Days of Winter Page 7

  The bridesmaids walked down the aisle dressed in soft tea-rose-yellow chiffon, carrying matching bouquets of roses. The ushers took their places. Rubin and Leon entered from a side door to wait for the bride.

  Rubin literally felt as though he wasn’t there. This was not happening to him … only to some stranger he didn’t know. Leon, apprehensive, watched his brother’s expression. He showed no signs of nervousness.

  The temple became completely silent. Jocelyn, on the arm of her father, started slowly down the aisle. Yards and yards of tulle trimmed with heirloom lace trailed behind her, as she walked closer and closer to take her place next to Rubin.

  The moment had closed in on him. Rubin felt like a spectator watching a young woman being kissed on the cheek by her father. Then the older man took his leave and seated himself beside his wife.

  The play had begun, the actors were all onstage. The rabbi stood before them, preparing them for the solemn vows of union. Rubin scarcely heard. The words sounded like the echo of a distant chamber, “…Do you, Jocelyn, take Rubin to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, forsaking all others … to love and obey …?”

  Jocelyn looked at Rubin through the gossamer veil covering her face, and answered, “I do.”

  “…And do you, Rubin, take Jocelyn …”

  Rubin’s mind refused the question. The rabbi waited for his reply, but Rubin looked blankly back at the rabbi as though he hadn’t heard. The rabbi repeated, “… ’til death do you part …?” The five-year-old ring-bearer handed the small white satin pillow to Leon, who held it out to Rubin. As he looked down at the two gold bands which would bind Jocelyn and himself forever, nausea came over him. He broke out in a cold sweat Perspiration rolled down his back. His hand began to tremble as he reached for Jocelyn’s ring … then the hand retreated. Something beyond his control had stopped him, as though he were no longer responsible for his actions. He looked at Jocelyn. Shaking his head, he said, “No …Forgive me, I can’t …”

  He turned and walked away, through the side door from which he had entered and down the long passageway to the street.

  It had all happened so quickly. The shock was so great that for a moment no one quite understood what had taken place. Then there were hushed gasps as Jocelyn collapsed against her father. Too stunned to cry, she shook her head in disbelief. She was quickly taken from the sanctuary to the waiting limousine. Her mother, dazed and near-incoherent, followed. Their car sped away.

  The Hacks sat motionless, mute statues, as the guests quietly left them to their shame and embarrassment. What could anyone say?

  Rubin had taken a taxi to the house. Outside, he got into his roadster, where his bags had been placed in the trunk for what should have been his honeymoon trip. He drove away, hoping to be gone before the family arrived. The consequences of what he had done would have to be dealt with later.

  He went directly to Brown’s Hotel. It was small and quiet. He wasn’t likely to run into anyone he knew there.

  In his bedroom, he immediately placed a call to Magda. The circuits were busy. He cursed. Impatiently he called room service and ordered a bottle of whiskey.

  After the waiter left, Rubin poured himself a straight whiskey and swallowed it. Then another, which he sipped. What he had done today was cowardly. …He should at least have broken with Jocelyn when he came back from Paris. He should have faced it that his plan to live for but not with Magda was a hopeless one—

  The ringing of the telephone made him jump. He picked it up.

  “Rubin …?”

  “Thank God …Yes, darling …”

  “Where are you?”

  “In London …”

  “Where is your bride …?”

  “I … I couldn’t go through with it” He could almost see the look of disbelief.

  Finally she answered. “I don’t understand … what happened?”

  “Darling, I want you to take the afternoon train to Calais. Pack only what you need, Solange can send the rest. You should be here by nine o’clock tonight …Hello, hello! … Magda, are you there?”

  “Yes, darling, I’m here … is it true, Rubin …? I’m not dreaming? Tell me I’m not dreaming, tell me …Oh God, if you only knew how I’ve missed you … Rubin, I love you, Rubin. …”

  Nathan Hack stood before the black marble mantle, and Sara’s heart went out to her husband, knowing the anguish he was feeling, knowing the sense of failure that must be devastating him. …

  It was Phillip who spoke first. “Well, Father … what should we do? Of course, Rubin’s name will be taken off the door—”

  “Never!” Nathan spoke in anger.

