By The Sea, Book One: Tess (19 page)

Tess, now as feverish as the best of them,
listened to the news with fascination for those two days as a
select trickle of Aaron's male friends came aboard, downed drinks,
and offered educated (and sometimes wild) opinions about whether
Dunraven's behavior was a bit of psychological cunning or the
actions of a disturbed and distrustful man.

It was all very relaxed and oddly pleasant,
nothing like the rigidly formal exchange of calling cards and empty
phrases in the drawing rooms of Newport. Here the spirit of easy
camaraderie prevailed; there, of mean-spirited competitiveness. It
made Tess think that the men in Newport society who did not own
boats were prisoners in their own castles.

When Tess told Aaron of her theory later
that day, he smiled in melancholy agreement. "The men you saw today
would cut me dead if they'd been with their wives; the poor
bastards would have no choice."

"Because of me?"

He said offhandedly, "We're not married. And
if we were, their reaction would probably be the same. I accept
that, Tess. Why is it so hard for you?"

She turned away with a sigh. "I suppose,
because the code seems so ... inflexible."

"It isn't, really. A son of old money can
marry an actress and hope for the best. But if there are two
strikes against one—if one's wealth is only second generation, and
if one happens also to be Jewish—well, then one tries very hard not
to strike out."

"—especially when one has hopes for a home
run for one's daughter?" she asked, matching his tone.

"Especially then," he said softly. "I'm
sorry, Tess. I never tried to mislead you."

Her back was still to him. She shut her eyes
tightly, blotting out hopelessness, and then opened them and turned
around. With a dangerous smile and a head held high, she said, "I
don't care. I'll hit my own home run."

On the morning of the second race they were
awakened by a brass band making the rounds of the harbor in a steam
launch: it was eight o'clock. Tess knew, without looking through
the porthole, that yacht club burgees and private signal flags
would be flying from every masthead and American ensigns snapping
from every stern rail: it was eight o'clock. The dew would have
been wiped dry from every varnished hatch and rail, and smartly
dressed crews would be finishing the scrubbing of yesterday's
spills from silvery teak decks: it was, after all, eight
o'clock.

The world of yachting was a comfortable
blend of tradition and freedom, and it had appeal for Tess Moran.
She would miss it when she returned ashore, even if it was to her
own hat shop and a brand-new life.

She opened her eyes to see Aaron nearly
dressed.

"What energy," she said with a sleepy smile.
"You handle your champagne much better than I."

He bent over her and kissed her on her brow.
"Is that what turned you so insatiable last night? In that case
I'll have to lay in a supply before our cruise back to
Newport."

"No-o, have mercy, Aaron!"

He sat down next to her. "Seriously, Tess.
Something has come over you these past few days. You've used me up
as a goddess does a mortal. I begin to feel you shall be my death,"
he complained with an ironic smile.

Tess chose to ignore his self-mocking tone.
"I guess I must be competing—against all those women on the
Matador."

He looked amazed. "Tess, those women are ...
nothing
! They're part of the scene, no more significant
than—than the vendors who bring us the papers each morning."

She folded her hands across the blanket.
"Have you made love to those women?"

"Does it make a difference?"

"It does."

"Then: no. To be honest, I no longer have
the desire—or the strength."

"What do they offer that I don't?" she
persisted. "We've done everything, tried everything..."

He smiled, then rubbed his lower lip,
considering. He laughed again, to himself. "Would you let one of
them join us some night?"

Wide-eyed, she pulled the covers up to her
neck. "I would not!"

"Ah." He chucked her under her chin. "Then
that, dear Tess, is the difference between you and them. Come, get
dressed. Our guests will be here soon."

Tess and Aaron were finishing breakfast when
the launch returned with Clyde Jarvis and the others. Jarvis put
his arms round her and kissed her cheek; the others were content to
take her hand. Malcolm Landis handed over a large packet of mail to
Aaron and a single envelope addressed to Tess aboard the yacht
Enchanta,
in care of the New York Yacht Club.

Maggie.

