Days of Winter Read online

  “Don’t be so bitter, Magda, please, not today.”

  “What’s different about today? Is it a holiday? A day of great hope and expectations?”

  “Yes, it’s a very great day,” he answered, kissing her gently.

  She did not respond to his kiss. Her mouth remained rigid. “Do you know how ridiculous you look,” she said, “dressed in your tailored London suit, as though you were ready to walk into Parliament? Look around you, Rubin Hack, and tell me how these surroundings suit you. What a handsome pair we would make promenading the boulevards of Paris together. It’s so funny I could laugh.” There were tears in her eyes.

  “Magda, there’s no need to torture yourself like this. I can’t bear it …” Stroking her hair, he went on, “Get dressed, darling. Please.”

  She hesitated, then slipped out of bed and went to the wardrobe closet. She opened the doors wide, took out a black wool skirt and sweater and threw them on the bed. She quickly applied a thick layer of lip rouge, penciled her eyes, combed her hair, then sat on the edge of the bed and pulled up the black silk stockings which clung to her long, slender legs. She rolled the garters to her thighs and stepped into a sheer chemise. Dressed, she adjusted her black beret. “Voilà,” she said, facing Rubin. “You see the transformation? It only proves fine clothes make a fine lady, yes? Come, Rubin Hack, now you will lead me to my very important day.”

  When the taxi stopped in front of Chanel’s, Rubin helped Magda out. As he paid the fare she walked to the window and stood looking through it at the magnificent creation on the other side, draped in such studied perfection on the mannikin. For a moment she visualized herself standing there instead of the lifeless form so perfectly poised. Then her own image overpowered the fantasy, and all she saw was what she was, a shabby tart in a black clinging skirt and tight sweater revealing every curve of her body. All the anger, the pain and the hatred she kept carefully hidden away, deep inside her, rose to the surface. Swiftly, her mind moved to Bucharest, to death and war and poverty; to sweating bodies and filthy perverted men, to a twelve-year-old child. And at this moment she despised Rubin Hack more than the painful memories, for showing her a world she did not belong in; for evoking all the fears and self-hatred she thought she finally had overcome.

  Rubin’s reflection now replaced her own. She watched him pay the fare, mirrored in the glass window. He looked stately, impeccably dressed in his Bond Street suit, his black bowler hat on his head. She wanted to shriek with laughter at the two of them. It was a game of insanity. Did this stranger, this Rubin Hack, think a dress from Chanel would make her a lady? No, she was a lady only in her garret, from which they had just come. In the café, where she was admired, desired …She wanted to run back to where she felt safe. If she went along with this charade, she would lose the most important, the only, thing she owned, herself.

  Turning abruptly, she faced Rubin, who now stood beside her. Her eyes were cold as they met his. “You’re mad, completely out of your mind, if you think I’m going in there. Look at me. Look at you …We look like a pair of clowns.”

  Rubin at least recognized her vulnerability, and saw the fear in her eyes. He understood it more than Magda could possibly have realized. To him she looked like a fragile, heartbreaking child. Quietly he answered, “All I see is you, and what I see is beauty. Come, Magda.”

  She looked again at Rubin, debating with herself, then her eyes wandered back to the creation in the window. Could she look like that? Above all, could she feel beautiful inside? Rubin took her arm and opened the door. She walked in, her head high.

  Rubin wanted Magda to model the clothes. Patiently, he waited for her to come out of the dressing room. When she did, he was genuinely speechless. Her beauty was now beyond anything he’d ever seen. Even her hair had been carefully arranged in a French twist. She stood before him, majestically, all her fears carefully guarded. Not even the tremor in her hands could be detected as her eyes met Rubin’s.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, smiling broadly.

  “It’s very pretty. Do you?”

  “It’s exquisite. Shall we order it?”

  Her unrelenting pride would not allow her to plead or beg. Magda despised herself for not being able to say, “I want it … more than anything in the world.” Instead she answered, as though it didn’t really matter, “If you think so.”

