She watched the waiter carefully as he served a bowl of caviar in a bed of crushed ice … Magda loved caviar. And the champagne was Dom Perignon. It was marvelous; the bubbles tickled her nose, making her giddy. The whole dinner was perfection. Only at one point did she almost forget her posture—when the wedding cake was brought in. Each of the three tiers was separated by crystal posts. The roses were so well carved that Magda longed to cut them, and the two silver bells on top would ring, she knew, if she pulled the white satin ribbons. But what almost took her composure away was the music box beneath, which played “I Love You Truly.”
Rubin dismissed the waiter. He placed the knife in Magda’s hand, and with his covering hers they cut deep into the first layer. …
It had begun.
The next morning Rubin decided to drive to Brighton Beach rather than take the train, so Magda would be able to enjoy the English countryside.
From head to toe Magda was the image of haute couture. She was dressed in a beige tweed suit. The fabric, the style, the cut were obviously Chanel. Her accessories matched perfectly … the felt cloche … the brown alligator shoes and bag … the long, flowing chiffon scarf, persimmon-colored, tied casually around her neck. As she slipped on the soft cocoa kid gloves, Rubin shook his head in amazement. Her hair was pulled back under the hat; only the twisted chignon showed. She looked regal, as though truly born to the purple. Rubin beamed. “You’re exquisite … really.” She looked at him coquettishly, with those magnificent eyes that changed color; this morning they seemed, somehow, more green. “And did you think I would be less? Remember, I was taught by a master.” She laughed delightedly. “However, if you noticed, I didn’t require the maestro’s help today … thank you.” Indeed, she no longer required anyone’s help. …Her thoughts shifted quickly to that day the countess was coming to meet her … the frustrations … the un-sureness … the pleading with Rubin to help … “Please, I need your help” …That Magda was gone. Today was the beginning of a new reign. …
Long live the Queen.
In Brighton, Rubin drove straight to the Regency.
Magda held her head high as Rubin registered. Nothing went unnoticed, everything impressed her. She had not only noticed the crest above the door, but also the date: 1812. Her eyes drank in everything.
On the way to their rooms, Rubin took her by the arm. Proudly, Magda walked through the lobby, aware that many eyes were on her … appraising … admiring. The Regency, she knew, was the height of elegance.
The suite was a symphony of color. The walls were covered in yellow damask. Above the gray marble mantel hung the ceiling-high mirror. The gold leaf chairs and settees were upholstered in petit point designs of roses and bows. Flower-filled vases were everywhere.
The moment Rubin dismissed the attendants, Magda led Rubin by the hand into the bedroom. The enormous canopy bed was covered in blue taffeta. The ivory draperies were held back with heavy tasseled cords. The walls were covered in rose silk. She could no longer wait to make love in such a bed. Her fingers slipped off Rubin’s tie, unbuttoned his vest … shirt … slipped the suspenders over his shoulders. Nimbly, she unbuttoned his trousers, which fell on the exquisite carpet. She felt his hardness grow, as the last piece of underclothing was discarded. Quickly disrobing herself, they clung together, naked. Magda kissed the lobe of his ear, then his cheek. Opening her mouth, she gently touched his tongue … then more intensely. Now her kiss moved down slowly, unhurried, until it reached the place which made Rubin moan with ecstasy. Lifting her up from her knees, he carried her to the bed. The world was spinning as he entered her. Her pink distended nipples heightened his pleasure as he kissed and sucked them tenderly. Magda was now on him, they rolled over together without separating him from that deliciously warm, moist place. And finally it was as though the world had ceased to exist … and all that mattered was this moment …
Rubin lay back now, with Magda curled up close to him …Suddenly she sat up in bed. “I’m starved.” Rubin laughed. “It seems I’ve heard that before.” Magda laughed. “In Paris, the first night at Emile’s. You starved me then. Do you intend to make a habit of it?” she said, tickling him in the ribs.
“Please … don’t … I’m afraid I’m ticklish—”
“Ah … now I’m getting to know your true weak points,” and she continued remorselessly.
“Stop, I’ll feed you, anything, just stop.”
