Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances (135 page)

But on this particular week-end a pattern was established that was to continue in future weeks. If she said once, “Tony, don’t be so
tiresome!”
she said it half a dozen times An anecdote he told would be “tedious,” or a gallant gesture toward her — a compliment, a flirtatious remark — would be deemed “political.” Nothing he did seemed to gratify her any more: she was like Queen Victoria, “We are not amused.”

One day, at lunch, she was awful. I think she’d planned it; a private cabal on her part, a mean and mischievous trick, just to be deliberately unpleasant.

It was on the Saturday afternoon, and I’m sure even Claire must have been astonished at the meagerness of the meal, which was so unsubstantial as to have been practically a snack. We had a thin tomato soup with a dollop of whipped cream in each bowl, and then for the main course an individual omelet that was so small per person it was almost like a bird-dropping on the plate. This was followed by a serving of bread pudding that was more or less bite size.

For me it was fine: at work I rarely have much lunch; a sandwich, or a hard-boiled egg, or yogurt. Tony, on the other hand, was clearly unsated. “The hors d’oeuvres were fine,” he said. “When are we having lunch?”

Caroline was absolutely hateful. She gave him a gigantic glare and said, “When you start paying the bills, we shall have a bit more to eat. What do you expect, Coquilles St. Jacques and truite meunière every day of your life? What makes you think I’m made of money, pray?”

Tony blinked and looked a little dazed. “I say, but it
was
piddling, wasn’t it?”

He laughed, and even then didn’t take her seriously. They were always sparring, sometimes drawing blood, but that was the nature of their relationship, the man-woman dialogue these two had. He asked me if he could borrow my car to drive to the village for something more filling.

Caroline glowered and called him tiresome again. Then Emily tittered, which took Tony off the hook. Caroline turned on her instantly

“What are
you
hooting at?” she demanded. “I suppose you’re dissatisfied too? Indigent as you are — ”

Caroline, Caroline, I thought, as I saw Emily’s face turn a deep, dark red. “I didn’t say a word,” she protested, enraged. “How dare you accuse me of — ”

“I dare anything I care to,” Caroline cried. “Who are you to tell me what I dare to? Leave the room. Instantly!”

When Emily had left, scurrying out with her poor head held high, Tony got up and followed her out. At the door he turned and said, “You are a bitch, darling,” made a droll face at me, and Caroline and I were alone.

She sat staring at her beautifully-embroidered place mat. Finally she raised her head. “You
must
see it,” she said passionately. “How they exploit me. You do see that, Jennie?”

I said, trying to be calm and reasonable, that she was being unfair and unjust, and that both Emily and Tony were devoted to her. At which she laughed harshly and said that was because they knew which side their bread was buttered on.

“You just don’t know,” she insisted, “what people can be like.”

This turned into a long and impassioned diatribe against her family. All of them, save for Peter, regarded her as little more than a nest egg for their future. They were all a bad lot and were concerned only with what monies she would leave them when she died.

I didn’t like this side of her: she was obsessed about her large fortune and, like anyone who had had to work hard for a living, I felt a certain resentment toward inherited wealth. It wasn’t that I begrudged Caroline hers; it was simply that I felt a certain inequity.

I had become weary of her railing against the other Lestranges, against their cupidity and callousness toward her. I kept saying I was sure she was wrong. To which she replied impatiently, “
You
wouldn’t know! How could you possibly know? These are desperate people!”

“Desperate?” I asked, smiling. “Caroline, the Lestranges are far from desperate.”

“With today’s market?” She scoffed. “Why, every one of them’s lost untold sums of money. Inflation, for God’s sake. Don’t you realize, child? Their backs are against the wall.”

It was all highly exaggerated, and she was overcompensating. It wasn’t the money. She wanted them to love her. In the absence of love from a husband, or even friends of long years’ standing, she was reaching out for love, affection, and concern.

And so she had turned to me, a stranger.

I sat there feeling like teacher’s pet, and hating it. I never wanted to be teacher’s pet. I never wanted to be idolized. And that a woman who had never had a child now wanted a child, and that that child seemed to be me, was sad. It made me quite uneasy.

