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Chapter 3
At night Julia could not sleep. She tried to lie down several times, but got up again and again and paced
the floor.
Her thoughts kept revolving around Mason and Mary Capwell. Mary, an ex-nun, so beautiful, so tender,
she had never hurt a fly in her whole life; she was so innocent, so truly good – and turned out to be so
fragile. Cliches like “God takes them He loves best” was all Julia could think of, and it probably would be
the general tone of mourning, but still, she felt it was grossly unfair: to Mary; to the baby who, should he
live, would never see his mother, and yes, to Mason.
Mason Capwell was a complex man. There had been times when Julia could swear there was nothing
more to him than a huge ego, shallowness and cynicism; she really had thought he was a despicable
womanizer. His romance with Mary proved her – and the world – wrong. Yes, he could be cynical
sometimes, manipulative – quite often, and ruthless, too, but there still was love in him, and that made
Julia reconsider her attitude.
The strange thing was that the same happened to the Capwells who had been underestimating their own
black sheep. Mary’s love not only reformed Mason, but brought him closer to his family.
Today’s tragedy showed Julia she still couldn’t quite make Mason out. He let his mask down for just
enough time to see there WAS a face under it, and for the first time in her life Julia felt she had seen the
real Mason; the one Mary must have known and loved. She could sympathize with his sorrow; she just
had never known him to be able to feel, to care so deeply. It felt as if his grief had scorched her soul, and
there was no walking away now.
Well, it was not about Mason, of course. It was all about the baby, the poor innocent baby.
*
The first night after Mary’s death – he feared it would be hard. However, harder was the feeling that it was
only the first of many many more lonely and hopeless nights to come.
CC had insisted that he spend the night ‘at home’, in the Capwell mansion. Mason complied; he had
absolutely no energy to oppose his father. He felt drained out.
CC took him to his old room, and he sank onto the bed. He lay staring in the darkness. They had once
spent a night together in this bed, he and Mary. He was so drunk he did not know she was there, at first.
And she, she kissed his hand. It was an impulse she did not resist, and when he saw the lipstick on his
hand, in the morning, he outlined it with a felt-tip pen. There was no Mark in their life then. Life was so
bright. So happy.
He sobbed.
Tears would not come; the sobs were dry now. The spasms hurt the throat.
How dark it was. Would be this way from now on.
Mary was a godsend. Mason felt he had not lived up to some of her expectations, which was natural; but
she had not stopped loving him, which felt strange, if you come to think of it. He had been so afraid to spill
this absolute happiness – but he had had no feeling it would go wrong. No premonition whatsoever. How
blind he’d been.
He should have felt she was not of this world. Too good to be true. Obviously too good to be his. An
angel. If he only had known!
“Mary,” escaped his lips.
“Mason,” he seemed to hear.
He froze, afraid to move.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes, Mason.”
“Mary,” he complained. “You’ve forsaken me.”
“No, Mason. I’ll be with you. Always. Go to sleep now, you need a rest.”
It seemed to him he felt her cold hand on his forehead. He rushed to touch it but there was nothing, of
course.
“Mary, I cannot make it without you,” he said.
“You’ll never be alone, Mason. I’ll be with you. I’m in no pain now. I’ve no fear. It’s very light and quiet in
here. I wish you could see it. But your time has not come yet. You’ll have to go on with your life. You’ve got
to learn to.”
He felt he had sunk into a dark well. More like swoon than like sleep. He did not even remember to ask her
about the baby.
*
In the next days it was Eden Julia got her updates on the Capwells from. She learnt the baby was still too
frail, but the doctors were cautiously optimistic now. She learnt a memorial service took place. She did not
go there; it was just for the family. Who was she?
Julia ran into Mason in about a week, quite unexpectedly, though the place was predictable enough. The
bar. He looked blind drunk, and Julia decided she would not try to talk to him. He must want to avoid
meeting her now that she had seen his soul bare and writhing in misery.
