so little of his eldest grandchild.”
“He saw him just this Christmas,” Sara countered gently, “and you know I write your parents every month. And send them pictures. Anyway, if you’d only called I would have taken little Ted to the funeral. I think it would have been important for him.”
“How is he?”
“Pretty upset by the news, but otherwise okay. He’s top of the class in Latin.”
Ted felt a desperate need to keep her talking on the phone. “How’s your own work coming?”
“Not bad. I’ve had my first article accepted by
“Congratulations. What’s it on?”
“Apollonius. Sort of a distillation of my senior essay.”
“Good. I look forward to reading it. How’s your thesis coming?”
“Well, with any luck I’ll finish it by the end of spring. Cameron is reading the first chapter and Francis James the second.”
“You mean the new tutor at Balliol? Tell him I liked his book on Propertius. What are you writing on, anyway?”
“I really bit off more than I could chew.” Sara laughed. “My topic is nothing less than ‘Callimachus and Latin Poetry.’ ”
“Well,” Ted joked, “that’s sent many a strong man to an early grave. Uh — no antifeminism implied. I guess I should have said ‘person.’ I still have trouble getting used to the new terminology.”
He ransacked his mind for topics that would keep the conversation going.
“Then you think you’ll get your degree in June?”
“I hope so.”
“Then I guess you’ll be coming home, huh?”
“I’m not really sure, Ted. Anyway, I think this is something we should discuss face to face when you come over next month.”
“I’m really looking forward to it,” he replied.
“So is Teddie,” she replied softly. “If it fits my schedule, we’ll try to meet you at the airport.”
“Thanks for calling, Sara. It was really good to hear your voice.”
He hung up and thought, I only wish I could see your face.
“I can’t believe it,” Ted remarked, “the kid talks with an English accent.”
“What do you expect?” Sara asked. “He’s lived here most of his life.”
They were sitting in the (now redecorated) living room in Addison Crescent, drinking iced coffee.
“He also didn’t seem very friendly to me,” Ted commented. “I mean, all I got was a fleeting ‘hello, Daddy.’ And then he disappeared.”
“Your son has priorities.” Sara smiled. “And this afternoon is a crucial cricket match against Saint George’s School.”
Ted had to laugh. “The son of a Cambridge townie is playing cricket? The next thing I’ll hear is that he’s got a knighthood.”
“Oh, I doubt if that’ll be for a few years.”
He took a swig of coffee. “Have you decided when you’re moving back, yet?”
“Not for another year at least.”
“Shit.”
“Please, Ted. I’ve got several good reasons, I assure you.”
“Give me one.”
“I want Teddie to finish his education here. He’s doing so well the headmaster is certain if we let him go the whole route here, he’ll breeze into any college in the world.”
“Come on, Sara. I thought the one thing we still agreed on was that he would go to Harvard.”
“That ought to be his decision — when the time comes. Anyway, you’ve still got quite a few years to give him a good sales pitch,”
They were both silent for a moment.
“You said you had other reasons for wanting to stay.”
“Well, I’ve been offered a classics tutorship at Somerville College.”
“Professional congratulations and personal objections,” he responded.
“Since when do you have the right to object to anything I do?” she asked, more bemused than angry.
He paused and then continued with great difficulty. “What I mean is — I miss you. I miss being married to you, and I was wondering if… if maybe you had any vestigial feelings of regret.”
“Of course I have regrets, Ted. The day our divorce became final was the bleakest of my life.”
“Then do you think there’s a chance that we might — you know — give it another try?”
She looked at him with sadness, and simply shook her head.
Perhaps he should have suspected that there was someone in her life when she offered to let him stay with young Ted in Addison Crescent for the month of July while she was on vacation. Especially since she was so vague about her plans.
All she would vouchsafe was that she was going to Greece to “visit the places I’ve been writing about.”
“Who with?” he had bravely asked.
“Oh,” she had replied evasively, “several million Greeks.”
But it did not take Ted long to discover who his ex-wife’s traveling companion was. For his son’s conversations were liberally sprinkled with references to “Francis.” And unless he was alluding to the famous talking mule from the movies of Ted’s childhood, it had to be Francis James, classics tutor at Balliol.
“I’d like to meet that guy someday,” Ted said, at the nth mention of his name.
“Oh, you’d really like him,” his son replied. “He’s an absolutely smashing chap.”
My God, he thought, my son really is an Englishman.
That July, Ted tried to be a father. He sat through countless cricket matches. Got a lot of theater tickets. And made numerous attempts at conversation over dinner.
But a gap as wide as the Atlantic separated them.
The young man was polite, good-natured, and friendly. Yet, the only thing they could discuss was distant plans for higher education. Ted tried to sell his son on Harvard.
“Teddie, there’s something I’ve gotta explain to you. Going to Harvard is an experience that changes your life. I mean, it certainly did mine.”
The young man looked at his father and said, “Frankly, I rather like my life the way it is.”
Ted Lambros had spent the month with someone who bore his name but in all other ways was someone else’s child.
At the end of July, a tanned Sara returned from Greece with an equally bronzed Francis James and announced that they had decided to get married.
To Ted’s chagrin, the first congratulation came in the form of a spontaneous “Super!” from his son, who rushed to throw his arms around the tall, bespectacled classics tutor.
Trying to mask his chagrin, Ted offered his hand and his congratulations to Francis.
“Thank you,” the Englishman responded. And added with warm sincerity, “I’ve always been one of your great admirers. If those articles you’ve been publishing are anything to go by, your Euripides book is going to be magnificent. How close are you to finishing?”
“I sent off the manuscript to Harvard last week,” said Ted, feeling strangely hollow at announcing the accomplishment.
“Mummy says it’s absolutely brilliant,” young Ted interjected.
Ah, his father thought, at least the kid still respects me.
And then his son concluded, “I’m dying to hear what you think of it, Francis.”
