‘Bye, thanks for the letter,’ she replied. ‘And for your kindness.’ He seemed somewhat smaller now.
‘It was nothing.’ He sounded disappointed, or was it concerned? He closed the door gently.
Ann switched on the lamp next to her bed, then rose to turn off the ceiling light. As she passed her face in the mirror, she was struck by the dark lines beneath her eyes. No wonder Mark seemed worried. She looked a ‘proper wreck’, as Esther said. She suspected this was as much from overwork as from flu. She felt she should eat or drink something, but she was too tired and too weak to think what to fix. Should she have accepted his offer? Why was she always defensive? She leaned back on the bed and picked up Wanda’s letter.
Dear Ann,
We’ve been so worried with all the news of these raids on London. Are you all right? Do they come near where you work and live? Please write soon, even if it’s just a note, to let me know you’re OK.
And tell me more about this man Reuben. He sounds fascinating with his education and his travels. I’ve always been curious about Vienna. He seems like he would be good company, and stimulating …
Ann closed her eyes in fright. How much had she told Wanda about Reuben? She must have written ages ago. Had she been that interested in him then?
Life here is pretty much the same. The teaching is fun, although I have to tiptoe around Mrs W. sometimes. We don’t hear much from Howard and Roy. Do you hear from Daniel? I continue to write the diary; often I think it’s the only thing that keeps me from going nuts — that and the letters. Writing is my only link with the past — with old friends, but just as important, with old goals. Sometimes I can pretend that this place doesn’t even exist, that I’m back on Stockton Street. And then other times I like to write about this place because it’s a way of containing it. I have learned a lot about geography and while I’m not too keen on the extremes of temperature and the barren vistas, I have come to perceive another layer of the world — tiny changes in the desert flowers, for instance. So far I’ve seen a lot of Milkwort and Soapberry. I feel like renaming some of these beautiful things because they were so obviously identified by harsh Anglo-Saxons. Some of the names are OK, though, like Jojoba.
I’m really looking forward to Teddy’s visit. Her Pop seems better so she can leave now. Wish Moira could come too. It will be so good to catch up on the news, but I’m mainly looking forward to seeing that familiar face and hearing her drawl …
Ann put the letter on the bedside table. Falling straight asleep, she dreamt of Leah. Leah curled outside her bedroom window meowing like a cat. Such a beautiful child, with golden hair and deep brown eyes. Familiar in an eerie way. Shivering from cold or fear. How could Ann resist her? Yet what could she do for her? She could do everything. No, Leah would be better off in a proper home. Was she dreaming? Wasn’t this the same stream of feelings that tormented her when she was awake?
She turned on the light. 4.00. She slipped off her dress and crawled beneath the covers. Had she been sleeping? This was the common pattern — worrying about being sick and being sick from the worry. Ann reached for the aspirins on her bedside table and a glass of stale water. She took three pills, enough to quell a headache, enough to put her to sleep. Sleep of a sort. The child was still there, behind the window, crawling her way up now, wanting in, demanding something from Ann. Why Ann? Better that she chose parents in the safer countryside. Leah didn’t realize how lucky she was, a young healthy girl. She could have a good life, grow up in a professional family, safe until her own parents could reclaim her. Ann knew she was supposed to be realistic about this: if her own parents could claim her. It was so hard to be realistic. The child’s tail was wagging now — a great fluffy, yellow tail — yes, this must be a dream — she still wanted to come into the room. Ann turned over into blessed darkness, away from the window.
The knock was loud and persistent. Ann recalled Mae, the pub maid at the Opera Box. ‘Yes,’ her own voice. She struggled from sleep, thinking of Mark Speidel. And the rice. 11 a.m. Too early for rice. The knock continued. ‘Yes,’ she said louder, ‘I’ll be right there.’ She gathered her robe from the chair and answered the door, vaguely expecting a meow from the other side.
‘Phone, dear,’ Mrs MacDonald said, nervously plucking at her grey hairnet. The ample woman frowned closely. ‘Oh, hen, whatever is the matter with you?’
