  A Chapter
of
A`ridents

           A Chapter of
A~`idents

      A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS
                 W

              nE first met Patrick
Travers on our annual winter
holiday to Verbier. We were waiting
at the ski lift that first Saturday
morning when a man who must have
been in his early forties stood
aside to allow Caroline to take his
place, so that we could travel up
together. He explained that he had
already completed two runs that
morning and didn't mind waiting. I
thanked him and thought nothing
more of it.

  As soon as we reach the top my
wife and I always go our separate
ways, she to the A-slope to join
Marcel, who only instructs advanced
skiers- she has been skiing since
the age of seven - I to the B-slope
and any instructor who is
available- I took up skiing at the
age of forty-one - and frankly the
B-slope is still too advanced for
me though I don't dare admit as
much, especially to Caroline. We
always meet up again at the ski
lift after completing our different
runs.

  That evening we bumped into
Travers at the hotel bar. Since he
seemed to be on his own we invited
him tojoin us for dinner. He proved
to be an amusing companion and we
passed a pleasant

                203
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

enough evening together. He flirted
politely with my wife without ever
overstepping the mark and she
appeared to be flattered by his
attentions. Over the years I have
become used to men being attracted
to Caroline and I never need
reminding how lucky I am. During
dinner we learned that Travers was
a merchant banker with an of lice
in the City and a flat in Eaton
Square. He had come to Verbier
every year since he had been taken
on a school trip in the late
Fifties, he told us. He still
prided himselfon being the first on
the ski lift every morning, almost
always beating the local blades up
and down.

  Travers appeared to be genuinely
interested in the fact that I ran a
small West End art gallery; as it
turned out, he was something of a
collector himself, specialising in
minor Impressionists. He promised
he would drop by and see my next
exhibition when he was back in
London.

  I assured him that he would be
most welcome but never gave it a
second thought. In fact I only saw
Travers a couple of times over the
rest of the holiday, once talking
to the wife of a friend of mine who
owned a gallery that specialises in
oriental rugs, and later I noticed
him following Caroline expertly
down the treacherous A-slope.

It was six weeks later, and some
minutes before I could place him
that night at my gallery. I had to
rack that part of one's memory
which recalls names, a skill
politicians rely on every day.

  "Good to see you, Edward," he
said. "I saw the write-up you got
in the Independent and remembered
your kind invitation to the private
view."

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      A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

  "Glad you could make it, Patrick,"
I replied, rememberingjust in time.

  "I'm not a champagne man myself,"
he told me, "but I'll travel a long
way to see a Vuillard."

"You think highly of him?"

  "Oh yes. I would compare him
favourably with Pissarro and
Bonnard, and he still remains one
of the most underrated of the
Impressionists."

  "I agree," I replied. "But my
gallery has felt that way about
Vuillard for some considerable
time."

  "How much is 'The Lady at the
Window'?" he asked.

"Eighty thousand pounds," I said
quietly.

  "It reminds me of a picture of his
in the Metropolitan," he said, as
he studied the reproduction in the
catalogue.

  I was impressed, and told Travers
that the Vuillard in New York had
been painted within a month of the
one he so admired.

He nodded. "And the small nude?"

"Forty-seven thousand," I told him.

  "Mrs Hensell, the wife of his
dealer and Vuillard's second
mistress, if I'm not mistaken. The
French are always so much more
civilised about these things than
we are. But my favourite painting
in this exhibition," he continued,
"compares surely with the finest of
his work." He turned to face the
large oil of a young girl playing a
piano, her mother bending to turn a
page of the score.

  "Magnificent," he said. "Dare I
ask how much?"

  "Three hundred and seventy
thousand pounds," I said, wondering
if such a price tag put it out of
Travers's bracket.

                 2
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

  "What a super party, Edward," said
a voice from behind my shoulder.

  "Percy!" I cried, turning round.
"I thought you said you wouldn't be
able to make it."

  "Yes I did, old fellow, but I
decided I couldn't sit at home
alone all the time, so I've come to
drown my sorrows in champagne."

  "Quite right too," I said. "Sorry
to hear about Diana," I added as
Percy moved on. When I turned back
to continue my conversation with
Patrick Travers he was nowhere to
be seen. I searched around the room
and spotted him standing in the far
corner of the gallery chatting to
my wife, a glass of champagne in
his hand. She was wearing an
off-the-shoulder green dress that I
considered a little too modern.
Travers's eyes seemed to be glued
to a spot a few inches below the
shoulders. I would have thought
nothing of it had he spoken to
anyone else that evening.

  The next occasion on which I saw
Travers was about a week later on
returning from the bank with some
petty cash. Once again he was
standing in front of the Vuillard
oil of mother and daughter at the
piano.

"Good morning, Patrick," I said as
Ijoined him.

  "I can't seem to get that picture
out of my mind," he declared, as he
continued to stare at the two
figures.

"Understandably. "

  "I don't suppose you would allow
me to live with them for a week or
two until I can finally make up my
mind? Naturally I would be quite
happy to leave a deposit."

"Of course," I said. "I would
require a bank

                2~
                 
      A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

reference as well and the deposit
would be twentyfive thousand
pounds."

  He agreed to both requests without
hesitation so I asked him where he
would like the picture delivered.
He handed me a card which revealed
his address in Eaton Square. The
following morning his bankers
confirmed that three hundred and
seventy thousand pounds would not
be a problem for their client.

  Within twenty-four hours the
Vuillard had been taken round to
his home and hung in the dining
room on the ground floor. He phoned
back in the afternoon to thank me
and asked if Caroline and I would
care to join him for dinner; he
wanted, he said, a second opinion
on how the painting looked.

  With three hundred and seventy
thousand pounds at stake I didn't
feel it was an invitation I could
reasonably turn down, and in any
case Caroline seemed eager to
accept, explaining that she was
interested to see what his house
was like.

  We dined with Travers the
following Thursday. We turned out
to be the only guests, and I remem-
ber being surprised that there
wasn't a Mrs Travers or at least a
resident girlfriend. He was a
thoughtful host and the meal he had
arranged was superb. However, I
considered at the time that he
seemed a little too solicitous with
Caroline, although she certainly
gave the impression of enjoying his
undivided attention. At one point I
began to wonder if either of them
would have noticed if I had
disappeared into thin air.

  When we left Eaton Square that
night Travers told me that he had
almost made up his mind about

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        A TWIST IN THE TALE

the picture, which made me feel the
evening had served at least some
purpose.

  Six days later the painting was
returned to the gallery with a note
attached explaining that he no
longer cared for it. Travers did
not elaborate on his reasons, but
simply ended by saying that he
hoped to drop by some time and
reconsider the other Vuillards.
Disappointed, I returned his
deposit, but realised that
customers often do come back,
sometimes months, even years later.

But Travers never did.

  It was about a month later that I
learned why he would never return.
I was lunching at the large centre
table at my club, as in most
all-male establishments the table
reserved for members who drift in
on their own. Percy Fellows was the
next to enter the dining room so he
took a seat opposite me. I hadn't
seen him to talk to since the
private view of the Vuillard
exhibition and we hadn't really had
much of a conversation then. Percy
was one of the most respected
antique dealers in England and I
had once even done a successful
barter with him, a Charles II
writing desk in exchange for a
Dutch landscape by Utrillo.

I repeated how sorry I was to learn
about Diana.

  "It was always going to end in
divorce," he explained. "She was in
and out of every bedroom in London.
I was beginning to look a complete
cuckold, and that bloody man
Travers was the last straw."

"Travers?" I said, not
understanding.

  "Patrick Travers, the man named in
my divorce petition. Ever come
across him?"

"I know the name," I said
hesitantly, wanting to

                Me
                 
      A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

hear more before I admitted to our
slight acquaintanceship.

  "Funny," he said. "Could have
sworn I saw him at the private
view."

  "But what do you mean, he was the
last straw?" I asked, trying to
take his mind off the opening.

  "Met the bloody fellow at Ascot,
didn't we? Joined us for lunch,
happily drank my champagne, ate my
strawberries and cream and then
before the week was out had bedded
my wife. But that's not the half of
it."

"The half of it?"

  "The man had the nerve to come
round to my shop and put down a
large deposit on a Georgian table.
Then he invites the two of us round
to dinner to see how it looks.
After he's had enough time to make
love to Diana he returns them both
slightly soiled. You don't look too
well, old fellow," said Percy
suddenly. "Something wrong with the
food? Never been the same since
Harry left for the Carlton. I've
written to the wine committee about
it several times but-"

  "No, I'm fine," I said. "I just
need a little fresh air. Please
excuse me, Percy."

  It was on the walk back from my
club that I decided I would have to
do something about Mr Travers.

The next morning I waited for the
mail to arrive and checked any
envelopes addressed to Caroline.
Nothing seemed untoward but then I
decided that Travers wouldn't have
been foolish enough to commit
anything to paper. I also began to
eavesdrop on her telephone
conversations, but he was not among

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         ATWISTIN THE TALK

the callers, at least not while I
was at home. I even checked the
mileometer on her Mini to see if
she had driven any long distances,
but then Eaton Square isn't all
that far. It's often what you don't
do that gives the game away, I
decided: we didn't make love for a
fortnight, and she didn't comment.

  I continued to watch Caroline more
carefully over the next fortnight
but it became obvious to me that
Travers must have tired of her
about the same time as he had
returned the Vuillard. This only
made me more angry.

  I then formed a plan of revenge
that seemed quite extraordinary to
me at the time and I assumed that
in a matter of days I would get
over it, even forget it. But I
didn't. If anything, the idea grew
into an obsession. I began to
convince myself that it was my
bounder duty to do away with
Travers before he besmirched any
more of my friends.

  I have never in my life knowingly
broken the law. Parking fines annoy
me, dropped litter offends me and I
pay my VAT on the same day the
frightful buff envelope drops
through the letterbox.

  Nevertheless once I'd decided what
had to be done I set about my task
meticulously. At first I had
considered shooting Travers until I
discovered how hard it is to get a
gun licence and that if I did
thejob properly, he would end up
feeling very little pain, which
wasn't what I had planned for him;
then

. .

po~somag crossed my mind - but that
requires a witnessed prescription
and I still wouldn't be able to
watch the long slow death I
desired. Then strangling, which I
decided would necessitate too much
courage - and in any case he was a
bigger man than me so I might end
up being the one who

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      A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

was strangled. Then drowning, which
could take years to get the man
near any water and then I might not
be able to hang around to make sure
he went under for the third time. I
even gave some thought to running
over the damned man, but dropped
that idea when I realised
opportunity would be almost nil and
besides, I wouldn't be left any
time to check if he was dead. I was
quickly becoming awarejust how hard
it is to kill someoneand get away
with it.