Slapping him gently on the bottom, she said as she jumped out of bed, “Then order the food … and it better be here by the time I’m through bathing and dressing. Do I make myself clear? Remember, this is your mistress speaking.”
Laughing, he said, “What a fine combination, a mistress and a wife. I shall need to improve myself if—”
Going swiftly back to the bed, she bent over, kissed him into silence, then nibbled his ear lobe and whispered, “You, my lover, are the greatest lover. How in the world can you improve on that?”
Rubin woke up at four in the morning, trying to convince himself that it really wasn’t raining. It didn’t rain at Brighton in June. Impossible! Then he looked over at the open window and saw the downpour coming in. Everything was soaking wet. He got up to close the window. As he got back into bed, he thought, it seems to rain a great deal in my life … the day I left Paris … the morning I arrived home … and now, on my honeymoon. Was it an omen? His last conscious thoughts before sleep were of his family. …Father … I’ve disappointed you …Mother … forgive me …I hurt you all, I know …Leon, my favorite brother … don’t turn your back on me … and poor Jocelyn …Magda, love me … there are only the two of us now. …
It rained and stormed for the next five days. Magda was miserable. The only excitement she had was dressing four times a day. Eating in the dining room gave her a chance to show off her morning wardrobe. Then there was lunch, in a different outfit, then tea. Thank God for tea time … something to do and to wear. Of course, dinner was very formal, befitting the chamber music that was played as they ate. Otherwise, the days were very long. They knew almost no one, nor did anyone try to get friendly. It seemed that everyone else was acquainted. Magda was beginning to despise the Regency and Brighton Beach … what little she could see of it.
She hadn’t been able to promenade or wear her bathing suit or dance or go out to the pier—and she wasn’t too happy with Rubin just now either. What’s more, she wasn’t even going to the dining room today. Not after being ignored by … what was that bitch’s name? Lady Pamela Pembroke … Magda hoped she would choke on her damned tea and crumpets …Imagine! The way Lord and Lady Pembroke passed Rubin in the dining room last night, drowning, looking daggers at him and then scrutinizing her. So this is the little strumpet Rubin had jilted the Sassoon heiress for …Well! Rubin had acknowledged them, but they walked on by without a word. Then, making sure they would hear, dear Lady Pembroke had said, “Come, Charles. I think our party is waiting.” From that moment on whispers and glances were directed to their table. And by the time the Hacks left the dining room, the air was charged with hostility.
The sting of last night still remained. Magda turned from the window and went back to bed. She felt miserable, completely out of sorts with Rubin for making such a damned fool of himself by acknowledging the Pembrokes. To further add to her frustration, he now sat reading placidly in the living room as though it had never happened. And her menstrual cramps kept coming on stronger. Maybe if she had her period the tensions would subside. She sighed her discontent When Rubin came into the bedroom to ask how she felt, she was near the point of screaming. “No … I don’t want anything. Don’t bother me.”
He tried to take her hand, but she turned her back to him. “Magda,” he said, “I’m sorry about the weather … I know it’s miserable for you …Would you like some tea?”
Turning abruptly, she faced him. “I only want one thing, and that’s to get the hell out of this damned place.”
With more anger than he intended, Rubin said, “Don’t talk to me
like that I didn’t make this weather—”
“You told me it never rained in Brighton in June.”
“You’re acting like a child. I’ve done everything I could to please you. I’m going downstairs.”
As he left she called out, “Please come back. I’m—”
But he had already shut the door.
Now her anger was replaced by embarrassment. She had lost her Rumanian temper. She would have to learn to control it. There was more to being a lady than just lovely dresses. …Ladies were restrained … Rubin must hate me … I did act like a spoiled little slut. Oh Rubin, I will learn … please have patience. …
Rubin went to the taproom, ordered a whiskey and water, and sipped it slowly. He was sorry, too … Magda was disappointed …Of course she was. She was young and spirited …Be tolerant, help her … love her … with all her tempestuousness … isn’t that what attracted you to her in the first place?
