Seasons of the Heart (54 page)

“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 fantasies. 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.”

Rubin dismissed the waiter. He placed the knife in Magda’s hand, and with his covering hers they cut deep into the first layer. …

It had begun.

The next morning Rubin decided to drive to Brighton Beach rather than take the train, so Magda would be able to enjoy the English countryside.

From head to toe Magda was the image of
haute couture
. She was dressed in a beige tweed suit. The fabric, the style, the cut were obviously Chanel. Her accessories matched perfectly … the felt cloche … the brown alligator shoes and bag … the long, flowing chiffon scarf, persimmon-colored, tied casually around her neck. As she slipped on the soft cocoa kid gloves, Rubin shook his head in amazement. Her hair was pulled back under the hat; only the twisted chignon showed. She looked regal, as though truly born to the purple. Rubin beamed. “You’re exquisite … really.” She looked at him coquettishly, with those magnificent eyes that changed color; this morning they seemed, somehow, more green. “And did you think I would be less? Remember, I was taught by a master.” She laughed delightedly. “However, if you noticed, I didn’t require the maestro’s help today … thank you.” Indeed, she no longer required anyone’s help. …Her thoughts shifted quickly to that day the countess was coming to meet her … the frustrations … the un-sureness … the pleading with Rubin to help … “Please, I need your help” …
That
Magda was gone. Today was the beginning of a new reign. …

Long live the Queen.

In Brighton, Rubin drove straight to the Regency.

Magda held her head high as Rubin registered. Nothing went unnoticed, everything impressed her. She had not only noticed the crest above the door, but also the date: 1812. Her eyes drank in everything.

On the way to their rooms, Rubin took her by the arm. Proudly, Magda walked through the lobby, aware that many eyes were on her … appraising … admiring. The Regency, she knew, was the height of elegance.

The suite was a symphony of color. The walls were covered in yellow damask. Above the gray marble mantel hung the ceiling-high mirror. The gold leaf chairs and settees were upholstered in petit point designs of roses and bows. Flower-filled vases were everywhere.

The moment Rubin dismissed the attendants, Magda led Rubin by the hand into the bedroom. The enormous canopy bed was covered in blue taffeta. The ivory draperies were held back with heavy tasseled cords. The walls were covered in rose silk. She could no longer wait to make love in such a bed. Her fingers slipped off Rubin’s tie, unbuttoned his vest … shirt … slipped the suspenders over his shoulders. Nimbly, she unbuttoned his trousers, which fell on the exquisite carpet. She felt his hardness grow, as the last piece of underclothing was discarded. Quickly disrobing herself, they clung together, naked. Magda kissed the lobe of his ear, then his cheek. Opening her mouth, she gently touched his tongue … then more intensely. Now her kiss moved down slowly, unhurried, until it reached the place which made Rubin moan with ecstasy. Lifting her up from her knees, he carried her to the bed. The world was spinning as he entered her. Her pink distended nipples heightened his pleasure as he kissed and sucked them tenderly. Magda was now on him, they rolled over together without separating him from that deliciously warm, moist place. And finally it was as though the world had ceased to exist … and all that mattered was this moment …

Rubin lay back now, with Magda curled up close to him …Suddenly she sat up in bed. “I’m starved.” Rubin laughed. “It seems I’ve heard that before.” Magda laughed. “In Paris, the first night at Emile’s. You starved me then. Do you intend to make a habit of it?” she said, tickling him in the ribs.

“
Please
… don’t … I’m afraid I’m ticklish—”

“Ah … now I’m getting to know your true weak points,” and she continued remorselessly.

“Stop, I’ll feed you, anything, just
stop
.”

Slapping him gently on the bottom, she said as she jumped out of bed, “Then order the food … and it better be here by the time I’m through bathing and dressing. Do I make myself clear? Remember, this is your mistress speaking.”

