Days of Winter (11 page)

Although her English was improving—and she learned rapidly—still it wasn’t always up to understanding all the humor, the nuances of the theater. But when she didn’t understand a particular word she would ask what it was in French and Rubin, in turn, would repeat the English equivalent, which she would then repeat over and over to herself. She was determined to conquer the English language … well, if not conquer, at least insure that Rubin would not be embarrassed. At the same time, though, she made sure her French
accent
remained intact. She was actress enough to know how simply charming it was.

They looked for a flat, and finally found a perfect place on Wimpole Street

“Only a few blocks from where Elizabeth Barrett Browning lived,” Rubin said delightedly.

Who, Magda wondered, was
that
? She’d look it up. Imagine, she thought, the Hacks living so close to
her
…

The flat consisted of an oval central foyer which separated the drawing room from the dining room. Off the kitchen and pantry were the maids’ rooms. The three bedrooms were huge. What impressed Magda most were the Victorian mantels. Two separate bathrooms had been installed by the former owners.

“It’s going to be elegant, Rubin …Wait and see. I can hardly wait to move in. How long will it take?”

“A few weeks … if we have enough people working on the job.”

“I want the dining room to have murals, like Emile’s …”

“His are painted on the wall—”

“Why couldn’t you do them?”

“It’s not the kind of painting I do, darling, but we can select Zubbers.”

“What are they?”

“Old murals done on canvas, very traditional and very attractive. Do you really like the flat, Magda?”

“I love it … I love you so, Rubin … let’s celebrate. I feel like drinking champagne.”

Taking the lift down, she said, “Just think of living so close to … Elizabeth Barrett Browning.”

Rubin laughed.

“What’s so funny, darling?”

“Magda, she’s been dead for over fifty years.”

“Really? …Well, I didn’t know it was that long—”

Pulling her to him, Rubin laughed again. And this time she joined him.

Today was the end of a week’s heavy shopping. When they got back, Magda quickly undressed and then soaked in a warm tub. Her feet were killing her. From the bedroom, about to call room service, Rubin asked what her pleasure would be for dinner.

“You …” she called back.

“A wise choice. But for the
entrée
…?”

“Oh, make it Dover sole … for a complete English evening.” She giggled, pleased with her small joke.

Rubin took the afternoon papers into the living room. He was more than a little interested in the news. The tensions in Europe were growing. He noted the date, July 28, 1914 … strange … one month ago today Magda and he had been married, and on that same day the Archduke Francis Ferdinand and his wife had been assassinated in Sarajevo. For a moment the coincidence startled him …Now, this morning, Austria had declared war on Serbia. True, the Archduke Ferdinand had been the heir apparent to the throne of the Austrian-Hungarian empire, but the great powers had seemed to take the assassination calmly. It was considered a local incident, a national problem which would obviously have to be dealt with. But no one would have thought that the major nations would become involved in war as the result of the carelessness of a chauffeur who had taken a wrong route. No one could have foreseen that a crime involving six unknown Serbian radicals would lead to open warfare.

Of course, the crime was shocking news, but nothing in the immediate aftermath suggested that further violence was inevitable. King George V offered seven days of mourning by the British court. Czar Nicholas II of Russia outdid Great Britain by declaring a mourning period of twelve days. And President Wilson of the United States cabled official sympathies.

The Serbians had immediately set themselves to the task of investigating and interrogating the conspirators, but their efforts were badly mishandled. The conspirators changed their stories, which caused a great deal of confusion. But finally the last of the culprits broke down and revealed the existence of a large terrorist organization in Serbia called the Black Hand.

Friedrich von Wiesner of Austria was dispatched to Sarajevo to see what could be uncovered. His findings—whether true or not—were that the Serbian government was involved in the plot. Still, most European capitals continued to concern themselves very little with what was considered another Balkan conflict. Stress of that kind had been going on since 1912. No major crisis would grow out of the affair. But tension between Serbia and Austria intensified. In order to soothe Austria and play down the situation, which was becoming incendiary, the Serbian government forbade public assemblies, closed all theaters and dance halls, but made no attempt to censure the national press that raged against Austria. Austrian newspapers were no less violent in attacking Serbia.

