Glittering Images (55 page)

I shuddered from head to toe and covered my eyes with my hands.

‘I looked at him and he was just like me and I had to listen to him talking about all the drink and the women and how he’d made such a mess of his life – I saw him through my father’s eyes, and –’

‘That’s all very well, Charles, but you have a perfectly good pair of eyes of your own – use them! Stop looking at Romaine through your father’s eyes and make your own judgement!’

I finally let my hands fall from my face. ‘But my father must be right!’

‘Why? He’s wrong about you – we’ve agreed that you’re a much better chap than he’s ever been willing to allow. So why shouldn’t he be at least partially wrong about Romaine?’

‘But Romaine’s drinking – the messes with women –’

‘Yes, these are telling points against him, but now look beyond the image of the drunken wastrel and see if you can catch a glimpse of the man your father’s far too prejudiced to acknowledge.’

I made a great effort and after prolonged thought I was able to venture cautiously, ‘He had ideals when he was young. He wanted to redeem his mother’s death by saving other women. I saw no evidence that he’s not a successful country doctor.’

‘So his professional life hasn’t all been a failure even though he failed to fulfil his early promise.’

‘His personal life hasn’t been entirely a failure either. He had his Chinese lady – and it was a Christian marriage – and apparently he’s still a Christian –’

‘How admirable! Despite all his difficulties he hasn’t sunk into cynicism or despair. Would it be fair to say, do you think, that he behaved in a Christian manner towards you?’

After another pause I said, ‘I doubt if he was driven by conscious religious considerations. Yet I can’t deny he was kind.’ To my horror Romaine’s villainy began to dissolve. ‘He understood everything,’ I said in despair. ‘He understood how I felt about my father. He understood why I needed to know about the past. And finally I think he even understood that I couldn’t cope with him and had to get out.’ There was a pause before I could add, ‘Despite all my resentment on my parents’ behalf I was afraid that once we started drinking champagne I’d find myself liking him, and I can’t afford to let that happen – it would be so disloyal to my father and I’ve got to be entirely loyal to my father or he’ll be more convinced than ever that I’m unfit, unworthy, bound to go to the dogs, and so long as my father believes that, I’ll feel driven to hide behind my glittering image in order to cope with him – and once I’m back behind my glittering image I really will go straight to the dogs –’

‘I agree that at present you need all your emotional resources to deal with your father,’ said Darrow. ‘Until he can accept the real Charles Ashworth and trust him not to make a mess of his life the glittering image won’t wither away. But once you succeed in healing this exhausting relationship with your father, Charles, I have a feeling you won’t need to see Romaine as an awful old villain any more.’

When I had recovered my equilibrium I exclaimed, ‘How ironic that after years of chasing father-figures I should now have two fathers fighting for my attention!’ and Darrow laughed before saying, ‘Very well, let’s leave Romaine there for the moment and turn back to your father. Unfold your next battle-plan.’

‘I’m going down to Epsom tomorrow for forty-eight hours. However I fully expect it to be hell because once my father hears that I’ve met Romaine he’s bound to be at his jealous worst.’

‘I can quite see,’ said Darrow, ‘that your father will be tempted to behave badly if he’s insecure about your affection for him, but you must be firm, Charles. You have a duty to be good to your father, but you’re under no obligation whatsoever to allow him to dictate to you on the subject of your acquaintances.’

A single word in this last speech had so riveted my attention that I could only repeat incredulously, ‘
Insecure?
But my father’s the last man on earth to be insecure! He knows perfectly well that he’s got this colossal hold on me!’

‘He knows nothing of the kind. All he knows is that you’ve got a colossal hold over
him.
He sees you as justifying his difficult marriage. He sees you as providing the ultimate proof of whether or not he’s been a successful father. Every move you make is of vital significance to him. You’ve just spent several months holding yourself aloof. Now you seem all set to walk off into the golden sunset with Romaine. Your father’s terrified. You’ve correctly diagnosed that he’s jealous, but the source of his jealousy doesn’t lie in a mere petty resentment, Charles. It lies in an overpowering fear that you’ll reject him in favour of this glamorous stranger, just as your mother once did.’

‘But at our last meeting my entire behaviour was directed towards reassuring him that I shall continue to think of myself as his son!’

‘He can’t believe you mean it. He’s irrational with terror. In fact your father now appears to have two distinct difficulties: one is that you’ll reject him utterly in favour of Romaine and the other is the nightmare which keeps the glittering image alive – the nightmare that you’ll go to the dogs. I think you can probably reassure him in the end about Romaine, but the second difficulty presents more of a problem because no matter how often you promise him you’re not going to the dogs he’ll never believe you. He needs someone outside the family, I think, to put his mind at rest there.’

‘If only I could coax him to see you! But meanwhile what on earth am I going to do with the poor old devil when I arrive in Epsom tomorrow?’

‘Let’s include your mother in this battle-plan too – she always tends to get overlooked, but she’s insecure too, isn’t she, Charles? She’s frightened of being a burden and a bore to you, frightened you don’t love her half as much as she loves you. Here you have two people with an identical need: reassurance. You’ve got to let them know that you do love them, but on the other hand you mustn’t pamper them, Charles. You must be yourself, not the ideal son spawned by your glittering image. Be genuine, be loving and be truthful – and then you’ll be a far better son than any glittering image could be.’

All I could say helplessly was, ‘Pray for me, Father –’

‘Of course.’

The next morning a letter arrived from Starvale St James.

