The Wheel of Fortune

by Susan Howatch

  “—and he caught you red-handed.”

  “Yes. Christ, he was bloody angry.”

  “Well, I suppose he had a right to be angry since you were prying among his private papers, but on the other hand I’m surprised he wasn’t glad to see how keen you are to learn.” I tried to stop myself wondering why my father should be so abnormally sensitive about anyone seeing the accounts. “What happened next?”

  Thomas did not answer immediately. His blue eyes reflected complex emotions; anger and resentment were mingling with some deep distress, and as I watched I saw the distress become uppermost in his mind.

  “Out with it, Thomas. You’ll feel better once you’ve told me.”

  But still he was silent, struggling with his feelings. At last he muttered, “Don’t want to be disloyal.”

  I was touched by this because I saw how fond he was of his father, but I was also disturbed and to my dismay I realized I was in the middle of an interview that was far more crucial than I desired.

  “There’s no question of disloyalty, Thomas,” I said quickly. “He’s my father as well as yours and I know very well he’s subject to mental disturbances. What did he do? Did he hit you?”

  “No. God, I wish he had. I wouldn’t have minded that. But he didn’t. He yelled at me and then—suddenly—he went to pieces. He said, ‘I can’t manage you anymore,’ and he went out into the hall and shouted for Mama.”

  There was a silence. Thomas bit his lip, pouted but finally tucked his mouth down at the corners again. “Silly old bugger,” he muttered fiercely. “I felt so ashamed for him.”

  “I’d have been both shocked and frightened,” I said at once, implying that shock and fear were permissible emotions in the circumstances. “What did you do next?”

  “Nothing. I was too … well, I just stayed where I was. Then Milly came, but he said he wanted his wife, not the parlormaid.”

  “Christ. How did Milly cope?”

  “She said, ‘Very well, Mr. Godwin, but why don’t you sit down for a minute while I fetch you a little glass of champagne.’ Then there was an awful silence, and just when I thought I was going to be sick, Papa said, ‘Milly’ and burst into tears. Oh God, John, it was so absolutely bloody—”

  “Bloody, yes. Did you manage to escape then?”

  “No, Milly told me to help her take him upstairs. He was shaking and crying and could hardly stand, but we got him up to his room somehow without the servants seeing. Then Milly said to me, ‘Go out of the house for an hour—go right out.’ She was very fierce about it so I went downstairs but I was sick in the cloakroom and the vomit got over my shirt so I went upstairs to change and then I heard noises going on in the bedroom, awful noises, I couldn’t stand it, I felt sick again—”

  “Yes, all right, Thomas, you don’t have to say anymore.”

  “It was hearing the noises—he was sort of screaming—”

  “Sit down again and I’ll get you some brandy.”

  Retrieving the decanter and two glasses from the dining room, I poured us each a stiff measure. Thomas drank his too fast and choked. Afterwards he whispered, “I don’t want to go back there just yet.”

  “No, of course not, I wouldn’t dream of suggesting it. You can stay here for as long as you like. I’ll go over to Oxmoon, have a word with Milly and sort everything out.”

  Thomas was too overcome to speak but not too overcome to grab the decanter and pour himself another measure. When he had gulped it down he said, “You’re the only one of all those bloody brothers that’s ever cared more than a pail of pigshit for me. I’m sorry I was so bloody awful to you in the past. I suppose I was jealous. I didn’t like it when the old bugger fawned over you, but I don’t suppose you’d ever understand.”

  I began to tell him how jealous I had been of Robert when I had been his age, but he was too upset to listen.

  “I hate Robert,” he said interrupting me. “I hate everyone and everything except you—the world, the weather, women, politics, Ramsay MacDonald, Stanley Baldwin, Bolsheviks, the Prince of Wales, Harrow, the English, the Germans, clergymen, God, the Devil and bloody sex. I hate them all and I only like animals and you—animals are better than humans because they don’t let you down, and you’re as good as an animal. You’re the only decent human being I know, and I don’t care who you sleep with.”

