Sins of the Fathers

by Susan Howatch

  “Perhaps I should escape before they ask me how the capital should be invested,” murmured Jake. “Excuse me, Alicia.”

  My heart almost stopped beating. I felt faint.

  “Jake …”

  He paused politely.

  “Jake, I …”

  “My God, what a noise there is in here! Neil’s invited too many people. Step over here, my dear—I can hardly hear you.”

  We moved to a quiet corner behind a block sculpture. I smoothed my hands frantically against my formal black gown as if I could somehow wring all the poise I needed from those elegant folds, but when I tried to speak, I found to my horror that I had forgotten the careful opening sentence I had endlessly rehearsed for the occasion.

  “Alicia? Is something wrong?”

  I found my tongue. “No, nothing’s wrong,” I stammered, “nothing at …” I ran out of breath unexpectedly and had to pause to regain it. I felt as if I were in the midst of some violent punitive exercise. “… at all. I just … Jake, may I see you sometime, please? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you. I know you’re very busy, but …”

  “I always have time for my friends. When would you like us to meet?”

  “Oh, I … well, I … I thought maybe you could stop by at our house after work one evening for a drink.”

  “Yes, of course—I’d be delighted. What evening did you have in mind?”

  “I thought … perhaps next week … Thursday. … Of course, if it’s not convenient …”

  “Thursday would be fine. But won’t Neil be away in Chicago?”

  “Yes. But this is something very confidential, Jake. You mustn’t tell Cornelius. Or anybody else.”

  “My lips will be completely sealed, I promise you!” He looked both bemused and intrigued. “I hope there’s nothing seriously wrong?”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “Nothing. Thanks so much, Jake.”

  “Till Thursday,” he said, raising his hand casually in farewell as he drifted away into the crowd. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

  I stared after him, and the noise in the room seemed to increase, until I felt dizzy. Leaning back against the wall, I tried to breathe evenly, but my body was bathed in sweat and I felt more ill than ever. I felt unclean, too, as if I had been contaminated by some disgusting disease.

  The compulsion to turn to Cornelius for comfort was overwhelming, and when my dizziness had passed I edged my way blindly through the crowds to the place where we had separated. The journey seemed to take an immense time. I felt as if I were moving in that familiar nightmare where the person one wants is always just beyond one’s reach.

  “Cornelius!”

  I found him at last. He turned, and as I swayed with relief, the woman at his side stopped talking. I stared at her. Nobody spoke. It was as if the whole room had fallen silent, although the roar of conversation still pounded sickeningly in my ears.

  “Alicia,” said Cornelius in a voice devoid of expression, “this is Teresa Kowalewski. Some of her pictures are here, as you know. Teresa, this is my wife.”

  The woman wore a shiny red dress and red shoes. The two shades of red were a bad match. She was taller than Cornelius and looked large and awkward beside him.

  “Hi,” she said, looking larger and more awkward than ever.

  “Good evening.” I wished I could think of some annihilating phrase. In my daytime serials the best wives could always cut the mistresses down to size.

  For a second I still could not believe she was the woman who went to bed with Cornelius. I knew that there was a Polish-American woman somewhere in Manhattan called Teresa who painted pictures and had only one evening frock, and I knew that Cornelius had for various reasons been seeing her regularly, but I had never comprehended the enormity of her role in his life. No doubt I had preferred not to face the truth; perhaps, loving Cornelius as I did, I had been incapable of facing it. But now the magnitude of the whole appalling hurtful mess burst violently upon me and there was no avoiding it. This vulgar, coarse, garish girl went to bed with my husband. Somewhere in New York there was a bed where they lay naked together and practiced all the physical intimacies I was denied. She knew how he kissed. She knew how he made love. She possessed a whole world of knowledge which should have belonged only to me and which she had no right to share.

  I looked at Cornelius and for the first time felt totally betrayed.

  “This is just the most exciting day of my life!” the woman was saying in a rush. “In fact, I’m so frightened I can hardly speak!”

  “Oh.”

