Sins of the Fathers

by Susan Howatch

I went to the airport. I boarded the plane. I set off on that long journey east into another world. We seemed to fly endlessly above the hazy sea far below, but after the long twilight darkness fell, the plane began its measured descent and finally the neon glow of London stretched ahead of us as far as the eye could see.

  IV

  I knew he was somewhere nearby as soon as I walked out of the customs hall. I stared feverishly at the crowds hanging over the barriers, but beyond the blur of unknown faces there was no sign that he had come to meet me.

  Then I saw him. I had moved around the edge of the crowd and was just looking back across the hall when he walked through the doors from the sidewalk. He was thirty yards away.

  He gave his smallest, politest smile, and raised his hand in greeting.

  I tried to move forward to meet him, but nothing happened. I just stood there, my suitcase in my hand, and was at once immensely aware not of time standing still but of time moving on at last after some intolerable hiatus.

  I forgot my clear-eyed analysis of the future in which I solved everyone’s problems with such matchless efficiency. I forgot the frustration of the present in which I felt shackled by my past mistakes. And I certainly forgot the pain of the past, when I had daily wondered how I was going to survive on my own. In that second when I saw him again, my mind focused itself on his presence with such intensity that every move he made seemed like a revelation of some spellbinding truth and every detail of his appearance assumed a blinding significance.

  His hair was grayer at the sides, and also longer, to conform with current masculine fashion. I had never realized until I saw him then how short he had kept his hair before. At first glance I thought he was still clean-shaven, but a second later I saw he now had a pair of slim, trim sideburns. He had put on some weight too, but that suited him, for he had always been too thin. His eyes were a bright black, like polished volcanic rock. His walk was rapid but very smooth, very confident. He wore an immaculately tailored dark suit with a discreetly striped blue-and-white shirt. His tie was navy-blue silk. His shoes gleamed. His cufflinks were silver. I wanted him so much I could barely stand.

  “Hi,” he said. “How are you? Good trip? Okay, let me take your case. The car’s outside.” And he began to walk away from me with my case in his hand.

  I just managed to stumble along in his wake. My breath was coming unevenly and I felt unbearably hot. All rational thought was impossible.

  Outside, a policeman, an English policeman with a helmet and no gun, was chatting sociably with the chauffeur of a milk-white Rolls-Royce, but when we left the building he turned to face us, and the chauffeur sprang forward to open the passenger door.

  Scott set the suitcase down on the pavement. “Sorry, officer, we’re just going.”

  “Very good, sir, but perhaps you’d be so kind as to ask your chauffeur to use the car park next time, if you please.”

  I remembered that I was now a foreigner in a land where even threats were wrapped up in inscrutable politeness, and looking around dazedly, I saw the malformed little cars with their displaced steering wheels, the shabby people in raincoats, the soft drizzle falling steadily from the alien neon sky.

  I suddenly realized they were all waiting for me, so I crawled into the Rolls and collapsed on the upholstery. Scott sat on the back seat beside me. We didn’t speak, just waited while the chauffeur placed the suitcase in the trunk and returned to his position behind the wheel.

  The car drew away from the curb.

  “I spoke to your mother on the phone today,” said Scott effortlessly while I was still racking my brains for the appropriate small talk. “She’s much better. I don’t think she’ll have to stay in the Clinic long. I’m having my secretary find out about convalescent homes on the south coast.”

  “Oh. Yes. What a good idea. Thank you so much.” The car was heading for the tunnel which led out of the airport.

  “She’s looking forward to seeing you, of course.”

  “Yes. Oh, yes. Good.” I didn’t dare look at him in case I lost control of myself and did something stupid which would upset him. His lack of emotion made it obvious that the last thing he wanted from me was an embarrassing display of passion.

  We traveled on in silence, but at last, feeling that even the most mundane question would be preferable to this appalling lack of conversation, I said, “Do you like living in London?”

  “Not much.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “You’re three thousand miles away.”

  I looked at him before I could stop myself, but not a muscle of his face had moved. And then, very slowly, he smiled.

  “Christ, Vicky,” he said, “it’s been such a long time.”

  “Oh, God, Scott … I … Oh, God …”

  “I’m sorry about what happened. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but—”

  “Oh yes, you do!” I blazed. “You turn on the charm and expect me to grovel at your feet, you egoist, you son of a bitch, you …”

  He started to laugh. “All I did was offer you an apology!”

  “I’ll tell you what you can do with your apology!” I said, but I never did. I raised my face to his as he leaned over to kiss me, and the next moment his hair was coarse beneath my fingers, his hands were hard upon my body, and his mouth was dry as my tongue slipped past his lips.

  The Rolls-Royce swept serenely on toward London.

  V

  “All right, you bastard, level with me. Why didn’t you call?”

  “I had nothing to offer you. What right had I to reopen all the old wounds when I was still no closer to solving the problems that had divided us back in ’63?”

  “But were you never tempted—?”

