Seasons of the Heart (51 page)

When the Countess released the clasp of the sables, Magda watched fascinated as the skins fell softly to her side. Removing her long white kid gloves, the Countess did not take her eyes from this
petite poupée
of Rubin Hack’s. Not one detail went unnoticed. Before Rubin could make the introductions, the Countess said, “Well, dear boy, your description was more than adequate, if nothing else. She is as you described.”

“Darling, may I introduce Solange, Countess Boulard?”

“
Enchanté,
” Magda answered softly. She felt as though she were being weighed by the pound.

“And you are Magda,” the Countess responded. In their chat the day before, Rubin had said Magda’s name over and over. She was incredible, more than the countess had expected …Men in love were always blind; the eye of the beholder dazzled …Bravo, Rubin, she thought. With this one you were quite accurate. What an exciting challenge she would be! This little sparrow could be turned into a radiant white swan. She had all the possibilities …

Solange sat in the
bergère
, facing Magda. Rubin seated himself on the settee across from them.

“You are from Bucharest?” the Countess said.

Her eyes direct, her voice steady, Magda answered, “Yes.”

“A beautiful city, Bucharest.”

“My recollections of it are otherwise,” replied Magda. Rubin had said to be herself.

Solange moistened her lips …Ah, this one had spirit She liked that. “Well, my dear Magda, you’d be surprised how a city can change in a very short time. Even Paris can be ugly. It all depends on the window you see it from …”

Rubin rang for tea. “Solange, would you care for sherry?”

“That would be nice,
merci
.”

“And you, Magda, dear?”

“Absinthe.”

Rubin frowned. Magda was deliberately trying to be shocking. “I’m sorry, we have no absinthe,” he said.

“Then I will have coffee. Sherry is much too mild.”

A smile touched Solange’s mouth. She understood every nuance in Magda’s words, her voice. Magda did not like being patronized. Her insecurity was apparent. Solange, after all, was the enemy, and not a little bit threatening. Solange looked at Rubin and her eyes flashed a message: Patience, dear friend. All things worth achieving come with time and hard work. Sipping her sherry, the Countess said to Magda, “Rubin tells me you have an extraordinary voice.”

“He’s right,” she answered, glaring at the Countess.

Solange was inwardly amused, and disregarded the rebuff. “He is about most things,” she answered.

Magda took the words as an affront. She didn’t like the Countess, and she would tell Rubin so later. She would not be treated like a stupid peasant. “Did he also tell you that I sang the lead at the opera in Bucharest? My last role was Carmen.”

My God, Rubin thought, what is she doing? Why is she acting so belligerent …Solange couldn’t be more kind.

Mignon wheeled in the tea cart, steering it to Magda, as her mouth fell open in shock. Was this the little strumpet who had gone off with Rubin earlier today? Impossible! Mignon left the room totally bewildered. Such a transformation!

But transformations had become a way of life for Magda during the last few days. She looked at her actions, her manners, as she’d never done before. No need to. Before she’d met Rubin, she’d been content with herself, satisfied with the café society that adored her. She had survived, after all, and reached the heights of her own tiny world. But now, suddenly, she could be a different Magda, detached from herself, scrutinizing her every emotion. What she felt toward the Countess at this moment was close to hatred … the Countess made her feel so inadequate, so ignorant. In fact, sitting here, even Rubin made her feel that way. The only time she felt herself his equal, in fact, his superior, was when they made love. But just wait, she thought. I’ll give you a run for your money, Rubin Hack …And you, Countess. I’ll show you how fast Magda Charascu of Bucharest can learn … I’m ready, teach me. Lesson one.

“Will you have tea or coffee, Countess?”

“Coffee, my dear.” Chuckling inwardly, Solange thought, this little one learns quickly.

“Cream?”

“Please, and two lumps of sugar.”

Magda handed the Countess her cup with a flourish. “Rubin,” she said, “tea?”

“Yes, please.” He answered with more annoyance than he intended.

But Magda pretended not to notice. Nothing, however, went unnoticed by the Countess. Magda was like a chameleon, cleverly changing her colors to camouflage her feelings, and the Countess was enjoying the performance.

There followed some light banter, mostly between Solange and Rubin. They discussed Emile, the years past, the fun and excitement they’d had. They exchanged little jokes between themselves. The conversation was scarcely heard by Magda, who had a headache. A real one.