Tess excused herself and hurried below,
where she tore open the letter to read:

Dear Tess,

The races must be on now and I hope this
finds you happy. There is much news. Birdget is marrying a butcher,
a fine match which is where the mony is coming from. I told her I
did not want the job. She is gone from the house and I am too of
corse. Miss C. was not too bad.
She
is engaged to marry a
Baron Levanaski—I cannot spell it or even say it. They say he is
without a cent but why should she care? I had no need to take a
room as Father has left. A friend told him there was a job as hand
on the "Mary D" which is a fishing boat from here. Father says he
can own a 1/4 share if he is good at it. He says after all he
is
from Cork. He sailed Friday which they say is bad luck
and I do hope it is not. So I am here with Will who is well but
dizzy once when he played so hard. Your new shop does sound grand
and you will be so good at it. I have all but 4 dollars that you
sent so dont fear for us. We put the rest under a broken bord where
it will be safe. When do you think you will be coming home? I think
of you all the time. Your aff. sis. Maggie.

The letter was meant in every way to
reassure, but in every way it left Tess disturbed.

The
Enchanta
was steaming with the
rest of the fleet toward the starting line for the second in the
best-of-five series when Tess reappeared on deck and asked Aaron to
see him alone.

"Maggie again, I take it?" he asked
unenthusiastically. Tess showed him the letter. "I can't leave her
alone on the waterfront like that. In that shack! The silly girl
won't spend the money I sent. What can I do?"

"Nothing until after this race, certainly.
Then I suggest—oh, bloody hell, Tess! You can't make someone do
something she doesn't want to."

"You were able to," she shot back. "Why
can't I?"

"We'll discuss this later," he said,
irritated by her response. They rejoined Aaron's male friends—Miss
Appleton, apparently, had found better sport ashore—and Tess did
her best to keep her distress to herself. As before, the
Enchanta
milled around the starting line with hundreds of
other steamers and sailboats, waiting for something dramatic to
occur. This time, they were not disappointed: a big excursion
steamer filled with tourists positioned itself blithely between the
two yachts and the starting line. The British challenger was able
to clear the steamer's bow.
Defender,
less lucky, was forced
to duck under its stern.

"Damned if Dunraven doesn't have a point
about the spectator fleet," shouted Jarvis. "That tomfool steamer
blundered right in the way!"

"And now
Valkyrie
and
Defender
are on a collision course," said Aaron matter-of-factly as he
watched the action through binoculars.

"Who must give way?" cried Tess, forgetting
all else in the drama at hand.

"Defender
has the right of way;
Valkyrie
is the burdened yacht."

"Now look what Syccy's up to," Landis cried,
as the helmsman on Dunraven's yacht bore off and then luffed up
sharply. "Too close, man, too close!"

Tess covered her eyes, then peeked through
her hands to see the aft end of
Valkyrie's
boom caught in
the rigging of the American boat.
Defender's
topmast,
suddenly unsupported, bent over at a wild angle, threatening to
crash down to the deck.

"Well God damn—excuse me, Miss Moran—well
God damn it all!" cried Jarvis.

"There goes
Defender's
protest flag
up the halyard!"

"Chalk up another victory; the race will
have to be given to us after this," said Landis.

"Valkyrie
doesn't seem to think so,"
said Aaron through his binoculars. "She's decided to keep right on
going."

"What!"

Aaron shook his head, giving Tess a puzzled
smile. "I can't explain it."

"And look!
Defender
has decided to go
after her!" cried Jarvis. "She's got a man up her mast already,
making repairs. Ah, she's a feisty little Yankee! Never give up!
That's what Americans are all about, Miss Moran. We never give
up!"

In his excitement Jarvis grabbed Tess's arm
with a strength that amazed her; he simply would not let go. He
held on through most of the first leg of the race, convinced that
the American yacht would somehow pull it off and fly past her
British opponent.
Defender
did not, but she came dose,
forty- seven seconds on corrected time.

Not that it mattered:
Defender's
protest was sustained and the race was awarded to her. Two down,
one to go. Everyone was happy.