  I casually removed the brandy decanter as his hand wavered towards it, but my feelings were very far from casual. I was thinking of Thomas pitchforked from the secure loving innocent world my mother had created for him into the world of Milly Straker, and I had a long chilling view of my father’s moral debacle. Then suddenly I was contrasting Marian, racked by sobs, with the happy little girl who had said her prayers in the nursery with Blanche, and once more I had a glimpse of a wheel which terrified me.

  I closed my mind against it. Struggling to my feet I said abruptly to Thomas, “I’ll ask Mrs. Wells to prepare a room for you and I’ll tell Bronwen you’ve come to stay.”

  An hour later, when Thomas had been safely settled at the Manor, I found myself once more on the road to Oxmoon at the beginning of a new journey into hell.

  XVI

  “Much better for Thomas to be with you, dear,” said Milly. “I’ll go and pack a couple of bags for him straightaway. As for your father, I put him in the library because he’s always happy pottering around there with his papers, but don’t be surprised if he’s not entirely twenty shillings to the pound.”

  My father looked better than I had anticipated but not at all pleased to see me. He was seated at the library table in front of the estate books, and as I entered the room he looked up at me suspiciously over his spectacles.

  I asked his permission to look after Thomas for a while. “I think he could be useful to me at the farm,” I said, “and I’d enjoy his company.”

  “Yes, very well, you take care of him. I can’t manage him anymore; he’s too difficult.”

  I thought of the strong capable father of my early memories. When I could speak again I said, “Papa, there’s a question I’d like to ask but if it upsets you too much then naturally I shan’t expect an answer. Do you want Thomas out of the house because he’s difficult or because you’re afraid of his interest in the estate books?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he said instantly, but he did. He looked furious.

  Once again I had to pause before I could nerve myself to continue. “I was wondering if the estate’s getting too much for you now that—by your own admission—you’re not quite so young as you used to be. If I can be of any help—”

  “Absolutely not,” said my father. “You’ve got to be kept out.”

  There was another silence. I remember thinking, in the detached manner that sometimes accompanies harrowing circumstances, that an outsider would have thought our conversation bizarrely disjointed.

  “Will you talk to Robert?” I said at last. “Perhaps he could arrange for a first-class agent to help you.”

  “I can manage. Go away and stop trying to interfere in my affairs.”

  But I stood my ground as I tried to work out how I could say what had to be said next, and finally I replied, “I quite understand why you don’t wish me to be involved in the estate and of course I completely accept your decision. But can I help you at all with your private income? I could perhaps attend to the correspondence with your stockbrokers, your accountants, the Inland Revenue—”

  “I don’t use accountants. Waste of money. I’m good with money, always was. Head for figures.”

  “I know that. But I thought perhaps I might help you during those times when you’re not well.”

  “No need. I’ve got Milly. She’s got a head for figures too, wonderfully clever she is, thinks just like a man.”

  The conversation shattered into silence again. During the interval that followed I framed my next sentence several times in my head before I found the version that satisfied me.

  “How fortunate,” I said. “I didn’t real
ize you’d given her a power of attorney.”

  My father immediately flew into a rage. “What power of attorney? I’m not giving anyone a power of attorney! How dare you imply I’m incapable of signing my name!”

  “Oh, I see. Milly just prepares the checks.”

  “I refuse to be subjected to this cross-examination any longer! Go away and leave me in peace!”

  I went away. Upstairs in Thomas’s bedroom I found Milly completing the packing of his clothes.

  “I want to warn you,” I said, “that I know you’ve involved yourself in my father’s financial affairs and that I’ll go to court if I find any evidence—any evidence at all—that you’re abusing your position here.”

  “Abusing my position, dear? But I do nothing without his written authorization! What kind of a fool do you think I am?”

  “Written authorizations are meaningless when someone’s not competent to conduct his own affairs.”

