Her Father's House

by Belva Plain

  “In the apartment. She doesn't want it.”

  “Stranger, yet.”

  Yes, it was very odd. They had gone by taxi from the airport to the apartment, where he had begun to pack a few clothes to take to a hotel. And Lillian had stopped him, saying that it was she, not he, who was to leave.

  “She went to live, at least for a while, with Cindy, a friend she has.”

  Pratt frowned. “You say there's no money and no family? Be careful, Donald. I know you're a private person, and since I am the same, I understand perfectly. I only want to say that I'm here for you whenever you want a pair of ears to listen.”

  “Do you know what I keep asking myself? Where has the magic gone? And my strength, too. I feel as weary as if I had been running without rest or sleep, just running.”

  Pratt stood up and placed a hand on Donald's shoulder. “You'll be better when you get back to work. Fill your head with other things, so you won't have as much time to think about this shock. A case came in while you were away that calls for a few trips to Florida. How does that sound to you?”

  The touch and the words were fatherly, so that Donald felt a surge of emotion that he fought to control. Somehow, he straightened up and got out of the room.

  One evening a week later, there was a message from Lillian on the answering machine at home. Would it be all right for her to come for a talk about eight o'clock tonight? Unless she were to hear to the contrary, he could expect her.

  He had not only no idea what she might have to say, but also no idea which version of Lillian to expect, the considerate, quiet lady, or the brash destroyer with the sardonic smile.

  When he opened the door, he saw at once that she had not come prepared for confrontation, or at least not right away. He also saw that she was dressed for the cold in a heavy coat of the blue that she so often chose because it matched her eyes. This one, however, had collar and cuffs of mink; it was extremely expensive, and it gave him some serious thoughts about his finances. She took it off and laid it over a straight-backed chair, remarked that she would not be staying long enough to bother hanging it in the closet.

  “You're thinking it cost too much,” she said gaily. “Oh, don't I read your mind? Well, it did cost an arm and a leg, but don't worry, I didn't charge it to you.”

  “I wasn't worried,” he said somewhat stiffly.

  “Oh, I think you must have been in spite of what you said the last time we spoke. You must have been wondering how in the world I ever expected to take full care of myself and a baby.”

  Nature's jokes! He glanced at her waist. All those couples who try for years with no success, those people traipsing all over the world to adopt a baby, all those artificial inseminations, all those, and now this. Poor little thing! From wanting it so much, he had now come to fear for it. Oh God, the poor little thing!

  He collected himself. “No, I wasn't worrying. We will let our lawyers work it out decently, fair and square.”

  “Donald, I really meant it when I said I don't want anything from you, no money, none of the usual revenge. This crash isn't your fault, nor really mine, either. We both made an unthinking mistake, that's all it was.”

  “And how, may I ask, without money, how do you propose to eat?”

  “Ah, therein lies my story. First, get me a cup of tea, and I'll tell you. It's windy out. I walked over, and I'm cold.”

  Had she no nerves, no emotion? Here she sat in the very room where their wedding party had begun the voyage that was now ending; past the open door, the bed was in full sight. And she was cheerfully fussing with her windblown hair while he—he was empty inside; when he was not dragged down with a weight too heavy to hold, he was empty.

  He got up, made tea, and brought it to her. It was then, when she extended her hand to take the cup, that he saw it was devoid of rings.

  “I've brought it here for you,” she said.

  “Brought what?”

  “The ring. That's what you're missing, aren't you? You were looking at my finger.”

  “Missing.” It was she who never missed anything. In other circumstances, one could be amused.

  Setting the cup down with care, then reaching into her handbag, she took out the velvet box.

  “I don't want it, Lillian,” he said, drawing back.

  “Don't be foolish. You can get a good price for it if you don't want to keep it for somebody else.”

  She had no imagination. If ever there were to be somebody else—and he could hardly imagine it—that somebody else would surely not want this particular ring.

