Chapter Thirty-One
Someone should remind the Berab staff to clean the carriage after it returned to the house, as it was incredibly dusty, most likely from ferrying all the trunks of household goods, including a host of newly bought items they probably didn’t need, to the house on Mitre Street.
It irritated her eyes to no end the entire ride.
So much so, Rebecca could barely see when the vehicle came to a stop, and the coachman assisted her down.
After stuffing Roger’s rose in her bag as she could no longer bear to view it, she rubbed her eyes, which were now almost certainly red and irritated, as she treaded toward the door.
“I see that everything and everyone is mended,” a voice behind her stated, making Rebecca jump.
Whirling around, she found Isabelle standing behind her, swathed in so much fur, she put Rose to shame, and Hannah Weiss, of all people at her side.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, just as Molly, her housekeeper—apparently having arrived far earlier than expected—swung the door open, beckoning them inside.
Brushing off the snow, her friends shed their outer garments, while Rebecca took stock in the entryway.
It was good to be home. Even if she had to keep reminding herself of it. Rebecca wiped her eyes with her sleeves and pulled the door shut behind her friends.
“We’ve come to verify that your home is repaired, that Roger Berab fulfilled his duties, and to demonstrate how well your teas worked on Hannah,” Isabelle said, waving a hand toward the other woman. “Why else would we be here?”
Rebecca avoided her gaze.
“Though I’m also concerned he fulfilled more than the ones we’ve discussed,” her friend added, giving Rebecca a lingering look, which made her blush.
“Isabelle,” she admonished, glancing toward the housekeeper, who was still behind them.
Thankfully, however, if Molly heard the comment, she ignored it.
“How about I have the cook prepare tea and a few pastries for you and your friends?” she said instead, indicating the front parlor, with its gleaming new furniture and polished wood, much finer than what they’d had before but not garish.
No, it was in a playful blue flowered pattern that was actually quite lovely.
Hannah did not need to be asked twice, plopping herself down.
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Isabelle called, moving next to her as Rebecca ran a hand down the arm of a chair, recalling all the questions Roger asked and the detailed papers of specifications he kept handing Lopez. It was perfect. And somehow, he knew.
No, he listened. To everything.
The three sat in an amiable silence until Molly returned with the refreshments.
As Isabelle poured, Rebecca reached out and grabbed a piece of mandelbrot, letting the sweet, crisp dough melt on her tongue.
This was right. This place. This was her life. She’d been content here, and she could be again. Even if more matters changed. Rebecca glanced at both women’s abdomens, her throat once again tight. Happy. She was happy for them. She truly was.
“Do we need more refreshments?” Isabelle asked as Hannah helped herself to a third pastry.
“I apologize,” the woman said, her mouth still slightly full. “This is the first week I’ve been able to keep anything down.”
Right. Quickening was approaching. Something she knew. Something she understood.
“Molly shall bring more,” Rebecca assured her, and the housekeeper rushed to obey.
After she exited the room, Isabelle cleared her throat and straightened in her seat, appearing more and more like her formidable grandmother with every passing moment. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”
Rebecca squinted at the other woman. “What do you mean?”
“We want know what’s going on with you,” Hannah said between bites.
“Nothing’s going on with me,” Rebecca said automatically. “Except that matters have returned to as they were.” Obviously.
Isabelle set down her cup. “You might recall that neither of us is a fool. Especially when we put our heads, and more importantly, our information together. Concerning you and a certain man.”
Oy. She’d not believed she was obvious in her letters, though who knew what Sol had said to Isabelle’s husband. Double oy. Well, if she was to be forced relay the entire sordid tale, at least she’d only need to do it once.
Though how to start… Squeezing her hands together, she stared at the teacup. Gold roses with a line of gold beads, set off by a line of navy. God, why did he or Lopez or whoever have to choose something that was so plainly designed to remind her of him?
And why did she like it so much?
Strong. She needed to be strong. Like she always was. That was her role. She swallowed, raising her gaze once more to the assembled group.
“I engaged—” She knitted her fingers hard enough that her knuckles turned white. “When I was at the Berab home, healing from my injuries, Roger Berab and I…”
“Shtupped?” Isabelle asked, slightly tripping over the Yiddish.
Thank goodness Rebecca had not been sipping tea, or she’d have spit it all over the room. “Isabelle,” she hissed.
Oy. This is what happens when a charming Sephardi princess marries an Ashkenazi custodian.
