The Wheel of Fortune (109 page)

I wrote
Mr. and Mrs. Christopher Godwin
in the register and stood gazing at the words in disbelief. Anna sighed and revolved her new ring as if to make sure it hadn’t faded away. Meanwhile the receptionist, who had at first leaped to the conclusion that we were unmarried, decided we were so obviously newlyweds that there was no point in her continuing to look tight-lipped. We were advised kindly that dinner was at eight and a wish was expressed that our stay would be a happy one. Since unhappiness was inconceivable we beamed at her but made no comment. The porter showed us to our room. After his departure we stood hand in hand by the window and gazed at the sea, bathed in the golden light of evening, and at the purple-shadowed shores of Skye across the water.

Later we tried to eat dinner but lost interest after one course. We attempted a stroll along the harbor but soon lost interest in that too. Back in our room we sat on the bed and stared at each other.

“Shall we do it or not?” I said anxiously. I was terrified of ruining her happiness.

Anna considered the question carefully and said with her usual good sense, “Let’s have a go. If we don’t—”

“—it’ll be hanging over us like the sword of Damocles. All right, let’s do it,” I said, resigned. “I expect it’s really quite easy. Think of all the fools who have made it a lifelong occupation.”

We took it in turns to undress and visit the bathroom, and by the time I returned from an absentminded encounter with my toothbrush, Anna was in bed. She was wearing a plain blue sleeveless nightgown with a high neck and looked about twelve. Glancing in the glass I saw an awkward, profoundly unattractive youth who looked as if he were about to go to the dentist.

“God, I’m white with fright!” I said, appalled.

“So am I!”

We saw the humorous side of the situation at exactly the same moment and we both began to laugh.

“Oh, Lord, Anna!” I gasped at last. “I must keep a straight face or else I’ll never be able to drum up the necessary passion!”

“Heavens, do you have to beat a drum?”

Laughter overwhelmed us again as we visualized some ancient tom-tom secreted in my pajama trousers, but finally I managed to say, “Oh, Anna, I do love you!”

“And I love you,” she said, hugging me, “and quite honestly I don’t mind if you beat the drum or not because it’s just, so wonderful to laugh and be happy with you.”

That settled it. The drum immediately began to thunder in my ears, and as all laughter was set aside at last, I knew, with an absolute certainty, that everything was going to be all right.

III

“In retrospect,” I said as we lay dreamily in bed the next morning, “what did you think of it?”

“Very peculiar,” said Anna, “but I can see it has possibilities. In fact once I’d got over thinking I was going to die I enjoyed feeling so close to you.”

I sighed. As usual we were in complete agreement. “I thought it was jolly nice,” I said. “Mum was right as usual.” Yawning pleasurably I sat up and stretched myself. “Oh well, that’s that—I’m glad we’ve got it over with. Now we can relax and start enjoying ourselves.”

A mail boat sailed from Mallaig to the Inner Hebrides, and one day we set out on the ten-hour voyage which took us past Skye to the most beautiful islands I had ever seen. The weather was extraordinarily changeable; one moment the boat would be drenched by gusts of rain and the next the sun would be shining from a clear northern sky. It rained at the port of Kyleakin across the water, but as we left the Isle of Skye the weather cleared and by the time we reached the Isle of Eigg I was on deck in my shirt sleeves. We anchored off Kildonan as a small boat drew out to relieve us of the mail and supplies, but soon we were off again, sailing around the coast, swaying up and down on that dark and splendid sea.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” I shouted to Anna above the wind as the boat inched past the great Sgurr of Eigg which rose from the beach towards the clouds.

“
Wonderful
!”

We watched the view for a little longer before Anna said, “I’ll just see what’s happening on the other side,” and crossed the deck to the opposite rail. Her reaction was dramatic. “Oh Kester, look—
look
!”

I ran to join her, and there ahead of me I saw the grandest seascape I had ever seen. Huge mountains rose sheer from the white foam, their summits wreathed in shifting clouds, their slopes glittering in the sun, and as I stared, struck dumb with awe, a squall hit the water ahead of us and the next moment a double rainbow stretched unbroken from the Sgurr of Eigg to crown those mystical peaks which lay ahead of us across the sea.

I grabbed the nearest deckhand to ask him the name of the mountains and he replied in his soft Highland voice, “Ah, those are the Coolins of Rhum.”