  I sat awake at night reading the
biographies of murderers, but as
they had all been caught and found
guilty that didn't fill me with
much confidence. I turned to
detective novels which always
seemed to allow for a degree of
coincidence, luck and surprise that
I was unwilling to risk, until I
came across a rewarding line from
Conan Doyle: "Any intended victim
who has a regular routine
immediately makes himselfmore
vulnerable". And then I recalled
one routine of which Travers was
particularly proud. It required a
further six-month wait on my part
but that also gave me more time to
perfect my plan. I used the
enforced wait well because whenever
Caroline was away for more than
twenty-four hours, I booked in for
a skiing lesson on the dry slope at
Harrow.

  I found it surprisingly easy to
discover when Travers would be
returning to Verbier, and I was
able to organise the winter holiday
so that our paths would cross for
only three days, a period of time
quite sufficient for me to commit
my first crime.

Caroline and I arrived in Verbier
on the second Friday inJanuary. She
had commented on the state

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        A TWIST IN THE TALE

of my nerves more than once over the
Christmas period, and hoped the
holiday would help me relax. I could
hardly explain to her that it was
the thought of the holiday that was
making me so tense. It didn't help
when she asked me on the plane to
Switzerland if I thought Travers
might be there this year.

  On the first morning after our
arrival we took the ski lift up at
about ten thirty and, once we had
reached the top, Caroline duly
reported to Marcel. As she departed
with him for the A-slope I returned
to the B-slope to work on my own. As
always we agreed to meet back at the
ski lift or, if we missed each
other, at least for lunch.

  During the days that followed I
went over and over the plan I had
perfected in my mind and practiced
so diligently at Harrow until I felt
sure it was foolproof. By the end of
the first week I had convinced
myself I was ready.

The night before Travers was due to
arrive I was the last to leave the
slopes. Even Caroline commented on
how much my skiing had improved and
she suggested to Marcel that I was
ready for the A-slope with its
sharper bends and steeper mclmes.

  "Next year, perhaps," I told her,
trying to make light of it, and
returned to the B-slope.

  During the final morning I skied
over the first mile of the course
again and again, and became so
preoccupied with my work that I
quite forgot tojoin Caroline for
lunch.

  In the afternoon I checked and
rechecked the placing of every red
flag marking the run, and once

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      A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

I was convinced the last skier had
left the slope for the evening I
collected about thirty of the flags
and replaced them at intervals I
had carefully worked out. My final
task was to check the prepared
patch before building a large mound
of snow some twenty paces above the
chosen spot. Once my preparations
were complete I skied slowly down
the mountain in the fading light.

  "Are you trying to win an Olympic
gold medal or something?" Caroline
asked me when I eventually got back
to our room. I closed the bathroom
door so she couldn't expect a
reply.

Travers checked in to the hotel an
hour later.

  I waited until the early- evening
before I joined him at the bar for
a drink. He seemed a little nervous
when he first saw me, but I quickly
put him at ease. His old
self-confidence soon returned,
which only made me more determined
to carry out my plan. I left him at
the bar a few minutes before
Caroline came down for dinner so
that she would not see the two of
us together. Innocent surprise
would be necessary once the deed
had been done.

  "Unlike you to eat so little,
especially as you missed your
lunch," Caroline commented as we
left the dining room that night.

  I made no comment as we passed
Travers seated at the bar, his hand
on the knee of another innocent
middle-aged woman.

  I did not sleep for one second
that night and I crept out of bed
just before six the next morning,
careful not to wake Caroline.
Everything was laid out on the
bathroom floor just as I had left
it the night before. A few moments
later I was dressed and ready. I
walked down the back stairs of the

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        A TWIST IN THE TALE

hotel, avoiding the lift, and crept
out by the "fire exit", realising
for the first time what a thief
must feel like. I had a woollen cap
pulled well down over my ears and a
pair of snow goggles covering my
eyes: not even Caroline would have
recognised me.

  I arrived at the bottom ofthe ski
lift forty minutes before it was
due to open. As I stood alone
behind the little shed that housed
the electrical machinery to work
the lift I realised that everything
now depended on Travers's-sticking
to his routine. I wasn't sure I
could go through with it if my plan
had to be moved on to the following
day. As I waited, I stamped my feet
in the freshly fallen snow, and
slapped my arms around my chest to
keep warm. Every few moments I kept
peering round the corner of the
building in the hope that I would
see him striding towards me. At
last a speck appeared at the bottom
of the hill by the side of the
road, a pair of skis resting on the
man's shoulders. But what if it
didn't turn out to be Travers?

  I stepped out from behind the shed
a few moments later to join the
warmly wrapped man. It was Travers
and he could not hide his surprise
at seeing me standing there. I
started up a casual conversation
about being unable to sleep, and
how I thought I might as well put
in a few runs before the rush
began. Now all I needed was the ski
lift to start up on time. A few
minutes after seven an engineer
arrived and the vast oily mechanism
cranked into action.

  We were the first two to take our
places on those little seats before
heading up and over the deep
ravine. I kept turning back to
check there was still no one else
in sight.

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      A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

  "I usually manage to complete a
full run even before the second
person arrives," Travers told me
when the lift had reached its
highest point. I looked back again
to be sure we were now well out of
sight of the engineer working the
lift, then peered down some two
hundred feet and wondered what it
would be like to land head first in
the ravine. I began to feel dizzy
and wished I hadn't looked down.

  The ski lift jerked slowly on up
the icy wire until we finally
reached the landing point.

  "Damn," I said, as wejumpedoffour
little seats. "Marcel isn't here."

  "Never is at this time," said
Travers, making off towards the
advanced slope. "Far too early for
him."

  "I don't suppose you would come
down with me?" I said, calling
after Travers.

He stopped and looked back
suspiciously.

  "Caroline thinks I'm ready to join
you," I explained, "but I'm not so
sure and would value a second
opinion. I've broken my own record
for the B-slope several times, but
I wouldn't want to make a fool of
myself in front of my wife."

"Well, I -"

  "I'd ask Marcel if he were here.
And in any case you're the best
skier I know."

"Well, if you -" he began.

  "Just the once, then you can spend
the rest of your holiday on the
A-slope. You could even treat the
run as a warm-up."

"Might make a change, I suppose,"
he said.

  "Just the once," I repeated.
"That's all I'll need. Then you'll
be able to tell me if I'm good
enough."

"Shall we make a race of it?" he
said, taking me

                215
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

by surprise just as I began
clamping on my skis. I couldn't
complain; all the books on murder
had warned me to be prepared for
the unexpected. "That's one way we
can find out if you're ready," he
added cockily.

  "If you insist. Don't forget, I'm
older and less experienced than
you," I reminded him. I checked my
skis quickly because I knew I had
to start offin front of him.

  "But you know the B-course
backwards," he retorted. " I've
never even seen it before."

  "I'll agree to a race, but only if
you'll consider a wager," I
replied.

  For the first time I could see I
had caught his interest. "How
much?" he asked.

  "Oh, nothing so vulgar as money,"
I said. "The winner gets to tell
Caroline the truth."

"The truth?" he said, looking
puzzled.

  "Yes," I replied, and shot offdown
the hill before he could respond. I
got a good start as I skied in and
out of the red flags, but looking
back over my shoulder I could see
he had recovered quickly and was
already chasing hard after me. I
realised that it was vital for me
to stay in front of him for the
first third of the course, but I
could already feel him cutting down
my lead.

  After half a mile of swerving and
driving he shouted, "You'll have to
go a lot faster than that if you
hope to beat me." His arrogant
boast only pushed me to stay ahead
but I kept the lead only because of
my advantage of knowing every twist
and turn during that first mile.
Once I was sure that I would reach
the vital newly marked route before
he could I began to relax. After
all, I had practiced

                216
                 
      A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

over the next two hundred metres
fifty times a day for the last ten
days, but I was only too aware that
this time was the only one that
mattered.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see
he was now about thirty metres
behind me. I began to slow slightly
as we approached the prepared ice
patch, hoping he wouldn't notice or
would think I'd lost my nerve. I
held back even more when I reached
the top of the patch until I could
almost feel the sound of his
breathing. Then, quite suddenly,
the moment before I would have hit
the ice I ploughed my skis and came
to a complete halt in the mound of
snow I had built the previous
night. Travers sailed past me at
about forty miles an hour, and
seconds later flew high into the
air over the ravine with a scream I
will never forget. I couldn't get
myselfto look over the edge as I
knew he must have broken every bone
in his body the moment he hit the
snow some hundred feet below.

  I carefully leveled the mound of
snow that had saved my life and
then clambered back up the mountain
as fast as I could go, gathering
the thirty flags that had heralded
my false route. Then I skied from
side to side replacing them in
their correct positions on the
B-slope, some one hundred metres
above my carefully prepared ice
patch. Once each one was back in
place I skied on down the hill,
feeling like an Olympic champion.
When I reached the base of the
slope I pulled up my hood to cover
my head and didn't remove my snow
goggles. I unstrapped my skis and
walked casually towards the hotel.
I re-entered the building by the
rear door and was back in bed by
seven forty.

I tried to control my breathing but
it was some

                217
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

time before my pulse had returned
to normal. Caroline woke a few
minutes later, turned over and put
her arms round me.

  "Ugh," she said, "you're frozen.
Have you been sleeping without the
covers on?"

  I laughed. "You must have pulled
them off during the night."

"Go and have a hot bath."

  After I had had a quick bath we
made love and I dressed a second
time, double-checking that I had
left no clues of my early flight
before going down to breakfast.

  As Caroline was pouring my second
cup of coffee, I heard the
ambulance siren at first coming
from the town and then later
returning.

  "Hope it wasn't a bad accident,"
my wife said, as she continued to
pour her coffee.

  "What?" I said, a little too
loudly, glancing up from the
previous day's Times.

  "The siren, silly. There must have
been an accident on the mountain.
Probably Travers," she said.

"Travers?" I said, even more
loudly.

  "Patrick Travers. I saw him at the
bar last night. I didn't mention it
to you because I know you don't
care for him."

"But why Travers?" I asked
nervously.

  "Doesn't he always claim he's the
first on the slope every morning?
Even beats the instructors up to
the top."

"Does he?" I said.

  "You must remember. We were going
up for the first time the day we
met him when he was already on his
third run."

"Was he?"

                218
                 
      A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

  "You are being dim this morning,
Edward. Did you get out of bed the
wrong side?" she asked, laughing.

I didn't reply.

  "Well, I only hope it is Travers,"
Caroline added, sipping her coffee.
"I never did like the man."