  “Well really, dear, what a nasty mind you’ve got! I’m quite shocked! Now look here, my friend. If you don’t think your father’s fit to conduct his affairs, then go to court and get an order but don’t come whining to me about undue influence when he’s not certified, not legally incompetent and still has a right to manage his affairs as he pleases!”

  “I just wanted you to know that I don’t intend to tolerate larceny.”

  “The day I go to jail for larceny, John Godwin, is the day you retire to a monastery and become a monk. Oh, don’t be so silly, dear, really, I feel quite put out! I thought we were friends nowadays?”

  I picked up the packed bags and walked out without another word.

  XVII

  I arrived at Little Oxmoon to find a marital row of earsplitting violence was being concluded, and although I had schooled myself to take no notice of these searing verbal battles, I found it hard this time to look the other way.

  “Just another little disagreement, sir,” said Bennett soothingly as he admitted me to the hall. I had jumped at the sound of breaking glass. The next moment Ginevra was screaming, “All right, die—and the sooner the better!” and there was another crash before she rushed sobbing into the hall. She saw me, screamed, “Hit him, kill him, I don’t care!” and stumbled, weaving, down the passage to her bedroom. As Bennett and I approached the drawing room we were almost overcome with the reek of gin, and on crossing the threshold we found she had smashed both her glass and the bottle against the wall.

  “Oh hullo, John,” said Robert, unperturbed. “What’s this? Two visits in one day? Don’t start flagellating yourself again in the name of moral duty; my nerves couldn’t stand it. Bennett, get me out of here before I die of alcohol fumes.”

  We retired to Robert’s bedroom. As soon as Bennett had left I said in a voice that I hoped was laconic, “Has she been drinking too much again?”

  “Yes, but it’s nothing to be excited about, just another of her bouts. They come and go like the Cheshire Cat’s smile.”

  “What happened to upset her?”

  “I was bloody ill this morning. My sense of balance went haywire and my vision was affected. Gavin thought rest would help and gave me a sedative and sure enough when I awoke I was better.”

  “Thank God.”

  “No, don’t waste your time. I’ve now made up my mind that I must die as soon as possible.”

  “But you may not suffer that sort of attack again for years—”

  “I can tolerate a simple inconvenience like incontinence, but the thought of being blind and possibly deaf and dumb—”

  “But surely—”

  “Oh, shut up! I want to die and I’m going to will myself to do it. People will themselves to live, don’t they? I know I did, on Ben Nevis after the accident. Well, now I’m going to will myself to die. Death wants me to continue for another twenty years as a vegetable, but I’m going to outwit him; I’m going to win.”

  Since speech was impossible, I busied myself in drawing up a chair.

  “Think of the way I was, John. You wouldn’t want me to live as a vegetable, would you?”

  I shook my head. But I whispered, “I’ll be so alone.”

  “We’re all alone,” said Robert. “We’re born alone, we live alone and we die alone. Any companionship is transitory and for the most part meaningless. The human condition is essentially tragic. Ask anyone over eighty who’s seen all their friends die one by one.”

  Unwilling to upset him by arguing I said nothing, and eventually he asked why I had returned to see him.

  “Bad news,” I said. “But it can wait.”

  “Don’t be a fool, can’t you see that any bad news would rank as light relief after all I’ve been through? Get hold of Ginette at once and bring her in here.”

  I was most reluctant to disturb Ginevra but when he insisted I went to fetch her. She was calm but looked exhausted and disheveled in a dirty dressing gown.

  “Robert thought you might like to join us—there’s another crisis at Oxmoon, and—”

  “Oh good,” said Ginevra. “How simply heavenly, I can’t wait to hear all the divine details.” We returned to Robert.

  “I hated to think of you missing the fun,” he said to her. “Sweet of you, darling, it’s made my day. God knows it needed making.” She sat down beside him and covered his hand with hers.

  Marveling at their endurance, I began to talk about my father.

  XVIII

  “What can we do, Robert?”

  “I’m afraid the answer’s still damn all.”