  Rubin knew it was a façade that he could break through only with love. Someday she would leave it behind. Smiling, he said, “I think so. Now, try on the other things.”

  At five o’clock, Magda was rather fatigued. It wasn’t easy to be a model—better a singer. After four hours the wardrobe had been selected, the colors and fabrics carefully chosen and the appointments for fittings made. In the luxurious dressing room, away from the condescending eyes of the saleswoman—who, Magda knew, was secretly laughing at her—she realized that a change had taken place inside her. All at once the idea had come: She was going to belong to herself …But she was also going to take everything Rubin would give her, and take it without guilt. Life owed her and life was in arrears. She was going to collect. As she slipped into the cheap black skirt and sweater (despising all they stood for) the three-week wait for her new wardrobe to be customed frustrated her. Why couldn’t Rubin have bought ready-made clothes at the Marché de Lafayette? Taking out the hairpins from the French knot, she shook her hair loose and replaced the barrette, tilted her head to one side, and looked in the mirror once again. In spite of the shabby clothes a new person was already emerging.

  It was a confident Magda who left the Chanel salon on the arm of Rubin Hack.

  When the taxi stopped in front of 47 Rue Pierre Charron, an impressive building, Magda did not resist, not this time. After Rubin had paid the fare, they entered the building. In the entry they stood on the deep carpet waiting for the lift. When it came down Rubin opened the door, pressed the button for the fourth floor, swept Magda up in his arms, kissed her, watching her eyes as they slowly wandered over the foyer. She was overwhelmed. She had not known that anything like this existed. It was impossible to believe she would ever be surrounded by such splendor. She walked from room to room, as Rubin followed her.

  The walls were muted rose, mauve silk, as were the damask draperies, tied back with heavy silk braided cords. They exposed the French doors from which could be seen the garden below and the Eiffel Tower beyond. The furnishings were all treasured French antiques. In the center of the floor lay a large Aubusson carpet. The oval walls of the dining room were painted with French pastel murals.

  When Magda saw the bedroom she felt almost faint She was so caught up in the magic that when she turned around and found Rubin standing there she was startled. In her eyes there was no gratitude, but she could no longer conceal her delight. It was there on her face, without words.

  “You are pleased? You like it?”

  I love it, I can’t believe it. It can’t be true. It will vanish … was what her eyes were answering back.

  “These are yours.” Cautiously she held out her hand as Rubin put the keys in her palm and closed her fingers around them.

  Searching his face, still unable to comprehend what was happening, she said, “Why are you doing this for me? Truly why?”

  “I’ve told you, Magda. I love you.”

  She shook her head. “Somehow I still can’t believe you’re doing this without … people want back, they don’t give for nothing.”

  He led her back into the salon where they sat side by side on the small settee. “Of course, you’re suspicious. You’ve been hurt and disillusioned. But people are not all the same, Magda. Human beings are unpredictable. Maybe once in our lives we’re … well, tested. In the last few hours I’ve discovered a depth of feeling I didn’t consider myself capable of.”

  She felt herself trembling inside.

  “For the first time, I love someone else more than I love myself. I can’t explain it, I’ve told you the truth. Please let that be enough.”

  Slowl
y, Magda walked to the window and stood with her back to Rubin. The room was in semi-darkness now, silent except for the sound of their breathing and the muted horn of a taxicab. No one had ever loved her … been kind to her … even respected her. When she turned again to face Rubin, there were tears in her eyes.

  He took her in his arms, whispering, “Don’t question it, Magda. Just accept what I have to give.”

  She could not say thank you, the words would not come, but cupping his face in her hands she looked into his eyes, then she kissed him with tenderness, and that was enough for him. Picking her up, he carried her into the bedroom.

  Afterward, they lay quietly, warm against each other’s body. The room was in total darkness. Languidly, lazily, she asked, “What time is it?”

  Switching on the bedside lamp, Rubin picked up his watch. “Eight o’clock.”

