Sins of the Fathers

by Susan Howatch

  “Well now,” I said, “what do I have to do to save you?”

  “You can help me get away from home.”

  “Again? So soon?”

  “I’ve just got to get away. Oh, Uncle Sam—”

  “Vicky, if you’re old enough to elope to Maryland, you’re old enough to stop calling me ‘Uncle.’ Just ‘Sam’ will do fine from now on.”

  “But I like to think of you as an uncle! I’ll always think of you as an uncle!”

  I resisted the urge to say, “Thank God,” and instead asked, “What’s the problem at home? I know there was a fuss when you dropped out of that art-appreciation course at Christmas, but—”

  “Oh, God, yes, that was awful! The trouble is, Daddy just won’t listen to me. I’m never allowed to do what I want. It’s always what he wants. As soon as I graduated from Miss Porter’s last summer, I wanted to go to junior college in Europe, but Daddy wouldn’t have it, said Europe was decadent and I could learn all I had to learn right here in America. Then I wanted to go to college right away, and he says no, I’m too young to leave home and I must ‘fill in’ a year first. So then I wanted to go to Europe on vacation and he wouldn’t let me go on my own and insisted I go with Aunt Emily, who drives me crazy, and those two cousins of mine who drive me crazier still. After that came the art-appreciation mess. I never wanted to do it in the first place! As I’ve said to him over and over again, all I really want to do is go to college and major in philosophy, but—”

  “Philosophy?”

  “Sure, it’s the only subject I can ever imagine being seriously interested in. I mean, you grow up taking everything for granted and then suddenly you think: Why am I rich when most of the world is poor? And then you think: And what kind of a world is it anyway? And you read people like Marx and that gets you thinking, and then you discover that political philosophy is just one aspect of a vast subject. … Of course, Daddy thinks I’m nuts. He thinks philosophy is just a hobby for social failures. He wants me to major in something useful, like Spanish, or feminine, like English literature.”

  I thought it was about time someone gave Cornelius credit where credit was due. “But he does agree that you should go to college. He’s not being entirely an ogre.”

  “He says he wants me to go to college, yes. But …” She put down her fork and stared at her glass of wine. Finally she said, “Recently I’ve come to believe he’s changed his mind. I think he’s just stringing me along. That’s one of the reasons why I got so desperate. I think … Uncle Sam, please don’t laugh at me, I know it sounds crazy, but I think he’s going to try to pressure me into getting married.”

  I was acutely aware of my own fork poised in midair over my bowl of salad. Pulling myself together, I speared a slice of cucumber.

  “Of course I want to get married,” said Vicky hastily. “I want to be a wife and mother just like any other girl who’s not abnormal. But I want to go to college first before I settle down.”

  “Sure, I understand. What I don’t understand is why you should think your father wants to marry you off.”

  “I’ve suspected it for some time, but it was the big row over Jack that convinced me.”

  “Jack? The beachboy?”

  “Don’t call him that. It makes him sound like a gigolo, and he wasn’t. He was nice.”

  “Sorry. Tell me just what happened so I can be sure I’ve got my facts straight. You met him down in the Caribbean a couple of months ago, your father told me.”

  “Yes, I’d never gone along with Daddy and Alicia before on their annual Caribbean vacation—I’d always been in school, but when I dropped out of the art-appreciation course Daddy said I must come with them because he couldn’t leave me on my own in New York with nothing to do. Well, that was okay. I hate New York in February. So there we were in Barbados and I met Jack on the beach. He was a lifeguard employed by one of the hotels, but it was just a temporary job. He was going back home to California to college this fall. Of course I was staying on Daddy’s yacht, but I used to go ashore every day, meet Jack for a swim, and have an ice cream while we talked about movies. He was just crazy about Betty Grable. He showed me his Betty Grable pinups once. He said my legs reminded him of her. He was so sweet.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, we had a lovely time, nothing serious, just a kiss now and then—gee, it was romantic!—and then Daddy said it was time to go to Antigua, so that was that. But I gave Jack my address and he promised to write, and suddenly last week—wham! There he was on the doorstep. I was so thrilled. He said he’d hitched a ride on a banana boat to Miami, where he’d snuck on a freight train heading north. He said he’d been thinking of me nonstop ever since I left Barbados. Well, gee, it was so sweet of him to come—what else could I do but invite him to stay for a few days? But then Daddy goes berserk and says no, never under any circumstances, and Jack can get the hell out. My God, how rude can you get! I was so embarrassed I could have died. After Jack had gone to the YMCA, Daddy and I had this huge row, and that was when …” She stopped.