  “I said I don't want it, Lillian.”

  “Well, I'll simply leave it on the table when I go.”

  “Why are we arguing about a stupid thing like a ring?”

  “I don't want to argue. I came to tell you something. As soon as the divorce comes through, and I hope it comes fast, I'm going to marry Howard Buzley.”

  Howard Buzley! Fat, old, and ugly. A gust of laughter almost burst out of Donald's throat as he managed to turn it into an exclamation.

  “What? Surely you're joking?”

  “No, no, I'm not. He's been saying from the time I went to work for him that he'd like to marry me someday.”

  “But his wife?”

  “She died while we were in Italy. You see what a decent man he is? She was sick for so many years. A lot of men would have left, you know that. He's a very kind man. He's been very kind to me, I can tell you. He's crazy about me.”

  So that was the source of the rent for her and Cindy, the spa vacations, and the fine clothes! For all that, of course, Buzley got his pay. He must have gotten plenty of it. And strangely now, the picture of Buzley and Lillian in bed together aroused not jealousy, but only disgust.

  “You wouldn't believe how generous he is, always giving to people. Not only to me. I could tell you stories—we were walking past a shop one day and he went in and bought this watch for me. I hadn't even noticed it in the window.”

  “Wait a minute. You said that the Italian aristocrat gave it to you.”

  “That must have been another watch, not this one. Don't you remember seeing the other one?”

  She has told so many lies, he thought, that they've become second nature to her. “No,” he said, “but it doesn't matter. Tell me, why should he marry you? I'm curious. Can't you simply live together?”

  “We could, but I'm not sure I'd do that. With him, I want everything safe, according to law.” Lillian smiled. “He's not like you, you see. Not your type. Not what they call the ‘old school' honorable gentleman.”

  In spite of himself, Donald was fascinated. “And you think you'll be happy?”

  “Yes, I know him so much better than I knew you. Howard and I have a lot of fun together. I didn't know you at all, did I? It was pure infatuation for you and me. And admiration, too. I admired your intellect. I think I can say that we had a good many of the same intellectual interests, or am I being too immodest?”

  “Not at all. But intellect is not enough, Lillian. You have to know how to use it.”

  Lillian shrugged. “We like all the same things, Howard and I. He knows everybody, all the New York celebrities, Hollywood entertainers, theater, everybody. I feel much more free when I'm with him than I did with you. I'm not trying to hurt you by saying this, Donald. I never would hurt you because I still care for you and I'm still fond of you. I'm just telling the truth.”

  This time she probably is, he thought.

  “I want us to end in a friendly way. I want you to find somebody who will make you happy, who has your tastes and your moral outlook.”

  There was a silence, during which Lillian was taking a last look around what had been her home, and he was wondering what she might be feeling, if anything.

  “Howard has ordered a spectacular engagement ring for me. So you really must take this one back.”

  “An engagement ring? Of course he knows you're pregnant?”

  “Well, what do you think?” she responded indignantly. �
�Of course he does. Even if he couldn't see it, wouldn't I tell him?”

  “And it doesn't matter to him?”

  “Good heavens, he has grandchildren from here to California. He's used to children, so one more won't matter. Anyway, we'll have a nurse. And the apartment is enormous, twelve rooms with a view all over the city, from the East River to the Hudson. It reminds me of the Sanders' place.”

  Ah, yes, the view. She had wanted a view. And ah, yes, the Sanders. At first he had blamed them for corrupting her, but that had been thoroughly stupid of him. Lillian had been what she was long before she ever laid eyes on the Sanders.

  “By the way, Howard knows Chloe and Frank. Or at least he's met them. Yes,” Lillian repeated, “he goes everywhere and everybody knows him.” She paused to look around the room. “That painting—you were very nice about it. A lot of men would have raised hell about my spending so much money without asking first.”

  “Well, you loved it. I understood that. Take it with you.”

