The Sugar Mother (16 page)

“You are a dear!” she said. “Teddy, you are sweet. You've heard all this before about the Hatchet and yet you let me rave on and get it all off my chest. That woman has made so many difficulties. She wants the honor and glory of the theatrical performance—you know, parents' weekend—and all the way she creates problems. Small people do that, of course. My
bête noire
!” Prince lumbered off after a stick. Daphne, Edwin knew, searched for sticks for Prince often when she was trying to hide tears. “I'm sorry, Teddy,” she said.

Edwin, remembering recent tender nights, smiled at Daphne. A whole renewal of love made him love her too. Leila was indescribably sweet. He sighed softly.

“She'll be just the same over the Wakefield plays, you'll see!” Daphne threw another stick but Prince did not bother to fetch it. “He's near his time,” she said with a little laugh.

Edwin muttered some endearments. Daphne was rather red in the face and even more untidy than usual. Wherever she was she had to have a
bête noire
. He remembered an impossible librarian once; another time, her butcher fulfilled the requirements.

That Leila had recovered from her ordeal so quickly was a great relief to Edwin. At first she had run away from him in the pines. He realized at once that she thought someone was chasing her. He heard her sobbing as she stumbled between the trees. By calling her name, “Leila!” and louder, “Leila!” he managed to make her hear him and she sank down, crying aloud like a little child. He had crouched down beside her while she, drawing breath between sobs, explained that while the house lights were on she was able to know where she was. She had seen him, she said, up there in the doorway all lit up from behind while the cars were leaving, but then after the lights were off she had lost all her sense of direction. “I ran all over the place.” The words were still in his mind as he went over again in his thoughts how, with his arm tightly round her thick shivering shoulders, he had guided her to the road and across the road. Even now he was unable to think of the right words for explanation and apology.

Once inside the house they had looked at her grazed and bleeding knees. Edwin, wondering wildly what he should do, even thought of calling Cecilia to ask her advice. Leila, who was still shivering, suddenly said in the most matter-of-fact way, “I think I'd better have a bath.” The short
a
in “bath” made the suggestion even more sensible. Together they had gone to the bathroom and together they ran the hot water and then the cold; “mixing the bath,” Leila called it. Again the short
a
impressed him, and at the same time it was amusing.

Now, as he walked half a stride behind Daphne, Edwin, knowing that the Hatchet, taking advantage of Daphne's many qualities, steadfastly refused to give her a position of permanence at the school, felt he ought to comfort her in some way. He tried to think of soothing remarks but instead kept allowing his thoughts to be filled with the memories of pleasure.

During that first night alone with Leila he had thought briefly of Cecilia while his arms and thighs were holding and caressing Leila's young body. He hoped Cecilia was not frightened over Montreal when the plane hovered in that sickening way before landing. Forgetting Cecilia, he offered Leila nothing more than warmth and sleep that night. He had continued his gentle caressing with a tenderness which held him in restraint. He found he enjoyed the sensation and the power which was in the restraint. Later he was obliged to lean over Leila's sleeping form to reach for some tissues. Not finding any, he had to move as lightly as he could from the bed and make his way with small, soft steps to the bathroom. Slipping back into the warmth beside Leila, he had been agreeably surprised at this guiltless return to a youthful action which was now followed by a feeling of well-being and contentedness without misgivings and without the customary bleak sense of being alone. He thought of Cecilia again, feeling he had enough tenderness to spare. His desire satisfied, he continued to hold Leila close while she slept.

Leila's young rounded pink body in the bath reminded him of Cecilia years ago, though really there were no similarities except those of the sameness of women. He had not expected any differences, but the difference was in the way he felt. Both he and Cecilia had found—they had discussed this often—that when they were away from each other for any length of time they each thought of the other as they had been years before. Cecilia, laughing, often said what a shock it was to come home to Edwin as he was now. Once she had nearly choked she laughed so much, because she had forgotten about his little corset.

Leila, liking the idea of a hot drink in bed, came quite naturally to his study. They had not spoken much because she was, after being so cold, wonderfully warm and could hardly keep awake. Edwin, fascinated, watched her drowsiness turn into a deep sleep. He undressed in the bathroom and was able to get into bed without waking her.