  “When he said something like, ‘I wish to God you were safely married and out of my hair’? You shouldn’t have taken him so seriously, Vicky! People often say silly things in the heat of the moment, and your father’s no exception.”

  “It wasn’t like that at all. You see, for some time now he’s been pushing the doctrine that a woman’s only true fulfillment in life lies in being a wife and mother. Well, okay. I’m sure he’s right. But he kept saying it when he didn’t have to say it, like someone dropping a huge hint, and I was already so tired of him dictating to me that this sort of sotto voce marriage commercial was just the last straw. I felt I wanted to make some big gesture to shut him up—to remind him that it was my life and that it was about time he stopped all this massive interference. So I decided to—”

  “—demonstrate your independence by eloping with Jack.”

  “Poor Jack! It was mean of me—I wasn’t in love with him and I never really had any intention of marrying him or even going with him … sleeping … you know.” She blushed. Tears sprang to her eyes unexpectedly, but she blinked them back. “I know I behaved badly, but I was so desperate … I thought it would solve something … but it just made things worse. There was another ghastly scene when we got back to Fifth Avenue, and that was when I realized I couldn’t—couldn’t—stay there any longer.”

  “Did Neil start pushing his wife-and-mother line at you again?”

  “Oh, it was much worse than that! He said that if I was so keen to get married, he could easily find me a suitable husband. And then Alicia said … Alicia said … Alicia said …” She went dead white. I was no longer eating. At last she managed to say, “Alicia said why didn’t I marry Sebastian.”

  I laughed. “Good God, now I’ve heard everything! Poor Alicia, I wonder how long she’s been cherishing that little pipe dream!”

  “Uncle Sam,” said Vicky in a shaking voice which made me want to kick myself for my insensitive response, “this is no laughing matter. This is very serious. This is life and death.”

  “I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to …”

  “You see, what Alicia wants, Alicia gets. Daddy’s so crazy about her that he always bends over backward to accommodate her, and that’s why when she came right out and admitted she wanted me to marry Sebastian, I was absolutely terrified. It’s obvious, of course, why she wants me to marry him. She feels guilty because after she married Daddy she found out she couldn’t have any more children, but she’s figured out that if Daddy’s daughter by his first marriage marries her son by her first marriage, she and Daddy will at least have mutual grandchildren.” She shuddered, but it was no affectation. Her pallor now had a greenish tinge. I even wondered if she was about to vomit. “I loathe Sebastian,” she whispered. “I just loathe him.”

  I decided that the best way of handling the conversation was to be as sensible and down-to-earth as possible. Melodrama can seldom thrive in an atmosphere of candid common s
ense. “What’s so terrible about Sebastian?” I said. “I know he’s shy, but he’s not a bad-looking guy, and he’s smart enough to be doing well at Harvard.”

  She was unable to reply. I began to be seriously perturbed. “Vicky, does your father know exactly how you feel about Sebastian?”

  “No,” she said. “There was a scene four years ago, but we were all supposed to have got over it. We’ve all promised never, never to refer to it again.”

  I felt more perturbed than ever. “That’s all very well, Vicky, but I think Neil would be horrified if he knew this incident, whatever it was, is still very much alive for you. But at least on one point I can put your mind at rest. Your father has no intention of encouraging you to marry Sebastian. In fact, I can promise you Sebastian just doesn’t figure in his plans for your future at all.”

  Her relief was painful to see. “Are you sure?”

  “Very sure. In fact, I couldn’t be more sure. I can’t reveal confidential conversations, but I give you my word of honor that you’ve been jumping to the wrong conclusions.”