‘Just a touch of flu,’ Ann murmured, interested in her own resistance to Mrs MacDonald’s sympathy.
‘Well, perhaps I should have the party ring back. I don’t know that it’s wise for you to traipse around the hallway when you look so peelywally.’
Ann smiled. ‘No, I’m fine. I can answer the phone. It may be something important about work.’
‘Aye, those poor children.’ Mrs Mac sucked in her breath, seeming to forget Ann altogether.
Ann tied the robe and scrambled for her slippers. The phone was downstairs, just outside Mark Speidel’s room. She would be careful to keep her voice low. If she were lucky, he would be away working.
‘Hello, Ann?’
Esther. Ann was relieved that it wasn’t Reuben.
‘Yes, yes, kind of you to call. But I do think I’m back on my feet again.’ She looked down at her slippers, amused how two toes stuck out. The tabby and the black cat sniffed curiously at the hem of her bathrobe. She did feel better. If she rested all morning, she might be able to do some paper work this afternoon.
‘Good, good.’ Esther’s voice was shaking. ‘Because you’ll need your strength. Reuben was quite put out you hadn’t told him about being ill. I got the impression he’s planning a visit today.’
‘Thanks, Esther.’ Ann leaned against the wall. ‘Don’t worry, you couldn’t have done a thing to forestall him. It will be fine. Probably do him good to see me off that uncomfortable pedestal. Thanks for ringing. And don’t worry about me. I’ll be in Monday.’
She walked away from the phone, noticing her breath fog in front of her. It was kind of him to worry. Really, he was a decent fellow. But how could he just walk into her house without ringing? They were hardly intimate; they had always had such formal dates. Or had she been too thick to perceive his affection? Oh, she didn’t know. She was too tired to think about it. Why was she irascible with people who just wanted to do her a kindness? Climbing back up to her room, she felt the damp creep through her robe. She thought of the warm house on Stockton Street and Teddy’s hot chocolate. She missed the very smells of that house — the fragrant gardenias in early summer; Moira’s lemon talc in the bathroom; Teddy’s ever present lavender cologne. All she ever smelled in this place was the damp, musty scent of things falling apart: rotting upholstery, peeling wallpaper, molding tea leaves. And there wasn’t much visual relief. Mrs Mac was as frugal with her money as she was with her time. A few pictures wouldn’t break her. The single hall window stared out onto the brick wall of the neighboring house. Ann climbed wearily.
At the top of the stairs, Mrs MacDonald waited by her door. ‘Is there anything I can do for you, hen, before I run along? Some tea, or a wee bit of toast?’
‘No,’ Ann said, completely relinquishing yesterday’s fantasies of being pampered.
‘I’ll have a look in this evening. Stay wrapped up. You have enough coal now?’
‘Oh, yes, yes. It’s very kind of you to inquire. Don’t bother about me at all.’ Mark was right; she sounded perfectly British.
The fire was cold. She walked steadily to the grate and again was overcome by nausea. Maybe she would just let the fire go while she napped. If Reuben were coming she should apply a little rouge, but that would look ridiculous when she was still in a dressing gown. If he wanted to tend the sick, he might as well see how she felt. Why was she angry with him? What was going on with her today?
She rested fitfully in bed for half an hour. Then she reached for Wanda’s letter.
Betty’s piano lessons are going wel
l. Mama has refused to listen to her practice, though. Betty’s turning into quite an accomplished young lady. Sometimes it does amaze me how life seems to go on here ‘as usual’, how much we have forgotten about ‘usual’ life.
The war feels upside down sometimes. Our friends turn into enemies — like Italy — and our enemies — like Russia — turn into friends. I can hardly believe the daily reports of heroic Russian troops we get in the newspapers here. You too? It makes you wonder what war is really about and who we’ll be fighting next.
The rap on her door was louder this time, more forceful. Immediately Ann regretted the state of her hair and face.
‘Come in,’ she said, feeling exposed on her bed. But this was more dignified than stumbling to the door and collapsing in Reuben’s arms.
