As all these words poured into her ears, Hyacinth's brain rang with the everlasting, terrifying question: What to do?
“Who's Will?” asked Francine later. “I was surprised. And he seemed surprised, too. ‘You mean Hyacinth hasn't told you about me?’ he asked. And when I said no, he said, ‘Well, ask her now, and she'll tell you how nice I am.’ ”
If this question had been asked while she was living the idyll in Normandy, her answer would have poured out in joy and song, or if she had not chosen to answer right then, the joy and song would have been bursting within her. At this moment, she hardly knew how to describe what was bursting within her. Concealing a sigh, she began nevertheless the story of her first sight of Will, their mutual recognition of love, and the time in France during which the total awareness of their love had revealed itself beyond doubt. She described him, his person, not storybook handsome, but attractive and strong; his thoughts and tastes, discerning and sensitive; his character, forthright and highly honorable; his manner, courteous and sometimes a trifle opinionated—this she said with a smile.
To everything, Francine naturally paid complete attention. At the conclusion, she inquired, “Is he to be a husband or a ‘significant other’?”
“I hate that silly term, but I don't hate the idea. Will does. He wants marriage. He insists on it.”
“And you don't agree?”
“I don't disagree. It's just that—things get complicated. My days aren't long enough anymore.”
“What you're not saying is that you're worried about Emma and Jerry and how they will fit into the plans.”
There was a great lump in Hyacinth's throat, too large for her to give an immediate reply. After a moment she managed to say, “That's no problem. Will loves children.”
“Does Will know that you don't have custody of them?”
“No.” And she met Francine's eyes, which were so keenly fixed upon her that the very working of Hyacinth's brain must be exposed to those eyes.
“In all this time, you've never said a word? When on earth are you going to tell him? And what on earth are you going to tell him?”
“I don't know yet. I'm thinking.”
Francine's lips tightened in disapproval, as she remarked that she was, to say the least, appalled.
“What can there be to think about? You can't possibly be intending to marry a man without telling him everything about yourself. My God, you've just been saying how honorable he is.” Francine's anger mounted. “I asked you, what are you thinking about?”
That's just what Arnie said….
Hyacinth stood up. “I have to go to bed. I've had enough talk for one day.” She spoke abruptly, as Fran-cine had done. “We can talk again tomorrow, or maybe the next day if I'm able.”
* * *
As it happened, there was no time on the following day because, shortly before noon, a distress call came from Lina. An important midwestern shop had sold out the last shipment, important customers were in a hurry, and three important people on the Libretti staff were out sick, so would Hyacinth come back immediately?
“I have to take the next train,” she explained to Fran-cine. “It's an SOS, and I can't take Jerry and Emma with me. What would I do with them while I'm working? Unless you can come, too.”
“I can't leave until the roofers are finished here. They'll be through by Friday, I'm sure, and then we'll join you.”
“I'm sorry to leave them with you while they're in a bad mood.”
“When you love people, you put up with their bad moods, don't you? And these two are darling most of the time, anyway. They're simply puzzled.” Francine sighed. “Lord knows, they have enough reason to be puzzled.”
There being no way of answering that without renewing the previous night's argument, Hyacinth made no answer, kissed everyone, hugged the beloved Charlie, and left.
On the train and through two busy days and wakeful nights, she wrestled with herself. In the end, still not at perfect ease with the decision, she made it: She would tell Will that she did not have custody of her children. There was no other possible way.
But still, that was only half the problem. How to answer the obvious question: Why? At worst, he would not believe her, while at best, say what you will, he would have doubts about her. She would change at once before his eyes. Gerald was, after all, a responsible man, a respected physician. Would such a man behave as he was behaving without good reason?
On the third day, when Will telephoned, she was still distressed and unsure. He was annoyed. No, he was angry. Francine had told him that she was back in the city, and he failed to understand why she had not let him know. To say that she was working late was a strange excuse for not getting in touch with him. Hyacinth tried to mollify him by admitting that she was wrong, by apologizing, and by saying over and over how much she loved him. And she fabricated a touch of illness that was not altogether a fabrication, there having been many moments when her breath had seemed to fail.
At the end, Will forgave her, told her never to worry him like this again, told her how he loved her, missed her, and would be at her house tomorrow evening to talk about the apartment plans and dates.
Because her head still spun with worry about Will and worry about the children, she determined simply to try for a good night's sleep, to think positively, and to let events play themselves out.
On Thursday, Hyacinth left work an hour early, intending to relax in a long bath and change into something to please Will: a flowered lounging coat with very little underneath. Overnight her spirits had obligingly risen. When two people wanted each other and understood each other as intensely as they did, surely even the hardest problem would somehow be solved, she reasoned.
Thinking so, she turned the key in the lock, entered the hall, and there, in front of her, sitting in the living room, she found Emma, Jerry, and Francine.
“Mommy! Mommy!” cried Emma. “We came in the car because they didn't let us take Charlie on the train.”
She was stricken. “But you said—you said you were coming on Friday,” she stammered.
“The roofers finished early,” Francine explained, “and there seemed to be no reason to hang around. Jerry and Emma look forward to doing things in the city.”