Quickly, he got up and went back to the suite. Magda rushed into his arms, kissing him over and over as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Rubin. I’ve behaved like a spoiled, ungrateful—”
He placed his finger against her lips, stroking her hair. “Don’t say any more, there’s no need. It’s been miserable for you. Forgive me for losing my temper. …We’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Then you’re not angry with me?”
“How could I be, how could anybody be …?”
“Thank you, Rubin …I love you, darling.” And she proceeded to show him.
The next morning a subdued, dignified Magda sat at breakfast, brought to their rooms, serving her husband as a dutiful wife should. She was wearing an iridescent violet taffeta dressing gown. The ruffle around her neck, tied with a velvet bow, made her look positively angelic.
Rubin watched her as she broke the egg into the cup, buttered his toast, poured his coffee, and boned his kipper. She was feeling glorious this morning, thank God. During the night, after their lovemaking, she had gotten her period, and all the premenstrual tension seemed gone. …
“Rubin,” she said, casually, “where are we going to live?”
“After you’ve seen a little of London, we can make up our minds.”
“I don’t know one place from another.”
“You soon will.”
“But Rubin, I’m going to have a terrible time with your language—”
“Nonsense, Magda, and I think you can speak it better than you pretend—”
She smiled. “Do you think I’m pretending …?”
“Yes, my little actress, I do.”
“Oh Rubin, you’re too smart for me …”
“I don’t think that for a minute.”
“Yes you are, you see right through me—”
“Not true … you’re a lady of many moods … I haven’t even begun to discover you.”
“No, Rubin, you are quite wrong. I’m exactly what I appear to be … when I’m happy I show it … when I’m not, unfortunately, I show that too. But I shall improve. I promise.” She wondered if Rubin really believed her … or if she really believed herself. …She changed the subject “What will you do when we get back?” A question which was inevitable, and this, she decided, was as good a time as any to ask it.
He spoke in obvious seriousness. “I’m going to try to paint. Of course I’ll never sell in London, but there are other places—”
“But why shouldn’t your work sell in London?”
“Because, my pet, I have committed the unpardonable sin of jilting an heiress and marrying for love.”
Taking a deep breath she said softly, “I’m sorry, darling—”
“Well, please don’t be … I’m not—”
“And your family? You have no regrets?”
“Not about marrying you.”
“Will they ever forgive you?”
“I don’t know, I hope so … although I suppose I’ll always be the black sheep—”
“Because of me.”
“No, because of me. The English don’t mind adultery. It’s run through our history from the beginning. As long as it’s kept in its proper little closet, everything’s fine. But once we flaunt our sins, they hold us up to ridicule. We must be punished. It’s so very English. Anything for the sake of appearances … someday I’ll tell you how Brighton Beach became famous …”
“Tell me now,” Magda begged.
“Well … George the Fourth was considered a wicked young man. He was madly in love with a woman named Mrs. Fitzherbert, whom he’d been having an affair with for a long time. They came to Brighton to get away from the court and that’s the way Brighton became fashionable. But he loved her so much he finally married her … though he eventually was forced to annul the marriage—”
“At least they can’t make us do that. With such a history, you’d think the English would be more tolerant.”
“No, the rules must be enforced at any cost. As long as our sins are kept within the bounds of propriety, we can do almost anything—except, of course, marry out of our class. But don’t look so glum, darling … we won’t, I assure you, starve. I do have some money saved from my practice as a barrister, my brothers and I share a legacy from my grandparents.”
“Rubin, since you bring it up, how much do we have?”
“About … fifty thousand pounds.”
“Oh, Rubin, I’ll never understand your money. How much is that in francs?”
“About a million and a quarter, I’d say.”
“My God, Rubin, that’s impossible … so much …”
“The only thing impossible, my love, is to describe how much I love, and need you.”
Magda waited by Rubin’s side as he took care of the bill. Then he went on to see about the car. Walking through the lobby, she saw Lady Pembroke coming toward her. Magda’s eyes narrowed …Nothing would have pleased her more than to spit in the Lady’s eyes …But that would have been un-English …A woman of breeding did not act so vulgar. So Magda just smiled. A smile that said, Go to hell, your highness … or your ladyship. You’ll drop dead before I ask for your approval … I’m Mrs. Rubin Hack, and don’t you forget it. London will hear about me …Wait and see …Magda lifted her shoulders, her head held high … and walked to the waiting car. Comfortably seated, she adjusted her blue chiffon scarf.