  “But Alicia …” She broke off with a start as the buzzer sounded in the hall. “Who’s that?”

  “I don’t know. My housekeeper’ll get it. Vicky, Alicia’s little pipe dream is her problem. But it’s not yours.”

  A faint tinge of color was returning slowly to her cheeks.

  “I’d still like to get away from home for a while. … Uncle Sam, would you take me to Europe?”

  “Europe! Me? What a great idea! However, I doubt if your father would approve of me taking more time out from the office when I’ve been away so recently. Look, why don’t you go down to Florida for a while and stay with your mother? Your mother’s in town right now, as a matter of fact—I was talking to her earlier this evening, and I was impressed by how concerned she is for your happiness.”

  “That old hag? Concerned about me? You’ve got to be kidding! She’s concerned about nothing except how to hold on to her latest lover! Why, I’d rather take a vacation on the Bowery than in Fort Lauderdale with my mother!”

  My housekeeper tapped on the door and looked in. “Excuse me, Mr. Keller, but Mr. and Mrs. Van Zale are on their way up.”

  “No!” shrieked Vicky.

  “God help us all,” I said in German.

  The doorbell rang in the hall.

  II

  “I can’t face them!” sobbed Vicky. “I can’t!”

  I gripped her shoulders and gave her a short sharp shake. “Calm down at once, please. That’s better. Okay, I’ll talk to your father in the living room, but I want you to stay right here in the den. Can I trust you to stay here and not run away? I’d hate to have to lock you in.”

  She said in a small voice, “I’ll stay.”

  “Good. Now, just remember this: fantastic though it may seem to you, all your father wants is your happiness. And remember this, too: no one can force you into marriage. All you’ve got to do is say no—or at the very worst, keep your mouth shut when you’re expected to say ‘I do.’ ”

  “Yes, Uncle Sam,” she whispered. Her great gray eyes, shining with unshed tears, regarded me as devoutly as a true believer might gaze on a minister declaiming the word of God from the pulpit, and for a brief moment I thought again of all the children I had never had in the split-level home which had never existed on the outskirts of Bar Harbor.

  “Right,” I said abruptly, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “Now, just you keep your promise and stay here. No eavesdropping.” Turning up the volume of the music, I escaped into the hall and opened the front door just as Cornelius rang the bell a second time.

  They were standing side by side in the corridor, Cornelius looking pale and exhausted, Alicia looking pale and bored. I knew Alicia well enough to guess that the bored expression was an affectation masking other, more disturbing emotions, and I knew Cornelius well enough to realize his exhaustion was no affectation. He was wearing the black suit he had worn at the office, a plain indication of his domestic chaos, since he always changed into casual clothes as soon as he arrived home. Alicia was faultless in mink and diamonds.

  “She’s here, isn’t she?” said Cornelius. “One of my security guards saw her climb out of the window, and rather than restrain her by force, he followed her here before reporting back to me.”

  “Come in.”

  I led them into the living room. They looked around expectantly.

  “She’s in the den listening to Glenn Miller,” I said. “Neil, Vicky seems very sure she wants to get away from Fifth Avenue for a while, and I’m becoming increasingly convinced that she’s right. I think the best thing she can possibly do at this point is to take a long vacation so that the dust from this explosion has time to settle. Do you think your sister could help? If Emily were to invite Vicky to Velletria …”

  “I think it’s time Vicky stopped running away,” said Alicia in her most expressionless voice. She was straightening the seam of her glove and not looking at me. “Anyway, she detests the Midwest, and Emily’s girls drive her crazy.”

  I had a brainstorm and remembered Paul Van Zale’s widow. “Maybe Sylvia in San Francisco—” I began.

  “Sylvia,” said Alicia, still inspecting her glove, “is away on a cruise.”

  “Sam,” said Cornelius unevenly, “did you tell Vicky that Vivienne wants her to go down to Fort Lauderdale?”

  “Yes. She wasn’t interested.”

  “Thank God! We couldn’t have approved of that, could we, Alicia?”

  “Definitely not,” said Alicia.