Anger paralyzed Hyacinth, blocking thought. The dog jumped on her legs, Jerry said something about a boat ride around New York tomorrow, and Will was due in two hours. What was to have been a gradual, measured discussion between the two of them would now be a—a circus. She wanted to scream.
Francine was puzzled. “Is anything wrong?” she asked.
“Well, just that I had plans for the evening, and I'm trying to think how to change them.”
“We got lots of food for dinner,” announced Jerry. “We thought maybe you wouldn't have enough for us, so we bought good things at that store near this house. Lots of barbecued chicken—the man let me taste the sauce, and it's great. And some shrimps, especially for me because I'm the only person who wanted any. And those brown rolls with raisins in them. I love rolls with raisins. Do you, Mom?” Apparently, Jerry was turning into an epicure. “When we live here, I could go to that store all the time, couldn't I?”
Oh please, she begged silently, don't let us get on that subject again, not now.
As if she had not heard his question, she went to the telephone in the bedroom, saying, “I'll have to make a call.”
Will would be really angry this time, and no wonder, but she would have to make and risk some excuse; a sudden attack this afternoon, a cold and fever would be the most believable. And then stay out of work tomorrow and “recover” the next day after Jerry and Emma had left. Even as the tricky plan took shape in her mind, she was stung with the shame of it.
Will's secretary told her that he had just left. She tried his home number. What she heard was the answering machine, on which she left a message: “Call as soon as you get in. Not feeling well. Cold and a touch of fever.”
Rarely had she felt so desperately co
rnered. Here was no question of a week's or even a day's postponement; this was immediate. How was she to explain or even communicate to Will in the presence of Francine and the children?
Francine was standing in the doorway, looking anxious, and could not be ignored.
“I'm expecting Will,” she whispered. “This is about the worst thing that could happen. I had intended to talk about things, and—well, how am I to do it with an audience? Tell me that?”
“Come, come. He knows they exist, doesn't he? Don't get hysterical. As for me, I'll get out of the way if you want me to. I'll go to the movies. No problem.”
“No, no, it's not you. Oh, it's too complicated. I left a message. If only he gets it!”
“Well, let's eat right now and have them go to bed early because we're getting up early for the boat ride. Tell them you have company and they must stay in their room. Come on.”
Francine had already set the table. The bought food was arranged on platters, and the coffeepot was on the stove. Her thoughtfulness was touching. I am so brittle now, thought Hyacinth, that anything can break me, this little kindness or a cross word.
Fortunately for her in this condition, nothing was required of her during the meal. Both children were in good spirits, for Francine had let them take turns in the front seat, and they had stopped at lunchtime on the way for pizza. All this discussion passed like distant whispers over Hyacinth's ears, attuned as they were to the ring of the telephone. There was only an hour to go, and it had still not rung.
“I'll tidy the kitchen while you talk to the kids,” Fran-cine offered, and with marked sympathy she gave counsel. “Don't make yourself sick. It'll work out fine, you'll see. Just tell them to say a polite hello and then to go read or watch the small TV in their room. Anyhow, your man may not even come.”
But “her man” did indeed come, and for an instant, he did indeed seem very surprised to find Francine and the two children there.
“An unexpected visit,” Hyacinth explained as she made the introductions, “in from the country.”
Hoping that Will would see that this was an intimate family evening and cut his visit short, she remarked that they did not get to see each other very often, so that even a day was a treat.
This hint was apparently not understood, because Will at once opened a friendly and what could be a lengthy conversation.
“By now I'm sure you all must have heard about me because I've heard about you, and I've been wanting to meet you,” he said, and he turned to the children, who by now, in their neat bathrobes, sat properly on straight chairs, leaving the comfortable chairs for the adults.
“Do you know how I met your mother? She was carrying a beautiful dress she had made for you, Emma. It had roses on it. I hope you liked it.”
“I did like it,” Emma said earnestly. “But I don't like it anymore because it's too small for me.”
“Well, that means you've grown, and that's very good. I'll bet, if you ask her, she'll make another one for you.”
“Of course I will,” Hyacinth said quickly.
The conversation had to move fast; no empty space could last longer than a few seconds if silence was not to deaden the mood.
And Francine, always alert to every nuance, jumped gracefully into the empty moment to say something about the talent that Hyacinth had kept hidden.
“Why, she had never in her life made a dress before that one for Emma. And now, look at her, with her name on a label.”
“I'm looking,” Will said, “and I'm as proud as can be. I only don't want her to get too busy.”
“Oh, I'm not,” Hyacinth protested. “These last few days—well, you know how, no matter what your work is, there's always a little rush, a small emergency now and then. That's what's happened to me this week. But you have to expect it.”
“I have a feeling that you're pretty overtired right now. Working in New York under pressure is famous for doing that to people.”
“No, no,” Hyacinth protested again. “I'm fine.” And then suddenly dismayed, she remembered the message on Will's answering machine. “But since you've noticed, I have to admit I have a slight fever. Maybe I'm coming down with something. I don't know. I left a message on your machine.”
“Then you should be in bed,” Will advised. “People don't walk around when they have a fever.”