I knew I was in the presence of perfection, and at once all the pain and horror of the world faded, into insignificance. Physically I was still standing on the deck of that mail boat, but spiritually I was in the presence of eternal truths beside which all worldly preoccupations were futile.

“I want to feel like this when I look at Oxmoon,” I said to Anna. “I want to make it so beautiful and so perfect that long after I’m dead people will gaze at it and catch a glimpse of eternity.”

Anna’s hand slipped into mine. The boat plunged on to the rainbow’s end where Kinloch Castle, the celebrated stately home of Rhum, overlooked a sheltered bay.

“At last—Zenda!” said Anna, laughing, and that was when I knew I was in Ruritania with my princess, just as I had always longed to be; that was when I knew I had the power to make all my dreams come true.

I remember thinking: Making one’s dreams come true is simply an attitude of mind.

IV

We spent two glorious weeks wandering all over the Inner and Outer Hebrides, but eventually we drove south, returned our hired motor and caught the train to London. As we had been living so simply I thought we could afford a touch of extravagance so I wired my kind, sympathetic bank manager Mr. Lloyd-Thomas for extra money and we settled down in a suite at the Savoy. It made an engaging change to sip champagne and nibble caviar in a room liberally decorated with red roses.

“It’s so romantic!” sighed Anna as we held hands and watched the dusk fall over the Thames, and I agreed with her. I even wondered if it would be too much of an anticlimax to propose the possibility of sex, but the sumptuous triple bed suggested to me that the atmosphere of romance could be sustained without trouble, and as it turned out I was not deceived.

“Wonderful!” breathed Anna, and immediately my mind was at work to form a new equation to supplement the basic equation of my life (Kester plus Oxmoon equals bliss; Kester minus Oxmoon equals misery). This time I thought: Caviar plus champagne plus red roses plus the Savoy equals marvelous sex equals Anna thinking I’m wonderful equals me feeling more heroic than any Godwin who’s ever lived. I tried to abbreviate this by amending it to Lavish spending equals Anna in bliss equals me in ecstasy, but that sounded too mercenary, so I told myself instead: Being master of Oxmoon (that, after all, enabled me to spend lavishly) plus having Anna (without whom no sex or romance would be possible) equals Success (whether or not I ever published a novel). After enduring many years in the company of people who thought me a freak doomed to failure, I now decided I was rather partial to being a huge success in life.

“I say, Anna … shall we do it again?”

“Oh yes! At least … is it possible?”

“Apparently.”

“Gosh, you must be superhuman!”

I modestly disclaimed superhuman powers but was secretly thrilled. I only wished I’d had the nerve to ask Uncle John how many times it was possible to copulate in a single night. I felt in the mood for breaking records.

“No wonder those grown-ups used to worry about us, Kester. If we’d known sex could be like this—”

“Exactly. We’ll have to forgive them for being so awful,” I agreed, and the next day, full of benign concern for our parents, we sent them telegrams to announce our imminent return to Wales.

Dr. and Mrs. Steinberg were waiting to meet us at the station when we arrived in Swansea the next day. Mrs. Steinberg was so overcome with emotion that she had forgotten all her English and I found myself being embraced amidst torrents of German. Anna wept happily. Mrs. Steinberg wept happily. Dr. Steinberg said, “Jolly good,” which seemed to be the only English phrase he could remember, and then he wept happily too.

I thought of Uncle John lecturing me about the virtues of a stiff upper lip and thanked God I had married into a Jewish family.

“What’s the news from Oxmoon?” I inquired when we had all recovered sufficiently to conduct a normal conversation.

“I shall drive us there now,” said my new father-in-law. “Your mother has been most charming and friendly. We’re invited to drinks to celebrate your return.”

This sounded promising. I was glad my mother had recovered from the paroxysm of rage that had driven her to threaten me with a wardship of court.

We drove out of Swansea, and because of my prolonged absence I seemed to see Gower with new eyes. What struck me most, after the vast stark ravishing wastes of Scotland, was how diverse beautiful little Gower was, sixteen slender miles of infinite variety set in a changeless yet ever-changing sea. Gower had everything, cliffs, sands, tidal causeways, estuaries, moors, miniature mountains, woods, fields, farms, villages, churches, megalithic monuments, Norman castles, eighteenth-century mansions, Medieval manors, a romantic history and even, as its gateway, glorious Swansea, the plain woman with “It,” lounging on her
chaise longue
of hills above the Neapolitan curve of Swansea Bay. As Rhossili Downs became visible in the distance I squeezed Anna’s hand and whispered with pride as well as joy, “Nearly home.”