  “Teresa’s frightened of the critics,” said Cornelius unnecessarily.

  “Oh.”

  “Why, there’s Kevin!” exclaimed the woman. “Excuse me, but I just must …” She flew off thankfully.

  After a pause Cornelius said, strained, “I’m very sorry. I can’t think why you came over to us. I did warn you.”

  “Yes. It doesn’t matter.” I looked around blankly for someone to talk to. Yet another millionaire buttonholed Cornelius.

  I wondered what Jake would be like in bed.

  V

  I was wearing my smartest black dress and trying to decide how much makeup to use. I disliked makeup, but once one’s fortieth birthday was on the horizon one could hardly pretend one’s natural appearance was the most flattering. At last I powdered my face lightly, applied an unobtrusive lipstick, and gave my eyelashes a careful brush with mascara. Then, turning to my jewel boxes, I passed over the diamonds which Cornelius liked me to wear, ignored the rubies, sapphires, and emeralds which I secretly detested, and selected an unadorned gold pin.

  By six o’clock I was downstairs in one of the reception rooms—not Cornelius’ favorite, the Gold Room, which was small and cozy, but the Rembrandt Room, where gloomy Rembrandt self-portraits gazed down upon the exquisite furniture of eighteenth-century England. I drank a very large martini and ordered another. By that time I was wondering in panic if the Versailles Room would have provided a less depressing atmosphere, but I did not think I could have faced seeing myself reflected in all those gilt mirrors. Besides, the furniture was too rococo. Jake deserved the effortless elegance of the English furniture, and perhaps, as he was so accustomed to living with the Reischman art collection, he would barely notice the introspective Rembrandts on the walls.

  “Mr. Reischman, madam,” announced Carraway grandly in his richest British accent.

  As I rose to my feet, I discovered that the unaccustomed martini had made me lightheaded, and I rested my fingertips unobtrusively on the nearest table to steady myself. Under the circumstances it seemed not only a nominal but a hopeless attempt to maintain my equilibrium.

  “Alicia!” said Jake, moving smoothly into the room. “How are you? I hope I’m not late.” He held both my hands for a second and released them. The physical contact, arid and meaningless, was over before I could register any emotion, even dread. I noticed for the first time that he had square, workmanlike hands with short fingers.

  “No, no, of course you’re not late! Do sit down. What would you like to drink?” I tried not to sound like an actress reading an unfamiliar script.

  Jake glanced at my empty martini glass and then said casually as he sat down opposite me, “I’ll take some Scotch on the rocks. Johnnie Walker Black Label, if possible.”

  We made small talk about the opening of the exhibition until Carraway returned with our drinks. Jake was relaxed, polished, imperturbable. I was concentrating so hard on maintaining the conversation that it was hard for me to notice the details of his appearance, but I was aware that his dark suit was perfectly cut and that his plain shirt was fastened at the wrists by gold cufflinks.

  “… and how lovely Vicky was looking!” said Jake. “Marriage evidently agrees with her.”

  “Yes, we’re all so relieved.”

  Carraway withdrew. Jake picked up his glass of Scotch “Here’s to you, Alicia!” he said with a suave courtesy any diplomat might have envied. “Thank you
for inviting me. Now, what’s this confidential matter you mentioned? I have to admit I hardly know how to contain my curiosity!”

  It occurred to me that if he had had any inkling of what I had in mind he would have been far less flippant. “Well …” I drank some more of my new martini and began again. “It’s just …” I stopped.

  “Is it about Neil?” said Jake, still suave but mercifully direct.

  “Yes,” I said, drinking very fast again.

  He offered his cigarette case to me.

  “No, thank you, Jake, I hardly ever smoke nowadays. Cornelius’ asthma—”

  “I’m not Cornelius and I think you should have a cigarette to calm you down.”

  I took the cigarette. As he lit it for me he said abruptly. “Is Neil in some kind of trouble?”

  “Oh, no!” I said rapidly. “Everything’s fine. It’s just that, well, we’ve decided to … to live a little differently, that’s all. I mean, it’s entirely a mutual decision, and our marriage is intact, but … well, it’s all a bit different now from the way it used to be.”