  She slipped out of bed. “Well, it’s time to go.”

  “Go where?”

  She looked at him strangely. “I sing, I work, remember?”

  She began to dress. Rubin got out of bed quickly and took the shoes from her hands. “No. You’re not going back to that place.”

  Magda grabbed them away from him. “What do you mean, I’m not going back?” She had not gone to sing the night before. If she didn’t show up tonight, she’d be fired. “You don’t own me, Rubin Hack. Not now, and not ever. You see, I was right. There are always strings attached.” The last few hours had been a crazy dream, Magda thought angrily. When will I learn not to trust? “What do you expect me to do with my life? Sit here and wait for the clothes to arrive?”

  “Darling, I’m not trying to dictate your life, I’m—”

  “What you’re trying to do is become my great benefactor. I don’t know what other madness there is in your head, but—”

  “Don’t be angry, please. I have something to tell you …”

  Her arms folded, Magda tapped her foot, breathing hard, but Rubin’s look softened her defenses. “So tell me,” she said …

  “Come, lie down … I should have discussed it with you sooner,” he said softly, leading her again to the bed. Placing her head against his shoulder, he felt her relax. She would not be owned, but still, she could not remain angry with him.

  “Are you really angry?” He smiled, almost teasing.

  “Yes,” she answered, returning a half-smile.

  “You’re beautiful when you smile. It’s the first time I’ve seen you do that.”

  “Don’t get used to it. It isn’t something I do too often.” Then she asked quietly, “Rubin … what do I do with my life?”

  “I want a great deal for you, and you’re going to have it.”

  “How? Rubin, I’m going to tell you something. It’s very hard to admit, but I’m … I’m frightened of all this. So much has changed since I met you. I had made a secure place for myself. Now, suddenly, I’m afraid of what’s ahead. I don’t even know who I am any longer. I don’t know what you want me to be.”

  “I want you to be happy. I want you to be the lady I know you are—”

  Magda laughed. “A lady? Me? You’re a fool. People are what they are. You can’t make just anyone a lady. That happens or doesn’t happen, the minute you come out of your mother’s belly.”

  “I don’t agree with you, darling. There’s an expression. ‘Rosy O’Grady and the captain’s lady are sisters under the skin.’”

  Magda narrowed her eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “That basically people are pretty much the same. In spite of rank and position, we’re all good and bad. Using the proper fork, and being privileged doesn’t necessarily make a fine or virtuous lady.”

  “It helps, though, doesn’t it?”

  “Life, someone said, is like sleight of hand, now you see it, now you don’t.”

  “Well, at the moment I don’t exactly see—”

  “If life had been kinder to you, there would have been no need for me in your life.”

  Suddenly, Magda’s mind returned to Bucharest, when she was twelve … Rubin was right, life had played a dirty trick on her, and just possibly the deity who moved one’s stars was now trying to make it up to her …After a moment she asked, “All right, Mr. Barrister, where do I begin?”

  Rubin smiled, delighted. “There’s a French lady, a countess, in fact …She’s quite poor but she knows all the right people, is accepted into the best society. She’s a friend I’ve known a long time. She’s agreed to become your sponsor—”

  “When did you talk to her?”

  “I phoned her this morning. She’ll live with you, teach you to speak English, teach you … and when you are ready, you’ll become her niece from Bucharest. From then on, your life will be what I … we want for you.”

  “And what if I fail? Then all your efforts would have been for nothing—”

  “You will not fail.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because you’re Magda.”

  And who is Magda, she wanted to scream. The tart … the Rumanian gypsy? She was terrified.

  “Darling, please don’t cry. Just trust me. I don’t want to change you, only give you the chance to be what I sensed was in you from the moment I saw you.”

  “But how can I be sure that this will last? When you go, won’t you forget me?”

  “No. I won’t forget you. Because I’m Rubin, who loves you.” He wiped her tears and held her very close.

