Control (45 page)

—or
“
tommy rot
”
Theo decided, scratching out the beginning, starting over. He dipped his pen in the inkwell, closed his eyes,
tried ever so hard to come up with a fresh rhyme for
“
Aphrodite
…”

Half an hour before it ended for him, Nelson Stewart sat alone in his bedroom, trying to get his speech straight in his mind. He looked at his watch. Two o
’
clock straight up. No hurry at all.

He had arrived home considerably earlier, totally startling the staff who had not expected him till his usual hour. He told them not to fuss, that all he wanted was tea. Miss O
’
Connor, the biddy who had been with him for more than twenty years, informed him that Mrs. Stewart was resting in her bedroom. Let her rest, Mr. Stewart replied, I don
’
t mind dining alone. Miss O
’
Connor fluttered away.

Returning several minutes later
’
gesturing for the kitchen staff to hurry. Mr. Stewart drank the tea and ate the tiny crustless sandwiches and, much to his surprise, gorged on the chocolate pastries, all of this under the careful eye of the biddy. She rested like a hummingbird in a corner out of his eyeline, but the instant he appeared to want anything, she pounced, fulfilling his desires.

The tea was the favorite thing Mr. Stewart had taken away from his honeymoon. The days in England were bitter damp, but the teas almost made up for the thoughtless weather.

The honeymoon should never have happened, Mr. Stewart told himself again and again, as he decided which pastry to go after now. He had watched Charlotte Bridgeman grow from her earliest squalling days into the rare teen-aged beauty he had decided on, the thirtyish woman who was now resting upstairs, thinking thoughts he had no desire to invade.

Decided on
was really the operative phrase. Charlotte had no choice really, but to wed him. If she
’
d said no, she would have risked losing her father
’
s love not to mention a good part of his income, because although he never said as much, Mr. Stewart would never have kept a lawyer who had been so unable to save him from humiliation.

No, Charlotte was not truly to blame for their present untenable situation. Nor was he. No heroines, heroes only in fables, fact was fact.

“
Thank you, Miss O
’
Connor,
”
Mr. Stewart said as he stood.

“
Would you be wanting anything else?
”
she inquired.

“
Confidence I think would be fine,
”
he replied, leaving her
somewhat puzzled, but that was all right, no law against it. He walked to the foyer with the beautiful marble floor, then up the marble staircase to his room. He remembered the night not many nights before when he had crept up these same stairs, had caught them in their games from outside the window, had actually contemplated the violence with his pistol.

Logic was all that was ever truly needed. He went to his room then, sat alone going over and over what he wanted to say.

At ten past two, he decided he knew it as well as he ever would, and with steady step, went to Charlotte
’
s room, knocked.
“
Nelson,
’’
he said.

From inside.
“
Home?
”

“
Evidently.
’’

“
Come in, come in.
’’

He did. She was seated at her vanity, combing her dark hair. She glanced up at him in her mirror, smiled.
“
Is everything all rightr

“
Quite the reverse, and we both know it.
”

She turned, faced him now.
“
Are you ill, Nelson?
’’

“
Physically, no; but I have not slept much of late.
’’

“
You fooled me—you
’
ve seemed so placid since your return from Boston.
”

“
It comes to this: Our marriage cannot be considered, by any yardstick one might use, a triumph.
’’

“
But—
”

“
—you must not cut me off just now, Charlotte, I
’
ll get all untracked. Please. I promise you time for questions when I
’
m done.
”

She nodded.

“
Alternatives. Number one: continue as we are. Two: divorce —
”
She was about to interrupt again, he could see it in her violet eyes, so he said,
“
Please!
”
with great firmness.

Charlotte held her tongue.

“
Three: I could continue to live here, but set up another establishment nearby and perhaps people it with women who were rather fonder of me than I fancy you are.
’’
He paused.
“
I find all these unsuitable, totally, and I will have none of them. There is, however, a fourth, which is what I propose to take up with you now
…
”

It was almost a quarter past two when Charlotte heard her husband speak the word
“
divorce
”
and she almost cried out
l
oud in panic.

What could he know, what could he know?

Nothing. They
’
d been so careful. When he was away in Boston, yes, but other than that,
care had been taken.

What could he know, what could he know?

A touch here and there, a flick of eye meeting eye, but my dear Lord, Nelson had never raised his voice to her in great anger, had never been tempted to raise a hand, and now he was saying the unspeakable aloud.