"Why not?" I asked, somewhat taken
aback.

"He once made a pass at me," she
said casually.

I stared across at her, unable to
speak.

"Aren't you going to ask what
happened?''

  "I'm so stunned I don't know what
to say," I replied.

  "He was all over me at the gallery
that night and then invited me out
to lunch after we had dinner with
him. I told him to get lost,"
Caroline said. She touched me gently
on the hand. "I've never mentioned
it to you before because I thought
it might have been the reason he
returned the Vuillard, and that only
made me feel guilty."

  "But it's me who should feel
guilty," I said, fumbling with a
piece of toast.

  "Oh, no, darling, you're not
guilty of anything. In any case, if
I ever decided to be unfaithful it
wouldn't be with a lounge lizard
like that. Good heavens no. Diana
had already warned me what to expect
from him. Not my style at all."

  I sat there thinking of Travers on
his way to a morgue, or even worse,
still buried under the snow, knowing
there was nothing I could do about
it.

  "You know, I think the time really
has come for you to tackle the
A-slope," Caroline said as we
finished breakfast. "Your skiing has
improved beyond words."

                219
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

"Yes," I replied, more than a
little preoccupied. I hardly spoke
another word as we made our way
together to the foot of the
mountain.

  "Are you all right, darling?"
Caroline asked as we travelled up
side by side on the lift.

  "Fine," I said, unable to look
down into the ravine as we reached
the highest point. Was Travers
still down there, or already in the
morgue?

  "Stop looking like a frightened
child. After all the work you've
put in this week you're more than
ready to join me," she said
reassuringly.

  I smiled weakly. When we reached
the top, I jumped off the ski lift
just a moment too early, and knew
immediately I took my second step
that I had sprained an ankle.

  I received no sympathy from
Caroline. She was convinced I was
putting it on in order to avoid
attempting the advanced run. She
swept past me and sped on down the
mountain while I returned in
ignominy via the lift. When I
reached the bottom I glanced
towards the engineer but he didn't
give me a second look. I hobbled
over to the First Aid post and
checked in. Caroline joined me a
few minutes later.

  I explained to her that the duty
orderly thought it might be a
fracture and it had been suggested
I report to the hospital
immediately.

  Caroline frowned, removed her
skis and went off to find a taxi to
take us to the hospital. It wasn't
a longjourney but it was one the
taxi driver evidently had done many
times before from the way he took
the slippery bends.

"I ought to be able to dine out on
this for about a

                220
                 
    A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS
-
year," Caroline promised me as we
entered the double doors of the
hospital.

  "Would you be kind enough to wait
outside, madam?" asked a male
orderly as I was ushered into the
X-ray room.

  "Yes, but will I ever see my poor
husband again?" she mocked as the
door was closed in front of her.

  -I entered a room full of
sophisticated machinery presided
over by an expensively dressed
doctor. I told him what I thought
was wrong with me and he lifted the
offending foot gently up on to an
X-ray machine. Moments later he was
studying the large negative.

  "There's no fracture there," he
assured me, pointing to the bone.
"But if you are still in any pain
it might be wise for me to bind the
ankle up tightly." The doctor then
pinned my X-ray next to five others
hanging from a rail.

  "Am I the sixth person already
today?" I asked, looking up at the
row of X-rays.

  "No, no," he said, laughing. "The
other five are all the same man. I
think he must have tried to fly
over the ravine, the fool."

"Over the ravine?"

  "Yes, showing off, I suspect," he
said as he began to bind my ankle.
"We get one every year but this
poor fellow broke both his legs and
an arm, and will have a nasty scar
on his face to remind him of his
stupidity. Lucky to be alive in my
opinion."

"Lucky to be alive?" I repeated
weakly.

  "Yes, but only because he didn't
know what he was doing. My
fourteen-year-old skis over that
ravine and can land like a seagull
on water. He, on

                221
                 
A TWIST IN THE TALE
                    -
the other hand," the doctor pointed
to the X-rays, "won't be skiing
again this holiday. In fact, he
won't be walking for at least six
months."

"Really?" I said.

  "And as for you," he added, after
he finished binding me up, "just
rest the ankle in ice every three
hours and change the bandage once a
day. You should be back on the
slopes again in a couple of days,
three at the most."

  "We're flying back this evening,"
I told him as I gingerly got to my
feet.

"Good timing," he said, smiling.

  I hobbled happily out of the X-ray
room to find Caroline head down in
Ellc.

  "You look pleased with yourself,"
she said, looking up.

  "I am. It turns out to be nothing
worse than two broken legs, a
broken arm and a scar on the face."

  "How stupid of me," said Caroline,
"I thought it was a simple sprain."

  "Not me," I told her. "Travers-
the accident this morning, you
remember? The ambulance. Still,
they assure me he'll live," I
added.

  "Pity," she said, linking her arm
through mine. "After all the
trouble you took, I was rather
hoping you'd succeed."

                222
                 
The Loophole

THE LOOPHOLE

        `~e ~

                 HAT
isn't the version I
heard," said Philip.

  One of the club
members seated at
the bar glanced
round at the sound
of raised voices,
but when he saw who
was involved only
smiled and continued
his conversation.

  The Haslemere Golf
Club was fairly
crowded that
Saturday morning.
And just before
lunch it was often
difficult to find a
seat in the spacious
clubhouse.

  Two of the members
had already ordered
their second round
and settled
themselves in the
alcove overlooking
the first hole long
before the room
began to fill up.
Philip Masters and
Michael Gilmour had
finished their
Saturday morning
game earlier than
usual and now seemed
engrossed in
conversation.

  "And what did you
hear?" asked Michael
Gilmour quietly, but
in a voice that
carried.

  "That you weren't
altogether blameless
in the matter."

  "I most certainly
was," said Michael.
"What are you
suggesting?"

         225
          
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

  "I'm not suggesting anything,"
said Philip. "But don't forget, you
can't fool me. I employed you
myself once and I've known you for
far too long to accept everything
you say at face value."

  "I wasn't trying to fool anyone,"
said Michael. "It's common
knowledge that I lost my job. I've
never suggested otherwise."

  "Agreed. But what isn't common
knowledge is how you lost your job
and why you haven't been able to
find a new one."

  "I haven't been able to find a new
one for the simple reason jobs
aren't that easy to come by at the
moment. And by the way, it's not my
fault you're a success story and a
bloody millionaire."

  "And it's not my fault that you're
penniless and always out of work.
The truth is that jobs are easy
enough to come by for someone who
can supply references from his last
employer."

"Just what are you hinting at?"
said Michael.

"I'm not hinting at anything."

  Several members had stopped taking
part in the conversation in front
of them as they tried to listen to
the one going on behind them.

  "What I am saying," Philip
continued, "is that no one will
employ you for the simple reason
that you can't find anyone who will
supply you with a reference - and
everybody knows it."

  Everybody didn't know it, which
explained why most people in the
room were now trying to find out.

"I was made redundant," insisted
Michael.

  "In your case redundant was just
a euphemism for sacked. No one
pretended otherwise at the time."

                226
                 
           THE LOOPHOLE

  "I was made redundant," repeated
Michael, "for the simple reason
that the company profits turned out
to be a little disappointing this
year."

  "A little disappointing? That's
rich. They were non-existent."

  "Simply because we lost one or two
of our major accounts to rivals."

  "Rivals who, I'm informed, were
only too happy to pay for a little
inside information."

  By now most members of the club
had cut short their own
conversations as they leaned,
twisted, turned and bent in an
effort to capture every word coming
from the two men seated in the
window alcove of the club room.

  "The loss of those accounts was
fully explained in the report to
shareholders at this year's AGM,"
said Michael.

  "But was it explained to those
same shareholders how a former
employee could afford to buy a new
car only a matter of days after
being sacked?" pursued Philip. "A
second car, I might add." Philip
took a sip of his tomato juice.

  "It wasn't a new car," said
Michael defensively. "It was a
second-hand Mini and I bought it
with part of my redundancy pay when
I had to return the company car.
And in any case, you know Carol
needs her own car for the job at
the bank."

  "Frankly, I am amazed Carol has
stuck it for so long as she has
after all you've put her through."

  "All I've put her through; what
are you implying?" asked Michael.

  "I am not implying anything,"
Philip retorted. "But the fact is
that a certain young woman who
shall remain nameless" - this piece
of information

                227
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

seemed to disappoint most
eavesdroppers - "also became
redundant at about the same time,
not to mention pregnant."

  The barman had not been asked for
a drink for nearly seven minutes,
and by now there were few members
still affecting not to be listening
to the altercation between the two
men. Some were even staring in open
disbelief.

"But I hardly knew her," protested
Michael.

  "As I said, that's not the version
I heard. And what's more I'm told
the child bears a striking
resemblance -"

"That's going too far-"

  "Only if you have nothing to
hide," said Philip grimly.

"You know I've nothing to hide."

  "Not even the blonde hairs Carol
found all over the back seat of the
new Mini. The girl at work was a
blonde, wasn't she?"

  "Yes, but those hairs came from a
golden retriever."

"You don't have a golden
retriever."

  "I know, but the dog belonged to
the last owner."

  "That bitch didn't belong to the
last owner, and I refuse to believe
Carol fell for that old chestnut."

"She believed it because it was the
truth."

  "The truth, I fear, is something
you lost contact with a long time
ago. You were sacked, first because
you couldn't keep your hands off
anything in a skirt under forty,
and second, because you couldn't
keep your fingers out of the till.
I ought to know. Don't forget I had
to get rid of you for the same
reasons.

                228
                 
           THE LOOPHOLE

  Michael jumped up, his cheeks
almost the colour of Philip's
tomato juice. He raised his
clenched fist and was about to take
a swing at Philip when Colonel
Mather, the club president,
appeared at his side.

  "Good morning, sir," said Philip
calmly, rising for the Colonel.

  "Good morning, Philip," the
Colonel barked. "Don't you think
this little misunderstanding has
gone quite far enough?"

  "Little misunderstanding?"
protested Michael. "Didn't you hear
what he's been saying about me?"

  "Every word, unfortunately, like
any other member present," said the
Colonel. Turning back to Philip, he
added, "Perhaps you two should
shake hands like good fellows and
call it a day."

  "Shake hands with that
philandering, doublecrossing
shyster? Never," said Philip. "I
tell you, Colonel, he's not fit to
be a member ofthis club, and I can
assure you that you've only heard
half the story."

  Before the Colonel could attempt
another round of diplomacy Michael
sprang on Philip and it took three
men younger than the club president
to prise them apart. The Colonel
immediately ordered both men off
the premises, warning them that
their conduct would be reported to
the house committee at its next
monthly meeting. And until that
meeting had taken place, they were
both suspended.