  They clung together, and when he entered her, it was like the creation of a new world unknown to anyone except themselves.

  Later, they lay still, overcome with feelings of peace broken only by the gentle breeze that invaded their privacy as the curtains billowed in and out through the French doors. Rubin looked at her. The Paris night, velvet, soft and fragrant, was barely a match for her.

  He would paint her, oh, would he paint her! That way at least her face would never be forgotten, never be removed from his sight …But with the thought came the sudden pain … soon she would not be with him, and the feeling was too great to accept. Gently removing his arms from her, he got out of bed and walked to the French doors. He looked out beyond the small balcony to the lights of Paris. Whether or not he could share a paradise like this with Magda, at least this would be hers. He was brought back to reality at the sound of Magda’s voice.

  “Light me a cigarette. You see, you’ve already become tired of me, yes? And so soon.” She laughed.

  Handing her the lighted cigarette, he said, “Never, and by now you should know it.”

  “Then come back to bed, I want to talk to you.”

  He was quickly beside her again, taking her into his arms.

  “How did you find this apartment so soon? You must have been a busy little man this morning.”

  “The truth is, it belongs to a very dear friend.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Would you be jealous if it belonged to a woman?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t be so damned conceited, I’m only asking. Now tell me about your friend.”

  Rubin laughed. “You do sound a little jealous. That pleases me.”

  “Why should I be jealous?”

  “Because you love me just a little.”

  “That, Rubin Hack, is the most stupid thing you’ve said to me so far. I don’t love you. I’m not even sure I like you … very much. Perhaps just a little. Now, about your friend. …” She moved closer, feeling the wonderful security of Rubin’s body next to her, and waited, hoping it would be a male instead of a female friend. Not that it mattered, because she wasn’t jealous. Not really. Besides, who was Rubin Hack really to her? Nobody. Soon he would be gone, and—

  “His name is Emile Jonet.” Magda heard Rubin’s voice above her doubts. “We have been friends since boyhood. His family owns coffee plantations in Brazil. A good part of his childhood was spent there, but we met when he was sent to school in England. Last year, Emile’s father suffered a stroke. Emile had to return to Brazil and take ov
er the family interests. When I last spoke to him, he had no idea when he would be back in Paris. The apartment is at my disposal for as long as I like. In fact, it always has been. However, I prefer to stay on the Left Bank.” Magda was only half listening. In her mind, Rubin was handing her the keys … “These are yours,” he had said when he closed her fingers around them. She could still feel the sensation of cold metal touching her chilled hands. But they were not hers … nothing was hers. Rubin had lied …

  Pushing him away, she sat upright “And when he returns?” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. This is not my home.”

  “It is yours, for as long as Emile is away—”

  “You’ll be in London.”

  “True, but I can trust Countess Boulard to find a petite maison for you. So please, please don’t worry—”

  “Don’t worry? You will take care of everything … I’m to place my life in your hands … Wrong. You lied to me when you handed me the keys. ‘These are yours,’ you said …”

  She wanted to go on yelling, fighting him, but looking at his eyes, somehow, in spite of herself, she did believe him, even though it was betrayal she was braced for. Why? Dear God, why was this man able to move her so with his kindness, convince her with his promises. She had never trusted anyone before, why him? His quiet gentleness disturbed her …The wall she’d built so carefully was crumbling …Be careful, Magda, be careful, or you might find yourself falling in love. It’s laughable. But you could love him, couldn’t you? Yes … Yes, Goddamn it, I could. You’re not so strong, are you? No, but I never had anyone to fight this hard against. But you mustn’t fall in love. You must fight back. It will only destroy you. He’s leaving … leaving …

  She jumped out of bed, started to dress. A bewildered Rubin watched for a moment, then said, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m getting out of here. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want anything from you.”

  In a second, Rubin was out of bed and holding her in his arms. She pounded on his chest. “Leave me alone. I hate you,” she cried as her hands went limp. She placed her head against his shoulder and he stroked her hair.