Seasons of the Heart (52 page)

He covered his face with his hands.

They stood facing one another in these last moments before Rubin was to board the train. Everything had been said, there was nothing left. Rubin held her very close as the final boarding call was heard. Then he disengaged himself quickly and walked off. Magda watched the train disappear into the mist of steam as the engine moved on slowly. Within seconds it was gone. She was heartsick but she knew that Rubin would return. She was so certain, she was able to smile as she left the station.

T
HE HACKS, THE ENTIRE
family, were seated around the table in the oak-paneled dining room. Nothing had changed. Only more chairs had been added as the Hack sons married and the number of grandchildren grew. Conversation was the same. Dinner, too, was the same formal yet convivial affair it had always been. Rubin alone felt alien. None of the other Hacks carried his burden of deception.

This morning he had come face to face with an excited, jubilant Jocelyn. She ran into his arms when he got off the train at Victoria Station. She held his face in her hands, kissing him tenderly. There was no other way—he had to respond, if not with the same pleasure, at least with a show of emotion. It was almost more than he could stand. His mother and father had stood by smiling broadly.

“I’m afraid you’ve lost weight,” his mother had said. And his father had added, “Stop fussing so, Sara.” He could not remember the banal amenities which had followed if his life depended on it. He vaguely recalled feeling Jocelyn’s arm in his as the four of them walked out into the soft rain of London. In the silver-gray Rolls-Royce, they drove through the familiar streets … past Hyde Park, Marble Arch … but Rubin didn’t see them. Instead he thought, When I left Paris it was raining, too. Is that a sign, an omen? A warning of what life is going to be like from now on?

As he lifted his napkin from his lap, he felt Jocelyn’s hand on his. He was chilled with guilt at her touch. How could he do this to someone as tender and decent as Jocelyn … and how could he not? … should he have broken his word to her? …He had hardly been attentive to her all evening, but if Jocelyn noticed his lack of interest, she didn’t make it apparent. Rubin had always been reserved.

For a moment Jocelyn felt somewhat embarrassed. Perhaps she had been too demonstrative when she saw Rubin get off the train. But she hadn’t seen
him
for a month, and there had been only one brief note and a letter whose meaning she could only try to understand. But she refused to dwell on anything so negative. He was home, after all.

After dinner the men went off to the library to enjoy their cigars and brandy while the ladies retired to the solarium, where they talked about the new fashions: Queen Mary’s turbans were becoming the rage of London …The upcoming charity ball had everyone selecting costumes. Sylvia Rothchild Hack was the chairman; the things she had planned were simply captivating. …She was too clever for words. Now what about Jocelyn? …Well, all the china had been selected, the silver, the crystal, the linen …The house was almost ready …And what about the wedding? Oh dear, so many details …She and Mother had a mild tiff about the style of her bridal cornet …Mother thought it should have been less modern, more in the Victorian tradition, but she finally relented and let Jocelyn have her way. …

In the library, Rubin looked at his watch. Dinner tonight had been in his honor, but now he could leave, having spent enough time with his father and brothers. He was very bored. He couldn’t have cared less about the Prime Minister’s position on colonial rule, or if the Thames overflowed. He wanted to be alone with his memories of Magda. The thought of sleeping in that oversized bed upstairs was too terrible to contemplate. His body ached for her.

“If you’ll excuse me, Father,” he said, “I’m very tired.”

“Of course, dear boy. It’s understandable after crossing the channel. Terribly choppy water.”

Rubin said goodnight to his brothers and crossed the vast hall to do the same with Jocelyn and the others.

All evening Jocelyn had waited for Rubin to come to her so they could be alone and walk in the secluded garden, perhaps, since it had stopped raining, sit on the stone bench, discuss his trip … then kiss in the cool, crisp air of the London night. Instead she found herself being kissed perfunctorily on the cheek.