Except Tess. Late on the night of the second
race, after their guests had gone, Tess slipped into the small
stateroom that functioned as Aaron's library and office away from
Wall Street and confronted him.

"I've decided to leave tomorrow morning,
Aaron," she said with brisk resolve. "I've thought about it all
day. You must let me go."

For a long time he was silent. "You're not a
prisoner, Tess," he said at last.

"Of
course
I'm a prisoner!" she
cried. "Of my love for you; of your feeling for me; of all of
this,"
she added, with a sweeping gesture at the elegant
cabin in which she stood. "You can't know how seductive it all is,
how hard it is to let it all go."

"You reassure me, Tess. I thought you'd come
to scratch out my eyes for having been the cause of your ruin." It
was said lightly, but his eyes were clouded with panic.

"I don't blame you for anything," she said
quietly. "It was my decision."

He tried another tack. "Why tomorrow
morning? Why not wait until the Races are over? We can return to
Newport with all due speed."

"No. You told me never to look back. It's
time to get on with my life. Besides, my family needs me."

"
I
need you, damn it!" he suddenly
shouted, slamming his hand on the desk top.

He jumped up and rushed to her, locking her
in his arms, taking her breath, her soul, in a wildly passionate
kiss. He covered her face with kisses, returning again and again to
her mouth, pounding her resolve to rubble. It was an assault of the
most devastating kind, and it left her reeling.

"Leave me and I die, Tess," he said in a
voice breaking with passion. "I can't let you go. What will it
take? What do you want? Take my money, take what you want, but
stay, stay,
stay."

"I can't," she choked out between kisses.
"It isn't a real life—it's somewhere ... on the edge. I can't."

"Then marry me, damn you. Marry me and bring
your whole damn family!" He was pulling her dressing gown away from
her shoulder, searing the soft white flesh with his lips, moaning,
incoherent with love. "Bring in all of Ireland, I don't care. Marry
me; stay; marry me; oh God ..."

They made love after that, and again, and
then a third time, and when Aaron, in a calmer and somewhat more
rational mood, told Tess again to marry him, she said yes.

Some people awake from a dream convinced
that it is real; Tess awoke from the night before convinced that
she had dreamt it all. Nothing in her life so far had prepared her
for this fairy-tale turn. Her impulse was to pinch herself, pinch
Aaron, get something in writing: it couldn't be true. She dressed
quickly and went to look for him, but he'd taken the launch ashore.
As always when he wasn't aboard, she felt uncomfortable among the
crew—they seemed even more courteous then, which she took as a form
of sarcasm—and so she waited in Aaron's stateroom, impatient and
unbelieving.

It could never work. Or it might work. But
she would never be accepted. Then again, she would still have her
family. But what about Vanessa? And Aaron's family?
Anything for
love,
she told herself over and over.
Anything.

Aaron returned with Jarvis and the others an
hour later. She met him at the top of the gangway and the two
exchanged looks; Aaron's was dazed but tender. Obviously he hadn't
told anyone. All talk was of the third race, and the scuttlebutt
collected from around the harbor since the second.

As usual, Jarvis, who was a New York Yacht
Club member, held the floor. As the
Enchanta
steamed out
with the rest of the spectators, Jarvis filled everyone in on the
latest twist: Lord Dunraven had sent the Cup Committee a letter
refusing to sail unless the course were kept clear.

"Can't blame him," put in Landis. "His last
challenger sank like a stone over in England when she got hit
trying to get around some fool boat before the start of a race
there. Like a damn stone. A man died, you know, from injuries. It's
a serious business, by God."

"I have not finished," said Jarvis. "This
morning the Committee got another letter saying he
would
race, on condition that the race be declared invalid if a spectator
boat happens to interfere."

"That's a new one," muttered Aaron, hearing
it for the first time. "What did they say?"

"What
could
they say? There's no
provision for that."

"Well, why the hell are we all headed out
for the starting line? Will there be a race today or not?" demanded
Landis, disgusted.