'His eyes look very cold,' Pamela said, staring at the portrait.
'To you, perhaps,' Mrs. Dewhurst said with a small smile touching her lips, taking the portrait from her. 'But I know better. Henry was a deep-feeling man, and very demonstrative when Theo was small, both to the boy and to myself.' She sighed. 'But he lacked a certain . . . maturity when it came to dealing with his adolescent son. Instead of ignoring Theo's raging hormones and awkward attempts to grow into an independent adult, he bought into the boy's feelings instead, and began competing with him on the same level. If Theo threw a tantrum, which Henry should have wisely ignored, Henry got angry. If Theo wanted independence, Henry grounded him. If Theo got into trouble, his father, rather than take responsibility and talk to the boy himself, would call the police and have him arrested.
'But you have to remember that things were very different when Henry and I were young. There was no such thing as a teenager, really. You were either a child or an adult in those days. I can't tell you how many times Henry would yell at the boy, saying, "You're either a kiddie living at home or an adult living on your own." But the world changed, and for some ungodly reason Henry either couldn't or wouldn't.
'In the old days, you see, children were very much the property of their parents, and were very much controlled and moulded by their parents when Henry was growing up. A father ruled the roost in those days and didn't suffer contradiction gladly. I should add that Henry was fourteen years older than myself, to give you a better idea of which generation I'm referring to.
'Anyway, the worst fault of men of Henry's generation was that they almost never listened to anyone but themselves. It was a man's world, and being a man of his time, he had very narrow beliefs and lived in a totally egocentric world. But there came a day, of course, when men like Henry no longer had everything their own way. They were forced to acknowledge that other members of their household besides themselves were people too, with feelings and needs and minds. That was very possibly the worst of it . . . that men of his generation, in the face of all reason and common sense, denied that anyone in the family besides themselves could have minds.'
'How did he die?' Pamela asked without thinking, but feeling now that she had the right to ask.
'It certainly wasn't shortness of breath!' Mrs. Dewhurst said disparagingly. 'Sorry, I'm being flippant. No, he took his own life, if you must know. Oh, don't look so stricken! To tell the truth, when it happened I almost expected it. And,' she said meaningly, 'if you haven't guessed as much already, Theo blamed himself. He changed almost overnight, from that,' she indicated the old picture, 'to the man you now know as your fiancé.' Closing up the bookcase once more and locking it, she added, 'There's just one thing I want you to remember, however. Despite appearances, a man of such extremes is also a man of extreme passions. In Theo's case, somewhere beneath that veneer of control is a man who very much loves and cares about you. Don't doubt it for a minute. It's getting him to show his true feelings, without provoking him to anger or driving him away, that's going to be your great challenge in life; a challenge, I might add, that is well worth any heartache you might have to endure. Believe me, I know, for Henry was such a man, and despite appearances, and for all his faults, the twenty-four years we had together were the best years of my life. I could have remarried several times over the years, but when you've had the best, everything else is doomed to be second-rate.'