  After a pause Jake said, “I see,” and lit his own cigarette.

  “No, I don’t suppose you do, because I’m explaining myself so stupidly. Cornelius has a mistress, Jake. I mean, it’s not like that time when you … it’s not just one night here and there with anyone who happens to be available. There’s a woman he sees regularly. I guess you probably know all about it.”

  “No,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

  “Oh. I somehow have this idea that you, Cornelius, Kevin, and Sam know all each other’s secrets.”

  “My dear, those days are long gone—we’re all a hundred light-years away now from those Bar Harbor summers with Paul. How did you find out about this mistress?”

  “Oh, Cornelius told me,” I said, “of course.”

  There was another pause before Jake said, “Of course.”

  “For various reasons—I needn’t bother you with them—Cornelius and I have decided not to sleep together anymore. We’ve discussed the whole thing calmly and sensibly and agreed that he should take a mistress while I should … should …”

  “Take a lover? Neil surprises me. I wouldn’t have thought him capable of being so civilized. Does he feel extraordinarily guilty toward you for some reason?”

  I heard myself say quickly, “I don’t want to go into his motives, Jake.”

  “And I’m not sure I want to hear them. Well,” said Jake, sitting back comfortably in his chair with his glass in one hand and his cigarette in the other, “so you’re looking for a lover.”

  “Yes.” Unable to look at him, I finished my martini and listened to a calm sensible woman who could not possibly be me talking nonchalantly about the difficulty of committing adultery. “Of course, it’s very awkward. I’ve got to be totally discreet, and that’s why I can only choose someone who would be loyal to Cornelius. You may think it absurd—even bizarre—that I could only ask someone loyal to Cornelius to do something which would appear to be the ultimate disloyalty, but …”

  “… but what more loyal gesture could one imagine? If the man looked after his friend’s wife when the friend himself was apparently unwilling to do so, wouldn’t he in fact be doing everyone the greatest possible favor?”

  “Exactly!” An enormous burden seemed to dissolve amidst the relief that such perfect understanding made further explanations unnecessary. “Yes. Well … you can see how awkwardly I’m placed. There are so few men I can rely upon absolutely, and since Sam’s married to my own stepdaughter and Kevin wouldn’t be interested …”

  “My dear Alicia!” Jake put down both glass and cigarette and sprang to his feet. “What an enormous compliment!” Without the slightest hesitation he took my hand and raised it to his lips before sitting down beside me on the couch. “I’m immensely flattered! Thank you very much. However …”

  “You’re not interested.” I did not know how I was going to endure my humiliation. My face was already hot with shame as I stared down at my hands, but just as I was wondering in despair how I was ever going to face seeing him again, he said wryly, “You underestimate yourself. If you were any woman but Cornelius Van Zale’s wife, I assure you I wouldn’t have waited all these years for an invitation.”

  His left hand moved. I could see with great clarity the blunt square nails and the solid flesh around the joints, and when that hand covered mine I found those thick powerful fingers had a firm comforting clasp. Then I noticed with equal clarity that the dark material of his suit was stretched tight across his thigh as he leaned toward me, and for a second I had a vivid impression of the strong solid flesh beneath. My glance traveled farther up his thigh and then stopped, although the image I now saw existed only in my imagination.

  I felt hot, but the heat no longer sprang from embarrassment. I heard myself say in a low voice, “I know you’d never deceive Cornelius under ordinary circumstances, Jake, but these circumstances are quite different. After all, Cornelius has given me his full permission to have an affair with whomever I choose.”

  “Alicia,” said Jake, “let me give you a word of advice. Neil may sincerely believe he can regard your adultery with equanimity. He may honestly and truly believe it. But the fact is, there are very few men who can tolerate their wives’ adultery, and I doubt if Neil would ever be able to take his place among those select few. It’s all very well to say that you’ve both discussed this in a civilized fashion, but the truth is, there is no civilized way of discussing adultery. It’s a primitive subject dealing with primitive emotions, and the people who get into the worst messes are always the people who think they’re operating under these so-called civilized agreements. Never, never tell him if you’re unfaithful to him, and make very, very sure you’re never found out.”