Getting up, she asked to be excused, going directly to the bedroom. Once inside, she closed the door behind her and sat on the bed. How would she ever fit into
this
world? It was simply much too much. She ran into the bathroom and threw up. Then she reached into the medicine cabinet, took down the bottle of headache tablets, unscrewed the cap and popped two aspirins into her mouth, washing them down with a little water. God, but her head was pounding.

“Rubin, you mustn’t be cross.” Solange was grateful for Magda’s absence. “She’s swimming in a big sea, and she must feel as though she’s drowning.”

“I know. There are times I think she’s happy, and just as suddenly it’s as though a … well, a sort of cloud comes over her.”

“Oh, dear boy, men are so foolish—”

“And women so wise?”

Solange smiled. “She’s magnificent, Rubin, and she will grow. We will become good friends, so put your mind at rest. She’s rebelling, not at you but at herself. Every woman needs the security of that one special man, and
you’ll
be leaving her stranded. I do believe she loves you, Rubin. But when she gets frightened, she gets angry, and has to lash out.”

“You’re right, but what can I do? You know about my obligations … I can’t just abandon my family and—”

“Then perhaps it would have been better if you had left her where she was. It might have been kinder.”

“I couldn’t. If I can’t marry her, at least I can take care of her needs …”

“Rubin, I’ve often wondered what would have become of my life if I’d had the courage to—oh, well, that’s long over … but if you love this girl as you seem to, why don’t you marry her?”

“Do you think I haven’t thought of that? …Maybe I’m a coward, too, but I can’t hurt my family, go back on my word to a lovely girl … and I hardly need tell you, Solange, no matter what, Magda would never be welcome or even accepted. Do I have the right to subject her to that? And I repeat, I am engaged to a most lovely young woman—”

“But you don’t love her …”

Rubin sat staring blankly for a moment. “Not in the way I love Magda … no one will be like that again for me, but Jocelyn is so decent—”

“
I’m
speaking about love.”

“I love Jocelyn, too, but in a different way.
Please
, Solange, don’t make it worse than it is—”

“You need to be honest with yourself, Rubin … did you ever truly
love
this other girl?”

“Yes, I think so … but Magda coming into my life has, to put it mildly, confused my feelings. I do still love Jocelyn but …”

“Rubin, I’ve no right to press you. No need to explain further. Whatever you do, you do and I am your friend … and I would suggest, with your permission, that I also try to be Magda’s. Which at the moment means getting her to trust me.”

Rubin nodded gratefully.

Solange left the room, crossed the hall and knocked on the bedroom door.

“Come in.”

Magda was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“May I sit down?” Solange asked in a soft voice.

“If you like,” Magda answered.

“Magda,” Solange began, “if two people are to become friends, they must be completely honest with each other. I know you do not like me. In fact, you resent me. Is that not so?”

“Yes.”

“I appreciate your frankness. Have you asked yourself why?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me. My feelings are not fragile.”

“You make me feel so … inferior.”

“You mustn’t feel that way, because you aren’t. You are actually superior in many ways. You are also extraordinarily lovely. I want to be your friend. If you will accept my hand in friendship, you will find that I can be a very good friend indeed. Just remember one thing: You need not fear me, and you need not fear yourself.” She took Magda’s hand. “Now I’ll go back to Rubin. Please believe what I have told you.”

Magda looked around the silent room. You’re a fool, Magda … a ridiculous, stupid fool. Here’s a man who loves you. No matter how hard you try to twist it … defy it … fight him … he loves you. Why else would he be doing all this? And the Countess … why did you behave the way you did? …You know the answer. She was born a lady and in spite of what Rubin says, being born a lady is not like inventing one … and that is what poor Rubin is trying to do …You’ve embarrassed him in front of his friend, you acted like the stupid dunce that you are … I hate you, Magda. Instead of trying to learn from the Countess, she told herself, you antagonize her. She’s trying to help you, not hurt you. Can’t you understand that? Allow yourself to learn from her. Admit you’re jealous … yes, jealous …You don’t have to love her, but you can at least try to
act
like a lady.

Bracing herself, Magda returned. Standing contritely before the Countess and Rubin, she said, “Please forgive me, Countess. I was very rude.”