  The club secretary, Jeremy Howard,
escorted the two men off the
premises and watched Philip get
into his Rolls-Royce and drive
sedately down the drive and out
through the gates. He had to wait

                229
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

on the steps of the club for
several minutes before Michael
departed in his Mini. He appeared
to be sitting in the front seat
writing something. When he had
eventually passed through the club
gates, the secretary turned on his
heels and made his way back to the
bar. What they did to each other
after they left the grounds was
none of his business.

  Back in the clubhouse, the
secretary found that the
conversation had not returned to
the likely winner of the
President's Putter, the seeding of
the Ladies' Handicap Cup, or who
might be prevailed upon to sponsor
the Youth Tournament that year.

  "They seemed in a jolly enough
mood when I passed them on the
sixteenth hole earlier this
morning," the club captain informed
the Colonel.

  The Colonel admitted to being
mystified. He had known both men
since the day they joined the club
nearly fifteen years before. They
weren't bad lads, he assured the
captain; in fact he rather liked
them. They had played a round of
golf every Saturday morning for as
long as anyone could remember, and
never a cross word had been known
to pass between them.

  "Pity," said the Colonel. "I was
hoping to ask Masters to sponsor
the Youth Tournament this year."

  "Good idea, but I can't see you
pulling that off now."

  "I can't imagine what they thought
they were up to."

  "Can it simply be that Philip is
such a success story and Michael
has fallen on hard times?" sug-
gested the captain.

"No, there's more to it than that,"
replied the

                230
                 
            THE LOOPHOLE

Colonel. "This morning's little
episode requires a fuller
explanation," he added sagely.

  Everyone in the club was aware that
Philip Masters had built up his own
business from scratch

  after he had left his first job as a
kitchen salesman. "Ready-Fit
Kitchens" had started in a shed at
the end of Philip's garden and ended
up in a factory on the other side of
town which employed over three
hundred people. After Ready-Fit went
public the financial press
speculated that Philip's shares
alone had to be worth a couple of
million. When five years later the
company was taken over by the John
Lewis Partnership, it became public
knowledge that Philip had walked
away from the deal with a cheque for
seventeen million pounds and a five-
year service contract that would
have pleased a pop star. Some of the
windfall had been spent on a
magnificent Georgian house in sixty
acres of woodland just outside
Haslemere: he could even see the
golf course from his bedroom. Philip
had been married for over twenty
years and his wife Sally was
chairman of the regional branch of
the Save the Children Fund and aJP.
Their son had just won a place at St
Anne's College, Oxford.

Michael was the boy's godfather.

  Michael Gilmour could not have
been a greater contrast. On leaving
school, where Philip had been his
closest friend, he had drifted from
job tojob. He started out as a
trainee with Watneys, but lasted
only a few months before moving on
to work as a rep with a publishing
company. Like Philip, he married his
childhood sweetheart, Carol West,
the daughter of a local doctor.

When their own daughter was born,
Carol

                 231
                  
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

complained about the hours Michael
spent away from home so he left
publishing and signed on as a
distribution manager with a local
soft drinks firm. He lasted for a
couple of years until his deputy
was promoted over him as area
manager, at which decision Michael
left in a huff. After his first
spell on the dole, Michael joined a
grain-packing company, but found he
was allergic to corn and, having
been supplied with a medical
certificate to prove it, collected
his first redundancy cheque. He
then joined Philip as a Ready-Fit
Kitchens rep but left without
explanation within a month of the
company being taken over. Another
spell of unemployment followed
before he took up the job of sales
manager with a company that made
microwave ovens. He seemed to have
settled down at last until, without
warning, he was made redundant. It
was true that the company profits
had been halved that year, while
the company directors were sorry to
see Michael go - or that was how it
was expressed in their in-house
magazine.

  Carol was unable to hide her
distress when Michael was made
redundant for the fourth time. They
could have done with the extra cash
now that their daughter had been
offered a place at art school.

Philip was the girl's godfather.

"What are you going to do about
it?" asked Carol anxiously, when
Michael had told her what had taken
place at the club.

  "There's only one thing I can do,"
he replied. "After all, I have my
reputation to consider. I shall sue
the bastard."

                232
                 
           THE LOOPHOLE

  "That's a terrible way to talk
about your oldest friend. And
anyway we can't afford to go to
law," said Carol. "Philip's a
millionaire and we're penniless."

  "Can't be helped," said Michael.
"I'll have to go through with it,
even if it means selling up every-
thing."

  "And even if the rest of your
family has to suffer along with
you?"

  "None of us will suffer when he
ends up paying my costs plus
massive damages."

  "But you could lose," said Carol.
"Then we would end up with nothing-
worse than nothing."

  "That's not possible," said
Michael. "He made the mistake of
saying all those things in front of
witnesses. There must have been
over fifty members in the clubhouse
this morning, including the presi-
dent of the club and the editor of
the local paper, and they couldn't
have failed to hear every word."

  Carol remained unconvinced, and
she was relieved that during the
next few days Michael didn't
mention Philip's name once. She
hoped that her husband had come to
his senses and the whole affair was
best forgotten.

  But then the Haslemere Chronicle
decided to print its version of the
quarrel between Michael and Philip.
Under the headline "Fight breaks
out at golf club" came a carefully
worded account of what had taken
place on the previous Saturday. The
editor of the Haskmere Chronicle
knew only too well that the
conversation itself was unprintable
unless he also wanted to be sued,
but he managed to include enough
innuendo in the article to give a
full flavour of what had happened
that morning.

                233
                 
A TWIST IN THE TALE

.

  "That's the final straw," said
Michael, when he finished reading
the article for a third time. Carol-
realised that nothing she could say
or do was going to stop her husband
now.

  The following Monday, Michael
contacted a local solicitor,
Reginald Lomax, who had been at
school with them both. Armed with
the article, Michael briefed Lomax
on the conversation that the
Chronicle had felt injudicious to
publish in any great detail. Michael
also gave Lomax his own detailed
account of what had happened at the
club that morning, and handed him
four pages of handwritten notes to
back his claims up.

Lomax studied the notes carefully.

"When did you write these?"

  "In my car, immediately after we
were suspended."

  "That was circumspect of you,"
said Lomax. "Most circumspect." He
stared quizzically at his client
over the top of his half-moon
spectacles. Michael made no comment.
"Of course you must be aware that
the law is an expensive pastime,"
Lomax continued. "Suing for slander
will not come cheap, and even with
evidence as strong as this" -he
tapped the notes in front of him-
"you could still lose. Slander
depends so much on what other people
remember or, more important, will
admit to remembering."

  "I'm well aware of that," said
Michael. "But I'm determined to go
through with it. There were over
fifty people in the club within
earshot that morning.

  "So be it," said Lomax. "Then I
shall require five thousand pounds
in advance as a contingency

                 234
                  
           THE LOOPHOLE

fee to cover all the immediate
costs and the preparations for a
court case." For the first time
Michael looked hesitant.

  "Returnable, of course, but only
if you win the case."

  Michael removed his cheque book
and wrote out a figure which, he
reflected, would only just be
covered by the remainder of his
redundancy pay.

  The writ for slander against
Philip Masters was issued the next
morning by Lomax, Davis and Lomax.

  A week later the writ was accepted
by another firm of solicitors in
the same town, actually in the same
building.

Back at the club, debate on the
rights and wrongs of Gilmour v.
Masters did not subside as the
weeks passed.

  Club members whispered furtively
among themselves whether they might
be called to give evidence at the
trial. Several had already received
letters from Lomax, Davis and Lomax
requesting statements about what
they could recall being said by the
two men that morning. A good many
pleaded amnesia or dearness but a
few turned in graphic accounts of
the quarrel. Encouraged, Michael
pressed on, much to Carol's dismay.

  One morning about a month later,
after Carol had left for the bank,
Michael Gilmour received a call
from Reginald Lomax. The
defendant's solicitors, he was
informed, had requested a "without
prejudice" consultation.

  "Surely you're not surprised by
that after all the evidence we've
collected?" Michael replied.

                235
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

  "It's only a consultation," Lomax
reminded him.

  "Consultation or no consultation
I won't settle for less than one
hundred thousand pounds."

  "Well, I don't even know that
they-" began Lomax.

  "I do, and I also know that for
the last eleven weeks I haven't
been able to even get an interview
for a job because of that bastard,"
Michael said with contempt.
"Nothing less than one hundred
thousand pounds, do you hear me?"

  "I think you are being a trifle
optimistic, in the circumstances,"
said Lomax. "But I'll call you and
let you know the other side's
response as soon as the meeting has
taken place."

  Michael told Carol the good news
that evening, but like Reginald
Lomax she was sceptical. The
ringing of the phone interrupted
their discussion on the subject.
Michael, with Carol standing by his
side, listened carefully to Lomax's
report. Philip, it seemed, was
willing to settle for twenty-five
thousand pounds and had agreed to
paying both sides' costs.

  Carol nodded her grateful
acceptance, but Michael only
repeated that Lomax was to hold out
for nothing less than one hundred
thousand. "Can't you see that
Philip's already worked out what
it's going to cost him if this case
ends up in court? And he knows only
too well that I won't give in."

  Carol and Lomax remained
unconvinced. "It's much more touch
and go than you realise," the
solicitor told him. "A High Court
jury might consider the words were
only meant as banter."

                236
                 
           THE LOOPHOLE

  "Banter? But what about the fight
that followed the banter?" said
Michael.

  "Started by you," Lomax pointed
out. "Twentyfive thousand is a good
figure in the circumstances," he
added.

  Michael refused to budge, and
ended the conversation by repeating
his demand for one hundred thousand
pounds.

  Two weeks passed before the other
side offered fifty thousand in
exchange for a quick settlement.
This time Lomax was not surprised
when Michael rejected the offer out
of hand. "Quick settlement be
damned. I've told you I won't
consider less than a hundred
thousand." Lomax knew by now that
any plea for prudence was going to
fall on deaf ears.

  It took three more weeks and
several more phone calls between
solicitors before the other side
accepted that they were going to
have to pay the full one hundred
thousand pounds. Reginald Lomax
rang Michael to inform him of the
news late one evening, trying to
make it sound as if he had scored a
personal triumph. He assured
Michael that the necessary papers
could be drawn up immediately and
the settlement signed in a matter
of days.

  '`Naturally all your costs will be
covered," he added.

"Naturally," said Michael.

  "So all that is left for you to do
now is agree on a statement."