‘OK.’ She heard him set something on the floor — probably flowers; that was sweet of him — and slide the door ajar. She saw his boot push open the door and was flabbergasted to find Mark Speidel carrying a tray of food.
‘So how’s the patient?’ he began and, before she responded, he continued, ‘I heard you were awake half an hour ago. On the phone. So I thought you might have a little appetite.’
She coughed, further astonished that he was right; she was famished. The rice looked quite inviting. And somewhere — oh, glorious — he had found a fruit cordial. Before she could speak, he was down on his knees fussing with the fire.
‘You’ll never recover in this environment. Sounds like you’ve got it bad in the chest.’ He eyed her cigarette papers and packet of tobacco. ‘You need to stay as warm as possible. Say, where did you learn not to take care of yourself?’
‘That’s a long story.’ She laughed, at herself or him, she didn’t know.
Downstairs the bell rang. Ann heard someone — was it Ginny, the nurse? — greet the caller. Well, it served Reuben right, coming unannounced, to find another man in her bedroom. She tried to feel amused, but she began to cough fitfully.
He walked in empty-handed — his broad palms extended, his face all a worry. What a tall man he was. Ten times bigger than Mark who was kneeling at her fire.
‘So why didn’t you tell me? Why did I have to hear from Esther that you are sick?’
Not hello, may I come in, how are you, but an accusation right away. This had a familiar ring.
‘It was sudden, Reuben.’ Then, composing herself, she added, ‘Would you like to come in?’
‘I am in.’ He was aggrieved. ‘And,’ he finally noticed Mark, who was now gaping at him, ‘apparently I’m not the only one.’
‘Let me introduce you to my kind neighbor, Mark Speidel.’ She was surprised at the warmth in her own voice. She realized again how American Mark really was. By avoiding Americans she had tried to guard against homesickness and to preserve an illusory sense of life here. Mark brought her down to earth in a way that was both comfortable and unsettling.
‘Glad to meet you.’ Mark extended his one clean hand.
Reuben advanced grudgingly. ‘The same,’ he nodded shyly. Ann noticed how reticent he was meeting English or American people. Once he got used to you, he could talk your ear off. But at first he was testing the sensitivity of his listener and the comprehensibility of his accent. He was a proud man and also a considerate one, alternately afraid of mortifying himself and of imposing.
‘Mark’s father is a doctor and he prescribed this boiled rice.’
‘I see.’ Reuben said.
Ann was caught, enjoying this attention, worrying about Reuben and feeling embarrassed for Mark. After all, it wasn’t every girl who had men flitting around her room with food and good cheer. Why, just yesterday she thought she was all alone in London and here she was, surrounded by international chivalry.
‘Reuben works at the hostel with us.’ Ann turned to Mark, certain he would be more civil.
‘Oh, yes, very important work.’ Mark nodded. ‘What country are you from originally?’
‘Austria.’ Reuben spoke warily. ‘Vienna. Do you know it?’
‘I reported there before the war. Beautiful city. I remember many fine weekends in the hills.’
‘Well, let’s hope the hills still exist and that we’ll all survive to walk there again,’ Reuben answered thoughtfully.
Ann could tell Reuben was trying now. She looked at Mark who also seemed conscious of Reuben’s effort. As he was wiping his big hands on the towel near the grate, Ann watched the blond hairs glimmer from the fire. She reflected on the ease of his movements and the directness of his speech. He was so unEnglish, right down to this enormous portion of rice. She must eat before it turned cold. ‘Please sit down,’ she said to Reuben. He perched on the edge of a wooden chair; she could have predicted he would avoid the comfortable arm chair.
‘I’d better get going.’ Mark waved.
Ann nodded, her mouth full. She regretted his departure as much as she was relieved to be left alone with Reuben. He had made her realize just how lonely she was for the States. ‘Thanks for everything,’ she finally managed to say. ‘Are you sure you won’t stay?’
‘Sure.’ Mark smiled. ‘Nice to meet you.’ He clapped Reuben on the shoulder. Reuben smiled, considerably more relaxed.
‘So how are you?’ Reuben became more himself, his dark eyes waiting for an answer.
