"Eric…".
"But Mimi, I want to know why. Marc’s never done anything to anybody…".
"It’s going to get better, darling!" said Miriam in agony.
"Oh, sure. Sure, we’re going to win the war so we can go on hanging out our own ’Gentiles Only’ signs instead of having the Nazis do it for us. After all, that’s what’s known as democracy, isn’t it?"
"You don’t mean that, Eric". It seemed to Miriam that the most intolerable aspect of this intolerable situation was what it was doing to Erica and as her eyes filled with tears, she said, "Don’t talk like that. You mustn’t change, Eric, you’ve got to go on being the same person you’ve always been. You’ve got to, Eric…".
"Have I?" said Erica. "Why?" As Miriam did not seem to be able to think of a reason she remarked, "You just want me to go on being a sucker. Remember, you said there was one in every family".
"No", said Miriam almost inaudibly. "No, that’s not what I mean". She took a mouthful of food, then sipped some water and went on more steadily, "If you don’t pull yourself together, Eric, you’ll go to pieces".
"Not for a while", said Erica matter of factly. "Not till Marc says, ’Well, so long, Eric, see you after the war’." She paused and then observed, "What a relief that will be to Charles and Mother. If Marc goes overseas by the end of September, they might still even have time for a holiday". As she saw Miriam’s expression, she said, "They bought their share, Mimi, and provided I can arrange not to go to pieces in front of them, they’re not even going to have to pay for it. So stop worrying. What are you crying for?"
"Oh, shut up", said Miriam. She found a handkerchief in her bag, a very fine linen handkerchief with the initial "M" worked into an intricate embroidered design in one corner and she glanced at it, remarking, "Max gave me that", and dried her eyes. Looking first at Erica’s plate and then her own, she said, "Since neither of us seems to be much good at eating today, we might have a drink".
"Yes, we might".
"What do you want?" asked Miriam, beckoning to the waitress.
"Rye and water".
"Two rye and water, please", Miriam said.
There was a family of Italians, mother, father and three children, all eating spaghetti at the next table. Erica said, looking at them, "You’ve got to put it behind you and forget about it". A moment later she was rather surprised to hear herself adding suddenly, "And you’ve got to marry John".
Miriam shook her head smiling, her face stiff, and said, "It’s going to be a bit too much this time, Eric, even for John".
At that moment the waitress appeared with two glasses on a tray, explaining that they were out of rye and that she had brought Scotch, which cost ten cents more. "That’s all right", said Erica. When the waitress had gone she asked, still rather surprised, "Do you want to marry him, Mimi?"
"I don’t know", she said helplessly. "I’m so muddled, I don’t know anything any more. What difference does it make? It’s too late anyhow".
"Well", said Erica. She straightened up and said, "Well, here’s to you, darling. Keep your chin up".
René had taken his sister to the hospital at noon and shortly before midnight, Madeleine’s son was born, the first Catholic Drake since the time of Charles the Second.
"We might just as well never have bothered to leave England", observed Madeleine’s father-in-law somewhat gloomily when the excitement had worn off, Madeleine was reported to be already peacefully asleep, and the four Protestant Drakes were on their way upstairs to bed. "The Holy Roman Church always catches up with you again, sooner or later, even if it takes them three hundred years. When can we see Madeleine and the baby?" he asked his wife.
"They might let you look at the baby through the nursery door-it’s made of glass", she added hastily, "but you won’t be able to see Madeleine for a few days".
"Why not?" demanded Charles.
"Don’t be silly, Charles. Even if she is unusually well, they won’t let her have visitors for the first week".
"A week!" said Charles, exploding. "I’m not a visitor, damn it!" He thought, and then asked suddenly, "They wouldn’t make her father wait a week, would they? Or her mother?"
"You’re not her father and mother", Miriam pointed out.
"No? Well, I’m all the father she’s got, and if the rest of you are willing to let a bunch of bureaucratic nurses keep you hanging around the outside of Madeleine’s room for a week trying to see her through a glass door…"
"It’s the nursery that has a glass door, Charles", interrupted his wife patiently.
"…while they unwind a lot of unnecessary and ridiculous red tape", continued Charles obliviously, "I’m not. And that goes for the baby too".
"Charles, do be sensible for once! It’s not red tape, it’s a question of taking the most ordinary precautions…".
"Precautions against what?"
"Against infection, of course".
"I’m not infectious". He thought some more and finally admitted grudgingly, "Well, maybe you’re right about the baby. If I have to look at my grandson through a glass door, then I’ll look at him through a glass door, but I’m not going to have Madeleine lying there for a week seeing nobody but that ass René and a lot of sour-faced nurses, and that’s final. Final", he repeated, giving it a bit more emphasis. "She’s probably lonely, lonely as the devil, with Tony…" He left the sentence unfinished, shaking his head, and then announced, "I’ll go and see her on my way home from the office tomorrow".
"Don’t you think someone should warn Royal Victoria Hospital that Charles is impending?" Miriam asked her mother as Charles disappeared into his study.
"What difference would it make?" asked Margaret Drake wearily. "He’ll get in anyhow, he always does".
His wife was right. Charles arrived at the hospital next day with a long box of flowers, a bottle of his best brandy "for emergencies", two baskets of fruit, his portable radio and a rather startling bright pink marabou bed-jacket which he had noticed in a shop at noon-hour, when he was on his way back to the office after lunching at his club. For the baby he had brought a large pale blue teddy bear. In the corridor he passed a room which was evidently the nursery, came to a dead stop and discovered that a newcomer labeled "Drake" had been placed most conveniently a few feet away on the other side of the glass door. He shifted some of his packages and stood for a while, admiring what he could see of the first Catholic Drake since the time of Charles the Second, which wasn’t much, and then advanced down the corridor to the door of Madeleine’s room where he knocked gently with one foot, informed the nurse that he was Mr. Drake and would be staying ten minutes, and walked straight in.
That afternoon Erica had withdrawn all her savings from the bank and sold two of her three Victory bonds, having interviewed the doctor whose name had been given her by Sylvia, who had got it from Mike, who had got it from someone else. As she had said to Miriam, people who work on newspapers know practically everything, and what they don’t know they can usually find out. To her astonishment, it was the name of a doctor who was fairly well-known and the larger part of whose practice was perfectly legitimate, so that up to the last moment, Erica was sure that someone had blundered and that she had got into the wrong office. The doctor seemed to understand her well enough, however, in spite of her stammering and evasions, told her the price and made an appointment for "her friend" for ten o’clock the following morning, which meant that for most of the day, and except for Mary who would be busy downstairs, Miriam and she would have the house to themselves.