And now she had turned against Tony: this whole luncheon charade had been designed to put him down. She had for some reason decided to make me the single object of her affections; the hell with Anthony Cavendish. Sooner or later he would comprehend this. He must be beginning to. Did she suspect the affinity between Tony and me? Did her sharp eyes notice anything? Did she see that his eyes followed my movements or, for that matter, did she see my eyes which — not wanting to — followed his?

Was she jealous?

If so, she wasn’t taking it out on me, which would seem the reasonable consequence. She was taking it out on Tony, and I knew that — sensitive as I myself was to sub rosa hostility — I would have, had her rudeness been directed toward me, felt the message to be, “Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?”

I remembered Tony saying, “Until my welcome wears out,” and Caroline replying fondly, “Which, as you know, will be never.”

That was far from her present attitude, and, I thought, this week-end will not go down in my book as a banner one. My unfortunate eavesdropping on the
Snow Goose
, and now Caroline’s behavior toward Tony … and Emily.

On Wednesday night the phone rang in my apartment. It was Eric’s voice on the wire —
that
voice, and it was like a transfusion. He said, “It’s me; I just got in from Kennedy. How are you, Jan?”

“Am I glad you’re back,” I said fervently. “How did things go?”

“Things went very well, thanks. I’ve missed you. Lunch tomorrow?”

“Fine. I suppose you’re dead.”

“I’ll be okay tomorrow. Jet leg and all. You’re well?”

“Yes, just fine.”

“Good. Until
mañana
, then.”

I met him at Ca d’Oro and he looked robust and fit. Over the
calamari fritti
we discussed his trip, and I said I had tried to call him to tell him about meeting Portheus and Chartre, and so forth; he was sorry he’d been out.

The two of us drove down on Friday afternoon in Eric’s car. This time, we decided, we would do it together. He picked me up at my apartment. It was a lovely summer day, and we stopped off for coffee and burgers half way down. We talked nonstop and I felt the world had settled into place again.

Eric was back.

We picked up some groceries in the village and broiled steaks on the patio grill. We sat there until dark and the onset of the mosquitos, then prepared for bed.

Eric was asleep when I crawled in but he woke up enough to inform me that those fräuleins weren’t all they were cracked up to be. “Terrible legs,” he said, “And drearily stolid. Maybe I’ll keep you after all.”

“I’m glad. I’d hate to be returned after all this time.”

But he was already snoring lightly.

Tom showed up for breakfast next morning, and was a little taken aback to find Eric there. “Oh, excuse me,” he said, retreating. “I didn’t know.”

“That the soldier was home from the wars?” Eric said. “Do you mind, buddy?”

“Oh, no. Hi, gee it’s nice to see you.”

“Sit down, we’re just starting.”

“Well, I don’t want to — ”

“Take a load off your feet,” Eric said easily. “Nice to see you too. What have you been up to these last couple of weeks?”

“Not much, the usual.”

“You’re nice and tan. Mine’s worn off some. Have to remedy that.”

“Jan said you were abroad. In Germany.”

“Yes, want to hear about it?”

He listened eagerly while Eric gave him a rundown on Rhine castles and
bierstubes
. I had never been to Germany, and was just as interested in the verbal tour. Eric was in the middle of a sentence when the phone rang.

It was Bobo. “Hello,” she said. “I’m so damned bored. I wondered if you’d like to have lunch somewhere. Maybe some shopping first. There’s that new boutique.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but Eric’s come back,” I said. “I’ll have to make it some other time, Bobo.”

“Oh, bother. Well, then. Call you again.”

“That was your mother,” I told Tom after hanging up.

“So I gathered,” he said, ducking his head. He wasn’t fond of her, that was clear. I watched him spoon jam onto a piece of toast, and then the phone rang again.

This time it was Peter. “You ride, don’t you?” he asked.

“Ride? You mean horseback? Yes, why?”

“How about riding today? I can pick you up at around ten.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Eric’s here, and I don’t think he’s keen on riding.”

“Oh, I see,” he said, sounding dashed. “Okay. Another time, right?”

“Great,” I said heartily. “Take care, Peter.”

“That was your uncle Peter,” I told Tom, and to Eric, “He suggested riding, but I told him you weren’t a horseman.”

“Which I decidedly am not,” he said, and trickled syrup over his griddle cakes.

