Chapter Thirty Two
Greta Garbo
"Oh, God, no, no, no!" moaned Sybil softly, as subconsciously her mind now registered the sudden and unexpected change in the speed of the train; the express was slowing down.
None of them had ever slept on board a train before and that in itself probably accounted for the fact that she had not enjoyed a good night's sleep; her usually peaceful slumbers had been visited by a re-occurring and unpleasantly vivid dream.
Still half asleep, she stirred drowsily and most unwillingly; considered the rich food she had eaten last night might also have contributed to her restlessness during the night, although, to be scrupulously truthful, given the nature of her dream, the all-too-obvious attention that Edith had been paying Tom earlier, especially in the dining car over dinner, had evidently disturbed her rather more than she would have thought possible.
Of course, Sybil had not the slightest doubt, in fact none whatsoever, that both she and Tom were utterly secure in their relationship, loved each other desperately, enjoyed a supremely fulfilling marriage in every sense of the word, which she knew was the envy of many of their friends in and around Dublin, let alone across the sea in England. And on that particular point, it was now that Sybil recalled to mind something her mother had written to her in a letter Cora had sent to Sybil shortly after Robert's death back in the summer of 1931.
Following Robert's funeral, and the return of the Bransons to Ireland, some weeks later Sybil had written to her mother and, in passing, had commented just how lucky her parents had been to have had each other for the length of time they did. In her reply, thanking Sybil for her kind words, Cora had observed that while that in itself was true enough, very few couples were lucky to find in their husband or wife their own soul-mate and in that said Cora:
"... you my very own darling and dearest Tom are so very, very blessed in that deep love which you two share; indeed have always shared, right from the beginning. In each other you have found something so very rare and precious. But then, my darling, I don't suppose you need me to tell you that".
At that, Sybil had smiled, had shaken her head; no, she did not need Mama to tell her how incredibly lucky both she and Tom had been.
And that being the case, ordinarily Sybil would have merely shrugged off Edith's over attentiveness towards her much-loved Irish brother-in-law as nothing more than harmless and aptly named tomfoolery. So, to have let something so trivial upset her, Sybil thought she must be feeling unduly sensitive and, all things considered, was it really any wonder that she was?
"Tom? What... What time is it? What's happening? Why on earth are we slowing down" she asked bleary-eyed.
"Dunno" grumbled Tom by way of a monosyllabic reply. He was not a morning person, even less so an early morning person. That apart, while he had no regrets whatsoever in suggesting that they shared a single bed on board the train given the pleasurable fun they had enjoyed last night, he had to admit that Sybil had been right about the cramped nature of the berth. In the darkness, he shifted beside her, sat up and reached for his wristwatch, but before he could locate it, he winced in pain.
"Feckin hell! Jaysus! Sybil! My back!"
Tom massaged his left shoulder heavily, while somewhere, in the small of his back, something suddenly clicked.
"Don't expect any sympathy from me, Tom!"
"Is that the way you treat your patients at the hospital when they're in pain? Aren't you nurses supposed to be caring, compassionate and considerate?"
Lying naked beside him in the bed, she giggled.
"No, not really, Tom. It's all a complete myth" said Sybil in the most matter-of-fact tone she could muster and pulling the covers closer around her.
"Hm!"
"And as for Jaysus, as you call Him, I doubt very much that He is listening; at least not this early in the morning. And neither, Mr. Branson am I! After all, I did warn you Tom; I told you last night this bed wasn't wide enough for the two of us. No wonder your back is stiff. You should have slept up above me... as I suggested. So don't go looking to me for any sympathy".
Tom turned his head and grinned ruefully at his beautiful wife.
"Well, it wasn't the only thing that was stiff last night! " He chuckled. "Where the hell are my pyjama trousers?" Without further ado, likewise naked, he had scrambled out of bed, was casting about in the darkness on the floor of the compartment.
"How should I know that?"
"Well, it was you who pulled them off! Ah!" exclaimed Tom, now having found the missing item of clothing. Struggling into his pyjama trousers, a moment later and he had scrambled back into bed next to Sybil who batted his bare chest, playfully recalling their energetic bed sport of but a few hours before. Tom pulled her close.
"And, anyway, if you recall, I was up above you; at least for some of the time!"
"That's not what I meant, as well you know!"
"Darlin' ... after last night... I wouldn't have had the strength energy to go anywhere, let alone climb into the bed up above here. Why, you damned well near wore me out!"
"My, my, Mr. Branson; after the ringing endorsement that I gave you over dinner last night! Perhaps I will have to take a younger lover after all, especially when you then spend half the night padding about the sleeping car, talking to strange women out there in the corridor".
"Woman, darlin'. Singular. And she wasn't strange. She, was Edith".