  “What do you mean, Father?” Maurice said. “He can’t continue with the firm. …It would be unthinkable.”

  “Unthinkable,” echoed Sylvia, siding with her husband.

  But Nathan was adamant. “His name will remain.”

  “Father, I don’t understand,” said Phillip. “Rubin has brought shame on us for years to come—”

  Nathan shook his head, his hands held behind him. Looking around the room at his children, he felt doubly sad at the rush to condemn one of their own … their own brother. He’d thought he knew his sons. …

  “Perhaps you don’t understand, Phillip …Don’t you care, or realize, what this has cost Rubin? It’s Rubin who will have to live with the consequences of what he has done.”

  That did not satisfy Matilda. “Indeed, Father, and we will have to live down what he has done.” She started to cry, taking out her lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Chances are, I’ll be asked to give up my chairmanship of the garden club tea—”

  “Dear God,” Deborah said, “how can you think of anything so superficial at a time like this? Father is right. We’re only concerned with ourselves. …” Leon took her unsteady hand in his.

  “Of course we’re concerned with ourselves,” said Sylvia in a righteous, indignant tone. “Why shouldn’t we be? Why should we have to suffer because of Rubin?”

  Matilda agreed. “We’ll never be able to hold up our heads again. The Sassoons will see to it. We’ll be absolute social outcasts. …”

  Nathan thought, They haven’t heard a thing. No … I’m wrong. They heard, but they weren’t listening.

  “If you keep his name on the door, it’ll be a sign that you condone what he’s done. I’m sorry, Father, we are his family … regrettably, I must say … but Rubin has brought the worst kind of disgrace to our name.” Maurice looked his father squarely in the eye.

  Nathan sighed. “I will not argue with any of you. The debate is over. …You are entitled to your feelings, but Rubin’s name will remain on the door as long as I am alive. …”

  “I can’t believe this, Father,” Phillip said. “You, who always taught us honor …”

  Nathan rocked back on his heels. “I cannot teach honor, Phillip, I can only try to be honorable. I will not remove Rubin’s name because he is flesh of my flesh. No matter what Rubin has done, he is my son. If I remove his name, then I should wear a black armband. I will not hurt my son more than he has hurt himself. I would not wish for any of you to have his dreams at night. We don’t have to punish him more than he has punished himself. Perhaps that does not comfort any of you, but that is my decision.”

  Leon spoke for the first time. “Father, why did Rubin do it? He’s the most sensitive of us all. He never hurt anyone …”

  Nathan told them then about the talk he’d had with Rubin. “I feel myself guilty,” he said. “If only I’d known the extent of his … love, obsession, whatever, for this girl, I’d have perhaps been able to deal with it differently.”

  Sylvia finally found her voice. “A French girl … French? Oh, dear God! Did you ask him about her background? Who her family is … where she comes from?”

  “No, regrettably I didn’t.”

  “And Rubin didn’t volunteer to tell you,” Maurice said with unmistakable anger.

  “No, he didn’t.”

 
“Well,” said Sylvia, “it’s clear enough what sort of woman she must be. Some … some …” She couldn’t say “whore,” but her inference was clear.

  “You really shouldn’t say such a thing,” said Deborah. “We haven’t even met her—”

  “Met her?” Matilda said. “Have you taken leave of your senses? You’re not naïve enough to imagine that she could ever be accepted … not in my house, at least …”

  “I’ll reserve my judgment,” said Deborah.

  “Well, bully for you … but let’s not forget that our dear brother jilted Jocelyn, and it will never be forgiven, not, at any rate, by me,” Matilda responded with equal fervor.

  “Well said,” said Sylvia.