As I was sitting down again the phone rang once more.

It was Tony. “I say, she’s been beastly this morning,” he told me, speaking low, and I gathered he didn’t want to be overheard. “Caroline. I don’t have to tell you. Rescue me, love. Shall we rent a speedboat? Or anything you say. But darling, do help. I don’t know why she’s taken this tack.”

“Maybe you’re imagining things,” I said, clearing my throat.

“Maybe I am, but I’m a bit up to here just the same.”

“Oh, I don’t think it could mean much. You know she’s flighty … I must go, I’m afraid. Eric’s back from Germany, and I’m doing breakfast for him.”

There was a fractional silence and then, “Oh, he’s back?”

“Yes, and … breakfast, you see.”

“Quite,” he said, and hung up.

“Who was that?” Eric asked.

“Our friend the Viscount.”

“Oh. What’s
he
want?”

“Just good morning,” I laughed. “They haven’t let me rot here. They’ve all been very kind.” I smoothed young Tom’s hair. “Every one of them, including this young lad.”

Tom looked up at me and smiled shyly.

The phone rang again.

Eric raised his head. “What is this, a convention hall?”

“Some days you’d think so,” I said, and picked up the receiver.

It was Caroline.

“How about lunch?” she asked, briskly.

“That would be lovely. May I ask Eric first?”

“Eric?”

“Yes, he’s back. We’re just having breakfast.”

“Do tell him hello, and say I’d love to have the two of you.”

“One moment.”

I turned to Eric “Caroline would like us for lunch.”

He looked a little put out. “Christ,” he said, low. “That will cut into our day, Jan.” Then his face smoothed out. “What the hell, tell her yes,” he said.

I took the receiver away from my chest, where I had been muffling it. “Caroline? Eric says yes, of course, and thanks very much.”

“See you later, then.”

“Wonderful.”

I put the phone down. “Well, that takes care of lunch,” I said. “Now how about the beach?”

“Fine. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

I did the dishes, Eric went in to change, then I got into my swim suit while Eric dried the things in the drainer; when I came back Tom had left. As we left the house, I saw Tom hanging about near some large trees. He looked our way and then quickly in the other direction. I called to him.

“How about coming down to the beach with us, Tom?”

He hesitated, but his face brightened.

I thought I saw an odd look cross Eric’s face, but it was an almost subliminal perception, gone as quickly as it came. If I had paid more attention to that slight expression, everything might have gone differently.

However, whatever swift thought I had vanished at once, and I said again, “How about it, Tom?”

He hesitated again, then grinned, and said, “Great, be right with you.”

He dashed off, but was back in jig time, in his beach wear, and we scrambled down the hill. We went at once into the water. As usual, the first feel of it was chilling, but once we had plunged in, we warmed up and it was quite comfortable.

It was a lovely day, as most of the summer days had been. We swam leisurely for a while, but soon Tom had had enough, and he went back to stretch out on the sands.

“Isn’t he a dear boy,” I commented. “He’s at such a vulnerable age. Growing up and a little afraid to. He has so little guidance from his parents.”

“He’s a nice kid,” Eric agreed, swimming beside me.

I murmured, “I love children. Poor things, they have to be so dependent. Eric, I always thought I’d prefer to have a little girl. But I’ve kind of flipped for Tom. I guess I’d be just as pleased with a boy.”

“I would suggest marriage before the blessed events.”

I laughed. “Trying to say, pointedly, that I’m not getting any younger?”

Then, turning, I saw that Tom wasn’t alone on the beach. Peter was there. I waved. “Come on in, the water’s fine, Peter.”

He walked to the edge of the water, braced himself, and plunged in. “Brr,” he said, when he swam up to us. “Not exactly a steam bath.”

“You’ll get used to it,” I assured him. Someone else was walking across the sand. I was a little surprised that Anthony had chosen to join us, too, but as always felt that little tremor as I watched him walking toward the water, where he stood poised at the edge of the waves. That small shock had come again, that quick racing of my pulse, and I tried to look away, but couldn’t.

He stood there for a moment longer. His fair hair took light from the sun. It was like a nimbus around his head. His body was perfect — flawless, and masculine; virile, a body that would be good to love, memorable to love.