He wanted now to talk to Daphne about Leila. One of the things about Leila was this need he had to tell someone about her. He did not want to be clumsy. A recent and disturbingly pleasant conversation with Leila's mother was uppermost in his mind and he wanted to tell Daphne about that as well.

It was not easy to blurt out the words: “Daphne, I must tell you I have been holding Leila in my arms all night and every night for some nights now.”

“She's jealous of you, Daph,” he said instead, “the Hatchet. She's jealous because the girls all like you and your plays are a success. On Speech Day,” he added with an extra generosity, “I could see her jealous bristling all round her when the parents were so eager to talk to you.” He ached to talk about Leila.

“No,” Daphne said, “it's simply because I'm tall, taller than average, and she's very short. She wants to be a goddess and everyone knows there's no such thing as a short-legged goddess. I'm not implying,” Daphne added, “that I think of myself as a goddess, not at all, though I do happen to have rather long legs.” She laughed, self-consciously, Edwin thought. “Though I must say,” Daphne continued, “to attempt something, a production, utterly medieval in this day and age is ambitious to say the least. She's waiting to pick holes….”

Edwin gave a little grunt in agreement. “Daphne,” he said, “I want to tell you something. It's about Leila. She's going to have a baby.”

“Good heavens!” Daphne said. “She's no more than a child, a very well-developed child. Of course,” she added, “girls are nubile now at a much younger age. It's all the fast foods, the hamburger steaks, they eat. The meat—I've read about it somewhere—the meat's full of hormones. Quite little girls,
only eight years old, start menstruating. Just imagine adding to all those years ahead!”

“Daphne, Leila's baby will be mine, my baby, mine,” he insisted, “my baby.”

“But, Teddy, I'm keeping an eye on you, remember?”

“Yes, I know, Daph. That's why I'm telling you. I want you to know.” He heard himself pleading and was not sure why he should plead.

“You would qualify as Grandfather”—Daphne smiled at the idea—“for any child of Leila's.”

“Yes, I know”—Edwin was meek—“but the child will be mine. I am the father of the child.” At the word “father” a little shiver of pleasure went through him. “The baby will be mine and”—he paused—“and Cecilia's; that's part of the arrangement.”

“Does Cecilia know?” Daphne stood still, facing him.

“Not yet,” Edwin said. “It's to be a surprise. And we don't know yet, of course, if Leila has conceived. We're not absolutely certain.”

“How old is Leila?” Daphne wanted to know. “How old did you say she was?” She did not seem at all shocked by Edwin's last remark or by the intimate possessive “we.” If she was surprised she did not show it.

“You know how she looks,” Edwin, feeling suddenly troubled, said. “She could be anything between sixteen and thirty-five.”

“Well,” Daphne said, “let's hope she's over sixteen or it could be carnal knowledge, or is it being done with a test tube?”

He knew she could be outspoken at times but he knew too that she would never intend to be cruel.

“It's all right, Daph,” he said. “She's twenty-two.”

“She seems so very young.” Daphne seemed to be brooding. “I believe,” she went on, “that conception is not at all difficult for human beings. It's camels who have difficulties. Did you know, Teddy,” she said, “camels actually have to be helped to mate. I read it somewhere.”

“You seem to be reading a great deal lately, Daph,” Edwin said, with one of his special little smiles. Daphne ignored the smile. “All the same,” she said, “Leila does give the impression of being young, very young, with a kind of innocence. My girls at school have far more
savoir faire
, are more sophisticated. I doubt if any of them would do anything like this.”

They walked on in silence. “She does seem so very young,” Daphne said again.

In literature and in real life, Edwin knew, mothers lied about their daughters' ages. Cecilia would have been a great help in this. She met, in the course of her work, all kinds of women. She would know things about them indicative of their ages. She would be familiar with the signs of previous childbirth or of certain diseases. She would be familiar too with women like Leila's mother and would know their ways of thinking and their motives and would be able to see straight away if a lie was being told.

“You can hardly,” Daphne was saying, “visit the mother, Leila, in the Mary and Joseph. What on earth would they think?”

