Chapter 3-1
662 Words
Chapter 3
Mr Kendall, aware of the vagaries of the British telephone system as well as the fact a trans-Atlantic phone call would be prohibitively expensive, sent a telegram round to the digs I shared with Jeremy.
Only right you should know. Stop. Stuart Kendall II born 5/16/49. Stop. Letter to follow.
“Who’s Stuart Kendall II?” I stared up at Jeremy, confused. And why would my former father-in-law feel the need to inform me of this infant’s birth?
“I rather imagine he’s your wife’s son.”
“Former wife,” I corrected absently. I couldn’t object if Barbara had found someone so quickly, but it was only six months since our marriage had been dissolved—unless she’d found someone prior to the divorce? “Premature?”
He rubbed my shoulders, and I leaned into his touch. “I’m sorry, James, I’ve no idea. We’ll have to wait for the letter.”
The letter that followed was insulting in the extreme. It informed me of Barbara’s safe delivery of a full term infant—it was a cliché, but it appeared there was something neither Barbara’s parents nor mine could have nullified. The boy was mine, although Kendall made it clear my participation in my son’s rearing was not required. I was also made aware he didn’t expect me to accept paternity.
I wired Mr Kendall immediately: Correction. Stop. James Trevalyan, Jr. Stop. I will fight you with everything I have in order to keep in contact with my son. Stop. Interfere with my rights as Jamie’s father, and never doubt I will take him away.
The next telegram simply said James Stuart Trevalyan II, to which I responded Very well.
Mr Kendall had struck me as a caring parent. Perhaps his purpose in that letter was simply to ascertain my intentions regarding my son. Nevertheless, I resented its tone.
Jeremy worried his thumbnail.
“What is it?”
“Are you going to tell your parents about your son’s birth?”
I tugged my lower lip.
“I beg your pardon. I know I haven’t the right to interfere—this is your family—but your mother and father care about you.”
Are you sure? But I didn’t say the words.
I went to him and hugged him. He had no idea how it was with the Trevalyans, but I didn’t want to frighten him off, and so I wouldn’t tell him.
“Thank you, ochi chyornye.”
“For what?”
“For caring enough to be concerned.”
He flushed. “You’re my…my friend. Of course I’m concerned.”
“I’ll inform them as soon as I receive a copy of Jamie’s birth certificate.”
“Thank you.” He leaned into me for a moment, then straightened. “I’d best see to dinner.”
I sighed. No matter what I did, he always managed to keep some distance between us.
* * * *
A copy of my son’s birth certificate eventually arrived in the post, and included in the brown envelope was a number of photographs and a letter written by Barbara with the lavender ink she favoured. I looked through the photos and fell hopelessly in love with the little boy pictured in various poses. I passed the photos on to Jeremy and perused the letter.
“You’ve a beautiful son, James.”
“Thank you.”
“There won’t be any need for you to get married just yet. I’ll have you to myself a while longer,” he murmured, his smile wistful, and I doubted he was aware that I heard those last words.
“Jeremy?”
He shook his head. “I said it’s a shame we can’t tell his colouring.”
I was afraid to press him, so I allowed him to change the topic. “Barbara says he’s got my red hair—poor little boy—although he has her eyes.” I scratched my nose. “She has the most beautiful violet eyes.”
“I’d love to see him one day.”
“But of course. When he gets a bit older, I’ll sail across the Pond and bring him back for a visit.”
“You’d let me see him?”
“I would. If you’ll recall, I wanted you to meet Mother and Father at Christmas.”
“It was kind of you to invite me.” He ducked his head. “Father insisted I join him for the holidays.”
“Yes.” Something about that had felt a bit odd, but I’d been reluctant to pressure Jeremy. “Next Christmas, then. I’m sure he can spare you for a few days.”
“Perhaps.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips over mine. “But you still must inform your parents.”
“I’ll do so today. If I leave now, I can catch the train down to Paddington Station. And since I’ll miss the scheduled lecture, you’re to take copious notes for me.”
“Yes, James.”
“All right, then, I’m off. Kiss me once more for luck.”
- Writer