“Did I not pronounce it correctly?” her devious friend asked, her expression deceptively coy.
“No, that was perfect,” Hannah assured her.
“It was, wasn’t it?” Isabelle said, preening a touch. She cleared her throat. “But back to the topic at hand.” She peered at Rebecca once more. “Such is true, then, you and Roger Berab… ?”
“Engaged in a temporary liaison, which has now concluded, and thus we shall never need to speak of it ever again,” Rebecca clarified between gritted teeth as she glanced around the room, seeking affirmation.
“Why?” Isabelle asked, apparently not ready to acquiesce.
“Why what?” Rebecca returned.
“Why should we never speak of it again?” her friend asked. “Was it not satisfying?” the woman continued with a—fucking—waggle of her dark eyebrows.
And Rebecca near died upon the spot.
Her friend was lucky that she loved her.
That, and despite her diminutive stature, she could take any of them in a fight.
“Oy vey iz mir, Isabelle.” Rebecca huffed. “This is not an appropriate topic to discuss.”
“Truly?” Her friend gave her a rather sardonic expression. “I have it on good authority you discuss such matters with a great deal of frequency,” she stated, then took another sip of tea. “Presumably with much less discomfort.”
“This is different, and you know it,” was all Rebecca could retort, folding her arms across her chest, reminding herself a little bit of Fannie now, but she was beyond caring.
“How?” Isabelle argued. “Because you have to trust us, instead of others trusting you?”
“That’s not fair,” Rebecca returned, scooting forward in her chair. “You know I—”
“Have been shtupping Roger Berab,” Hannah finished.
Rebecca’s cheeks scalded. “As I said before, it has concluded. I’ve returned to my life, and his life will continue, most likely with a new wife. If not in the next few weeks, presumably shortly thereafter.”
There was silence.
“Because you can’t be his new wife?” Hannah asked, sounding confused.
Oy. The pregnancy must have affected her usually savvy judgment.
“Obviously not,” Rebecca huffed. “I could never be what he needs, no matter what he says.”
But instead of sympathetic nods, both women merely cocked their heads.
“What does he say?” Isabelle asked.
Rebecca ground her teeth at the memory. “He claims that instead of returning to hobnobbing and leading, he would be satisfied merely tending to his children’s education and supporting my practice, of all things, but we all know he’d be unhappy within a month or two.”
There was another silence.
“Interesting,” Hannah mused. “Just like Sol was unsatisfied marrying me instead of becoming a named partner in Lira & Berab Sureties.”
“That was different, and you know it,” Rebecca protested. “Sol lost an opportunity, not something to which he was already entitled.”
“Entitled, eh?” Hannah raised both brows. “I didn’t know you’d changed your opinion on Sephardi royal birthright.”
“I haven’t,” Rebecca corrected. “I’ve just explained how each man would see it. That’s all.”
“Clearly,” Hannah said, her tone sardonic. “Don’t you agree?” she asked, turning to Isabelle.
“Yes, you most certainly explained… something,” Isabelle said after a beat, then paused again. “I suppose the life he described was one you both already lived in a way, these past few weeks.”
“Yes,” Rebecca said. “But we always knew it was temporary. That it would come to an end. It’s very different when it’s expected to last forever.”
“True,” Hannah returned. “I presume you explained that to him?”
“Naturally.” Rebecca scoffed. “But he told me he knew his own mind. That he was old enough to know what the forever he wanted looked like, even if it was nothing like the life he’d led and enjoyed.
That he ‘transformed,’ or some such nonsense.
” She shook her head. He definitely hadn’t been thinking clearly.
“But he’s wrong. Or confused. I’m plain and I’m cold and I’m off-putting, with no ability to bend or yield.
I will not and cannot change. Cannot ‘transform.’ ”
There was a moment of silence.
“I’m confused.” It was Hannah who spoke the words. “Are you saying you behaved differently when you were at his home than you usually do?”
Rebecca paused, turning the question over in her head. “With the exception of the liaison, not particularly.”
“And he wants to marry you?” the other woman pressed. “Without asking you to change who you are and what you do?”
Which was… true, though not the issue. Rebecca chewed her lip, searching for a way to explain, to make them understand so they would let her be.
“Neither of you are seeing matters clearly,” she told them. “He’ll have to give up too much. He doesn’t realize it, but people will talk and not kindly, and it shall hurt him and his children.”
“Have you discussed this with him as well?” Isabelle asked.