  A short statement was penned and,
with the agreement of both sides,
issued to the Haslemerc Chronicle.
The paper printed the contents the
following Friday on its front page.
"The writ for slander between
Gilmour and Masters," the

                237
                 
         A TWIST IN THE TALE

Chronicle "has been withdrawn with
the agreement of both sides but only
after a substantial out-of-court
settlement by the defendant. Philip
Masters has withdrawn unreservedly
what was said at the club that
morning and has given an
unconditional apology; he has also
made a promise that he will never
repeat the words used again. Mr-
Masters has paid the plaintiffs
costs in full."

  Philip wrote to the Colonel the
same day, admitting perhaps he had
had a little too much to drink on
the morning in question. He
regretted his impetuous outburst,
apologised and assured the club's
president it would never happen
again.

  Carol was the only one who seemed
to be saddened by the outcome.

  "What's the matter, darling?"
asked Michael. "We've won, and
what's more it's solved our
financial problems."

  "I know," said Carol, "but is it
worth losingyour closest friend for
one hundred thousand pounds?"

  On the following Saturday morning
Michael was pleased to find an
envelope among his morning post with
the GolfClub crest on the flap. He
opened it nervously and pulled out
a single sheet of paper. It read:

Dear Mr Gilmour,

At the monthly committee meeting
held last

Wednesday Colonel Mather raised the
matter of

your behaviour in the clubhouse on
the morning

of Saturday, April 16th.

It was decided to minute the
complaints of.

several members, but on this
occasion only to

issue a severe reprimand to you
both. Should a

           THE LOOPHOLE

similar incident occur in the
future, loss of membership would
be automatic.

  The temporary suspension issued
by Colonel Matheron April 16th is
now lifted. Yours sincerely,

Jay 4~ -
Jeremy Howard (Secretary)

  "I'm offto do the shopping,"
shouted Carol from the top of the
stairs. "What are your plans for
the morning?"

  "I'm going to have a round of
golf," said Michael, folding up the
letter.

  "Good idea," said Carol to herself
as she wondered whom Michael would
find to play against in the future.

Quite a few members noticed Michael
and Philip teeing up at the first
hole that Saturday morning. The
club captain commented to the
Colonel that he was glad to observe
that the quarrel had been sorted
out to everyone's satisfaction.

  "Not to mine," said the Colonel
under his breath. "You can't get
drunk on tomato juice."

  "I wonder what the devil they can
be talking about?" the club captain
said as he stared at them both
through the bay windows. The
Colonel raised his binoculars to
take a closer look at the two men.

"How could you possibly miss a
four-foot putt, dummy?" asked
Michael when they had reached the
first green. "You must be drunk
again."

                239
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

  "As you well know," replied
Philip, "I never drink before
dinner, and I therefore suggest
that your allegation that I am
drunk again is nothing less than
slander."

  "Yes, but where are your
witnesses?" said Michael as they
moved up on to the second tee. "I
had over fifty, don't forget."

Both men laughed.

  Their conversation ranged over
many subjects as they played the
first eight holes, never once
touching on their past quarrel
until they reached the ninth green,
the farthest point from the club-
house. They both checked to see
there was no one within earshot.
The nearest player was still
putting out some two hundred yards
behind them on the eighth hole. It
was then that Michael removed a
bulky brown envelope from his golf
bag and handed it over to Philip.

  "Thank you," said Philip, dropping
the package into his own golf bag
as he removed a putter. "As neat a
little operation as I've been
involved in for a long time,"
Philip added as he addressed the
ball.

  "I end up with forty thousand
pounds," said Michael grinning,
"while you lose nothing at all."

  "Only because I pay tax at the
highest rate and can therefore
claim the loss as a legitimate
business expense," said Philip,
"and I wouldn't have been able to
do that if I hadn't once employed
you."

  "And I, as a successful litigant,
need pay no tax at all on damages
received in a civil case."

  "A loophole that even this
Chancellor hasn't caught on to,"
said Philip.

  "Even though it went to Reggie
Lomax, I was sorry about the
solicitors' fees," added Michael.

                240
                 
           THE LOOPHOLE

  "No problem, old fellow. They're
also one hundred per cent claimable
against tax. So as you see, I
didn't lose a penny and you ended
up with forty thousand pounds tax
free."

  "And nobody the wiser," said
Michael, laughing.

The Colonel put his binoculars back
into their case. "Had your eye on
this year's winner of the
President's Putter, Colonel?" asked
the club captain.

  "No," the Colonel replied. "The
certain sponsor of this year's
Youth Tournament."

                241
                 
 
(h
ri
st
in
~
Ro
se
nt
ha
l

 CHRISTINA ROSENTHAL

               THE
rabbi knew he
couldn't hope to
begin on his sermon
he'd read the
letter. He had been
sitting at his desk
in front of a blank
sheet of paper for
over an hour and
still couldn't come
up with a first
sentence. Lately he
had been unable to
concentrate on a
task he had carried
out every Friday
evening for the last
thirty years. They
must have realised
by now that he was
no longer up to it.
He took the letter
out of the envelope
and slowly unfolded
the pages. Then he
pushed his half-moon
spectacles up the
bridge of his nose
and started to read.

My dear Father,

  'Jew boy.'Jew
boy.'Jew boy!" were
the first words I
ever heard her say
as I ran past her on
the f rst lap of the
race. She was
standing behind the
railing at the
beginning of the
home straight, hands
cupped around her
lips to be sure I
couldn't miss the
chant. She must have
come from another
school because I
didn't recognise
her, but it only
took a fleeting
glance to see that
it was Greg Reynolds
who was standing by
her side.

Afterioeyears of
having to tolerate
his mice comments

245

        A TWIST IN THE TALE

and bullying at school all I wanted
to retaliate with was, "Nazi, Nazi,
Nazi, " butyou had always taught me
to rise above such provocation.

  I tried to put them both out of my
mind as I mooed into the second lap.
I had dreamedforyears of winning the
mile in the West Mount High School
championships, and I was determined
not to let them do anything to stop
me.

  As I came into the back straight
a second time I took a more careful
look at her. She was standing amid
a cluster of friends who were
wearing the scarves of Marianapolis
Gnoeat. She must have been about
sixteen, and as slim as a willow. I
wonder if you would inane chastised
me had l only shouted, "No breasts,
no breasts, no breasts, " in the
hope it might at least provoke the
boy standing next to her into a
fight. Then I would have been able
to tellyou truthfully that be had
thrown the f rst punch but the
momentyou had learned that it was
Greg Reynoldsyou would ham realised
how little provocation I needed.

  As I reached the back straight I
once again prepared myself for the
chants. Chanting at track meetings
had become fashionable in the lad
1950s when "Zat-o-pek, Zat-o-pek,
Zat-o-pek " had been roared in
adulation across running stadiums
around the world for the great Czech
champion. Not for me was there to be
the shout of "Ros-en-thal,
Ros-en-thal, Ros-en-thal" as I came
into earshot.

  'Jew boy!Jew boy!Jew boy!"she
said, sounding like a gramophone
record that had got stuck. Herfriend
Greg, who would nowadays be
described as a preppie, began
laughing. I knew he hadput her up to
it, and how I would life to have
removed that smug grin from his
face. I reached the half-mile mark
in two minutes seventeen seconds,
comfortably inside the pace
necessary to break the school
record, and If elt that was the best
way to put the tauntinggirl and that

                216
                 
        CHRISTINA ROSENTHAL

fascist Reynolds in their place. I
couldn't ,ieip thinking at the time
how unfair it all was. I was a real
Canadian, born and bred in this
county, while she was just an
immigrant. After all,you, Father,
had escapedfrom Hamburg in 1937 and
started with nothing. Her parents
did not land on these shores until
1949, by which timeyou were a
resieetedigure in the community.

  I gritted my teeth and tried to
concentrate. Zatotek had written in
his autobiography that no runner
can afford to lose his
concentration during a race. When I
reached the penultimate bend the
inevitable chanting began again,
but this time it only made me steed
up and even more determined to
break that record. Once I was back
in the safety of the home straight
I could hear some of my friends
roaring, "Come on, Benjamin,you can
do it," and the timekeeper called
out, "Three twenty-three, three
twenty-four, three twenty-/ye" as I
passed the bell to begin the last
lap.

  I knew that the record -four
thirty-two - was now well within my
"rasp and all those dark nights
oSwinter training suddenly seemed
worthwhile. As I reached the back
straight I took the lead, and
eoenSeit that I couldface thegirl
again. I summoned up my strength
for one last effort. A quick glance
over my shoulder confirmed I was
alreadyyards in front of any of my
rivals, so it was only me against
the clock. Then I heard the
chanting, but this time it was even
louder than before, '~Jew boy! Jew
boy! Jew boy!" It was louder
because the two of them were now
working in unison, and just as I
came round the bend Reynolds raised
his ann in a flagrant Nazi salute.

  If I had only carried onfor
another twentyyards I would hare
reached the safety of the home
straight and the cheers of
myfriends, the cup and the record.
But they had made me so angy that I
could no longer control myself

I shot of A the track and ran
across the grass over the

                247
                 
         A TWIST IN THE TALE

long-jump pit and straight towards
them. At Cast my crazy decision
stopped their charting because
Reynolds lowered his arm and just
stood there staring pathetically at
me from behind the small railing
that surrounded the outer perimeter
of the track. I leaped right over it
and landed in front of my adversay.
With all the energy I had saved for
the final straight I took an
almighty swing at him. My fist
landed an inch below his left eye
and he buckled and jell to the
ground by herside. Quickly she knelt
down and, staring up, gave me a look
of such hatred that no words could
have matched it. Once I was sure
Greg wasn't going to get up, I
walled slowly back on to the track
as the last of the runners were
coming round theinal bend.

  "Last again, Jew boy, " I heard
her shout as I jogged down the home
straight, so far behind the others
that they didn't coen bother to
record my time.

  How often since haveyou quoted me
those words: "Still have I borne it
with a patient shrug, for sufferance
is the badge of all our tribe ". Of
courseyou were right, but I was only
seventeen then, and even after I had
learned the truth about Christina's
father I still couldn't understand
how anyone who had comefrom a
defeated Germany, a Germany
condemned by the rest of the
worldfor its treatment of the Jews,
could still behave in such a manner.
And in those days I really believed
herfamily were Nazis, but I
remcmberyou patiently explaining to
me that her father had been an
admiral in the German navy, and had
won an Iron Crossfor sinking Allied
ships. Doyou remember me asking how
could you tolerate such a man, let
alone allow him to settle down in
our county?

  You went on to assure me that
Admiral non Braumer, who camefrom an
old Roman Catholiefamily andprobably
despised the Nazis as much as we
did, had acquitted himself
honourably as an of ficcr and a
gentleman throughout his life

                 248
                  
        CHRISTINA ROSENTHAL

as a German sailor. But I still
couldn't aceeptyourattitudr, or
didn't want to.

