Immigrant by Sally Bennett

Author:Sally Bennett [Bennett, Sally]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781935212676
Publisher: Easton Studio Press, LLC
Published: 2013-09-19T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

Sylvia and Jack

It was at this time in Portugal that my Mother told me how she had come to know Jack. I knew, of course, that he was not my father but I had never heard how they met. Was I old enough to be told? No one ever asks if children are old enough. We were alone, and my mother needed someone to talk to.

Bill had asked Doris if he might bring a visitor home for dinner— an American engineer brought over to discuss new mining techniques. Bill had visited Chicago and known some Yanks in the Army. “Nice blokes,” he said. Doris had never known any Americans and was curious. They were generally thought of in England as “savages” or cowboys. So when Jack Pratt arrived, wearing a Savile Row suit with a box of chocolates from Fortnum & Mason, Doris was first surprised, then delighted. He was tall and dark with a quick mind and a warm easy manner. The chemistry between them was immediate.

Doris wore a white chiffon dress that clung to her body, and had pulled her dark brown hair back in waves coiled at the back of her neck in a chignon. Bill introduced her as “Doris,” but she confided to Jack later that she preferred “Sylvia.”

“’Who is Sylvia?’” he quoted with a smile. “’What is she, that all the swains commend her?’”

“I didn’t know Americans knew English poetry.”

“We are not complete ignoramuses, despite what you might have heard.”

By the time Bill returned with the drinks, Doris felt she had known Jack always. That is the way with love. He smelled good, was beautifully dressed, and lived in Spain, not America. She knew he wanted her; he hardly bothered to hide it. Before that first evening was over, they had kissed.

After he left, Doris and Bill were doing the dishes. “Interesting chap,” said Bill. “What did you think of him?”

Doris asked, “How long is he going to be here?”

“Dunno. We’ve finished with him, but he’s going around to some other firms. Knows a lot about mines. Got interested when he was a child in the mountains of Kentucky and Tennessee.” Bill stopped wiping his plate and stared into space. “Grew up among hillbillies, he told me. Now he wears Savile Row suits.” Bill grinned, “I had to ask him what a hillbilly was.”

“What is it?” asked Doris. For reasons she could not identify, the conversation was making her uneasy. She wanted this man to be what she wanted him to be—not some stranger with a bizarre background.

“Someone who lives in the mountains, makes whiskey and can’t read or write.”

“But he isn’t like that,” said Doris.

“He stole a pair of shoes so he could go to school.” Bill hung up his towel. “I’ll put the kettle on.” They always had tea before going to bed.

Doris rinsed out the pot and put two cups and saucers on a tray. She was thinking of his kiss. She did not feel any guilt or fear for the future.

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