Rubin went upstairs to his room, closed the door, and sat down at the desk. He had always loved home, a fire glowing on the hearth, the portraits, the hunting scenes, the pictures of himself as a boy at Eton, then Oxford, all carefully mounted in heavy silver frames. But that Rubin no longer existed; he was lost … as lost as Magda Charascu. …

Downstairs, Phillip sat puffing on his cigar. “Our Rubin must have made the most of his last weeks of Paris bachelorhood. I think that, rather than crossing the channel, exhausted him.” Nathan nodded, and everyone smiled except Leon, who had sensed a reserve in Rubin. Leon knew Rubin best. Since childhood they had been closest. Perhaps it was the two-year difference in their ages, but Leon had always understood Rubin, had known his sensitivities, his secret desire to paint. He also knew that Rubin was not in love with Jocelyn. Poor Rubin. Well, they would have a man-to-man talk, not tomorrow, but soon. To pry into his brother’s personal life now would only result in making Rubin even more withdrawn. But when Rubin could no longer cope with the problem alone, Leon would be there to help him.

But as the weeks passed, Rubin still did not confide in his family. An enormous change had taken place in him. The whole family feared he was ill. Withdrawn into a shell, he couldn’t eat. And his attitude toward Jocelyn was noticeably altered. At first the family rationalized; perhaps he was undergoing prenuptial jitters. Still, few men were
this
reluctant to relinquish their freedom. And though Jocelyn tried desperately to ignore his lack of interest, she was thoroughly miserable during what should have been the happiest time of her life.

Rubin’s depression was almost unbearable. He had received no letter from Magda. Going each day to the post office box, where all her letters were supposed to be sent, he would take out the tiny key, open the metal door, and look inside in vain. Why hadn’t she written? Was she ill? Surely Solange would have written if she was? Rubin became obsessed that she had found someone else. …

Finally, he went to the nearest phone and placed a call to Emile’s apartment. When he reached it, the connection was bad, filled with static. “Where is she?” he shouted into the instrument, trying to be understood above the maddening noise. All he could hear were muffled sounds of a voice he believed was Mignon’s. “In Cannes …” Those two words were the only ones which sounded distinct. Then the line went dead. Rubin held the receiver in his clenched hand for a long, very long time, then placed it carefully on the hook.

It was five when he returned home, after wandering around aimlessly. As he climbed the stairs to his room, he heard the voice of Martin, the butler. “Sir?” he said.

Rubin turned his head.

“Sir, your father has asked to see you in his study.”

“Thank you, Martin.”

Nathan was seated in the big leather chair at one side of the Georgian fireplace, a chair he had occupied for many years. He was shocked to see Rubin looking so distraught and disheveled.

“Sit down, Rubin …”

Rubin seated himself across from his father, gazing into the fire. Nathan poured two brandies, handed one to Rubin and kept the other himself. He took a sip.

“Rubin, the time has come when you and I must talk. Obviously something disturbs you. Please tell me what it is. You can speak freely, there are only the two of us here.”

Rubin remained silent

Nathan continued, “Rest assured, I will understand.”

Rubin looked at his father as though he wanted to confide, then retreated into himself again.

“Since you returned from Paris, you’re a different man. We no longer recognize you. Your mother is especially perturbed and you’ve made Jocelyn desperately unhappy. You don’t have the right to hurt that dear loving child, who is, I remind you, soon to become your wife.”

Rubin winced, in spite of himself.

“Are you that frightened of marriage?”

Rubin answered so softly Nathan had to strain to hear. “No … not marriage, exactly.”

“Then it must be Jocelyn.”

“I’m afraid it is, sir. A man can’t love merely because it’s … expedient.”

Nathan got up and paced the floor, hands behind his back. “Expedient?” he said. “That’s a strange word, Rubin. Are you implying that this marriage is only a merger between the Sassoons and the Hacks?”

Well, isn’t it?
Rubin wanted to answer but he couldn’t, not when he saw the troubled look on his father’s face.

“Do you feel that we’ve forced you into an arrangement?”

“We were certainly thrown together a lot. And suddenly, somehow, marriage seemed to be the next logical step. At the time, it all did, I admit, seem so right …”

“But everyone assumed that your affection for Jocelyn was real … in fact, no one was aware that you were anything less than deeply in love. This is what I find hardest to comprehend.”

“My affection at the time was certainly genuine. Jocelyn is a lovely young woman—”

“But you’ve suddenly fallen out of love? How could that happen in so short a time?”

Rubin was silent

“Rubin? …why did you stay in Paris so long?”

