The Wheel of Fortune (25 page)

That letter touched me but made me feel very nervous. Rory’s letter simply touched me. The little love wrote:
Dear Ma, I miss you, I can’t sleep at night for crying for Pa and wishing you were here, please come and get us, to be sure if you don’t we’ll die of grief altogether completely, and you’ll be left with nothing to do but sob on our grave. Love,
RORY.

My darling boys! I spent the whole morning feeling so sentimental that I forgot to dwell upon all the problems they represented, but long before Robert arrived that evening with his customary bottle of champagne I was asking myself in absolute panic how I could tell my darlings that I was already planning to remarry.

“Darling,” I said to Robert after we had made love, “I’m rather anxious about Declan and Rory. Please could we talk about them for a moment?”

We were lying languidly in bed, and far away at the other end of the flat the half-witted maid who always retired early was safe in her cupboard. It was half-past ten. We had dined out as usual and as usual we had not lingered at the restaurant because we had been so anxious to spend as much time as possible alone together. Robert never stayed the whole night, not merely because he had no wish to enthrall the morning porter downstairs but because he worked hard at hours when less successful men were asleep. Sometimes I wondered if he worked a little too hard, but I put this down to his bachelor life. Bachelors do tend to keep irregular hours, but I was sure his habits would be quite different once he was married.

“You see, darling, it’s like this …” I took a deep breath, delivered what I had planned as a calm unemotional statement of the problem and finally, when I had sunk into incoherence, thrust the boys’ letters mutely into his hands.

“Hmm,” said Robert, pale cool eyes seeming to become paler and cooler as he skimmed through the pages. “Very un-English.” He handed the letters back to me.

“Well, darling,” I said nervously, “they’re
not
English, you know. They’re two American boys who have been brought up to think of themselves as Irish to the core.”

“I agree that’s unfortunate but never mind, it needn’t necessarily be fatal.” He smiled at me. “I assume you’re telling me you want to pay a visit to Ireland.”

“I—”

“I’m glad the subject’s come up,” said Robert, and at once I knew I was being manipulated around an uncomfortable truth as if I were some peculiarly awkward witness, “because although I guessed the situation had become as obvious to you as it’s become to me I was naturally reluctant to broach the matter myself. I thought it better if the suggestion came from you.”

“What suggestion?”

“The suggestion you’ve just made—that you should visit them in Ireland.”

“I didn’t make that suggestion, Robert.”

“Yes, you did—you said you wanted to see them again as soon as possible, and it must be as obvious to you as it is to me that it would be better if they didn’t come to London until after we’re married.”

“But Robert—”

“To be honest I never thought much of the idea in the first place. You’ve got quite enough to do, settling down here, looking for a house and preparing for the wedding, and if those boys come you’ll soon be utterly worn out. Besides, how are we ever going to have any premarital privacy when you’re perpetually chaperoned by two boys on the threshold of adolescence?”

This indeed was the question which I had always been unable to answer.

“But what shall I do?” I said in despair. “I must see them soon, I simply must—look at Rory’s letter! The poor little love’s crying every night because he’s missing me so much!”

“Yes, it’s disgraceful that a boy of his age shouldn’t be able to control his emotions better. A boy crying for his mother at the age of twelve! I’ve never heard such nonsense, and anyway I don’t believe a word of it. He’s just saying that to tug at your heartstrings.”

This also had occurred to me. Darling Rory did so enjoy exaggeration.

“Go to Ireland for a fortnight,” said Robert, “and see them. I absolutely understand that a visit is necessary and of course I shan’t stand in your way.”

“But Robert, I can’t leave them in Ireland for the next five months!”

“Why not? If you explain to them carefully that this is a temporary situation which has arisen because you’re in the process of setting up a new home for them, I’m sure they’ll accept it. Of course they’ll miss you, but I’d be prepared to wager a large sum of money that their father’s relatives are at this moment lavishing affection on them and making sure they’re having a splendid time.”

I was in despair not because he was wrong but because he was right. What he said was logical, sensible and true. The only trouble was that this superbly rational approach to the problem took no account of my emotional muddle.

