Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances (33 page)

“I was … well, paralyzed, doing everything by rote, just going through the motions. Bitter I still am, I confess. But I’ve stopped being a zombie. I’m going to move. I’m determined about that. I’m going to
move.”

Iris looked about This apartment was a second home to her. Aunt Louisa was her mother’s sister, and Iris had spent many a night and many weekends in this place.

Yet she and her parents had discussed it often. It was too big for Louisa, now she was alone. And the memories it must have for her aunt …

“Have you decided where you’ll go?” I asked.

“France, since it’s the country I know best.”

It was more than a shock. It was like a physical blow.
France!
Of course Louisa had any number of friends there … but her only relatives were her sister, brother-in-law and niece, and they were
here,
in Manhattan.

“You mean you won’t have an apartment here at all?” Iris asked blankly.

For a moment her aunt looked puzzled. Then, “Oh, Iris, I didn’t mean move that way,” she cried. “I just meant move, move
about,
stop pretending that everything is the same, being a robot, thinking, brooding, bemoaning my fate. When these things happen to us, we always react so characteristically.
Why me?
Well, it’s always me, or he, or she. Tragedy strikes us all, sooner or later. And until you come to terms with that you’re sunk. I’ve come to terms with it, Iris, at long last. It’s been over a year since Henry died.”

She gave a quick glance about the living room, with its treasures, some modest, some of very great value, and then looked back at Iris. “This is my home,” she said. “I don’t want to leave it. I don’t want to lose its precious ghosts, the priceless recollections of the happy days we’ve had in this place. Oh no, I’ll stay here.”

Then she laughed, an almost excited little laugh. “I meant, darling, that I’ll travel again. Oh, I know I’ve said to myself a hundred times that I couldn’t bear to go without …”

As if testing herself, she said the words she probably hadn’t voiced aloud before. “Without Henry,” she finished. “Our trips abroad together were like a never-never land, two adventurous spirits setting forth. But I won’t wither and rot. I’m too proud for that. I’ve mollycoddled myself quite enough. Now it’s time to pick up the pieces and go on with the business of living.”

“I’m glad,” Iris said quietly. “And so proud of you. I couldn’t love you more if you were my own mother.”

That did bring a film of tears to her aunt’s eyes and, with Iris’s eyes moist as well, they looked at each other across the space of the enormous room and then, walking toward each other to meet in an embrace, they clung together.

I suddenly feel that I’m the older, and she’s the child to comfort
, Iris thought, and then Edith’s voice, from the doorway, broke the emotional moment.

“Lunchtime,” she announced. “So break it up, you two, and come get it while it’s hot.”

• • •

It was when they were having coffee in the living room later on that Louisa said, “What I want very much is for you to come with me to Europe, Iris.”

“But — ”

“Not to keep me company, I don’t mean that. I’m not plumping for a substitute … someone to take Henry’s place. And I know you have only a regulation vacation from your job. Two weeks, or is it three?”

“I can usually manage three. But — ”

“Iris, as I said, I’ve had plenty of time for thought in the past year. Hear me out, won’t you?”

“Okay.”

“Darling, it’s no secret that Henry was a very rich man, and that he’s left me a very rich woman. Your job is a quite decent one, but … well, it’s not precisely a career job, and …”

She bit her lip, reflecting. “The thing is that I don’t really peg you as a career woman, any more than I was … am. And dear — ”

Iris said it for her without rancor, though not with any particular enthusiasm. “I’m not getting any younger?” she suggested.

Her aunt smiled. “Well, that’s one way of putting it, though not the way I would have done. Yes, the years do have a way of racing on, but I wasn’t really thinking of the fact that you’re a month away from being twenty-four and not involved in a meaningful relationship.”

She was treading on dangerous ground and she knew it. The fact that her niece had dates aplenty and a ready escort for any social event that might present itself was because Iris was stunning-looking and a logical target for any eager male eye.

But Iris, a little over a year and a half ago, had had her own tragedy. She had been engaged to a man ten years older than herself, a fine-looking, substantial type, ambitious and serious. Mark Pawling gave every indication of being exactly what Iris thought he was … very nearly perfect. The girl’s parents, as well as Louisa and Henry, considered him a “sterling” young man.