  “Thanks, but I wouldn't think of taking it. I'll be able to buy more if I want to. One thing I'll miss, though, going to the galleries and exhibits with you. Howard doesn't know the first thing about art and doesn't want to. But you can't have everything, can you?”

  Once, he thought, for a short time, I believed you could. I believed, in fact, that we did have everything. But he did not speak as Lillian rose and put on her coat.

  “I suppose we'll meet soon with our lawyers, Donald, since you insist on having them. I'm sure it won't be complicated, since we're not fighting each other.”

  “I have only one demand: open and generous visitation when the child is born.”

  How much he really would want or use that, he did not know. Perhaps if it should be a boy, he would want it. . . . At any rate, it was of his flesh and blood, and he would provide for it.

  “Oh, I want to remind you about the silver. It's worth a small fortune, so don't forget to pay the insurance.”

  “The silver?”

  “The Danish silver that Howard gave us.”

  “Take it. Take it with you now. I don't want it.”

  “For goodness sake, Donald, don't be foolish. You may want to use it someday. One never knows. And I don't need it. Howard's got enough silver to equip a hotel.” With a hand on the doorknob, Lillian paused. “Don't be angry at me, will you?”

  He looked at her. Beauty incarnate, she was. Those eyes. That heavy, bright hair. The classic face—beauty incarnate.

  “For a while, at least, we loved each other,” he said.

  “Loved? I'll tell you something that I read. I think some Frenchman wrote it. ‘There are people who, if they had not heard about it, would never fall in love.' Good night, Donald.”

  Chapter 7

  It had begun to drizzle, and the April air was soft on Donald's face as he walked toward the hospital. On the corner of the street, he stopped to reconsider whether or not he should continue.

  The early morning's telephone call at home had surprised him, although it really should not have done so because he could hardly have expected Lillian to send him a formal birth announcement. In high spirits she had urged him to visit the nursery for a look at the prettiest seven-pound, three-ounce baby girl that anyone could imagine.

  “Just ask for the Wolfe baby, and they'll pick her up to show you.”

  Wolfe. Well, of course. What else should it be? He was, after all, the father, soon to be in three or four months the divorced father, but still, the father.

  There was such emotional turmoil inside him! During the fall and winter just past, he had been settling down. Mr. Pratt had been right about work as a restorer of mental health; he had provided Donald with so much activity, two trips abroad and a full load at home, that there had been neither time nor energy left for personal grief. But now, as he hesitated on the street, anxiety surged back as if to engulf him again.

  What was the point of going in to see this baby? For one thing, it was a girl, and even though he knew he wasn't supposed to feel this way, he believed that he would have a different kind of companionship with a boy than with a girl. So this child would belong to Lillian, and he would be reduced to the kind of pathetic father who had lunch on a Saturday or Sunday with a child who hardly knew him.

  He was still standing, undecided, when he caught sight of Lillian's friend Cindy coming out of the hospital. He had not seen her since the day of the wedding, yet she was unmistakable in her slipshod clothes and long, unkempt hair. It was the sight of her that abruptly made his decision; if she thinks enough of a friend's baby to come here, then surely I have a greater obligation.

  The truth was that he was also dreading what he might feel when he beheld this child of divided parents, this child who was to be reared in another man's house.

  He went inside, took the elevator, and following directions to the nursery, came face-to-face with Lillian.

  “Oh—I didn't think,” he stammered. “How are you?”

  “Didn't think I'd be walking around? It's over twenty-four hours, and they want you to walk. This is my second trip to the nursery.”

  For a moment he wondered whether she felt as awkward as he did, and in the second moment, knew very well that she did not. For her there would be no embarrassment in remembering how intimate they had once been. He knew every inch of the body underneath the quilted silk robe. If he had known what he later learned, there would be no child now. He would never have touched her.

  I wouldn't even recognize him the next morning.

  “I'm so glad I didn't—didn't do that, Donald. She's absolutely adorable, the sweetest little thing. See, right here in the second bassinet? She's asleep.”