Francine gave a fond laugh. “You don't know her well enough yet. She's indomitable, a real workhorse.”
Intensely uncomfortable at being the subject and the center of discussion, Hyacinth sat with a fixed smile on her lips. Her mind was churning. Tomorrow or the next day, after the children were gone, there could be no more postponements or evasions; he would have to know that they lived with their father.
If only everyone would stop talking, then Will would go home and she could go into her quiet room, alone. There in the stillness, surely a plausible explanation would come from somewhere in her head.
“My family always laughed at me,” Francine was saying, “and I suppose it was rather silly of me, but I always adored anything French. Anything. It seems to me that they really know how to live, don't they? So I know what you mean.”
Will obviously had been talking about their time in France. And hastening to catch up with the conversation so that she would not appear as uneasy as she felt, Hyacinth remarked that yes, she too had loved seeing Brittany.
“But we were talking about the south, about the wild horses in the Camargue,” Will said with a puzzled expression.
“I know! I mean that—I mean, I'm sure they're fascinating, but I meant that I still loved Brittany the best.”
Wondering whether there was anything too strange about this blunder, she glanced furtively at Will. He seemed to be enjoying himself, which was not surprising because Francine was interesting, elegant, and poised; surely, too, Francine was enjoying Will, who was equally interesting. If my mind were clear, she thought, I would be happy just to watch them together, happy that they must approve of each other.
All this time Jerry and Emma had been quietly observing the scene. They too must be making a fine impression upon Will. If he had had any doubts about how a pair of strange children might affect his life, he couldn't have many now. Touched to the heart by the picture they made, she gave them a wink and a smile.
“Maybe Mr. Miller would like some candy,” Emma said. “Shall I get it, Mom?”
Francine laughed. “That's very thoughtful, Emma. Tell me,” she teased, “maybe you want some candy, too?”
“Yes,” said Emma. “It's fudge, my favorite kind.”
Now Will stepped in. “Isn't that funny? It's mine, too.”
And Jerry spoke up. “Maybe you like rolls with raisins? We had some for dinner, but that's a long time ago. We could have more now if you want to, Mr. Miller.”
“Why, that's nice of you, Jerry.”
Francine proposed coffee. “If you'd like some, Will, and if I may call you ‘Will’?”
“Yes to both. I certainly want you to call me ‘Will,’ and coffee would be just fine along with one of Jerry's rolls. I have an idea you have a good appetite, Jerry. Do you play lots of sports?”
“I'm pretty good at tennis, and everybody plays soccer and baseball, but mostly I like riding. I have a great new horse. He's big and his name's King Charlie, like our dog.”
The dog Charlie, who had been asleep in the corner, was awakened by the general movement to the table in the dining ell. Now he followed and lay down under the table.
Rather solemnly, the children put the plate of rolls and a silver candy dish in front of Will. He was amused. His eyes had a twinkle when he looked toward Hyacinth, as if to say something like See? I've already taken to these kids, and not only because they belong to you, but because they're really cute, really nice.
So as the little group sat comfortably together there, a new and welcome warmth began to creep through Hyacinth's veins. And with it there appeared, unbelievably, the solution to her tormenting problem.
&
nbsp; How simple it is! she exclaimed to herself. All she must do is to say that the children want it this way; they love the Florida house, the beach life and the freedom. Considering, too, her own confinement at work, it did make some sense, although in another way it almost broke her heart. Nevertheless, to deny them their wish would be all wrong.
Add to all that, she thought, the fact that she was not the only woman with a busy career to turn her children over to her former husband, and she had an answer to her question. She might not like the answer, but it was at least plausible.
“We really should give something to Charlie,” Emma said.
Hyacinth reminded her that he had had his dinner, but Emma persisted.
“He does want something so badly. Only a little bite, Mommy. He's begging. See his eyes.”
Will looked toward Hyacinth. “Perhaps just that little bite and no more?”
It was probably the plea in Emma's eyes that had moved him, and overjoyed by seeing it, Hyacinth agreed. So Will broke off a piece of his roll, carefully removed the raisins, and fed Charlie. Oh, it's going to be good, she thought, and gave thanks. Yes, it's going to be good.
“So you both like to ride,” Will resumed sociably. “Your mother showed me some great pictures of you on horseback. You should have one enlarged and framed, Hyacinth.”
“Uncle Arnie's doing that for us,” Jerry said. “He's the one who took the pictures. Sometimes we even go riding with him, but he's much better than we are. He jumps, and we don't.”
“Well, I guess I'll have to learn to ride so I can go along with you, too,” Will remarked. “And you should, too, Hyacinth.”
“Uncle Arnie keeps telling her,” Jerry said earnestly. “He even offered to buy her a nice easy mare for her birthday.”
“That's a very fine birthday present, I should say.”
This conversation was becoming too personal. Nothing wrong had been said, and Jerry was really being quite delightful, yet Hyacinth felt uneasy. Once he got started, it was almost impossible to know what he might in all innocence say next. So remarking that it was getting late, she asked him and Emma to say goodnight and be ready for tomorrow's boat ride around Manhattan. Obediently, on their best behavior then, they rose.