Laughing, he said, “What a fine combination, a mistress and a wife. I shall need to improve myself if—”

Going swiftly back to the bed, she bent over, kissed him into silence, then nibbled his ear lobe and whispered, “You, my lover, are the greatest lover. How in the world can you improve on that?”

Rubin woke up at four in the morning, trying to convince himself that it really wasn’t raining. It didn’t rain at Brighton in June. Impossible! Then he looked over at the open window and saw the downpour coming in. Everything was soaking wet. He got up to close the window. As he got back into bed, he thought, it seems to rain a great deal in my life … the day I left Paris … the morning I arrived home … and now, on my honeymoon. Was it an omen? His last conscious thoughts before sleep were of his family. …Father … I’ve disappointed you …Mother … forgive me …I hurt you all, I know …Leon, my favorite brother … don’t turn your back on me … and poor Jocelyn …Magda, love me … there are only the two of us now. …

It rained and stormed for the next five days. Magda was miserable. The only excitement she had was dressing four times a day. Eating in the dining room gave her a chance to show off her morning wardrobe. Then there was lunch, in a different outfit, then tea. Thank God for tea time … something to do and to wear. Of course, dinner was very formal, befitting the chamber music that was played as they ate. Otherwise, the days were very long. They knew almost no one, nor did anyone try to get friendly. It seemed that everyone else was acquainted. Magda was beginning to despise the Regency and Brighton Beach … what little she could see of it.

She hadn’t been able to promenade or wear her bathing suit or dance or go out to the pier—and she wasn’t too happy with Rubin just now either. What’s more, she wasn’t even going to the dining room today. Not after being ignored by … what was that bitch’s name? Lady Pamela Pembroke … Magda hoped she would choke on her damned tea and crumpets …Imagine! The way Lord and Lady Pembroke passed Rubin in the dining room last night, drowning, looking daggers at him and then scrutinizing her. So this is the little strumpet Rubin had jilted the Sassoon heiress for …Well! Rubin had acknowledged them, but they walked on by without a word. Then, making sure they would hear, dear Lady Pembroke had said, “Come, Charles. I think our party is waiting.” From that moment on whispers and glances were directed to their table. And by the time the Hacks left the dining room, the air was charged with hostility.

The sting of last night still remained. Magda turned from the window and went back to bed. She felt miserable, completely out of sorts with Rubin for making such a damned fool of himself by acknowledging the Pembrokes. To further add to her frustration, he now sat reading placidly in the living room as though it had never happened. And her menstrual cramps kept coming on stronger. Maybe if she had her period the tensions would subside. She sighed her discontent When Rubin came into the bedroom to ask how she felt, she was near the point of screaming. “No … I don’t want anything. Don’t bother me.”

He tried to take her hand, but she turned her back to him. “Magda,” he said, “I’m
sorry
about the weather … I know it’s miserable for you …Would you like some tea?”

Turning abruptly, she faced him. “I only want one thing, and that’s to get the hell out of this damned place.”

With more anger than he intended, Rubin said, “Don’t talk to me like that I didn’t make this weather—”

“You told me it never rained in Brighton in June.”

“You’re acting like a child. I’ve done everything I could to please you. I’m going downstairs.”

As he left she called out, “Please come back. I’m—”

But he had already shut the door.

Now her anger was replaced by embarrassment. She had lost her Rumanian temper. She would have to learn to control it. There was more to being a lady than just lovely dresses. …Ladies were restrained … Rubin must hate me … I did act like a spoiled little slut. Oh Rubin, I will learn … please have patience. …

Rubin went to the taproom, ordered a whiskey and water, and sipped it slowly. He was sorry, too … Magda was disappointed …Of course she was. She was young and spirited …Be tolerant, help her … love her … with all her tempestuousness … isn’t that what attracted you to her in the first place?

Quickly, he got up and went back to the suite. Magda rushed into his arms, kissing him over and over as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Rubin. I’ve behaved like a spoiled, ungrateful—”