He raised his head and looked at her, unseeing. That was not surprising: the air was all smoky, and it was
dark, but Julia fidgeted uncomfortably. When the client she was consulting was gone, she dared to look at
Mason again. He raised his glass, as if toasting her. There was no way to pretend she did not notice; she
came up to him.
“Managed to dive deep enough to forget Mary?” she asked and berated herself immediately. She did not
mean to be unkind. It was just that Mason was so – hopelessly drunk.
“No,” he said. “A grave would not be deep enough. I loved her.”
The ingenuous reply made Julia blush for shame. “Look, Mason,” she apologized. “I’m sorry.”
“Uh-huh.” He took a sip. “Good news for you, Counsellor. A few more days of my unrestrained habitual,
and I’ll be kicked out of the D.A.’s office. Why don’t you go sleep with a couple of powerful men in this city
to get the position then?”
Julia gasped. It was mean; just like the Mason she had known.
“I refuse to feel wounded,” she said with determination. “If you feel you need to lash out, come on, feel
free, I’m here. Anytime. As long as you don’t take it out on your baby.”
“Mark’s baby, probably,” Mason mused.
“Mary’s baby, to be on the safe side.”
Julia paused. Inside she smiled bitterly: the D.A.? Oh, who’d give her any post now that she had so
compromised herself? An attorney who had deliberately played at give-away and dumped her client –
Mark McCormick – it was a professional suicide, well it was.
“Have you baptized him yet? What’s his name?”
“I’ll call him Channing,” Mason said. “Channing Creighton Capwell the Third. A good name, huh? I’ll get a
million dollars for him. And I’ll hate him, just as much as I hated his namesake. Maybe more.”
Julia understood nothing. She knew Channing was the name of Mason’s late half-brother who had been
dead for about seven years. Still, she couldn’t make head or tail of it.
“Where does the money come from?” she asked.
Mason nodded with an air of significance. It was his usual drunk pose.
“The first grandson of CC the Great, if named after him, gets a million dollars. Quite a fortune. Now, I
wonder how much it will cost to provide the baby with everything he’ll need, including nannies on the
round-the-clock basis, and how much will be left for me to spend on booze to kill myself with. But my brain
is so fuzzled I cannot do a simplest sum. Maybe you can help me, Julia the bluestocking? Were you good
at math at school?”
Julia licked her lips. A dubious compliment; but she refused to feel hurt again.
“What did Mary want to call him?” she asked softly.
Mason winced. “As if you cared!”
This one was, surprisingly, a more painful stab than the first two.
“I know I am nothing more than a stranger to you,” Julia started.
“Stay a stranger, will you? I ruin everything I touch.”
“Mason, I only want to help--”
“You can’t. Period. Or have they finally disbarred you, Ms Wainwright? And high time it is! Have they
kicked you out, and have you joined the Salvation Army? What a choice for a woman who has no business
of her own to mind, and no family, either.”
Mason knew perfectly well how to hurt people. But now that she did not let herself be blinded by
indignation, now that she tried to concentrate on the man opposite her, instead, - his attempts failed one
by one. In his eyes there was so much anguish it seemed hardly bearable; and he actually got no pleasure
out of insulting her. It seemed more like a habit now; a coloration that he hoped would protect him.
“Why are you saying all these things?” she asked quietly. “You don’t really mean them, I can see it.”
“Don’t get too smart, Julia,” he replied. “And don’t get too close.”
She sighed.
“Shall I call you a cab?” she suggested.
“Ok.”
“Where the hell is Ted, and Eden, and your father, and everybody when you need them?” Julia wondered
dialing the Capwell mansion number instead of a taxi company.
“Too busy,” Mason replied. “They have suddenly realized how fragile happiness is, and they’re all trying
to fix things in their own private lives. How fortunate you don’t have one and can call me a cab.”
Julia gritted her teeth.
Oh speaking of her life: it was time to phone Dr. Merrick. She shuddered inwardly.