"Hm. One and the same, if you ask me!" observed Sybil flatly. She had woken in the night, to find Tom was not in bed; was not even in the compartment. How long he had been gone she did not know; had returned but a short while later, saying that a call of nature had necessitated a trip to the lavatory at the far end of the sleeping car. It was as he clambered back into bed that Sybil had caught the faint scent of Edith's exotic perfume upon him. When she had mentioned it, Tom had mumbled something about encountering her sister out in the corridor. At least that was what Sybil recalled he had said, for, but a moment later, and Tom was nuzzling her throat, nudging her legs apart, precluding any further discussion of the matter. Then, after, Sybil herself had fallen fast asleep; it was a standing joke between her and Tom that after making love she always did that.
As for Tom, long after Sybil had fallen asleep, he himself had lain awake, listening to the rhythmic clickety-clack of the wheels of the train. Before him in the darkness there formed the image of Edith's face.
"I think I should be going" he said softly. Edith raised her head from off his shoulder. She smiled.
"Don't think" she said quietly, pressing her forefinger to his lips.
"Darlin' that's hardly fair; after all she's been through a very great deal during the last few years". Tom grimaced.
Sybil bit her lower lip; nodded her head.
"I'm sorry. You're right, Tom. Yes; she has".
"Well then..."
"But then so have we all. And to be frank, Tom, I just don't like the thought of my husband chatting to another woman at some unearthly hour of the night, even if that woman happens to be one of my sisters. What on earth were you talking to Edith about, at one o'clock in the morning?"
"This and that. She said couldn't sleep, didn't want to disturb young Max. Come here and we'll discuss it!" He chuckled.
"Tom, I'm being serious!"
"So am I!"
"But before you tell me... about Edith, there's something I've been meaning to tell you". Sybil now rolled willingly over into his arms.
"Oh yes? And what's that?" He gazed fondly down at her. There was a sudden jolt as the train slowed still further. For a moment, Sybil said nothing. Then she sat up in bed and folded her arms across her bare breasts.
"Well, to begin with... These last few weeks, Tom, I owe you an apology. I know I haven't been quite myself and I'm well aware that... even before this business... of Edith and young Max, I've been somewhat distant of late".
"You really think I hadn't noticed?" Tom ghosted a smile.
That, certainly, was true enough. If anyone had asked him to describe how Sybil had seemed to him in recent weeks, then unpredictable would have been the word he would have used; flaring up over something trivial that either he or one of the children had done that had displeased her and which normally she would have let pass without comment on her part; on occasions seeming to be withdrawn from all of them, even darling little Bobby.
Then Sybil had taken to going for long walks along the beach at Blackrock. Of course, that, in itself, was not unusual for, ever since the summer of 1919 when they had both arrived in Ireland and moved in with Ma in Clontarf on the north side of Dublin Bay, whose modest little house overlooked the open sea, Sybil had always loved the ocean; had delighted in walking, arm in arm with Tom, along the sea strand below Ma's house at low tide. But now, in Blackrock, in the last couple of weeks, she had seemed to want to walk along the beach there by herself, to be alone with her thoughts, to be left to dwell on whatever it was that was troubling her.
In addition, she had even taken to going to bed unaccountably early. Of course, Tom and Sybil would have been the first to admit that for them, going to bed early was not that unusual an occurrence, indeed quite the reverse; after all, they often did so, especially before the children were born, albeit not to sleep, but it was something they, perforce, therefore did together, unless, of course, one of them happened to be unwell, or more usually in Sybil's case, if she was working an early shift at the Coombe. However, several times recently, even when Sybil was not working an early turn, Tom, having arrived home late, but not especially so, from his office on Talbot Street in the heart of Dublin, going upstairs in search of Sybil, had found she was not only already in bed, but was also fast asleep.
For many years now, they had both enjoyed going to the pictures, first to the Lyceum Picture Theatre on Mary Street and, since 1929, to the newly opened Savoy on O'Connell Street. Had Tom not known Sybil as well as he did he could have been forgiven for wondering, in all seriousness, if, in her present desire to be on her own, Sybil was not trying to emulate that star of the silver screen, Greta Garbo,who in Grand Hotel wanted to be left alone and who, it was rumoured, also liked to take long walks all by herself, which was why this trip to Europe had proved such a Godsend. They could, all of them, thought Tom, do with a complete change of scene.
"You really think I hadn't sensed something was the matter? Darlin' after thirteen years... As I told you yesterday, I can read you like a book!"
"But you never said anything..."
"Well, like I said, of course I knew something was up. I also knew that if I left well alone, then you'd get round to telling me all about it in your own good time. You always do! Did you really think I hadn't noticed?" Tom laughed.