“Who? Mary and Joseph?” Edwin tried to make a joke. “They,” he said, “are hardly in a position to be critical.”

“Seriously, Teddy,” Daphne said, “Leila couldn't go there. And what will you tell people?”

“Ultimately,” Edwin said, “the truth, of course. There's a special name for it—the sugar mother.” He gave a little laugh. “Leila's mother and Leila have agreed on a fee. We are arranging it privately between ourselves. At a certain stage I will hand over part of the fee; the rest is payable on delivery. Quite simple!”

“Sounds like a box of groceries,” Daphne said. “But seriously, Teddy, and I am serious, what if this woman, Leila's mother, is pulling a fast one on you, pulling the wool over your eyes—about to cheat you out of several thousands of dollars? I presume it goes into thousands and I suppose they will go on living in your house with you?”

“Yes.” Edwin nodded. “Yes,” he said. Some nagging misgivings which kept coming at intervals returned now, as a pain might return. There was an uneasiness accompanying the whole transaction. It was like buying school shoes. It was like letting his mother pay for an expensive pair of shoes when he knew that they pinched and when there was still time to say that they did not fit properly. He smiled at Daphne in an attempt to reassure himself. One of the uncertainties, and there were others, was still the gentle brushing of Leila's hand against his hand. It seemed a long time since the evening when he had failed to explain and apologize for the stupidity which he, and most certainly Daphne, would never mention again. It was something he knew he would always feel ashamed of. He was, as now, often not sure, not at all sure, that Leila had actually touched his hand that evening.

Recently during the exchange of touching, a great deal of touching, far more than a tentative brushing of one hand against another, the moment for asking his question had passed. His smile for Daphne changed now to one of tender memory and it was a smile for himself. They, Leila and he, did not look back in every embrace but always forward to the next. He allowed himself one more thought of Leila and that was of her wearing the new apron bought especially for him. The apron suited her. He hurried to keep up with Daphne.

“Leila's mother is very good at the business side of it,” he said. “She says it is usual to have a passing over of money when conception is confirmed; nothing is paid till then. She seems very understanding and open about it and feels, as I do, that a natural conception is more satisfactory than the more scientific method. And the final payment is only made when the child is actually handed over. She wants, she told me, to get back to England with Leila and her sister, who is ill. She needs the fares for the three of them to get back home, she says. Apparently a misunderstanding in Mr. Bott's life has brought them into financial difficulties. I gather Mr. Bott is not available at present. Of course I wouldn't dream of asking and she
did not, at this stage, offer explanations. I understand that they have only been here a few months. Migrants”—Edwin, drawing breath, felt he was being his most pedantic—“migrants,” he said, “either make it or they don't. I have not considered the problems of these people who are divided in their attitudes towards a change of country, but problems do exist, especially when—”

“Are you and Cecilia going to split up?” Daphne asked. She seemed upset, more so than necessary, he thought.

“Of course not, Daph.” He turned his attention away from the unsuccessful migrant and the reasons for problems and discontent.

“I don't know at all what I would do”—Daphne choked—“if I didn't have you two. I need you both dreadfully. I know this sounds awful and selfish but I do need you. I haven't got anyone. I…”

“Yes. Yes, of course, Daph, and we need you,” Edwin said in a low voice. “The whole idea is that we'll be more together. Cecilia will be at home more. We'll be more of a—well, more of a family, more together.” He put an arm round her.

“Oh, Teddy. Sorry. Sorry to howl like this out here in the pines but I can't help it. And oh God—here's the road. We've reached the road and I shall have to fly. I'm frightfully late. One of the really awful things,” she said, “about being friends with a couple is when they split up. Suddenly they're gone. But I must go, Teddy; it's late.” She paused, standing still in front of him. “If a couple split, do you see,” she said, “the person who is not part of a couple—and let's face it, we live in a world of couples—the person who is not part of a couple is alone. It's different,” she went on, “with you and Cecilia. I never feel with you like that dreadful phrase, an awful phrase that people use: I never felt or feel, you know, like the fifth wheel. I know there's Miss Hearnsted and Miss Heller but I mean—well, you know what I mean….”