On July 19, the Austrian council met in secret and decided that Serbia would have to be beaten into the dust. Austria demanded that the Serbian government formally condemn all anti-Austrian propaganda, expel from office anyone fomenting it and accept unequivocally the complete collaboration of Austrian agents on Serbian soil in the suppression of such propaganda. Belgrade was given forty-eight hours to comply or capitulate. The Serbian cabinet frantically contacted the Regent, Prince Alexander, to appeal for help from Czar Nicholas II. The answer was immediate: should Serbia be attacked, Russia would come to her aid at once.

Meanwhile, Vienna sent a secret communiqué to Kaiser Wilhelm II: If Serbia didn’t comply with Austria’s demands, could she count on Germany to sustain her as an ally? Germany’s reply was an unequivocal yes.

Publication of the ultimatum was followed by two massive mobilizations. The Russian and German armies were ready. A shock wave was spreading across an unsuspecting Europe.

Rubin tried to absorb the latest developments. Wouldn’t France have to take a stand, since France had an alliance with Russia? Germany had been hell-bent for some time on expansion, and her navy had already grown to greater proportions than Great Britain was comfortable with. Would Germany cross the borders into France? Would England feel compelled to aid her neighbor? The English navy lay off the coast of France, which placed Great Britain in a very awkward position.

Rubin sighed deeply, got up and poured himself a brandy. His own problems paled in the light of all these events. But if … and, dear God, it could only be conjecture …
if
England became involved, what would happen to Magda? He would have to enlist, and then she would be alone in a foreign country without a friend. …But why are you worrying, Rubin …Your imagination is working overtime …This whole mess will probably be over tomorrow. …

But something kept nudging him, and his anxiety persisted. It would not be dismissed lightly. And suddenly he thought of someone else who was vulnerable.
Solange
… Even if his fears were groundless, it would be good to see her. And if war did come, Solange would be here to look after Magda. Yes, he would insist that she come.

He went in to see Magda. She was studying a decorating magazine.

“Darling … I’ve been thinking,” he said.

“Yes?” She had found an especially attractive fabric for the drawing room draperies.

“It might be good to ask Solange to come over for a while.”

Magda froze. Why did Rubin want Solange in London? Wasn’t she capable of standing alone, without the help of a countess? Did Rubin think she still needed her? Suddenly she felt the old insecurity about herself, and very angry. But just as quickly she checked her impulse to strike back, to blurt out her thoughts. Quietly she answered, “That would be a nice gesture, Rubin … after the flat is finished. The last of the furniture will be delivered tomorrow, and we’re moving on August first. I want it to be perfect … and then we’ll ask her.”

“Solange won’t mind if—”

“I’m not thinking of what she’d mind … I want to have our home looking proper before we entertain.”

Rubin knew she was annoyed. The careful cadence of her speech made that clear enough, and, thinking about it, he understood why …He’d bring it up again in a couple of weeks, he thought, when the apartment was further along.

Suddenly, Magda realized that Solange in London was indeed something to think about …Solange could be a great asset to her …Why didn’t I think of it sooner? Solange can bring me the kind of prestige the Hacks will acknowledge. …The niece of a countess …The English love titles. …

The idea was sheer genius.

“You’re perfectly right, Rubin. I think we should ask her right away. You’re very generous to think of it. I’m sorry not to have understood right away … of course I need a friend like Solange. …You’ll phone her then?”

“First thing tomorrow.”

Magda put her head against Rubin’s shoulder. “I love Solange … in spite of the fact she said you’d never marry me.”

“Solange didn’t know how much I love you.”

“No … but I did … I’m the smartest of the three.” She gently nibbled his earlobe.

“Smartest,
and
prettiest. An unbeatable combination …Now get that pile of magazines off the bed.”

Undressing quickly, he got into bed and waited for her. She joined him, pressing her body against his. She felt Rubin grow harder and larger and spread her legs to receive him.

There was no such thing as war, not tonight … not now …With an intensity that startled her, he said, “There’s only you, only Magda.”