“Home,” said Anna. “Home.” She sounded as if she could hardly believe her good fortune, and greatly touched I leaned over to give her a kiss. In the front seat Mrs. Steinberg saw us and wiped away another tear.

Dr. Steinberg hooted the horn three times as we passed through the gates of Oxmoon. “Your mother’s instructions!” he called, smiling at us in the mirror, and glancing up the drive I saw all the servants trooping out of the front door. As Lowell chivied them into line, my mother, massive in purple like some neo-Roman empress, stood framed formidably in the doorway.

“What’s happening?” whispered Anna in wonder.

“Good God, Mum’s turned up trumps! It’s the royal reception, darling—Mum’s acknowledging us as master and mistress of Oxmoon!”

Dr. Steinberg managed to halt the car but he was in such a state that he stalled the engine. We lurched forward, startling Lowell who had been about to open the passenger door.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said when I had recovered sufficiently to scramble out. “Good afternoon, madam. On behalf of all the servants I would like to welcome you home to Oxmoon and express the hope that you’ll be very happy here. Sir, may we offer you our best wishes for the future and our sincerest congratulations.”

“Thank you, Lowell,” I said. “That’s very decent of you.” I piloted Anna past the row of servants who all bowed or curtsied. Anna was nervous, but when Cook’s small daughter presented her with a bouquet of flowers she smiled with genuine pleasure, and I knew all was well.

I took up a masterful position on the porch steps.

“Thank you all for your splendid welcome,” I said in Welsh, trying hard to get the accent right, and added in English: “My wife’s much looking forward to living here, and we plan to make Oxmoon the finest house in Wales!”

Everyone looked thrilled. Smiling radiantly I took Anna’s hand in mine and steered her up the steps to my mother.

“Hullo, Mum!” I said. “The prodigal returns!”

“Darling!” said my mother richly. “As you can guess, I decided to kill the fatted calf!”

We embraced. I was aware of a gust of perfume, a flutter of long lashes against my cheek and her almost tangible air of satisfaction as she perceived my happiness.

“Oh, I’m wild about fatted calf!” I said. “I hope it’s dressed up as a bottle of champagne!”

We laughed. My mother turned to my wife.

“Anna … my dear …” There was an emotional embrace. “Dear child!” said my mother, releasing her. “At least I can’t complain you’re a stranger to me!”

I gave her an extra kiss to show her how grateful I was for her determination to let bygones be bygones, and to my surprise she swayed, almost losing her balance.

“Mum! Are you all right?”

“Yes—sorry, darling. No, don’t worry, I’m not tight! I’ve had a couple of dizzy spells this weeks—old age and too much pink gin catching up with me at last, I fear!” said my mother laughing and turned to welcome the Steinbergs as I moved past her into the house.

In the drawing room I found Rory standing sheepishly by the fireplace.

“Now then, you two!” said my mother, much as Mae West, playing the owner of a Wild West bordello, might have addressed two rebellious cowboys. “Shake hands and be friends—no more fights! It doesn’t matter who your fathers were—all that matters is that I’m your mother and don’t you forget it!”

“She’s right, you know,” Rory said as we shook hands.

“Of course. She always is.”

We looked at her as proudly as if we had created her unaided.

“Open the magnum, Lowell!” purred my mother.

The magnum opened with a well-bred explosion, and a pale gold liquid was soon frothing in six of the best Godwin glasses. As Lowell withdrew, we all stood in a circle and waited for my mother to propose the toast.

“To Kester and Anna—may you live happily ever after!” said my mother conventionally enough, but then exclaimed as if she were a pagan priestess flinging a defiant challenge at the gods: “Long live romance!” and drained her glass to the dregs.

It was a wonderful moment. I can see her now, cancelling out her past tragedies by that last indomitable toast. What a finale! What a triumph! And what a note on which to end.

“Romance!” we all cried in admiration, but even before we could raise our glasses to our lips she had gasped, staggered sideways and collapsed unconscious upon the floor.