Chapter 1. Meeting Sari
“There is someone I would like you to meet, David.”
Father had walked into my study looking like the cat that had just found the cream.
I followed him into the library and as we entered a young woman rose from an armchair.
To say I was overwhelmed would be an understatement. She was tall, perhaps five feet nine or ten. Her figure was superb except that she looked a little top heavy since she had large full breasts. From her narrow waist her hips broadened out gently and below were long shapely legs.
There sprang to mind a picture of a Greek goddess I had once seen, and this thought was enhanced by the classic beauty of her face.
Her chestnut coloured hair tumbled in seemingly careless abandon to cascade over her shoulders in shining waves. Glittering green eyes looked at me and there was something in them that fleetingly looked like a moment of startled recognition, as if she knew me, which I was sure she did not. Then a shutter seemed to drop down over her yes. She still looked at me, but it was if she did not see me.
I was riveted by her beauty. “She’s one of the loveliest women I have ever seen,” I thought. I mentally corrected myself. She was clearly no more than twenty four of five, just a year or so older than I was. She might better be described as a girl. There was a twinge of desire in my groin.
I wondered what she was doing here and for a moment considered humorously if father had bought her for me like families did back in the past; like paying a bride price. “Perhaps she belongs to some wealthy family with whom my father wants to have ongoing business connections.”
I had to stop myself laughing at the thought of father buying me a wife but my imagination roamed further. “Perhaps he’s bought her as a concubine for me – or himself.”
My fantasies were brought to a halt as father went on; “This is Sari Mikowski,” Sari, my son David.”
“Hello,” she said her voice a soft contralto that even in that one word revealed the accent of one whose native tongue was not English. Her eyes still looked through or past me and the voice matched her eyes, being distant and vague. I began to wonder if she was some sort of beautiful imbecile who was not quite with us.
She made no attempt to extend her hand for me to shake.
I remembered the flash of seeming recognition I had seen in her eyes a moment before and decided she was not imbecilic, yet there was something strange about her. There was a coldness and remoteness. Those eyes that did not see; a frigid stance which seemed to say, “I am untouchable”.
The word hauteur came to mind. She looked rather like those models on the catwalk with that frozen look of disdain on their faces that some assume as they strut arrogantly, displaying the latest creation.
Not sure how to respond to the frozen response my father’s introduction had elicited I followed her lead and said simply, “Hello.” I also failed to extend my hand.
I thought Sari was a name matching in beauty the one who bore it, but in my head I found my own name for her; “Ice Maiden.”
There was silence for a moment, and then my father said rather pompously, “Sari and I are to be married.”
I thought I might have misheard so I said, “What did you say, father?”
Impatiently he replied, “We are going to be married.”
That really focused me. Until that introduction I had never met or even heard of Sari. That my father was to remarry might not have altogether surprised me. Mother had been dead six years and there was no reason why he should not have sought female companionship, but someone who was approaching forty years his junior!
Then a wave of horror swept over me; “My God, I would have a stepmother about one year older than me.”
“Aren’t you going to congratulate us?” father asked, in a voice that he might use when intimidating some quailing witness in court.
What the hell did he expect? He brings in a stunningly beautiful Ice Maiden, announces they are to be married, and expects me to applaud!
I wanted to say, “Don’t be so ridiculous. Who do you think you are, Don Juan?” Instead, and knowing what was good for me, I managed to choke out, “Of course, congratulations.”
The Ice Maiden seemed to lose whatever slight interest she might have had in me and turning to father and putting her hand on his sleeve said, “Darling, you did say we were going to eat in that lovely restaurant we saw the other day…”
“So,” I thought, “Ice Maiden is able to string a connected sentence together.”
“Ah, yes. Time to go I suppose.” Father nodded briefly to me, placed his hand on Ice Maiden’s elbow and they left. The Ice Maiden did not even nod to me. I think I had ceased to exist for her. I was rejected as beneath her notice.
Chapter 2. A Recalcitrant Son
They left behind a thoroughly disorientated David.
I returned to my study, asking myself, “What’s the old man up to? Has he got horny in his old age? Perhaps he wants a decorative female to parade around and sit at table during his dinner parties?” Then another thought struck me; “Good God, he’s going to try and replace me!”
You see, I was one prize disappointment to father. He was an eminent barrister renowned for his ability to make the most scrupulously truthful witness look like an arch liar. Ours was a family of barristers who had made a fortune winning unwinnable cases for wealthy clients.
It was without question that I should follow in the family tradition. At least, it had been unquestionable until the time came for me to enter university, when I announced I would study medicine.
Father, my uncles and no doubt grandfather and great grandfather had they been alive, were horrified. They constituted the legal firm of Brook, Brook, Brook, Brook and Parsons. In case you are interested, Parsons is my father’s sister’s husband.
As I became more recalcitrant they became more adamant in their demand that I “Stop being such a stupid sod”, and follow the family tradition.
Had mother still been alive she would no doubt have sided with me, as she frequently had when alive, often sheltering me from my hectoring father. She was one of, if not the only, person who could bring father to heel. “Do stop trying to be so intimidating George, “she would say, “you’re not in the courtroom now.”
That would bring father down to a muttering but compliant level, such was mother’s influence with him.
My only defence against father and uncles was stubbornness. I can’t say they eventually relented, indeed, they used all their courtroom skills plus bribery to try and change my mind, but finally they accepted the verdict and retired from the struggle still complaining and threatening.
So that was it, I conjectured; the beautiful bride to be was to bring forth a new male heir. But why, I wondered had a girl like that accepted a man my father’s age?
I tried to be objective. For his age father was still a handsome man; he had an aristocratic appearance and with the timbre of his baritone voice he sounded impressive. Above all, he was rich, well connected and powerful. So, I decided, the bargain had been struck; child bearing in exchange for security and status.
I suppose I might as well admit that while mother was alive, and right up until my stand about studying medicine, I had been somewhat cosseted and spoilt, as befitted one who was to take his place in the family law firm.
Once I had won the case for medicine father seemed to lose interest in me. The bonds of affection between us had always been tenuous, his interest in me being little more than one to carry on the family traditions in legal practice. Of course, I still got the benefits of the family wealth. My father could not “let a son of his go around like a pauper,” but he began to become almost a stranger to me.
Looked at objectively I suppose like Ice Maiden I had made my bargain as well. I accepted his lack of affection for the sake of being supported through my medical course. I could have left the family home and entered a university college or taken rooms somewhere; instead I settled for the comfortable environment that only demanded that I keep out of father’s hair.
I gave a sardonic laugh. “I suppose that makes both me and the girl whores in our own way.”
Thus I came to the conclusion that father was marrying Ice Maiden in the hope of producing another son who would follow in his legal footsteps. Of course, he might not be alive to see that hoped for outcome as he would be well into his sixties if and when such a son was born. He would need to live until he was nearly ninety to witness the boy’s entry into the law practice.