‘Oh, I’ll be OK. You know how illness spreads around the hostel.’
‘And I think you are worn out. How late did you work every night last week? This and your visits to Mrs Fineman and Mr Herscher. And that class at the university. How long can this go on? You’re going to be your own casualty.’
Ann leaned back into her pillow, remembering how Papa could also be conciliatory and scolding at the same time. On first glance, the men seemed completely distinct, but their resemblance was becoming unmistakable.
‘I know you mean well, but life here is different.’ He butted his head forward. ‘You can’t expect to accomplish the same amount you did in the States, in California, for God’s sake. Conditions just aren’t the same. Things take three times as long in Europe. And with a war on!’ He stared dubiously at the rice. ‘This is good?’
They both laughed.
‘We had two more placed yesterday.’ Reuben spoke with quiet anticipation. He could go into theatre this man, as a suspense artist.
‘After I left? So quickly? When? Who?’ She was taken aback by her own alarm.
‘David and Anna Friedman. That family in Carshalton. I think it will be good. I have to drive them this afternoon.’ He sighed, revealing weeks of fatigue.
No doubt he was as exhausted as she. Possibly he had the flu too. You could never tell about Reuben. He was fine at taking care of others and terrible at looking after himself.
‘You thought it was Leah, didn’t you?’ he asked.
She nodded, deliberately filling her mouth with the rice which now tasted like gold glue.
‘We have to talk about that girl.’ He shook his head.
She tried to read his expression and was lost in admiration for his face: deep-set eyes; large, proud nose; wide, sensuous lips; dark hair curling around the periphery. She was particularly fond of his eyebrows, so thickly knitted and firm.
She felt a sudden shiver of fear. They had hardly mentioned the child before this, at least they had said nothing particular about her. What did he know of her affection? Ann understood she must let go of Leah. In fact, she wasn’t certain how she was holding on to her.
‘She needs a home.’ His voice was low, almost stoic, the way it often got after a long day. ‘She is too little for the hostel. She has many chances for placement.’
‘I know.’ Ann was defensive.
‘But we both know she’ll never go.’
Her stomach sank. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s found her mother. She wants to be with you, Anna.’
‘That’s impo
ssible.’ She sat straighter. ‘Look at this room; look at my hours. What do I know about raising a child?’
‘It’s not what you know,’ he smiled. ‘It’s what you feel.’
She stared at the rice, incapable of another bite.
‘I have responsibilities elsewhere,’ she began.
‘Anna, dear Anna, I don’t think there’s anywhere on earth you don’t have responsibilities.’
‘No, I mean Papa.’ Her voice was more determined. ‘Let me read you his letter!’
Dear Ann,
How are you all the way over in London? I read about these air raids and worry every day. Things here are quiet. Work goes along well. I hear from Daniel every week, a little more regularly than I get letters from London. Isn’t it strange, don’t you think the post should be better from England?
Mama is the same. I visit her every evening. The nurse says she has never seen such a devoted husband. But sometimes it is hard to believe this is really my wife. She is so different from the woman I married. I talk to her, although I don’t know how much she hears. Sometimes she moans. Occasionally she nods. Yesterday she said, ‘wasser’.
I read her the letters from Daniel and you. She seems peaceful at such times. Or am I imagining? Yesterday she cried during your letter. Since we don’t hear from you so often, I read them over again. She sleeps a lot. The nurses say this is a good sign. Perhaps she is dreaming away the sadness. I keep thinking that some day I will walk in there and she will be waiting for me with a ribbon in her hair. That my Dvora will talk to me about our children and plans for our house. Oh, Ann, if you only knew how good it was once. We had everything — hope, health, ambition. I know it is my fault. I know I brought her to the wrong climate, that she could not endure here. But how was I to understand, then?
Reuben sniffed. ‘If he had to do it all over again, he would have stayed in Germany and you would all be in concentration camps. A big responsibility your father takes. It helps me to understand his daughter’s burden. And her eloquence. He writes fine English for an immigrant.’
Ann nodded, surprised to be compared to her father.
All Good Women Page 24