  It didn't help, Father, that you
always saw the other man's point of
view, and even though Mother had
died prematurely because of those
bastardsyou could stilly nd it
inyou to forgive.

  If you had been born a
Christian,you would have been a
saint.

The rabbi put the letter down and
rubbed his tired eyes before he
turned over another page written in
that fine script that he had taught
his only son so many years before.
Benjamin had always learned
quickly, everything from the Hebrew
scriptures to a complicated
algebraic equation. The old man had
even begun to hope the boy might
become a rabbi.

Do you remember my asking you that
evening why people couldn't
understand that the world had
changed? Didn't the girl realise
that she was no better than we
were? I shall never forgetyour
reply. She is,you said, far better
than us, if the only wayyou can
ptooeyoursuperiority is to punch
herfriend in the face.

  I returned to my room angered
byyour weakness. It was to be many
years before I understoodyour
strength.

  When I wasn't pounding round that
track I rarely had time for
anything other than working for a
scholarship to McGill, so it came
as a surprise that her path crossed
mine again so soon.

  It must have been about a week
later that I saw her at the local
swimming pool. She was standing at
the deep end, just under the diving
board, when I came in. Her long
fair hair was dancing on her
shoulders, her bright eyes eagerly
taking in everything going on
around her. Greg was by her side. I

                249
                 
         A TWIST IN THE TALE

was pleased to notice a deep purple
patch remained under his left eye
for all to sec. I also remember
chuckling to myself because she
really did have the flattest chest
I had doer seen on a
sixteen-year-old girl, though I have
to confess she had fantastic legs.
Perhaps she's a freak, I thought. I
turned to go in to the changing room
- a split second before I hit the
water. When I came up for breath
there was no sign of who had pushed
me in, just a group of grinning but
innocent faces. I didn't need a law
degree to work out who it must haac
been, but as you constantly reminded
me, Father, without evidence there
is no proof . . . I wouldn't have
minded that much about being pushed
into the pool if I hadn't been
wearing my best suit - in truth, my
only suit with long trousers, the
one I wore on days I was going to
the synagogue.

  I climbed out of the water but
didn't waste any time looking
roundfor him. I knew Greg would be
a long way off by then. I walked
home through the back streets,
avoiding taking the bus in case
someone saw me and toldyou what a
state I was in. As soon as I got
home I crept pastyour study and on
upstairs to my room, changing
beforcyou had the chance to discover
what had taken place.

  Old Isaac Cohen gaac me a
disapproving look when I turned up
at the synagogac an hour later
wearing a blazer and jeans.

  I took the suit to the cleaners
the next morning. It cost me three
weeks' pocket money to be sure
thatyou were never aware of what had
happened at the swimming pool that
day.

The rabbi picked up the picture of
his seventeenyear-old son in that
synagogue suit. He well remembered
Benjamin turning up to his service
in a blazer and jeans and Isaac
Cohen's outspoken reprimand. The
rabbi was thankful that Mr. Atkins,

                 250
                  
        CHRISTINA ROSENTHAL

the swimming instructor, had phoned
to warn him of what had taken place
that afternoon so at least he
didn't add to Mr Cohen's harsh
words. He continued gazing at the
photograph for a long time before
he returned to the letter.

The next occasion l saw Christina -
by now I hadfound out her name -
was at the end-of-term dance held
in the school gymnasium. I thought
I looted pretty cool in my neatly
pressed suit until I saw Greg
standing by her side in a smart new
dinner jacket. I remember wondering
at the time if I would ever be able
to afford a dinnerjaciet. Greg had
been offered a place at McGill and
was announcing the fact to Depone
who cared to listen, which made me
all the more determined to win a
scholarship there the
followingyear.

  I stared at Christina. She was
wearing a long red dress that
completely covered those beautiful
Iegs. A thin gold belt emphasized
her tiny waist and the only
jewelers she wore was a simple gold
necklace. I knew if I waited a
moment longer I wouldn't have the
courage to go through with it. I
clenched my fists, walled over to
where they were sitting, and asyou
had always taught me, Father, bowed
slightly before I asked, "May I
have the pleasure of this dance?"

  She stared into my eyes. I swear
if she had told me to go out and
kill a thousand men before I dared
ask her again I would inane done
it.

  She didn't even speak, but Greg
leaned over her shoulder and said,
"Why don 'tyougo and.findyourself a
niceJewish girl?" I thought I saw
her scowl at his remark, but I only
blushed like someone who's been
caught with their hands in the
cookie jar. I didn't dance with
anyone that night. I walled
straight out of the gymnasium and
ran home.

I was convinced then that I hated
her.

That last week of term I broke the
school recordfor the

                251
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

mile. You were there to watch me
but, thank heavens, she wasn't.
That was the holiday we drone over
to Ottawa to steed our summer
vacation with Aunt Rebecca. I was
told by a schoolfriend that
Christina had spent hers in
Vancouver with a Germanfamily. At
least Greg had notgone with her,
thefriend assured me.

  You went on reminding me of the
importance of a good education,
butyou didn't need to, because eoey
time I saw Greg it made me more
determined to win that scholarship.

  I worded even harder in the summer
of '65 when you explained that, for
a Canadian, a place at McGill was
like going to Harvard or Oxford and
would clear a path for the rest of
my days.

For theirst time in my life running
too/r. second place.

  Although I didn't see much of
Christina that term she was often
in my mind. A classmate told me
that she and Greg were no longer
seeing each other, but could give
me no reason for this sudden change
of heart. At the time I had a
so-called girlfriend who always sat
on the other side of the synagogue
- Naomi Goldblatz,you remember her
- but it was she who dated me.

  As my exams drew nearer, I
wasgrateful thatyou always found
time to go over my essays and tesk
after I had finished them. What you
couldn't know was that I inevitably
returned to my own room to do them
a third time. Often I wouldfall
asleep at my desk. When I woke I
would turn over the page and read
on.

  Evenyou, Father, who have not an
ounce of vanity inyou, found it
hard to disguise fromyour
congregation the pride you took in
my eight straight "A 's" and the
award of a top scholarship to
McGill. I wondered if Christina was
aware of it. She mast have been. My
name was painted up on the Honours
Board in fresh gold leaf the
following week, so someone would
have told her.

* * *

                252
                 
CHRISTINA ROSENTHAL

.

It must have been three months
lakercn I was in my.first term at
McGill that I saw her next. Do you
remember taking me to St Joan at the
Centaur Theatrc? There she was,
seated a few rows in front of us with
her parents and a sophomore called
Bob Richards. The admiral and his
wife looked strait-laced and vcy
stern but not unsympathetic. In the
interval I watched her laughing and
joking with them: she had obviously
enjoyed herself. I hardly saw St
Joan, and although I couldn't take my
eyes off Christina she Ricer ones
noticed mc. I just wanted to be on
the stage playing the Dauphin so she
would have to look up at mc.

  When the curtain came down she and
Bob Richards left her parents and
hcadedfor the exit. If ollowed the
two of them out of thefoyer and into
the carpark, and watched them get
into a Thunderbird. A Thunderbird! I
remember thinking I might one day he
able to afford a dinner jacket, but
nencr a Thunderbird.

  From that moment she was in my
thoughts wicneucr I trained, wherever
I worded and corn when I slept. If
ound out cocrything I could about Bob
Richards and discovered that he was
liked by all who knew him.

For the first time in my life I hated
being a Jcw.

  When I next saw Christina I dreaded
what might happen. It was the start
of the mile against the University of
T7ancouncr and as a freshman I had
been lucky to be selected for McGill.
When I came out on to the track to
warm up I saw her sitting in the
third row of the stand alongside
Richards. They were holding hands.

  I was last off when the starter's
gun fired but as we went into the
back straight mooed up intofifth
position. It was the largest crowd I
had hoer run in front of, and when I
reached the home straight I waitedfor
the chant 'Jew boy.'Jcw boy! Jew
boy!" but nothing happened. I
wondered if she had failed to notice
that I was in the race. But she had
noticed

                 253
                  
         A TWIST IN THE TALE

because as I came round the bend I
could hear her mice clearly. "Come
on, Benjamin, you've got to winl"
she shouted.

  I wanted to look back to make sure
it was Christina who had called
those words; it would be another
quarter of a mile before I could
pass her again. By the time I did so
I had mooed up into third place, and
I could hear her clearly: "Come on,
Benjamin,you can do it!"

  I immediately took the lead
because all I wanted to do was get
back to her. I charged on without
thought of who was behind me, and by
the time Ipassed her the third time
I was seoeralyards ahead of they'll
"You 're going to win!"she shouted
as I ran on to reach the bell in
three minutes eight seconds, eleven
seconds faster than I had ever done
before. 1 remember thinking that
they ought to put something in those
training manuals about lone being
worth two to three seconds a lap.

  I watched her all the way down the
back straight and when I came into
thermal bendfor the last time the
crowd rose to theirieet. I turned to
searchforier. She wasjumping up and
down shouting, "Look out! Look out!"
which I didn't understand until I
was overtaken on the inside by the
VancouaerNumber One string who the
coach had warned me was renownedfor
his strong finish. I staggered over
the line a fewyards behind him in
second place but went on running
until I was safely inside the
changing room. I sat alone by my
locker. Four minutes seventeen,
someone told me: six seconds faster
than I had ever run before. It
didn't help. I stood in the
showerfor a long time, tying to work
out what could possibly have changed
her attitude.

  When I walked back on to the track
only the ground staff were still
around I took one last look at the
finishing line before I strolled
over to the Forsyth Library. If elt
unable to face the usual team
get-together, so I bird to settle
down to

                 254
                  
        CHRISTINA ROSENTHAL

write an essay on the rights of
married women.

  The libray was almost empty that
Saturday horning and I was well
into my third page when I heard a
voice say, "I hole I'm not
intcrruptingyou butyou didn't come
to Joe's. " Hooked up to see
Christina standing on the other
side of the table. Father, I didn't
know what to say. Ijwt stared up at
the beautiful creature in
herfashionable blue mini-skirt and
tight-.fitting sweater that
emphasised the most perfect
breasts, and said nothing.

  "I was the one who shouted 'Jew
boy 'whenyou were still at High
School. I've felt ashamed about it
ever sines. I wanted to apologist
toyou on the night of the prom
dance but couldn't summon up the
courage with Greg standing there. "
I nodded my understanding - I
couldn't think of any words that
seemed appropriate. "I near spoke
to him again, " she said. "But I
don't supposeyou even remember
Greg. "

  Ijust smiled. "Careforcoffee?"l
asked, tying to sound as if I
wouldn't mint if she replied, "I'm
very, I must get back to Bob. "

"I'd like that very much, " she
said.