Running his hands through this thick black hair, Rubin looked at the vaulted ceiling while Nathan waited for an answer. Finally, he spoke. “Because … well, it happens I’ve fallen completely in love with a woman in Paris. …”

Nathan sighed deeply. Replenishing the brandy glasses, he handed one to his son, then seated himself again. “Is she going to have your child? Is that the problem?”

“I wish she was, it might be simpler.”

“Is she in love with you?”

“Yes …”

“Still, you couldn’t have known her for long.”

“Is time the right barometer? I’ve known Jocelyn for a lifetime—”

“Forgive me, Rubin, but I always thought love was something that grew. Of course, I come from a different generation …”

“Forgive me, Father, but I suspect love hasn’t changed so much—”

“I suppose you’re right, Rubin. But the point is, what do you plan to do about this … woman?”

“Nothing.”

Nathan nodded, and smiled for the first time. “You are right, Rubin … love has not changed so much from my generation to yours. …” And then he astonished his son as he told him for the first time … as though suddenly they were old confidants … how “when I was about your age, perhaps a little younger, I, too, thought I was completely in love … with a lovely young ballerina. Ludicrous when I look back on it now, of course, but at the time, believe me, I was inconsolable. …Marriage was out of the question, unthinkable, she could
never
have been accepted. …We have so much, but we can’t always have what we want. When I think back … about how different my life would have been …”

And Rubin was hearing his father’s last words merge with what Solange had said …What would have become of my life if I’d had the courage to run away with …? Nathan’s words brought him back. “I have my father, God rest his soul, to thank for setting
me
straight. I met your mother shortly afterward. And by then, Rubin, would you believe it, I could scarcely remember the girl’s face. Loving your mother as I did, I understood the other was only a passing matter, a young man experiencing life, as they say, for the first time. Now, the most astonishing thing is … quite accidentally, I ran into this woman on the street a few years ago. I would have passed her by if she hadn’t called out my name. When we spoke, briefly, it was like talking to a stranger. She had become, I’m afraid, a rather vain, unattractive woman. I walked away thinking, And for that I almost gave up my heritage, my life. So I know what you are going through, Rubin. I also know it will pass. Jocelyn is
right
for you. Once you’re married, settled into your life, your affection for her will turn into the love and devotion I feel for your mother. There will be children … and before you know it, this woman in Paris will cease to exist. This, I promise …”

You’re wrong, Father, our stories are not parallel … I won’t forget Magda’s face … I won’t stop loving her … You can’t promise me anything, it isn’t yours to promise. …But I’ll be your loving, obedient son, the son you respect. …

At least he would try. One thing, he was relieved he no longer had to go on deceiving his father. And for a moment, he felt almost rewarded in his misery as Nathan stood up and put his arms around his son’s shoulders.

From that day, Rubin became a mechanical man, doing all the right things … saying what was expected. His conduct was exemplary. He was with Jocelyn constantly, working doggedly at the alchemy to change respect and affection into desire and love. He barely felt alive.

Two weeks before the wedding, Jocelyn showed Rubin through their new house, now completely furnished. Hand in hand she led him from room to room, in the fine mansion off Regents Park, the gift of her parents. Rubin found himself being led into the bedroom. He felt nothing as he looked at the large four-poster bed. He had to turn away and walk to the window. It was Magda he saw in that bed … Magda who—

“Are you pleased, darling?”

He looked at her. “Oh, yes, it’s very nice, very …”

Jocelyn put her head on his shoulder. “We’re going to be very happy here, Rubin …Darling, I do love you so.”

He stroked her hair, honestly wishing he could feel the same, hating himself because he couldn’t.

The days would not be held back. Nor the hours or minutes. It was his wedding day.

That morning he re-read his most recent letter from Magda—they’d finally begun to arrive after the wait he had thought meant she no longer cared. His eyes sped down to the very last sentence. …“And I can only wish you the greatest happiness with your Jocelyn …Love as always, Magda.”

Oh, Magda, I want you … I need you …

And as Rubin sat alone reading her letter, Magda lay crying on Emile’s bed in Paris. Solange tried to comfort her, but nothing could. “He doesn’t love me, Solange. I was so sure … so sure he’d never be able to live without me—”