  A small, pink heap had a thatch of dark hair on its head. With surprise, he realized that he had lived all these years without ever having seen a newborn baby.

  “Most of them are bald. Isn't it cute, all that hair? She'll probably lose it, they tell me, and be bald until the permanent hair comes in.”

  There was a card on the bassinet. Wolfe, it said. He didn't know what he felt. Perhaps he just felt strange. Wolfe. His name. This person asleep there had his name. This person was attached to him and would be all her life, even if they should never meet again. And he stood there looking at the small heap of pink with the thatch of hair.

  “We have the most gorgeous room for her. This decorator got somebody who painted the walls with Mother Goose murals.” Lillian was in an excited mood, full of chat. “And the nanny's room adjoins. Really, really lovely, the whole business. I want you to see it, Donald. Feel free to visit. Just call up first, that's all you have to do. I want everything to be friendly, Donald, and Howard agrees.”

  His eyes went back to the name on the card: Wolfe. And a stranger in his generosity was providing all this “lovely business”! Anger that he knew to be unreasonable rose, lumped in his throat, and was brought under control.

  “It's I who will provide for her future,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow morning I will open an account for her education. What are your thoughts about her name?”

  “Oh, I'm having the worst time trying to decide! I thought for a while of Bettina, like my friend in Florence. She'd be Tina for short. Then I thought of Antonia, Toni for short. What do you think?”

  “To tell you the truth, I don't like either one.”

  “Then give me a suggestion.”

  “I've never thought much about girls' names. But maybe something more everyday, not so different.”

  “What? Like Cathy or Jennifer? Every other American girl has a name like those.”

  “Well, she's an American girl.” Then he thought of something. “Perhaps we could name her after my mother. I would like that, if you don't mind it. Her name was Jane.”

  “Jane! Oh, for heaven's sake, Jane!”

  “Well then, after your mother. It's a nice custom, I think.”

  “That's the last thing I'd do. I never liked my mother.”

  Something about the way she said it, som
ething even beyond the meaning of the words, her defiant stance, and the ugly challenge in her tone, affected Donald so that he could not help but respond.

  “I have thought sometimes that you would be a happier person if you would learn to forgive whatever it is that—”

  “Forgive us our trespasses?” she mocked, her voice rising so sharply that a nurse passing in the corridor turned to look. “Heavy, heavy. Somber, straitlaced, and serious. That's why we couldn't get along, Donald. Lighten up, will you? No, you never will. You're made this way.”

  He should have minded his own business. There they were, quarreling again in a public hall alongside the innocent baby they had conceived together. It was hopeless.

  “Name her whatever you like,” he said. “It's not worth an argument.”

  “Fine. It's Bettina. Tina.”

  Again he looked at the baby, who was still asleep. The little thing unaware of any future that might come her way. Bettina Wolfe. God bless you, Bettina Wolfe.

  “I'm sorry, Donald. I certainly didn't plan to yell at you today.” Lillian laughed. “But you know me by now, so you won't mind. I'm starting to feel tired. Guess I'll go back to my room.”

  “I'll be going, too. Take care.”

  For a moment he watched her walk away down the hall. Not exactly sure what he was feeling, whether pity or anger or some of each, he knew only that even if it were possible to have her back, he would never, never want her.

  That great case, the one that had sent so many lawyers rushing around the globe, was coming to an end with the unmasking of the brilliant scoundrel at the center of it. How many air miles Donald had flown, he had not counted; how many documents that, by patient digging and delving, had been analyzed, he had not counted, either; it was even a task to keep straight in his head all the names of the empty corporations and fake holding companies that the fugitive had concocted.

  Curiously, one thing did keep its hold in a corner of his memory, and that was the overheard conversation in which two men had chuckled over and rooted for the scoundrel who was so cleverly eluding the law. Then, with this memory, there followed the rest of that painful night with all its consequences.