“Darling …” I took another deep breath, made a new great effort. “There are two difficulties. One is that I hate the thought of going to Ireland for regular visits because I feel I can’t face Conor’s family. They’ll … well, they’ll remind me of Conor and I can’t cope with Conor’s memory at the moment—”

Robert began to shift restlessly against the pillows.

“—and the second difficulty,” I said frantically, “is that I love my boys so much and I want to make sure they know it. They’ve just lost their father, and if I tell them I don’t want them in England at present they’re going to be terribly hurt and upset.”

“It sounds to me as if you spoil those children abominably. Good God, boys of their age shouldn’t expect to have their mother in constant attendance and drooling over them daily! Very well, have them here for the summer if you must, but I think it’s a very big mistake and I’m quite sure you’ll soon be regretting it. If you want my opinion—”

“No, I don’t!” I cried. “You don’t understand anything—
anything
!” And I burst into tears.

Robert sighed. I could almost feel him praying for patience. “There, there!” he said kindly, taking me in his arms. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“It feels like it.” I felt horribly upset, not only because he seemed to be incapable of understanding my point of view but because I was apparently incapable of explaining it to him. And suddenly I thought: Conor would have understood. But I pushed that truth from my mind.

“This is simply a problem which requires a solution,” Robert was saying with that superb confidence which was so very hard to resist, “and of course we’re going to find the solution and overcome the difficulty.”

“Are we?”

“What an extraordinary question! Why the doubt? Solving awkward problems simply requires the right attitude of mind. Now listen to me, Ginette. Please don’t think I’m hostile to those boys. They’re your children and I’m more than prepared to treat them as if they were my own. But you must realize that I can see this situation more clearly than you can at present because as usual you’re wandering around in one of your emotional fogs. Now, do you or do you not want order in your life?”

“I do.”

“And do you or do you not want someone to look after you and stop you getting into a mess?”

“I do.”

“Then kindly oblige me by taking my advice and desisting from feminine tantrums.”

“I’m sorry but I’m in such a state that I’ve forgotten what your advice was.”

“Leave the boys in Ireland until we’re married and content yourself with regular visits to see them. You’ll just have to grit your teeth about facing your husband’s family. Be honest—in the long run it’ll be easier to grit your teeth than to enter into a situation which is likely to reduce you to a state of exhaustion.”

“True.” I was still in despair but by that time I was so hypnotized by the power of his personality that I no longer had the energy to resist. “I’m sorry, darling; I know I’m being hopelessly emotional as usual.”

“Never mind, after thirty-one years I’m used to your vagaries. Now for God’s sake let’s put all that emotional energy to better use,” said Robert sensibly, and seconds later all was well but for a moment I couldn’t help comparing this down-to-earth invitation of his with Conor’s imaginative and outrageous seductions in similar circumstances.

“Ginette … what are you thinking about?”

Of course I couldn’t tell him. I just said, “I was wondering how on earth I’m going to break the news to Declan and Rory that I’m planning to remarry.”

“My God, don’t let’s start arguing about those boys again! Give the subject a rest, there’s a good girl—the whole problem’s bound to seem less harrowing in the morning …”

Robert was wrong. It’s more harrowing than ever. I’m in a terrible state because although I know that rationally Robert’s right, I know too that I can’t leave my darling boys in Ireland. If they’re so far away from me they’ll be unhappy, and if they’re unhappy I’ll be a failure as a mother, and if I’m a failure as a mother I’ll be unable to live with my guilt. I know this is emotional stupidity, I know it is, but I can’t help it. It’s what being a parent is all about, but Robert’s never been a parent and so he doesn’t understand.

I’m in such a state that I can’t look at houses today. I go to Harrods instead and buy three enormous picture hats, all costing twenty and a half guineas, all lavishly decorated with flowers and feathers and all looking exactly what they are—the last word in foolish extravagance. But I always feel better when I buy things. This sinful shopping expedition has helped me get through the morning, but now it’s afternoon and I still can’t relax so I think I’ll go out again and buy some cream cakes for tea—terribly naughty, and I can almost hear my corset groan in anticipation, but I simply can’t rest until I’ve sunk my teeth into a divine mille-feuilles … or perhaps an éclair … or—oh God—an utterly sumptuous meringue …

“There’s a gentleman waiting to see you, ma’am,” said Edna the half-witted maid when I returned later with the wickedest assortment of cream cakes I could find. It was my cook-housekeeper’s afternoon off and Edna, in sole charge, had scurried out to meet me as soon as I had opened the door.