Divorce would totally destroy her. She would be marked. Her father would be shattered, her family tainted. And Theo—my dear Lord, what would a creature like Theo do, a sensitive creator, he would take the guilt of the world on his shoulders and flee. Leave. Her. Alone. Without. Him. - I must have my Theo, Charlotte thought to herself. No matter what else, I must salvage that. She tried to pay attention to his words, but it was difficult.

What did he know, what did he know?

“
There is, however, a fourth, which is what I propose to take up with you now.
”

Charlotte waited, trying to concentrate on anything, the tips of her fingers, the powder on the vanity, to help her maintain control.

“
I would like us to have an
‘
understanding
’
and here it is: I would like to go to Boston to live: to set up a branch of the company there. Everyone knows my love for the city, no one would question my departure. You would remain here in the house with the boys. I would train down, you could bring them up. Holidays, that kind of thing. Then, soon, when they are old enough, I will enroll them at Andover. Twenty-eight miles from Boston, an excellent school, I doubt they are bright enough to gain entrance on their own, but perhaps I can influence that. The
‘
perhaps
’
was an attempt at sarcasm; all schools are short of funds. Andover will prepare them for Harvard or Yale, whichever they choose, I don
’
t want to influence the boys unduly.
”

I don
’
t think he knows anything, Charlotte decided then. It
’
s all too gentle.

“
One other point in the
‘
understanding
’
would pertain to you. I suggest I have a talk with my lawyer and set up some sort of trust
in your name. Since my lawyer happens to be your father, I
’
m sure we can assume your best interests will be protected. This house, of course, I will put in your name, yours to keep or sell as you wish, it
’
s probably too big for you, there are lovely places on Fifth that might be more suitable. And several million dollars, perhaps live, perhaps ten, we can wrestle with the numbers in the future if you agree to all this.
”

“
If?
”
Charlotte wondered. How is it possible not to agree. I would be well taken care of, I would be alone, I could see the boys.

And I would have my Theo.

“
People might talk, I
’
m sure, but I
’
m also sure people talk about us anyway, an old fool such as myself, a young beauty such as you are. So there it is, that is my version of an
‘
understanding
’
—we would stay together in name, you would live here, I there, the boys would be in boarding school, which we both agree is where they can best be outfitted to face the world, you would be wealthy by any standards with a life to do precisely what you want. Does that seem fair?
”

Careful, Charlotte cautioned. He knows nothing, don
’
t give him cause.
“
It
’
s all too sudden a thing, Nelson; I don
’
t know what to say. You
’
re very generous, but I would be alone.
”

“
I suspect that
’
s more true than you realize.
”

She looked up at him.

“
There
’
s one proviso to it all, Charlotte— One only, but crucial, essential, the core.
”

Charlotte didn
’
t much care what it was, but she felt obliged, out of courtesy to this generous old man, to ask. So she did.
“
The proviso being?
”

“
Give him up,
”
Nelson Stewart said …

It was almost two twenty when Nelson Stewart wondered had he been underestimating this woman all these years. She didn
’
t pale, she didn
’
t deny, she didn
’
t faint or ask
“
who?
”
or use any other feminine wile.
“
Why?
”
was all she said.

“
Because,
”
he answered,
“
he is less than a man and I will not have him superseding me in your life. I will not be publicly humiliated, it
’
s as simple and as complicated as that.
”

“
Why are you so frightened of him—because of his talent I think. And because he is more of a man than you can conceive of.
”

“
I admit, he is talented. Do you remember that poem of his you
showed me?—I can
’
t quote it but it was about lilies folding up, that sort of image. I was most disparaging about it, never mind my exact words.
’’

“
I remember the poem.
”

“
I was wrong. It is not a bad poem.
”

“
No.
”

“
It
’
s rather a good poem, actually.
”

“
Yes.
”

“
Even more than that, I suppose—it is a poem of incredible beauty.
”

“
I agree.
”

‘‘
But alas it was not written by Theo—Alfred Tennyson, if I
’
m not mistaken, and I
’
m very much not mistaken. Your Theo may be as much of a man as you claim, my dear, but alas, he is also a plagiarist.
”

“
I repeat: Why are you so frightened of him?—why do you feel compelled to lie?
”

“
You think I lie?
”

“
Of course.
”

“
Well, let
’
s get Theo up here and see
…
”

It was close to two twenty-five when Miss O
’
Connor appeared in his workroom doorway and said that the master requested him urgently. Theo stood, hurried out to the stairs, took them two at a time. He did not get summoned often by Mr. Stewart and he wondered, as he hurried along, if there was trouble.