  “Besides, I don’t want Vicky to go away!” cried Cornelius as I opened my mouth to prolong the argument. “Let me talk to her. I want her to know I didn’t mean to upset her … I want her to know that everything’ll be all right and we love her and want her to come home!”

  “Yes, but that’s not solving anything, can’t you see? That’s just pretending the problem doesn’t exist!”

  “What problem?”

  The door clicked open. Vicky, her face tearstained, peered in. In the distance the Glenn Miller orchestra was playing “Moonlight Serenade.”

  “Vicky … honey, we’ve been out of our minds. … How could you do this to us? … Vicky, we love you! Please, sweetheart, please forgive us and come home!”

  Alicia took a cigarette from her purse and lit the tip with a small gold lighter encrusted with emeralds. I had never before seen her smoke in Cornelius’ presence. Cornelius was asthmatic.

  “Oh, Daddy …”

  She ran into his arms and stuck there. The Glenn Miller orchestra went on playing “Moonlight Serenade.”

  “Daddy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. … Oh, Daddy, I love you too …”

  Alicia went to the mirror and examined one of her diamond earrings. Her glance met mine but was instantly averted. After smoothing a strand of her dark hair, she adjusted the diamond ring on her wedding finger.

  “Sweetheart, we’ll work this out, I swear it—just say what you want and I’ll fix it right away.”

  “Cornelius.”

  He turned to face his wife. “Yes?”

  “Nothing. … Perhaps if Vicky’s feeling better we should go home now. I think we’ve all imposed long enough on Sam’s hospitality.”

  “Daddy,” said Vicky, ignoring her stepmother, “I want to go to Europe for a while.”

  “Whatever you want, sweetheart. Europe? I’ll take you myself just as soon as I can make arrangements to leave the office.”

  “No, no, that wasn’t what I meant at all! Darling Daddy, I know how you loathe Europe, and I wouldn’t dream of dragging you back there! I want to go with Uncle Sam.”

  Cornelius and Alicia swiveled to look at me. I cleared my throat and gave an apologetic laugh, but before I could disassociate myself from this proposal, Alicia said sharply, “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. Sam’s a busy man. He doesn’t have the time to chaperon you around Europe, and even if he did, the idea would still be totally unsuitable. If your father r
eally feels he can sanction another trip to Europe, I’ll ask your Aunt Emily if she can take you—in fact, maybe it would be best if Emily came to New York right away to help us sort out this situation, and if Sam will let me use his phone, I’ll call her right now in Velletria. Now, run along with Daddy, please, and let’s have no more melodrama tonight. Cornelius, perhaps you and Vicky could wait for me in the car while I make the call.”

  “Sure.” Cornelius turned obediently to his daughter and took her hand in his. “Come along, sweetheart, we’ll work this out, I promise you.”

  Vicky looked back over her shoulder at me, and when I smiled at her encouragingly, she smiled back. “Thanks for listening, Uncle Sam,” she said before allowing herself to be led from the room. The last words I heard her say before the front door closed were: “Daddy, please let me go to college and major in philosophy!”

  In the silence that followed their departure, Alicia and I looked at each other wearily.

  “My God,” she said, “get me a drink, would you please, Sam? Sherry will do, but make it a double. I feel ripe for the sanatorium.”

  I murmured something sympathetic and hunted for the Tio Pepe.

  “I still think it’s a mistake for her to run away to Europe, but with Cornelius promising her the sun, moon, and stars, what choice did I have but to agree to the idea? Personally, as I’ve already said, I’m dead against her running away anywhere. She’s got to learn to stand her ground and cope with her mistakes, or else she’ll always be an immature little girl.”

  I poured the sherry into a glass. “Ice?”

  “Please. I don’t believe in this European fad of drinking everything lukewarm. And talking of Europe, why on earth does she want to go back there? And why on earth does she have to go on and on and on with this stupid idea of majoring in philosophy? She knows Cornelius thinks it’s crazy—why can’t she pick a subject which pleases him? Anyway, I don’t see the point of girls going to college, particularly girls like Vicky, who are obviously destined to be wives and mothers. It seems a complete waste of time.”