‘My dear Dr Ashworth,’ Romaine had written in a slanting hand which bordered on illegibility. ‘Of course I would never have gone through with it but your mother was talking of killing herself. I couldn’t have stood by in silence. It was a desperate moment, so desperate that neither of us was responsible for what was said. I beg you to pity us both in our terror and shame, even if true forgiveness is at present impossible. Of course nothing I have just written detracts from your father’s magnificent behaviour in dissuading your mother from tragedy – behaviour for which, during the course of time, he has been so justly rewarded by your very evident loyalty and devotion to him. Please believe me when I write that I do not in any way aspire to take his place in your affections; that would, as I clearly realize, be impossible. All I hope for is the occasional meeting and the chance perhaps to know you a little better than I do now.

‘I suspect you thought I had consigned you and your mother rather too ruthlessly to the past, but sometimes one has to be ruthless in order to avert further suffering. Thirty-eight years ago I nearly ruined your mother’s life. Certainly I ruined my own for many years afterwards. In those circumstances how could I have embarked later on a course of action where there was even the smallest risk of compounding the suffering I had already caused? Of course when I eventually returned to England I wanted to see you, but I felt I had forfeited all right to do so. I felt I had to content myself with the knowledge that you were safe with your mother, who no doubt loved you, and that you were being brought up in a good home by a man whom I knew to be decent and honourable. That in itself seemed to be a miracle, and the idea that I might lay a claim to either you or your mother in those circumstances appeared to me to be not only selfish to the point of wickedness but contemptuous of God’s grace to the point of blasphemy. So I stayed away and I’m sure I was right to do so, but you mustn’t think the decision was either lightly made or easily forgotten.

‘I shall look forward so much to hearing you preach in September, and in sending you my best wishes may I assure you that I shall always be yours very sincerely,
ALAN ROMAINE.’

I read the letter twice. Then I took off my collar, lit a cigarette and read it again. Eventually after several false starts I wrote: ‘My dear Dr Romaine, Thank you for your kind understanding letter which was far kinder and more understanding than my erratic behaviour on Tuesday deserved. Please forgive me for the pain I must have caused you, and please believe me when I write that I too am looking forward to our September meeting when I hope to show you that I’m neither so boorish nor so rude as you might justifiably imagine me to be. Yours sincerely –’

I paused to consider my signature. Then gritting my teeth I acknowledged our relationship by omitting my surname and merely signing myself
CHARLES.

‘… so of course you thought he was wonderful,’ said my father, ferociously lashing a tomato plant to a stake.

‘You couldn’t be more wrong. I found him extremely upsetting and if you don’t believe that, come to Cambridge and talk to Father Darrow.’

‘I can’t leave my plants,’ said my father automatically, but added without pausing for breath, ‘I can’t believe the mad monk approves of this stupid hobnobbing with Romaine!’

‘He did remind me of my duty to you –’

‘I should bloody well hope he did! For over thirty-seven years I’ve slaved –’

‘But he also said –’

‘I don’t want to know what he said, I disapprove entirely of that monk, I think he’s a bad influence on you. Now come along, Charles, stop slouching among the flowerpots and let’s see if your mother’s mixed a new batch of disgusting cocktails. I only hope to God she hasn’t murdered another bottle of champagne …’

‘Funnily enough,’ said my mother after my father had retired to change from his gardening clothes, ‘your visit last weekend must have done him good because he’s been much better – and if he’s better I’m better. I just couldn’t stand living with someone who behaved as if he was perpetually looking for a coffin to lie in, but now he seems to be thinking that it could be worth his while not to die yet after all … Darling –’ She hesitated before adding in a rush, ‘– has something happened to you? I think it must have done. You seem different somehow … older … wiser … gentler – oh Charles, have you fallen in love again? Your father would be so angry if he knew I’d been pestering you with nosy questions, but I do so long for you to be happy with another nice girl –’

‘I do have someone, yes, but please keep it a secret because it may come to nothing. There are great difficulties.’

‘Oh, I shan’t tell a soul!’ She was touchingly pleased that I had confided in her. ‘Darling, I do so hope it works out. I know the difficulty can’t be that she’s divorced or already married because of course, being a clergyman, you couldn’t allow yourself to look twice at anyone who’s in that situation, but is she perhaps shackled to a lost love as I always was?’

I smiled. ‘Perhaps.’

‘It was so strange the way you brought up that subject last Saturday and insisted on talking about it. It was almost as if … almost as if … But no,’ said my mother, ‘my imagination’s getting the better of me, but when I looked back on our conversation I really did feel it was as if –’

We looked at each other for a long moment.

‘– as if you already knew,’ said my mother, and as she read the expression in my eyes I stepped forward to take her in my arms.

‘I can’t believe it – you mean you
saw
him – you actually
saw
him – but what did he say, what on earth happened, did he ask after me?’

‘Yes, he said he was sure you’d kept your looks –’

‘Oh, I must see him!’ cried my mother. ‘I must! To think that he’s alive – and in England! Has he only just come back?’

‘Well, not exactly –’

‘How did you find him? Was he listed in the medical directory? At first I used to search for his name in each new edition but eventually I told myself that was futile – I was so sure he’d contact me if ever he came back, and now that I know he’s finally here – and asking after me –’

‘Mother darling, I do beg you for your own sake not to take too romantic a view of this! He’s married to an efficient-looking blonde with a Lancashire accent, and I’m quite sure she wouldn’t welcome –’

‘Was he pleased to see you? You’re so like him! Oh, he must have been so moved, so overcome – I’m going to cry,’ said my mother, and did.

I was still desperately trying to stem this tidal wave of feminine emotion when the drawing-room door opened and in walked my father.

‘Good God!’ he exclaimed as he saw my mother weeping. ‘You’ll drown that boy yet! Disgusting! Pull yourself together, you silly woman, and behave yourself! What the devil’s going on?’

My mother sobbed more loudly than ever and I felt obliged to kiss her before turning to face my father. ‘I’m extremely sorry,’ I said, ‘but she guessed that I knew about Romaine and I’ve just told her about my meeting with him.’