/Olga Lisenkova/
the floor.
Her thoughts kept revolving around Mason and Mary Capwell. Mary, an ex-nun, so beautiful, so tender,
she had never hurt a fly in her whole life; she was so innocent, so truly good – and turned out to be so
fragile. Cliches like “God takes them He loves best” was all Julia could think of, and it probably would be
the general tone of mourning, but still, she felt it was grossly unfair: to Mary; to the baby who, should he
live, would never see his mother, and yes, to Mason.
Mason Capwell was a complex man. There had been times when Julia could swear there was nothing
more to him than a huge ego, shallowness and cynicism; she really had thought he was a despicable
womanizer. His romance with Mary proved her – and the world – wrong. Yes, he could be cynical
sometimes, manipulative – quite often, and ruthless, too, but there still was love in him, and that made
Julia reconsider her attitude.
The strange thing was that the same happened to the Capwells who had been underestimating their own
black sheep. Mary’s love not only reformed Mason, but brought him closer to his family.
Today’s tragedy showed Julia she still couldn’t quite make Mason out. He let his mask down for just
enough time to see there WAS a face under it, and for the first time in her life Julia felt she had seen the
real Mason; the one Mary must have known and loved. She could sympathize with his sorrow; she just
had never known him to be able to feel, to care so deeply. It felt as if his grief had scorched her soul, and
there was no walking away now.
Well, it was not about Mason, of course. It was all about the baby, the poor innocent baby.
*
The first night after Mary’s death – he feared it would be hard. However, harder was the feeling that it was
only the first of many many more lonely and hopeless nights to come.
CC had insisted that he spend the night ‘at home’, in the Capwell mansion. Mason complied; he had
absolutely no energy to oppose his father. He felt drained out.
CC took him to his old room, and he sank onto the bed. He lay staring in the darkness. They had once
spent a night together in this bed, he and Mary. He was so drunk he did not know she was there, at first.
And she, she kissed his hand. It was an impulse she did not resist, and when he saw the lipstick on his
hand, in the morning, he outlined it with a felt-tip pen. There was no Mark in their life then. Life was so
bright. So happy.
He sobbed.
Tears would not come; the sobs were dry now. The spasms hurt the throat.
How dark it was. Would be this way from now on.
Mary was a godsend. Mason felt he had not lived up to some of her expectations, which was natural; but
she had not stopped loving him, which felt strange, if you come to think of it. He had been so afraid to spill
this absolute happiness – but he had had no feeling it would go wrong. No premonition whatsoever. How
blind he’d been.
He should have felt she was not of this world. Too good to be true. Obviously too good to be his. An
angel. If he only had known!
“Mary,” escaped his lips.
“Mason,” he seemed to hear.
He froze, afraid to move.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes, Mason.”
“Mary,” he complained. “You’ve forsaken me.”
“No, Mason. I’ll be with you. Always. Go to sleep now, you need a rest.”
It seemed to him he felt her cold hand on his forehead. He rushed to touch it but there was nothing, of
course.
“Mary, I cannot make it without you,” he said.
“You’ll never be alone, Mason. I’ll be with you. I’m in no pain now. I’ve no fear. It’s very light and quiet in
here. I wish you could see it. But your time has not come yet. You’ll have to go on with your life. You’ve got
to learn to.”
He felt he had sunk into a dark well. More like swoon than like sleep. He did not even remember to ask her
about the baby.
*
In the next days it was Eden Julia got her updates on the Capwells from. She learnt the baby was still too
frail, but the doctors were cautiously optimistic now. She learnt a memorial service took place. She did not
go there; it was just for the family. Who was she?
Julia ran into Mason in about a week, quite unexpectedly, though the place was predictable enough. The
bar. He looked blind drunk, and Julia decided she would not try to talk to him. He must want to avoid
meeting her now that she had seen his soul bare and writhing in misery.
