight. That’s the reality of the situation,
and I only deal in realities!’

‘Okay,’ she said, ‘you only deal in realities. Then deal with this one: why did Vicky marry Sam? Wasn’t she running away not
just from me but from you too – wasn’t she looking for some wise all-powerful parent who could take care of her where we’d
failed? Cornelius, so long as Vicky’s a little girl running away from us she’ll never grow up, but if we could change – be
nominal friends instead of undisguised enemies—’

‘Spare me the amateur psychology! You were the parent who failed Vicky, not me! You were an unfit mother – why, Vicky begged
the judge to let her come and live with me!’

‘You bribed the judge!’

‘I goddamned well did not! Jesus, Vivienne, look at us, we’re fighting again! Now listen to me. If you want to come and live
in Queens there’s nothing I can do to stop you, but don’t be surprised if Sam gives you a cool reception and don’t be surprised
if I do my best to see as little of you as possible. The truth of the whole matter is – as we both know – that you’re estranged
from your daughter and you have only yourself to blame. “We reap what we sow,” as my mother used to say back in Velletria—’

‘And when are you going to reap what
you
sowed? You only wanted to take Vicky away from me because I’d outwitted you by marrying you for your money and depriving
me of Vicky was your idea of revenge!’

‘That’s bullshit. My one concern was for my daughter’s welfare.’

‘If you’d really been concerned for Vicky’s welfare you wouldn’t have wrecked the happy home I’d made for her!’

‘Yes – the happy home where you slept with one man after another and wound up with a Las Vegas gangster – some example for
a little girl!’

‘But I
married
Danny Diaconi! Oh, get out, damn you, get out and leave me alone! There’s just no way we can talk to each other, no way at
all!’

I got out with relief. In the corridor I passed a waiter carrying a tray of champagne and caviar but I never looked back.
Making a great effort to shut out the sordid thought of my ex-wife camping on my doorstep and inevitably disrupting my tranquil
family life, I rode the elevator down to the lobby and trudged wearily outside to my Cadillac.

It was time once more to go home to Alicia.

[5]

‘Has my wife gone to bed, Carraway?’ I asked the butler when I arrived home.

‘No, sir, she’s in the Gold Room.’

‘Bring me a scotch and soda there, please.’ I spoke in the polite neutral voice I reserved only for Carraway. I did not like
English servants with their talent for making their American masters feel inferior, but this one happened to be a masterpiece
of his species and I always respect the best. Carraway in turn respected my respect. Prior experience of employment in my
country had taught him about the horrors awaiting in households where the employers had only the crudest idea how to behave
towards their servants, and he knew when he was well off.

We had five reception rooms on the first floor in addition to the library, the dining-room and the ballroom but as a rule
we used only the Gold Room which was small and intimate. Vivienne had originally chosen the gold decor but later under Alicia’s
orders the golden drapes had been removed, the golden furniture had been reupholstered and the golden carpet had been dispatched
to the attics. The predominant colour in the room was now pale green.

When I opened the door Alicia and Sam jumped as violently as if I had caught them in an adulterous embrace.

‘Hi,’ I said, breaking the awkward silence. ‘I’ve just unloaded Vivienne at the Plaza and I feel I’ve earned a drink. Good
to see you, Sam. Sorry about all the trouble at the hospital. Did you see Vicky again after I left?’

‘No, I thought it better not.’ He sat down again uneasily, a big man in an expensive suit, his eyes wary behind his glasses.
‘I apologize too, Neil, if I was too abrupt.’

‘What the hell, you were right! She’s your wife, not mine! Let’s forget the whole mess, shall we?’

‘Sure, I’d be glad to.’

Carraway glided in with my scotch and soda. He looked as if he had been born with a silver salver in his hand.

‘Thank you, Carraway.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ The English never say ‘You’re welcome,’ only endless ‘Thank you’s.’ It keeps them in control of situations
which would otherwise degenerate into friendly fireside chats. The English are masters of the minor power-plays, those tricks
of speech which can be used to dominate any difficult scene. Sam and I were no novices at the game either. One of the ironies
of any rare confrontation between us was that we each knew exactly what the other was going to do.

‘Well!’ I said agreeably when Carraway had gone. ‘What were you two plotting when I caught you in the act?’

I could see Sam thinking: hostile question, taking the bull by the horns. Neutralize immediately.

He laughed and stretched out his long legs to give the impression he was relaxing. ‘You flung open the door so abruptly it
was small wonder we both jumped! It was nothing, Neil – we were just discussing the baby’s names again. To tell the truth
I’m having second thoughts about calling him after my cousin. Sure I was fond of Erich but Vicky never knew him and the name
means nothing to her. I think it would be more appropriate if we called the baby Paul Cornelius after you and Paul. It would
be more meaningful for Vicky as well as for myself.’

‘Well!’ I said, thinking: sickly-sweet reassurance. Destroy with light acerbic touch. Keep smiling. ‘That’s an interesting
suggestion! You want my honest opinion?’