  I took her to the library coffee
shop, which was about all I could
afford at the time. She never
bothered to explain what had
happened to Bob Richards, and I
never asked.

  Christina seemed to know so much
about me that Ifelt embarrassed.
She asked me to forgive her for
what she had shouted on the track
that day twoyears before. She made
no excuses, placed the blame on no
one else, just asked to be
forgiocn.

  Christina told me she was hoping
to join me at McGill in September,
to major in German. "Bit of a
cheek," she admitted, "as it is my
native tongue. "

  Wc spent the rest of that summer
in each other's company. Wc saw St
Joan again, and coen queuedfor a
film called Dr No that was all the
craze at the time. Wc worked

                255
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

together, we together, we played
together, but we slept alone.

  I said littic about Christina
toyou at the time, but I'd bet you
knew already how much I loved her;
I could netter hide
anythingfromyou. And after allyour
teaching offorgiacncss and
understandingyou could hard)
disapprove.

The rabbi paused. His heart ached
because he knew so much of what was
still to come although he could not
have foretold what would happen in
the end. He had never thought he
would live to regret his Orthodox
upbringing but when Mrs Goldblatz
first told him about Christina he
had been unable to mask his
disapproval. It will pass, given
time, he told her. So much for
wisdom.

Wheneocr I went to Christina's home
I was always toward with courtesy
but her family were unabic to hide
their disapproval. They stirred
words they didn't belieoc in an
attempt to show that they were not
anti-semitic, and wicncocr I
brought up the subject with
Christina she told me I was
oncr-rcacting. We both knew I
wasn't. They quip simply thought I
was unworthy of their daughter.
They were right, but it had nothing
to do with my being Jewish.

  I shall neocrforget thcirst time
we made loan. It was tic day that
Christina learned she had won a
place at McGill.

  We had gone to my room at three
o'clock to changcfor a game of
tennis. I took her in my armsfor
what I thought would be a brief
moment and we didn't part until the
next morning. Nothing had been
planned. But how could it had been,
when it was the first timefor both
of us?

  I told her I would marry her-
don't all men thcfirst time? - only
I meant it.

Then afew weeks later she missed
her period I begged

                256
                 
        CHRISTINA ROSENTHAL

her not to panic, and we both
waitedfor another month because she
was fearful of going to see any
doctor in Montreal.

  If l had toldyou cacrything then,
Father, perhaps my life would have
taken a different course. But I
didn't, and have only myself to
blame.

  I began to plan for a marriage
that neither Christina's family
noryou couldpossibly haarfound
acceptable, but we didn't care. Loon
knows no parents, and certainly no
religion. When she missed her second
period I agreed Christina should
tell her mother. I asked her if she
would like me to be with her at the
time, but she simply shook her head,
and explained that shefelt she had
tofacc them on her own.

"I'll wait here untilyou return, "
I promised.

  She smiled. "I'll be back coen
beforcyou'vc had the time h
changryour mind about marrying mc.
"

  I sat in my room at McGill all
that afternoon reading and pacing -
mostly pacing - but she never came
back, and I didn'tgo in search of
her until it was dark. I crept round
to her home, all the while trying to
convince myself there must be some
simple explanation as to why she
hadn't rctururd

  When I reached her road I could
see a light on in her bedroom but
nowhere else in the house so I
thought she must be alone. I marched
through the gate and up to the front
porch, knocked on the door and
waited.

Her father answered the door.

  "What doyou want?" he asked, his
eyes never leaving me for a moment.

  "I loncyour daughter, "I told
him, "and I want to marry her. "

  "She will never marry a Jew, " he
said simply and closed the door. I
remember that be didn't slam it;
Adjust closed it, which made it
somehow born worse.

                257
                 
         A TWIST IN THE TALE

  l stood outside in the road
staring up at her roomfor over an
hour until the light went out. Then
I walked home. I recall there was a
light drizzle that night andirw
pcopic were on the streets. I tried
to work out what I should do next,
although the situation seemed
hopeless to mc. I went to bed
thatnighthopingfora miracle. I
hadforgotten that miracles arefor
Christians, not Jews.

  By the next morning I had worked
out a plan. I phoned Christina's
home at eight and nearly put the
phone down when I heard the voice at
the other end.

"Mrs con Braumer, " she said.

"Is Christina there?" I asked in a
whisper.

  "No, she's not," came back the
controlled impersonal reply.

"When arcyou expecting her back?" 1
asked.

  "Notfor some time, " she said, and
then the phone went dead.

  "Notforsomc timc"turned out to be
oocraycar. I wrote, tcirphoned,
asked friends from school and
uniocrsity but could ncocr~ind out
where they had taken her.

  Then one day, unannounced, she
returned to Montreal accompanied by
a husband and my child. I learned
the bitter detailsfrom thatfont of
all knowledge, Naomi Goldblatz, who
had already seen all three of them.

  I reccioed a short notefrom
Christina about a week later begging
me not to matc any attempt to
contact her.

  I had just begun my lastyear at
McGill and like some
eightecnth-centay gentleman I
honoured her wish to the letter and
turned all my energies to the final
exams. She still continued to
preoccupy my thoughts and I
considered myself lucky at the end
of theyear to be offered a place at
Harvard Law School.

I left Montrealfor Boston on
September 12th, 1968.

You must have wondered why I never
came home onsc

                 258
                  
        CHRISTINA ROSENTHAL

during those three years. I knew of
your disapproval. Thanks to Mrs
Goldblatz cocryonc was aware who the
father of Christina's child was and
I felt an cuforecd absence might
male life a little easier foryou.

The rabbi paused as he remembered
Mrs Goldblatz letting him know what
she had considered was "only her
duty".

  "You're an interfering old
busybody," he had told her. By the
following Saturday she had moved to
another synagogue and let everyone
in the town know why.

  He was more angry with himself
than with Benjamin. He should have
visited Harvard to let his son know
that his love for him had not
changed. So much for his powers of
forgiveness.

He took up the letter once again.

Throughout thoseyears at law school
I hadplenty offricads of both sexes,
but Christina was rarely out of my
mindfor more than afew hours at a
time. I wrote oocrforty letters to
her while I was in Boston, but
didn't post one of them. I coen
phoned, but it was never her voice
that answered. Wit had been, I'm not
even sure I would haac said
anything. I just wanted to hear her.

  Wcrcyou cocr curious about the
women in my life? I had affairs with
bright gird from Radeliffc who were
reading law, histoy or science, and
ones with a shop assistant who Ricer
read anything. Can you imagine, in
the very act of making loon, always
thinking of another woman? I seemed
to be doing my work on autopilot,
and corn my passion for running
became reduced to an hour's jagging
a day.

  Long before the cud of my
lastyrar, leading lawf rms in New
York, Chicago and Toronto were
turning up to

                259
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

interview us. The Harvard tom-tome
can beelird on to beat across the
world, but even I was surprised by
a visitfrom the senior partner of
Graham Douglas &? Wilkins of
Toronto. It's not a firm knownfor
itsJewish partners, but l liked the
idea of their letterhead one day
reading "Graham Douglas Wilkins (Y
Rosenthal". Even herfather would
surely have been impressed by that.

  At least if I lived and worked in
Toronto, I convinced myself, it
would befar enough awayfor me
toforget her, and perhaps with luck
find someone eye I couldfeel that
way about.

  Graham Douglas &, Wilkins found me
a spacious apartment overlooking the
park and started me off at a
handsome salad. In return I worked
all the hours God -whoeoer's God -
made. Hi thought they had pushed me
at McGill or Harvard, Father, it
turned out to be no more than a dy
run for the real world. I didn't
complain. The work was exciting, and
the rewards beyond my expectation.
Only now that I could afford a
Thunderbird l didn't want one.

  New girlfriends came, and went as
soon as they talked of marriage. The
Jewish ones usually raised the
subject within a week, the Gentiles,
If ound, waited a little longer. I
even began living with one of them,
Rebecca Hertz, but that too ended -
on a Thursday.

  I was driving to the of dice that
morning - it must have been a little
after eight, which was latefor me -
when I saw Christina on the other
side of the busy highway, a barrier
separating us. She was standing at
a bus stop holding the hand of a
little boy, who must have been
aboutfive - my son.

  The heavy morning traffic allowed
me a little longer to stare in
disbelief If ound that I wanted to
look at them both at once. She wore
a long lightweight coat that showed
she had not lost her figure. Her
face was serene and only reminded me
why she was rarely out of my
thoughts. Her son

                260
                 
        CHRISTINA ROSENTHAL

- our son - was wrapped up in an
oversizeuffle coat and his head was
covered by a baseball hat that
informed me that he supported the
Toronto Dolphins. Sadly, it really
stopped me seeing what he looked
like. You can't be in Toronto, I
remember thinking, you're meant to
be in Montreal. I watched them both
in my side-mirror as they climbed
on to a bus. That particular
Thursday I must have been an appal-
ling counsellor to eoey client who
sought my advice.

  For the next week I passed by that
bus stop evey morning within
minutes of the time I had seen them
standing there but never saw them
again. I began to wonder if I had
imagined the whole scene. Then I
spotted Christina again when I was
returning across the city, having
visited a client. She was on her
own and I braked hard as I watched
her entering a shop on Bloor
Street. This time I double-parted
the car and walked quickly across
the roadJeeling like a sleazy
private detective who steeds his
life peeping through keyholes.

  What I saw took me by surprise -
not to find her in a beautiful
dress shop, but to discover it was
where she worded.

  The moment I saw that she was
serving a customer I hurried back
to my car. Once I had reached my
ounce I asked my secretary if she
knew of a shop called "Willing's".

  My secretay laughed. "You must
pronounce it the German way, the W
becomes a V, " she explained, "thus
'Villing's'. If you were marriedyou
would know that it's the most
expensive dress shop in town, " she
added.

  "Doyou know anything else about
the place?" 1 asked, tying to sound
casual.

  "Not a lot," she said. "Only that
it is owned by a wealthy German
lady called Mrs Klaus Willing whom
they often write about in the
women's magazines. "

  I didn't need to ask my secretay
any more questions and I won't
trouble you, Father, with my
detective work. But,

                261
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

 armed with those snippets of
information, it didn't talc me long
to discover warm Christina liacd,
that her husband was an overseas
director with BMW, and that they
only hat the one child.

 The old rabbi breathed deeply as
he glanced up at the clock on his
desk, more out of habit than any
desire to know the time. He paused
for a moment before returning to
the letter. He had been so proud of
his lawyer son then; why hadn't he
made the first step towards a
reconciliation? How he would have
liked to have seen his grandson.