And then, with no warning at all, the engagement had been abruptly broken. Iris was thrown over in favor of a girl four years older than Mark, and not very attractive at that. Her father, the head of the company Mark worked for, had thereupon bestowed a vice-presidency on his future son-in-law.

It had been Iris’s first lesson in pragmatism … and that it had left deep scars was no secret to Louisa.

She had suffered for her niece, observed the cynicism that had been the inevitable consequence and was just as unhappy about Iris’s reactions as was her sister Virginia, Iris’s mother. It was as if Iris had anesthetized herself, cut off all deeper feelings and sealed herself in a kind of protective cocoon.

She was popular, dated frequently but casually, and had her fun, but she seemed to have written romance off as a lost cause.

Louisa was bending the truth when she told Iris that she wasn’t thinking of her niece’s approaching her twenty-fourth birthday without being romantically involved. Because she
was
thinking of it. To her mind, there were only so many years to deal with. You were young, you were middle-aged, and you were old. It was as simple as that.

Louisa, being childless, was as concerned about Iris’s future as if she had been her own daughter. To see her niece drifting, without any shining promise in view, hurt her immeasurably. If someone had asked Louisa what she considered a deadline for the proper marriageable age, she would have said, without any hesitation, “Why, twenty-five, of course.”

Louisa, naturally, was of another generation. Things had changed a bit … but not for the better she had decided. The old truths were the real truths, she insisted. Men and women were meant to merge, build together … therein lay true happiness.

She regarded her niece with frank and unconcealed admiration. Iris Easton was, to her mind, the most beautiful girl she had ever encountered. Part of it might be, she conceded, pure prejudice. This was her sister’s offspring and she adored her sister.

But she was sure that Iris was someone special. Louisa had friends with daughters, marvelous-looking young women with a Manhattan panache and private school manners. But Iris, with her abundance of honey-colored hair, soft brown eyes, straight little nose, short upper lip and full lower one, could have been painted by Sargent if their times had coincided.

Yet since the debacle of the broken engagement, Iris had become cautious, distrustful and
distressingly
independent. Louisa was beginning to despair.

“You were saying?” her niece prompted.

“I don’t remember what I was saying,” Louisa confessed.

“Something about my not being cut out for a career woman.”

“Do you want a career?”

There was a trace of impatience. “How do I know?” Then, reflectively, “How does anyone know?”

“I imagine people like Gloria Steinem knew. Or Betty Friedan. Or some woman politician, like Shirley Chisholm.”

“Maybe.”

“Anyway, somehow I’ve gone off the track. Let’s get back to my having quite a bit of money and wanting to take you abroad. Everything I have, Iris, will go to you. No, don’t shake your head in that
irritating
way! To whom else would I leave it? To you and Edith, of course. So why shouldn’t you share in it now, instead of everything later? Have some present joy of it. What I’d really like is — ”

She considered and then went ahead. “What I’d really like is for you to quit your job and travel with me indefinitely. This year, next year, and …”

She saw that the answer would be a regretful no. Smoothly, she continued. “If not that, then for your vacation this year. You said you could manage three weeks. We’ll go anywhere you like. I mentioned France, but it could be anywhere. Italy, Spain … whatever. You’ve never been to Europe, though Henry and I so much wanted to take you. It didn’t happen because I just didn’t think it would be fair to …”

She felt a little self-conscious. “Well, to offer you something your own parents would have liked to but just couldn’t afford. Your mother is so
damned
difficult to do things for!”

“She’s proud … like you,” Iris pointed out. “I know they had some hard times, but they put me through Barnard and are pleased as punch that they did it without any help. Oh, I waitressed, and took other odd jobs, but that was only a drop in the bucket.”