  “Tempted! Of course I was tempted! I nearly called you lots of times to offer you another ride down the same dead-end street, but I always felt I just couldn’t do that to you. I cared too much. Then later your father said—”

  “If he lied, I’ll kill him. I will! I’ve had enough of him lying to you and wrecking everything!”

  Scott laughed. “This time we can’t blame your father. Other people besides Cornelius told me you’d made a new life for yourself, taking an active interest in the stock market, supervising your own portfolio, going out to parties, making new friends, even—”

  “No,” I said, “you can forget the gossip you heard about Jordan.”

  “Well, of course there must have been others. I fully realize that.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, I was sick of meaningless sex and I didn’t want anyone but you. My God, why on earth did I have to tell you that? I must be mad. The last thing your ego needs is a woman confessing she’s slept alone for three and a half years because she couldn’t get you out of her mind.”

  “Vicky … Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “What choice do I have? It seems I’m constitutionally incapable of being hard on you. More fool me.”

  “Shhh.” He started kissing me again. “It’s all going to come right, Vicky. Our dead-end street’s going to be opening into a freeway. It’s only a matter of months now till I’m back in New York, and then—”

  “The Savoy, sir,” said the chauffeur, opening the door.”

  We exchanged one more kiss. Then Scott dismissed both car and chauffeur and followed me into the hotel.

  VI

  “Okay,” I said, “I’ve been frank with you—much too frank—and now I’d like a little frankness in return. Tell me all about your show-stopping private life during the past three and a half years.”

  Scott smiled. We were propped up against a huge mound of pillows and drinking a bottle of champagne which he had found in the refrigerated liquor cabinet in the living room of my suite. For Scott, living on European time, it was two o’clock in the morning, but for me it was only nine o’clock at night. I felt alert, bright, and euphoric.

  I glanced at him. The soft light from the bedside lamp glowed on the tousled bed, wher
e the upper sheet, limp and creased, wound its way over my feet across his thighs and back again over my stomach. My breasts were a delicate shade of mottled pink, as if the recent unfamiliar events had proved shocking to them; dragging the sheet upward to cover their absurd color, I deprived Scott of the scanty covering on his thighs and at once I was aware of his strength, his solidness, and the pattern of hair on his chest, stomach, and groin.

  “Well?” I said. “Aren’t you going to tell me you’ve been having a whole string of glamorous affairs?” I was smiling too to show him I didn’t care what he’d done, but we both knew I cared very much. The rational part of my brain knew he must have had other women, but the irrational part made me feel jealous and hurt. I couldn’t bear to think of him with anyone else. But neither could I bear the thought of him lying to spare my feelings. “I want the truth!” I said fiercely, no longer looking at him. “I deserve it! You owe it to me!”

  “Sure.” He took my hand in his and stroked the back of it gently with his index finger. “I was in bad shape when I got to England,” he said at last, “and I thought my only hope was to try to replace you as soon as possible. I had an affair with a librarian. She wasn’t pretty but she was smart and I liked her. It seemed like some kind of answer. We lived together for six weeks. Then she left.”

  I waited for an explanation, but when none came, I said cautiously, “She found someone else?”

  “No, she just found me impossible to live with. I … was drinking a lot at the time.” He looked down at the glass of champagne in his hand, and I noticed for the first time that he had barely touched it. “However, I got that problem straightened out by moving out of the apartment I’d rented and moving into a town house, where I had to hire servants. When I was obliged to maintain a certain standard of behavior at home as well as at the office, I found it easier to keep my drinking under control.”

  “I see.” For some reason I didn’t like to question him further about his drinking. “And did the next girl last longer?”

  “Next girl? Oh, after the disaster with the librarian I didn’t like to risk living with anyone else. I did try my old game of one-night stands for a short time, but that didn’t work out either. I was too afraid of my old problem coming back, and soon I found I couldn’t face a woman until I’d had too much drink—another recipe for disaster, as I discovered all too quickly. Well, I knew I had to keep the drinking under control, so I thought, hell, why bother with women, why go to all the trouble, why try to use sex to relax when the result is so far from relaxing?” He laughed at himself, mocking his situation as if he were merely shrugging off past absurdities. His eyes shone with pain. “So finally,” he said, making a great business of turning away from me and setting down his glass of champagne, “sanity prevailed, common sense triumphed, and my show-stopping private life drew to its ignominious close. No doubt you’re now thinking I got exactly what I deserved after the way I treated you in New York. That’s certainly my opinion, and you’re very welcome to share it.”

  I put my hand over his and held it. He turned out the light so that he no longer had to make the effort to hide his expression. We lay side by side in the comforting darkness for some time.

  Finally he said, “I think I’m going to survive after all. I didn’t know how I was going to get through these years away from you. I often thought I wasn’t going to make it.”