 My ultimate decision did not
require an acute legal mind, just a
little common sense - although a
lawyer who advises himself
undoubtedly has a fool for a
client. Contact, I decided, had to
be direct and a letter was the only
method I felt Christina would find
aceeptabic.

  I wrote a simple message that
Monday morning, then rewrote it
several times before I telephoned
"Fleet Dcliveries"and asked them to
hand it to her in person at the
shop. When theyoung man left with
the letter I wanted tofollow him,
just to be certain he had given it
to the right person. I can still
repeat it wordfor word.

Dear Christina,

  You must know I live and work in
Toronto. Can we meet? I will
waitforyou in the lounge of the
Royal York Hotel every evening
between six and seven this week. If
you don't come be assured I will
never trouble you again.

           Benjamin
2f;2

         CHRISTINA ROSENTHAL

  I arrived that evening nearly
thirty minutes early. I remember
taking a scat in a large impersonal
lounge jwt off the main hall and
ordering coffee.

"Will anyone be joiningyou, sir?"
the waiter asked.

  "I can't besurc,"I told him. No
one didjoin me, but I still hung
around until seven forty.

  By Thursday the wailer had stopped
asking if anyone would be joining me
as I sat alone and allowedyet
another cup of coffer to grow cold.
Every few minutes I checked my
watch. Each time a woman with blonde
hair entered the lounge my heart
Caped but it was never the woman I
hosed Jor.

  It was jwt before seven on Friday
that l.[nally saw Christina standing
in the doorway. Shc WOK a smart blue
suit buttoned up almost to the neck
and a while blouse that made her
look as if she were on her way to a
business confcrcnec. Her long fair
hair was pulled back behind her cars
to give an impression of severity,
but however hard she tried she could
not be other than beautiful. I stood
and raised my arm. Shc walked
quickly over and took the seat
beside mc. We didn't kiss or shake
hands andfor some time didn't corn
steak.

"Thankyou for coming," I said.

"I shouldn't have, it was foolish.
"

Some time passed before either of us
spoke again.

"Can I pouryou a comics?" l asked.

"Yes, thankyou."

"Black?"

"Yes. "

"You haven't changed. "

  How banal it all would have
sounded to anyone cacesdropping.

Shc sipped her cosmic.

I should haul taken her in my arms
right then but I had no
              263
              
A TWIST IN THE TALE
                     _

way of knowing that that was what
she wanted. For several minutes we
of inconsequential maters, always
avoiding each other's eyes, until I
suddenly said, "Doyou realist that
I still loveyou?"

  Tears filled her eyes as she
replied, "Of course l do. And l
stillfeel the same aboutyou now as
I did the day we parted. And don't
forget I have to see you every day,
through Nicholas. "

  She leanedforward and spoke almost
in a whisper. She told me about the
meeting with her parents that had
taken place more thaniveyeaN before
as if we had not been parted in
between. Herfather had shown no
anger when he learned she was
pregnant but thefamily still leftfor
Vancouver the following morning.
There they had stayed with the Will-
ings, a family also from Munich, who
were oldiricuds of the non Braumers.
Their son, Claw, had always been
besotted with Christina and didn't
care about her being pregnant, or
even the fact she felt nothing for
him. He was confident that, given
time, it would all work outfor the
best.

  It didn't, because it couldn't.
Christina had always known it would
never work, however hard Claus
tried. They even left Montreal in an
attempt to make a go of it. Klaus
bought her the shop in Toronto and
evey luxuy that money could afford,
but it made no difference. Their
marriage was an obvious sham. Yet
they could not bring themselves to
distress their families further with
a divorce so they had led separate
lives from the beginning.

  As soon as Christinafinished her
stop I touched her cheek and she
took my hand and kissed it. From
that moment on we saw each other
evey spare moment that could be
stolen, day or night. It was the
happiestyear of my life, and I was
unable to hide from anyone how If
elt.

  Our affair-for that's how the
gossips were describing it -
inevitably became public. However
discreet we tried to be,

                 2~
                  
         CHRISTINA ROSENTHAL

Toronto, I quickly discovered, a DCy
small place, full of people who took
pleasure in informing those whom we
also loved that we had been seen
together regularly, even leaving my
home in the early hours.

  Then quite suddenly we were left
with no choice in the matter:
Christina told me she was pregnant
again. Only this time it held no
fears for either of us.

  Once she had told Klaus the
settlement went through as quickly
as the best divorce lawyer at Graham
Douglas 69 Wilkins could negotiate.
We were married only a few days
after the.[nal papers were signed.
We both regretted that Christina's
parents felt unable to attend the
wedding but 1 couldn't understand
whyyou didn't come.

The rabbi still could not believe
his own intolerance and
short-sightedness. The demands on an
Orthodox Jew should be waived if it
meant losing one's only child. He
had searched the Talmud in vain for
any passage that would allow him to
break his lifelong vows. In vain.

The only sad part of the divorce
settlement was that Klaus was given
custody of our child. He also
demanded, in exchange for a quick
divorce, that I not be allowed to
see Nicholas before his
twenty-.first birthday, and that he
should not be told that I was his
realfather. At the time it seemed a
hard price to pay, even for such
happiness. We both knew that we had
been left with no choice but to
accept his teens.

  I used to wonder how each day
could be so much better than the
last. If I was apart from Christina
for more than a few hours I always
missed her. If theirm sent me out of
town on business for a night I would
phone her two, three, perhaps four
times, and if it was for more than
a night then she came with me. I
rememberyou once describingyour low

                 265
                  
         A TWIST IN THE TALE

for my mother and wondering at the
time if I could ever hope to achieve
such happiness.

  We began to matc plans for the
birth of our child William, if it
was a boy - her choice; Deborah, if
it was a girl - mine. I painted the
spare room pink, assuming I had
already won.

  Christina had to stop me buying
too many baby clothes, but I warned
her that it didn 't matter as we
were going to have a dozen more
children. Jews, I reminded her,
believed in dynasties.

  She attended her exercise classes
regularly, dieted carcJully, rested
sensibly. I told her she was doing
far more than was required of a
mother, even of my daughter. I asked
if I could be present when our child
was born and her gynaccologist
seemed reluctant atheist, but then
agreed By the time the ninth month
came the hospital must have thought
from the amount offuss I was making
they were preparingfor the birth of
a royal prince.

  I drool Christina into Womcn's
College Hospital on the way to work
last Tuesday. Although I went on to
the of her I found it impossible to
concentrate. The hospital rang in
the afternoon to say they thought
the child would be born early that
evening: obviously Deborah did not
wish to disrupt the working hours of
Graham Douglas (Y Wilkins. However,
I still arrived at the hospitalfar
too early. I sat on the end of
Christina's bed until her
contractions started coming cacti
minute and then to my surprise they
asked me to Inane. They needed to
rupture her membranes, a nurse
explained. I asked her to remind the
midwife that I wanted to be present
to witness the birth.

  I went out into the corridor and
began pacing up and down, the way
expectantfathersdo inB-movies.
Christina's gynaecologist arrived
about half an hour later and gave me
a huge smile. I noticed a cigar in
his top pocket, obviously

         CHRISTINA ROSENTHAL
-
reserordfor expectantfathers. "It's
about to happen, " was all he said

  A second doctor whom I had never
seen before arrived a few minutes
later and went quickly into her
room. He only gave me a nod. If elt
like a man in the dock waiting to
hear the jury's verdict.

  It must have been at least another
fifteen minutes before I saw the
unit being rushed down the corridor
by a team of threryoung interns.
They didn't even give me so much as
a second glance as they disappeared
into Christina's room.

  I heard the screams that suddenly
gave way to the plaintive cry of a
new-born child. I thanked my God and
hers. When the doctor came out of
her room I remember noticing that
the cigar had disappeared.

  "It's a girl, "he said quietly. I
was overjoyed. "No need to repaint
the bedroom immediately"~!ashed
through my mind.

"Can I see Christina now?" I asked.

  He took me by the arm and led me
across the corridor and into his of
fice.

  "Wouldyou like to sit down?" he
asked. "I'm afraid I have some sad
news. "

"Is she all right?"

  "I am sorry, so vey sorry, to
teilyou thatyour wife is dead. "

  At first I didn't believe him, I
refused to believe him. Why? Why? I
wanted to scream.

"We did warn her, " he added.

"Warn her? Warn her of what?"

  "That her bloodpressure might not
stand up to it a second time. "

  Christina had never told me what
the doctor went on to explain - that
the birth of our irst child had been

                267
                 
         A TWIST IN THE TALE

complicated, and that the doctors
had advised her against becoming
pregnant again.

  "Why hadn't she told me?" l
demanded Then I realized why. She
had risked Scything for me -
foolish, stylish, thoughtless me-
and l had ended up killing the one
person I loved.

  They allowed me to hold Deborah
in my arms for just a moment before
they put her into an incubator and
told me it would be another
twenty-four hours 6cforc she came
off the danger list.

  You will never know how much it
meant to me, Father, thatyou came to
the hospital so quickly. Christina
pardons arrived later that morning.
They were magnificent. He beggedfor
my forgiocncss - beggedfor my
forgiveness. It could never have
happened, he kept reseating, if he
hadn't been so stupid and
prejudiced.

  His wife took my hand and asked
if she might be allowed to see
Deborah from time to time. Of course
I agreed They Ieftjust before
midnight. I sat, walked, slept in
that corridor for the next
twenty-four hours until they told me
that my daughter was off the danger
list. She would have to remain in
the hospitalfor a few more days,
they explained, but she was now
managing to suck milk from a bottle.

  Christina's father kindly took
over the funeral arrangements.

  You must have wondered why I
didn't appear and I owe you an
explanation. I thought I would just
drop into the hospital on my way to
thefuneral so that I could spend
anew moments with Deborah. I had
already transferred my lone.

  The doctor couldn 't get the
words out. It took a brave man to
tell me that her heart had stopped
beating a few minutes before my
arrival. Even the senior surgeon was
in tears. When I left the hospital
the corridors were empty.

I wantyou to know, Father, that I
loocyou with all my

                 268
                  
        CHRISTINA ROSENTHAL

heart, but I hare no desire to
spend the rest of my liSc without
Christina or Deborah.

  I only ask to 6c buried beside my
wife and daughter and to 6c
remcmtcred as their husband and
father. That way unthinking people
might learn from our love. And
whenyou finish this better,
remember only that I had such total
happiness when I was with her that
death holds nofearsfor mc.

Your son,

Benjamin.

The old rabbi placed the letter
down on the table in front of him.
He had read it every day for the
last ten years.

                269
                 