At first I wasn’t sure that I had understood her. Her cleft palate made even the simplest words enigmatic.

“Is it Mr. Godwin?” I was surprised because I hardly expected to see Robert before half-past six.

“Yes, ma’am, but—” Incomprehensible syllables followed.

“Very well, make tea, would you, Edna, and put these cakes on a plate.”

I walked into the drawing room and there I found not Robert but Bobby, looking very formal and very embarrassed, and as soon as I saw him I knew that familiar coldness which always assailed me on the rare occasions when he and I found ourselves alone together.

“Bobby, what a lovely surprise!” I said.

“Good afternoon, Ginevra,” he said, remaining rooted to his spot on the far side of the room. “I spoke to Robert on the telephone this morning and he suggested that I meet him here, but I’m afraid I’m a little early. Perhaps I’ll go for a walk. I don’t want to distract you when you must have so many things to do.”

Of course I wanted to get him out of the flat and of course I knew I couldn’t. He was going to be my father-in-law and we were both morally bound to pretend the past had never happened.

“Don’t be so silly, Bobby,” I said. “Sit down and have some tea. Excuse me, I’ll just make sure the maid brings two cups—she’s rather a half-wit.”

I escaped. When I was sufficiently composed I reminded Edna about the cup, steeled myself against the inevitable repulsion and returned to the drawing room.

“I’m only up here for a couple of days,” he said as I came in. “I wasn’t even going to bother Robert, but Margaret said it would be wrong not to telephone so I had a word with him and he was uncommonly civil, said his case had been postponed and that he’d meet me here at teatime—of course, I won’t stay long—”

I couldn’t bear his horrible humility. “How’s everyone at Oxmoon?” I interrupted, sitting down some distance away from him and praying Robert wouldn’t be delayed.

“Oh, everyone’s very well, thank you, in capital form. But how are you, Ginevra? You look a little tired. I hope nothing’s wrong.”

And suddenly I saw not the sad and pathetic stranger who angered me but my cousin Bobby, so kind, so gentle, so understanding.

“Oh Bobby!” I exclaimed in despair, and the next moment I was pouring out my troubles to him. I talked and talked and Edna brought the tea and Bobby said, “By Jove, look at those meringues!” and I answered laughing through my tears, “Aren’t they wonderful?” and at last I began to feel better.

“But my dear,” said Bobby when I gave him the chance to respond to my dilemma, “the answer’s very simple: I’ll have the boys at Oxmoon and then you can visit them as often as you like. It’s such an easy journey to Swansea nowadays, far easier than that long exhausting journey to Dublin.”

I was so grateful I could hardly speak. “Oh, but it never occurred to me to think of Oxmoon—all the awkwardness—”

“Never mind about that. Ginevra, at last I have the opportunity to help you and Robert. Don’t deprive me of it—and don’t worry about those boys either. I’ll make sure they’re as happy as larks.”

I knew he would. Bobby had brought up four sons and was still bringing up a fifth. He understood boys and had a gift for managing children.

“Bobby, I can’t tell you how grateful I am—”

“Would you like me to go to Ireland to fetch them for you? I’d enjoy that.”

I stopped weeping with relief by embarking on an éclair. “No,” I said. “I wish you could but I really must go myself. I have to tell them I’m going to remarry.”

“Do that at Oxmoon. The last place you want to disclose your future plans is in the bosom of your husband’s family.”

Here was advice far removed indeed from Robert’s rational but useless conclusions. Here was sound, sane, utterly realistic common sense.

“My God, that’s true!” I said. “But … oh Bobby, how on earth do I break the news to those boys?”

“Well, tell them the truth, my dear, why not? After all Declan’s fourteen. Tell them that no matter how much you loved their father you can’t be alone in the world without a strong man to look after you, and Robert’s the strongest man you could ever hope to find, I think you’ll find Declan at least is at an age when he can understand your difficulty. You needn’t stress the romance, of course. Just say you’ve no choice but to be practical about the future—for their good as well as yours.”