She gave her aunt a fond look. “If I were someone different,” she said, “I’d fall in line with your first suggestion. Quit my job and be … say, your companion. Only, I can’t. You knew that right away, I saw it in your face. We’re very close, you and I, and it’s a great joy to me. I’ve told you things I’ve never even told my parents. We have a very special kind of relationship. I love the Cinderella story you outlined for me … the idea of my giving up a not very interesting job and being …”

She grinned. “Beautiful People, traveling the world with a glamorous aunt. If I were five years older, I might take you up on it. Right now, though …”

She lit an unaccustomed cigarette and went on. “But as for three weeks in Europe, why not? I have a little over fifteen hundred in my savings account, and that ought to cover expenses. When did you plan to leave?”

Her aunt’s face tightened. “I thought I had made it clear,” she said shortly. “Either I take you and pay for your trip or it’s no go. I’m sorry, Iris, but that’s a condition.”

“But I have the money!”

“Forgive me for being just a little bit angry, but on no account will I stand for it. I will not impoverish you. Either I have you as my guest or the deal’s off.”

She raised her hand peremptorily before her niece had a chance to answer. “I have nothing,” she said quietly. “Nothing at all now, except for a lot of money. If I can’t use some of it for someone else’s benefit, then it’s a hateful thing.”

She sat back. “It’s up to you, love.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“No,” Louisa said vehemently. “I’m about to make my plans. I have to know now. Yes or no. As I said, it’s up to you.”

Iris got up and went to the window. It was true her aunt was a very rich woman. Whatever cost Iris would be to her on this little junket would be peanuts, considering the size of Louisa’s inheritance. Why was it that she felt obligated, why did she hesitate? She loved this woman, who was like a second mother to her.

I guess I’m proud too, she thought.

She looked back at her aunt.

Louisa, who only a short while back was so bereft, so frozen with grief, was once again the old Louisa, the unwavering, decisive person Iris had known from babyhood. She seemed to have come into her own again, was once more the calm, decision-making individual that was the real, familiar Aunt Louisa.

Was she to hamper her aunt’s recovery by refusing to allow her this small indulgence?

“The answer is yes,” she said finally.

“On my conditions?”

Iris nodded.

“Talk about pulling teeth,” Louisa said, her face breaking into a broad smile. “Well, that’s more like it. Come give me a kiss.”

“And thank you,” Iris said, as they each sat down again. “It’s a lovely treat you’re offering me.”

“My
treat,
my
pleasure,” her aunt corrected, glowing. “Now I thought we’d leave around the beginning of September. Europe is at its best then, after most of the tiresome tourists have gone home. Iris, where shall we go?”

“You said France.”

“Would you rather it be somewhere else?”

“France suits me fine,” Iris said fervently. “There are many places I would like to go before I die, but of them all, France heads the list.”

“Then we’ll fly to Paris, and after that play it by ear.” She hugged herself. “What a joy it will be to have you with me!”

“And I’m glad you’re … better.”

“I have to be better. Life, as they say, must go on. It’s just that I’ve at last been able to reconcile to that.”

She got up briskly. “I’ve some travel folders for you saved from previous trips. You must take them home and browse over them. You should be traveling with someone your own age, of course, but we’ll have our own fun. I can’t wait to show you … oh, everything.”

She went to the beautiful old escritoire that was a piece from the eighteenth century, opened it, and drew out a thick sheaf of brochures. Putting them into a large manila envelope she handed them to Iris. “There’s a marvelous walking map of Paris here,” she said. “If you really study it carefully, you’ll find that when you get there you’ll know where the main points of interest are.”

“I’ll certainly do that.”

“And, Iris, I know so many people there who would have sons about your age. You’ll be able to go dancing, or to the films, and — ”

Iris’s face changed quickly, became wary. She looked away and then swiftly back. “Auntie, you’re not going to try to matchmake, are you?”

She really seemed distressed, Louisa thought, and her own reactions were both compassionate and exasperated. Really, this girl did try her patience sometimes. What normal young woman could object to being introduced to men who were the sons of family friends, for heaven’s sake? What girl wouldn’t jump at the chance to be taken to Parisian discos and boites?

Was her niece
ever
going to rise above that sordid business with Mark Pawling, and begin the business of living again? Just be a happy, eager young girl …