Putting her finger to her lips, Solange pretended surprise. “Strange, I hadn’t noticed …” Arranging the sables around her slender shoulders, she got up. “Well, my dears, I have to be going.” She grasped Magda’s hand warmly. “We will be in touch. Thank you for your gracious hospitality. You’re a most beautiful young woman.” She smiled, cupping Magda’s face in her hand. “I can scarcely wait for Paris to meet my lovely niece from Bucharest. Now,
au revoir
…” She kissed Rubin lightly, and he walked with her to the door.

That one brief encounter with the Countess made a deep impression on Magda. She now wanted to emulate her in every way, to become the gracious lady Rubin had promised she could be. Instinctively, thereafter, Magda responded to every challenge. She began to handle Mignon with the kind of respect due a servant, and if Mignon resented having her position challenged, at least she knew her place. Painstakingly, Magda observed everything Mignon did. And after her duties were done and she had left, Magda rummaged through every cupboard, taking out pieces of china and turning them over to look at the hallmark. With the aid of a book, she soon knew the difference between Limoges, Sèvres and Dresden.

She discovered a ledger of menus, recorded over the years, with dates and the names of guests Emile had entertained. After certain names were checkmarks, indicating what Monsieur or Madam had not liked. Ah … so that was the way it was done! Very clever. It took a lot of skill and planning to be a hostess, and Magda was going to be perfect if it killed her. If she could become Rubin’s equal, at least in such matters, he would be proud to introduce her to his family. And with all her new accomplishments, how could they not accept her? …She saw herself becoming a great hostess in London society. Why not? Why shouldn’t she become capable of that? As the Countess’s niece from Bucharest, wouldn’t Rubin’s family be proud of her? She would almost be royalty, after all. What if Rubin was engaged? So what? Engagements were broken all the time. …With the help of the Countess, she’d learn all the amenities. It wouldn’t take a hundred years. Ladies were created, that was what Rubin had said. And Magda’s confidence was being fortified each day with his compliments. She was on her way to becoming a woman of breeding.

Rubin had planned it all, the itinerary of her education. The books, the ballet lessons, the fencing, the voice training, that was all it took. The Countess was so wise. Bucharest, indeed, was becoming less and less ugly.

The days and nights were enchanted. Rubin showed her a side of Paris she never knew existed. She visited the Louvre … Maxim’s … the theater … the opera … the antique shops … Fontainbleu and Versailles. They drove out into the countryside for lunch. A whole new world had opened up for her. She was seeing it through different windows, different doors and different eyes. …

Rubin, she knew, would never be able to leave her, not when their nights were filled with such love. He seemed obsessed with wanting her. There was something almost spiritual in the way he loved her. A woman could tell. There seemed to be an urgency in him to live a lifetime within a few weeks. …

But the sands in Rubin’s hourglass had run low. He was going home tomorrow, and the reality of that was suddenly more than he could face. He too had played the game of forgetfulness these last weeks. He too had lived in a world of fantasy.

That night Rubin had slept badly. Getting out of bed at dawn, he put on his bathrobe and went to the kitchen. Preparing his coffee, he looked out the window at the soft spring rain, as though it could ease his journey to London. He took his coffee into the dining room and seated himself at the window.

He could still hear Magda’s voice, whispering I love you so …Oh, Rubin, I love only you … only you … you. But not once had she said I cannot live without you. Though he knew that was what she wanted to say; she wouldn’t try to trap him. Solange’s words came back hauntingly to him … she’s swimming in a big sea. …

What was he leaving her with? Only material things. What had he really done for her? Taken her out of one hell into, perhaps, another. Yet when he’d first wanted to secure her future, it had all seemed so right, so simple, then to help her. But he knew she was reaching out for him without her having to say so. After all, he had helped create a new Magda … But Magda would marry … although he couldn’t face the thought of her belonging to someone else. And quickly he told himself there was such a thing as honor. Remember, Rubin, he said to himself, you’re an Englishman, brought up in a certain tradition. And above all remember that you’re a Jew, taught to honor your father and mother. It’s a sacred commandment you can’t forsake. …And Jocelyn, what about her? You can’t find happiness built on the unhappiness of someone else whose suffering you’re responsible for. …