Sybil smiled.
"I don't deserve you, Tom".
"No, milady, you don't!" He chuckled.
"So then..."
"Tom, when I told you last night, about what might be wrong with Bobby..."
"Sybil, darlin', like I said, we've no reason to believe that his nosebleeds are caused by anything other than what Dr. Bradshaw told us when we were at Downton last Christmas. And, even if..." Tom paused.
"Even if what?" Tom saw Sybil was studying him intently. He reached out, cupped her face gently in his hands; kissed her lightly on the forehead.
"Even if there is something wrong with him, which there isn't, then we'll face it together; just like we have everything else over the last thirteen years".
Sybil smiled.
"I love you".
"And I love you too, so very much".
"Is that it then?"
"No, of course not".
"What then?"
"I'm pregnant".
"You're what?"
There was a moment's stunned silence and then Tom let out a delighted shout that must have been heard down the length of the entire train.
"That's absolutely wonderful! Oh my darling..." Tom enfolded Sybil in his arms, covering her face with kisses. A moment later, suddenly, he paused, stopped what he was doing, and for but an instant Sybil glimpsed in his eyes that faraway look she had first seen on Tom's face as long ago as June 1919, as they had sailed into Kingstown Harbour on board the RMS Munster; the ship that had brought them all the way across the Irish Sea, to begin their new life together in Ireland. Eventually, she would learn the reason for that look, but that was all now in the distant past; so what could possibly have happened to resurrect it now?
"You really are happy, aren't you, Tom? About the new arrival?" Sybil cupped his face with her hands, looked questioningly up at him.
"Of course I am. Absolutely delighted! Especially after..." Tom paused again. It was now over two years since Sybil had miscarried with their fourth child early in the spring of 1930. "Of course I am, It just takes a bit of getting used to though. Why, I'm nearing forty. Too old to be a father again" he grumbled good-naturedly.
"Well you've only yourself to blame, Mr. Branson! And after last night well..." Sybil laughed.
"So when Dr. Ferguson said it was unlikely that you'd..."
"Have another child?"
Both Tom and Sybil had been absolutely devastated when their local doctor in Blackrock had told them that, following Sybil's miscarriage, it was unlikely she would ever conceive again. Undeterred, Sybil had sought a second opinion from a colleague, Dr. Maria Twoomey, a gynaecologist at the Coombe, only to have her confirm the devastating prognosis of the Branson's own doctor.
"It explains everything, the dizziness, my gaining weight, despite me dieting, and being so tired. I put it down to doing all those extra night shifts at the Coombe. I never thought for a moment that I might be pregnant again".
"Well, you damned well should have. After all..."
"After all what?"
Tom chuckled.
"Well, for a start, you're a nurse. And... well, it's not as if we've never tried not to have children!"
"Tom!"
"So when's the baby due?"
"When I saw Dr. Twoomey again, shortly before we left for England, she was astounded; said I was three months pregnant. So, if all goes according to plan..."
"Which it will".
"Tom..."
"Darlin', trust me. Everything will be just fine!"
"Well then, he or she will make their appearance early in the New Year".
"God knows what the children will think!"
"They'll take it in their stride, like they do everything else. And what about you..." Tom hesitated. "Are you happy about the new arrival yourself?"
Sybil bit her lip.
"Well, yes, but with our others, especially Danny and Saiorse, all now starting growing up, I ... you'll think me selfish".
"Selfish?"
"Well, I was rather looking forward to having you all to myself once again!"
Tom laughed.
"What?"
"It's damned odd but first Edith and now you".
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Last night... she said I'd think her wicked and now you think I'll think you selfish!"
"Wicked? Why on earth should Edith believe you would think her wicked? And you still haven't told me... just what it was you two found to talk about last night".
Tom laughed, rolled swiftly over on top of her, smothering her face with kisses. "I'm so happy about the baby!" He smiled down at her while Sybil tightened her arms about his neck pulling him close, her mouth greedily seeking his.
However, she did not forget her question; nor that on either occasion it had been asked of him, Tom had been unwilling to give her an answer.
Author's Note:
The RMS Munster made its very first appearance in Chapter One of my other story, "Home is Where The Heart Is".
Opened in 1909 and then called the Volta Electric Theatre, the Lyceum Picture Theatre (the name was changed in 1921) on Mary Street, Dublin was Ireland's first dedicated cinema. The Savoy Cinema on O'Connell Street, built on the site of the old Granville Hotel, opened in 1929.
Directed by Edmund Goulding and distributed by Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer, the film Grand Hotel, starring Greta Garbo as Grusinskaya the dancer who delivers the now immortal line "I want to be alone", had opened in America in April 1932.