  I put my fingers softly against his mouth. Then I kissed him. Later I said, “I would have come to London. I’d have done anything. If only—”

  “No,” he said. “No ‘if onlys.’ If you’d come to London to live with me, it would have solved some problems but created others—and those others might well have made life just as intolerable. Do you think I didn’t consider every option? Do you think I didn’t go over the situation time after time after time? The only solution I could see was to survive in London alone somehow and pray for a miracle which would leave you free and willing to see me again when the time was right.” He switched on the light once more and finished his champagne with an effort. “It’s strange,” he said, looking into his glass, “but I don’t even like liquor much. I drink Scotch because I’m never tempted to have more than two shots—I don’t care for the taste. The drink I like is vodka. You can dress that up and never know you’re taking alcohol … but perhaps that too has its disadvantages. I got into bad trouble in the navy once or twice because … But those days don’t matter anymore now that I’ve got my drinking under control, so why resurrect them? Let’s talk of something else.” He leaned over me with a smile and began to rub his fingers slowly through my hair. “I like you with your hair long.”

  “Good. Alicia thinks I look like mutton dressed as lamb.”

  “Alicia’s jealous of you, as usual!”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t bother me anymore. I don’t give a damn.”

  “How are she and Cornelius getting along nowadays?”

  “It’s hard to tell. I used to think they were on the verge of divorce again, but now I think they’re just very, very married. I’ve come to the reluctant conclusion that in their own peculiar way they’re a remarkable couple and that I should stop sneering at their marriage and start admiring it instead. Do you realize that they’ve now been married thirty-six years? That’s no mean feat, is it? My God! What on earth can it be like to have been married to the same person for thirty-six years!”

  “Shall we try it and find out?”

  I spilled champagne all over the bed. “Is that a proposal?”

  “What did you think it was? An invitation to a scientific experiment?”

  “Oh, Scott … darling …”

  All pain was over. He started laughing. I laughed with him, and in a haze of joyous relief we fell clumsily into each other’s arms.

  VII

  “Are you sure you want to marry me?” I said anxiously sometime later. “I know you’ve always felt you were unsuited for marriage.”

  “All I know is,” said Scott, “that I’m unsuited for a life without you. So long as we can be together, I don’t care whether I’m married, living in sin, or in residence at a zoo.”

  “In this case, you’ll have both marriage and the zoo! Oh, Scott, are you sure you don’t mind about the children? I know how you feel about—”

  “Let’s stop talking about how I feel and talk about how you feel. I know how much your children mean to you. I know you want a permanent relationship with a man you can rely on, and obviously in your circumstances it’s better if that man’s your husband and not just your lover. None of this is unreasonable. In fact, it could hardly be more natural. I hope you don’t think I’m so emotionally disturbed that I can’t understand your position, respect it, and go along with it.”

  “Well, of course I don’t think you’re emotionally disturbed, but—”

  “I’ll do my best with the kids, Vicky, I promise. It may not be a very good best at the beginning, but I’ll work at it. I love you and I’d do anything to make you happy. You mustn’t worry about the kids anymore.”

  Tears filled my eyes because this assurance was so exactly what I had wanted to hear. I whispered my thanks and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  We were silent for a while. By this time it was very late and I was feeling sleepy.

  “Of course,” said Scott at last, “your father’s not going to like this very much.”

  I was suddenly wide-awake. I noticed for the first time that there was an oval molding on the ceiling around the center light, and matching moldings in the ceiling’s four corners.

  “Your father and I are getting on very well at the moment,” said Scott. “I think we’ve managed to paper over all those cracks that developed in our relationship back in 1963. Even so, he’s bound to regard this marriage of ours with extreme suspicion. You do realize that, don’t you? I hope he won’t make you too upset.”

  “I’d just like to see him try!” I went on watching the ceiling. The soft light from the bedside lamp was reflected on the glass o
f the chandelier.

  “You’ve got much closer to him, haven’t you?” said Scott. “I could tell from the way he talked about you.”

  “Oh, we get along. It’s no big deal.”

  “If he should try to turn you against me …”

  “Scott, I’m thirty-six years old and my own mistress, and no man tells me how to run my life anymore.”

  “Okay. Fine. I just thought I should warn you …”

  “All right, you’ve warned me. Now, let’s drop it. It makes me angry to think of you and my father playing murky, messy, destructive games with each other. Thank God that’ll all be over when we get married! You can hardly go on shadowboxing with each other when I’m planted firmly between you with an olive branch in one hand and a white flag in the other!”

  I heard him laugh. “The referee in the ring?”

  “Well, why not?” I finally stopped watching the ceiling and turned my head to look at him. “It’s about time somebody tried to drill some sense into the pair of you!”

  He smiled at me. “Well, don’t look so fierce! I’m willing enough for a truce! It’s your father who’s going to be the problem!”

  “You leave him to me,” I said. “I’ll fix him.”

  VIII

  Later, much later, I opened my eyes to find him stooping over me as he stood fully dressed by the bed. The light was on in the little hallway which linked the sitting room with the bedroom of my suite.

  “I have to go home now, Vicky. I have to shave and change before I go to the office. Call me later, after you’ve seen your mother, and we’ll fix something for this evening.”

  “Mmmm …” I nodded, still drugged with sleep.

  His lips brushed mine. I was aware of his shadow moving away, and a moment later the light clicked off in the hall.

  “Good luck with your mother.”

  “Hm.”

  “I love you very much.”

  The door closed softly far, far away.