  “But there must be something!” exclaimed Ginevra.

  “So long as he’s insisting that he’s fine, we’d have a hard time proving in court that he’s not. Can’t you picture the judge, who would probably be over seventy, saying, ‘There, there, Mr. Godwin, I suffer from a poor memory myself now and then, it happens to us all!’ No, Papa would have to have a full breakdown before we could successfully claim he was incapable of managing his affairs.”

  “But I’m quite sure,” I said, “that his financial affairs are getting in a mess.”

  “That may well be so,” said Robert, “but it’s not a crime under English law for a man to make a mess of his financial affairs and it’s not evidence of insanity if he voluntarily signs checks prepared by his mistress.”

  “So we just stand by, do we,” said Ginevra, “while Oxmoon goes down the drain?”

  “We have to stand by at present, certainly, but if Oxmoon starts to go down the drain on a grand scale, I think we should be the first to know about it. Let’s get in league with the lawyers.”

  We agreed that I would seek an interview with my father’s solicitor Freddy Fairfax. Then I offered to call at the major farms and talk casually to the foremen to see if there was any imminent possibility of catastrophe.

  “Although it’s my guess,” said Robert, “that the estate can muddle on well enough for some time. He’ll probably delegate more and more responsibility to the foremen and that would be a good thing. At least Straker doesn’t know enough about estate management to queer that particular pitch.”

  “And his private fortune?”

  “Oh, hopeless! She’ll get her paws on that all right—and legally, too. He’ll simply give it away.”

  “If only he could break down now—”

  “No such luck. Life isn’t so tidy.”

  The three of us were silent, considering the untidiness of life.

  “I can’t quite see the bottom of the wheel of his fortune,” said Robert, “but I’m beginning to think it’s a very long way down.”

  “That reminds me, Robert: how did Boethius circumvent the horror of predestination?”

  “Darling,” said Ginevra, “what a frightful question! How you could!” She stood up, caught sight of herself in the glass and winced. “God, I look eighty! Johnny, come and have some coffee. Robert, you should be back in bed.”

  “The horror of a preordained future,” said Robert, embracing the diversion with relief, “is circumvented by saying the
re is no future. God is outside time and therefore as far as God and his preordained plans are concerned, past, present and future are all happening simultaneously. This permits the exercise of the individual will and yet still permits God to remain omnipotent.”

  “Good heavens!”

  “I agree it’s weak,” said Robert apologetically, “but the post-classical mind often left much to be desired.”

  “I think it’s all rather heaven,” said Ginevra idly, ringing for Bennett, and drifted away to the drawing room.

  When I joined her later, she was drinking black coffee and reading the label on the bottle of aspirin in her hand. Pouring myself some coffee, I sat down beside her.

  “Just warding off the inevitable hangover,” she said, putting the bottle aside. “Sorry we were so awful when you arrived but this morning was a bad shock.”

  “Does he mean what he says about dying?”

  “He does and he doesn’t. He’ll be all right so long as he can sit in a wheelchair and read and talk to people. He can accept that. But beyond that point … yes, he’d be better dead, and he knows it. I know it too, but I couldn’t kill him; I’ve made that quite clear. I think Gavin might if things got quite beyond the pale, but of course doctors have to be so careful. Especially Gavin.” She had been watching her cigarette as she spoke, but now she looked directly at me. “Has there been any gossip,” she said, “about Gavin and me?”

  “None.”

  “Good. Robert was worried in case Gavin couldn’t cope and wound up being struck off the register, but Gavin can handle a dangerous situation without losing his head. He’s tough—and I’m careful.” She smoked thoughtfully for a time. “Gavin understands how I feel about Robert,” she said at last. “None of the other men ever did. Gavin understands Robert too, and Robert likes him—Robert’s glad I have someone he can trust and approve of, so you see, we’re all very close, it’s … but what word can possibly describe it? It’s comforting—yes, that’s it. Comforting—and not just for me but for all of us. We all benefit.”