O
N AUGUST 1 THEY
moved to their Wimpole Street flat. The weather was perfect. Not a cloud on the horizon.

Rubin carried Magda over the threshold, kissed her and put her down. She stood, slowly turned around in the center of the oval foyer. It was all so beautiful … almost unreal. This was hers, the first real home she had ever had …The impact was overwhelming …

Gently she took his hand in hers as they walked from room to room. This was her homecoming. Mama … Papa … Niko … I’m home …
We’re all home.

Tears ran down her cheeks. “Rubin, I don’t think there has ever been a woman quite as … as … fortunate …? Is that the right word?”

“I hope so, my darling, I hope so …”

“Rubin, I want to go to the little synagogue where we were married … to say the
kaddish
for my parents … I believe the dead intervene for us. I believe that today I’m here because of them. I must share this with them. You do understand?”

He, of course, did.

That night Rubin lay awake in the dark, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. The first night spent in his own home … and he could find no peace. A bride, a home that should have brought him complete joy, but it didn’t …In spite of himself, he missed his family beyond belief. Without Magda he was nothing, still it was impossible not to feel regret. His dreams had been disturbing. Not quite nightmares, but painful … foreboding …Pretending not to care was difficult …The time the Pembrokes had snubbed him at Brighton … the times he’d been ignored, despised, in London … they hurt …

He got out of bed and went into the drawing room without putting on the lights, unaware of the splendor that surrounded him. Standing at the window, he looked at the park across the street The neat, cropped lawns, the trees silhouetted against the sky bathed in moonlight, made the cityscape so beautiful … so tranquil … so peaceful. Peace … he wanted that more than anything … in a world already mobilizing for war.

Earlier this evening when they had gone to the shabby little synagogue in the East End his emotions had come to the surface … all he’d lost … and gained, thanks to Magda … and he’d prayed for forgiveness, for having offended so many. He prayed too for a reunion … to become once again a member of his family. God, he did miss them … Leon … if only he could at least speak to Leon. …

The prayer book touched him deeply. It had so much meaning … as though it had been written for him alone, to explore his very soul. Still, when the service was over, he left the musty sanctuary with a feeling of even greater remorse. It hadn’t cleansed his soul, but it had put him in touch with himself … with God …?

Slowly he turned now from the window. If only he could bring the people he loved together …Getting back into bed, he shut his eyes and finally knew the relief of sleep.

Next morning, he felt a strange sense of peacefulness. Somehow, in daylight, everything seemed more hopeful. What couldn’t be changed would have to be accepted. Magda had been up since six, wearing one of her many faces … no longer the Magda he had met in Paris … no longer a bitter, disillusioned young woman … and not the same Magda who had sat beside him in the synagogue last night, the Magda reciting the Hebrew prayer for
her
departed …Somehow, today, it was a jubilant, joyful Magda, ready to take on the challenges that lay ahead.

“Good morning, Rubin.” She smiled and kissed him. She had set the dining table beautifully. The breakfast china was perfectly arranged, the linen snowy white, the monogramed napkins in their places …

“Good morning,” he answered, resolutely putting aside his painful thoughts of the previous day and night.

“I’ve made a special breakfast for us.” Dressed in a flowered voile morning gown, she went to the kitchen. Within minutes, she wheeled in the cart. Fresh juice … raspberries … kippers … kidneys … scrambled eggs … toast … butter … marmalade … coffee, cream and sugar. “
Voilà,
” she said, filling a plate for Rubin.

Coating the berries with sugar, Rubin asked, “Why were you up so early?”

“I was getting ready for Solange … her bedroom … oh Rubin, it’s …
divine
… I love that word … I used the divine blue sheets, remember the ones with the écru lace? And that divine”—she couldn’t help but laugh at her own silliness—“that divine blue satin down comforter, which incidentally was made in France—”

He smiled, taking a spoonful of raspberries. “We do at least have enough taste to import things, you know …”

“Of course. You have only to look at me, an original Rumanian import … courtesy of France, which if mentioned I will deny … oh, Rubin, the room is simply div—”