“All right, Rubin Hack, let’s go home.”
Rubin lost no time in introducing Magda to London, showing her all the historical landmarks. From Canterbury to Haymarket … the buildings of Parliament … Piccadilly Circus … the Royal Mews … St. Paul’s Cathedral … the tower of London … Trafalgar Square … Westminster Abbey … the Zoological Gardens … Hyde Park … the British Museum … Buckingham Palace …
When they returned from each trip, she’d take off her shoes and relax on the bed, but Rubin was like a man possessed. She was surprised to find that his desires were greater than hers. She would often be content to spend an evening in their rooms just relaxing, but Rubin wanted to keep on the go. They dined at Gatti’s, the Dorchester, the Ritz. She loved the theaters, especially the music halls. It wasn’t as though Rubin was deliberately trying to thumb his nose at London society. Rather, it seemed to Magda that he had decided not to hide, not to live like a leper on this snooty island. Naturally, she was pleased.
Although her English was improving—and she learned rapidly—still it wasn’t always up to understanding all the humor, the nuances of the theater. But when she didn’t understand a particular word she would ask what it was in French and Rubin, in turn, would repeat the English equivalent, which she would then repeat over and over to herself. She was determined to conquer the English language … well, if not conquer, at least insure that Rubin would not be embarrassed. At the same time, though, she made sure her French accent remained intact. She was actress enough to know how simply charming it was.
They looked for a flat, and finally found a perfect place on Wimpole Street
“Only a few blocks from where Elizabeth Barr
ett Browning lived,” Rubin said delightedly.
Who, Magda wondered, was that? She’d look it up. Imagine, she thought, the Hacks living so close to her …
The flat consisted of an oval central foyer which separated the drawing room from the dining room. Off the kitchen and pantry were the maids’ rooms. The three bedrooms were huge. What impressed Magda most were the Victorian mantels. Two separate bathrooms had been installed by the former owners.
“It’s going to be elegant, Rubin …Wait and see. I can hardly wait to move in. How long will it take?”
“A few weeks … if we have enough people working on the job.”
“I want the dining room to have murals, like Emile’s …”
“His are painted on the wall—”
“Why couldn’t you do them?”
“It’s not the kind of painting I do, darling, but we can select Zubbers.”
“What are they?”
“Old murals done on canvas, very traditional and very attractive. Do you really like the flat, Magda?”
“I love it … I love you so, Rubin … let’s celebrate. I feel like drinking champagne.”
Taking the lift down, she said, “Just think of living so close to … Elizabeth Barrett Browning.”
Rubin laughed.
“What’s so funny, darling?”
“Magda, she’s been dead for over fifty years.”
“Really? …Well, I didn’t know it was that long—”
Pulling her to him, Rubin laughed again. And this time she joined him.
Today was the end of a week’s heavy shopping. When they got back, Magda quickly undressed and then soaked in a warm tub. Her feet were killing her. From the bedroom, about to call room service, Rubin asked what her pleasure would be for dinner.
“You …” she called back.
“A wise choice. But for the entrée …?”
“Oh, make it Dover sole … for a complete English evening.” She giggled, pleased with her small joke.
Rubin took the afternoon papers into the living room. He was more than a little interested in the news. The tensions in Europe were growing. He noted the date, July 28, 1914 … strange … one month ago today Magda and he had been married, and on that same day the Archduke Francis Ferdinand and his wife had been assassinated in Sarajevo. For a moment the coincidence startled him …Now, this morning, Austria had declared war on Serbia. True, the Archduke Ferdinand had been the heir apparent to the throne of the Austrian-Hungarian empire, but the great powers had seemed to take the assassination calmly. It was considered a local incident, a national problem which would obviously have to be dealt with. But no one would have thought that the major nations would become involved in war as the result of the carelessness of a chauffeur who had taken a wrong route. No one could have foreseen that a crime involving six unknown Serbian radicals would lead to open warfare.
Seasons of the Heart Page 43