  I felt chilled. “You think it would be too dangerous for you to become involved with me.”

  “No, I didn’t say that.” Satisfied that I had taken his warning seriously, Jake seemed to relax. With his free hand he reached for his cigarette. “I think if we were careful,” he said, “there’d be a ninety-nine-percent chance that we’d never be found out. It’s only in the canons of literature that adultery inevitably has disastrous consequences. However, there would always be that slight risk, and frankly it’s a risk I just can’t afford to take. I do a lot of business on Wall Street with Neil, and his goodwill is vital to me. And besides …” He fell silent.

  “Besides,” I said bleakly, concluding the sentence for him, “no matter what one says to the contrary when one’s trying to be sophisticated, a man just doesn’t go to bed with his best friend’s wife.”

  “Nonsense, it happens all the time! Anyway, men like Neil and myself don’t have friends in the accepted sense of the word. We have the three A’s instead: allies, aides, and acquaintances. Or in other words: those we barter with, those we buy, and those we acknowledge because it suits us to do so.” I must have looked shocked by such cynicism, for he added quickly, “But yes, I’m fond of Neil and I respect him—although that’s irrelevant to what I’d intended to say, which was this: I have trouble believing that I’m the best solution to your problem. Surely the answer is to wait until Neil recovers from this temporary madness and comes back to you? What the hell’s he doing with this other woman anyway? It’s you he’s crazy about! You’ve no idea what a shock you gave me just now when you said he had a regular mistress.”

  “He can’t help it—it’s not his fault …” To my distress, I began to cry.

  Jake’s hand tightened on mine. “Can you try to explain the problem to me?”

  “No, I mustn’t … not fair to Cornelius … no one must know.”

  “Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to tell someone? And don’t you think in retrospect that your main reason for inviting me here was that you were at your wits’ end and needed someone to confide in?”

  “Perhaps.” I had pulled my hand away and was scrabbling for a handkerchief.

  He crushed out his cig
arette. “I don’t think you want a lover at all,” he said, reaching for his Scotch. “I think you just want someone to talk to.”

  My voice said at once, “It’s not as simple as that.”

  “No?”

  I shook my head violently and watched the Scotch glint gold-brown as the glass was replaced on the table.

  “I must go before I do something very foolish,” said Jake, rising abruptly to his feet.

  I said nothing.

  He did not move. Several seconds passed. I could not look at him.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to help you. I only wish I could come up with some helpful advice.”

  “Please go, Jake.”

  “But I want you to know …”

  “It’s all right. I understand.”

  There was another silence before he said politely, “We must meet again, of course. Unless you’d prefer …”

  “Yes. I want to go on as if this meeting had never happened.”

  “As you wish.” He moved toward the door. “Forgive me, but I’m sure this is the wisest course for both of us.”

  I nodded, my head bent over my clasped hands, and waited for the noise of the closing door. The wait seemed interminable, but at last I heard the soft click of the lock signaling to me that I was alone.

  “Oh, God!” I cried aloud in despair, and the tears streamed through my fingers as my whole body shook with sobs.

  His hand touched my shoulder.

  I gasped. The shock was so great that it transformed that delicate gesture into an electrifying act of violence.

  “I locked the door,” he said, and took me in his arms.

  Chapter Four

  I

  I COULD THINK ONLY how different he was from Cornelius. Cornelius’ mouth was always so firm, even when he was kissing softly, but Jake’s kisses were somehow more pliable, less easily defined. His lips were thin but subtly shaped; his tongue was hard yet tentative as he sought to explore the mouth I could not open; I was aware of complex emotions stirring behind that polished surface, emotions which would have been alien to Cornelius’ straightforward expression of physical desire, and although I tried to part my lips for him, my reserve intensified to defeat me and I knew I was frightened of the unknown.