He raised his head and looked at her, unseeing. That was not surprising: the air was all smoky, and it was
dark, but Julia fidgeted uncomfortably. When the client she was consulting was gone, she dared to look at
Mason again. He raised his glass, as if toasting her. There was no way to pretend she did not notice; she
came up to him.
“Managed to dive deep enough to forget Mary?” she asked and berated herself immediately. She did not
mean to be unkind. It was just that Mason was so – hopelessly drunk.
“No,” he said. “A grave would not be deep enough. I loved her.”
The ingenuous reply made Julia blush for shame. “Look, Mason,” she apologized. “I’m sorry.”
“Uh-huh.” He took a sip. “Good news for you, Counsellor. A few more days of my unrestrained habitual,
and I’ll be kicked out of the D.A.’s office. Why don’t you go sleep with a couple of powerful men in this city
to get the position then?”
Julia gasped. It was mean; just like the Mason she had known.
“I refuse to feel wounded,” she said with determination. “If you feel you need to lash out, come on, feel
free, I’m here. Anytime. As long as you don’t take it out on your baby.”
“Mark’s baby, probably,” Mason mused.
“Mary’s baby, to be on the safe side.”
Julia paused. Inside she smiled bitterly: the D.A.? Oh, who’d give her any post now that she had so
compromised herself? An attorney who had deliberately played at give-away and dumped her client –
Mark McCormick – it was a professional suicide, well it was.
“Have you baptized him yet? What’s his name?”
“I’ll call him Channing,” Mason said. “Channing Creighton Capwell the Third. A good name, huh? I’ll get a
million dollars for him. And I’ll hate him, just as much as I hated his namesake. Maybe more.”
Julia understood nothing. She knew Channing was the name of Mason’s late half-brother who had been
dead for about seven years. Still, she couldn’t make head or tail of it.
“Where does the money come from?” she asked.
Mason nodded with an air of significance. It was his usual drunk pose.
“The first grandson of CC the Great, if named after him, gets a million dollars. Quite a fortune. Now, I
wonder how much it will cost to provide the baby with everything he’ll need, including nannies on the
round-the-clock basis, and how much will be left for me to spend on booze to kill myself with. But my brain
is so fuzzled I cannot do a simplest sum. Maybe you can help me, Julia the bluestocking? Were you good
at math at school?”
Julia licked her lips. A dubious compliment; but she refused to feel hurt again.
“What did Mary want to call him?” she asked softly.
Mason winced. “As if you cared!”
This one was, surprisingly, a more painful stab than the first two.
“I know I am nothing more than a stranger to you,” Julia started.
“Stay a stranger, will you? I ruin everything I touch.”
“Mason, I only want to help--”
“You can’t. Period. Or have they finally disbarred you, Ms Wainwright? And high time it is! Have they
kicked you out, and have you joined the Salvation Army? What a choice for a woman who has no business
of her own to mind, and no family, either.”
Mason knew perfectly well how to hurt people. But now that she did not let herself be blinded by
indignation, now that she tried to concentrate on the man opposite her, instead, - his attempts failed one
by one. In his eyes there was so much anguish it seemed hardly bearable; and he actually got no pleasure
out of insulting her. It seemed more like a habit now; a coloration that he hoped would protect him.
“Why are you saying all these things?” she asked quietly. “You don’t really mean them, I can see it.”
“Don’t get too smart, Julia,” he replied. “And don’t get too close.”
She sighed.
“Shall I call you a cab?” she suggested.
“Ok.”
“Where the hell is Ted, and Eden, and your father, and everybody when you need them?” Julia wondered
dialing the Capwell mansion number instead of a taxi company.
“Too busy,” Mason replied. “They have suddenly realized how fragile happiness is, and they’re all trying
to fix things in their own private lives. How fortunate you don’t have one and can call me a cab.”
Julia gritted her teeth.
Oh speaking of her life: it was time to phone Dr. Merrick. She shuddered inwardly.
/Olga Lisenkova/