  “Mother, you haven’t said a word,” Phillip put in.

  Sara had indeed remained silent throughout her family’s heated dialogue. “Listening can have its virtues … one sometimes learns something.”

  “But, Mother, please, what is your opinion?” Phillip said.

  Standing up and going to Nathan, Sara answered, “The same as your father’s. Now I think we should all go in to lunch.”

  In the home of the forsaken bride, bitter anger spewed from the mouth of Harry Sassoon. He would, he said, enjoy nothing more than to shoot Rubin Hack. And no court in the land would condemn him. If he stopped short of killing the man, he vowed to avenge his daughter’s humiliation by seeing to it that not one single Hack would ever set foot again in a decent men’s club. They would be banished from London society. He would blacken their name, sue for breach of promise …

  In spite of Annette Sassoon’s distress, she pleaded with her husband to calm himself, afraid that in his anxiety he would precipitate another heart attack. He had already had one, a few years back.

  “Harry, please … sit down. This is not the way to deal with—”

  “Imagine! Jocelyn having to go abroad. As though she were the culprit. The irony! Jocelyn has to leave, while that monster is free to go about as he pleases … that bastard …” He clutched his chest. Quickly Annette poured brandy into a glass and put it to his lips.

  “Drink this, dear.” She watched the anger drain from his face. “Harry, my dear, please do lie down on the sofa.” She helped him as he obeyed. “Now, my dearest, we’ll take Jocelyn away for a few months. She’s spiritually strong, and youth is on her side—”

  Harry spoke more calmly now. “Youth? Annette, she will never recover. This may damage her for life.”

  “I refuse to believe that, Harry. Given time, Jocelyn will recover. In her gentleness, she has much strength … but please, my dear, be careful. We both need you.”

  “Thank you. I’ll try to do that. But I will have my revenge. I’ve got to—”

  “Shh … shh …After we get back, then we’ll have time to see what action should be taken. Now, if you are all right, I want to go upstairs and see how things are progressing. It’s getting late, and if we are to catch the nine o’clock train for Dover …”

  CHAPTER THREE

  June 27, 1914

  RUBIN PACED BACK AND forth in Victoria Station. He prayed for the time to pass. To divert his mind, he counted the seconds … ten … nine … eight … At last he heard the sound of the approaching train.

  Impatiently, he waited on the platform until he saw her. They ran into each other’s outstretched arms. He held her face in his hands. She was real … the only thing that made his life worth living. Whatever the cost would turn out to be, she was worth it …

  The Sassoons, too, were at the station, on a train bound for Dover. Harry Sassoon had relaxed for a moment, but the car was oppressively warm. He released the leather window strap, letting it down, and breathed in deeply. Looking outside, he gasped. Was that … could it be that bastard Hack? By God, he wished he had a gun. He reached for his glasses, fumbling in the inner pocket of his jacket. But by the time he’d got them on, Rubin and Magda had left, and in the exact spot stood another pair of lovers. Sitting down, Harry clutched his heart. Was he losing his mind? Every young man suddenly looked like Rubin Hack. …

  When the bellboy left, Rubin said, “Do you know what an eternity is …?”

  “Yes, Rubin, a minute away from you.”

  The champagne bottle hissed as Rubin uncorked it, then poured the bubbling liquid into the glasses. …“To you, my love. May this be the beginning of a wonderful long life together … oh, God, Magda, just love me …”

  “I do love you, Rubin.” She touched his glass to hers. “To us, and all that lies ahead.”

  Afterward, when their at first frenzied and then deliriously fulfilling lovemaking was finished, they lay in each other’s arms, savoring what had been missing for too long. Magda kissed him on the ear. “Rubin, why did you want to remain in London? Wouldn’t it be simpler to live in Paris?”

  “Perhaps … I’m not sure … I’m not sure, I’m afraid, about a lot of things—”

  “About me?”

  “Oh God, no … you’re what I am sure of.”

  “Then, my darling, it must be your fine old English guilt.”

  “Yes … I suppose, but it’s more than that. It would have been simpler, easier … but I ran away from my family once today. I can’t keep running all my life.”

  “Would it be running to avoid a bad, a difficult situation? There will surely be a lot of unpleasantness, yes?”

  “No doubt. I’ll simply have to face it—”

  “It does sound, darling, as though you’re deliberately trying to punish yourself. Is loving me so bad …? Is your precious family so—”

  To silence her, and his own disturbing thoughts, he put his mouth to hers and they again entered the world that shut out, for a while at least, all the others … that belonged only to themselves.

  The next morning’s newspapers reported the scandal of the season: the Sassoon heiress had been left at the altar. There were pictures of the jilted bride taken in former days … her presentation at court … her coming out … at the races … dancing with the Prince of Wales at a ball in Mayfair … Rubin Hack was not ignored. There were pictures of him at Oxford, receiving his degree … standing with a broad smile as the captain of the Rugby team … as captain of the regatta … Rubin was roasted. Not since Jack the Ripper had anyone appeared more vile. London loved its little scandals. And Londoners were lapping it up, like a cat with a bowl of cream.

  Juicy as the scandal was, it didn’t make the headlines. That spot was reserved for the Archduke Francis Ferdinand of Austria, who had been assassinated by a Serbian peasant.

  Magda, drinking her coffee in bed, scarcely bothered to notice. She was too mesmerized by the news on page two. She, Magda Charascu, from the slums of Bucharest, had been able to depose the equivalent of royalty. The abandoned bride, she read, had been taken off to Europe by her family to recover from her ordeal. A jubilant Magda was pleased to glory in her triumph. Why not? You were wrong, Solange …It worked …I’m not Magda Charascu for nothing … and his family will accept me … not today … not tomorrow … but some day, sooner than they know …

  Quickly, she folded the paper as she heard the door open. Rubin came to her side and held out a jewel box. In it were two gold bands he had purchased that morning.

  “I’ve seen the rabbi. He’ll marry us today.”

  “Oh, Rubin, I can’t believe it … I once said I could never love …Remember what you told me.”

  “Yes … because you’d never really been loved.”

  “I didn’t believe it then, Rubin, but you were right. My beloved Rubin … I will make you happy.”

  “You’ve already done that …”

  There was sadness in his eyes, but this time she was certain it was not because of her. She made a silent vow …It will be all right, Rubin. Your family will forgive you. I will see to it. …

  Magda was less than impressed with the shabby synagogue in the East End of London. It was her wedding day, after all, a day she had secretly dreamed of for years. But this was not at all like her f
antasies. No beautiful flowers adorned the chuppa. Instead, it was dismal, and the emptiness of unfilled pews dulled the words being said by the unkempt, bearded rabbi. Magda, in fact, could scarcely understand him. She comforted herself with the knowledge that at least she was dressed as she should be, a woman of respectability, of distinction, marrying a fine, important man.

  She was wearing a powder-blue velvet Chanel suit. On top of her perfectly coiffed hair sat a matching small coronet hat with a veil covering her opulent, misty eyes. In her hand she held a sable muff, to which was pinned the fragrant violets Rubin had given her.

  They pledged their vows, exchanged rings, and in ten minutes were husband and wife, to live together in sickness and in health, happiness and sorrow. …The rabbi blessed them.

  In their absence, their suite had been filled with banks of white flowers in crystal vases. The perfume of roses, stock, and lilacs filled the rooms. A fire added to the enchantment. Candles made the crystal glasses gleam like iridescent prisms. Magda was more than impressed with the gold service, which, she decided, hotels must make available to very special guests only. There was still a lot to learn. Sitting across from Rubin, dressed in a flowing pink chiffon gown, she assumed the posture of a gracious lady, not only to practice her demeanor—which in the future would be important—but also to impress the waiter who stood to one side. After all, she was Mrs. Rubin Hack.

  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.”