It occurred to me as I picked up the receiver again that the one positive aspect of Vicky’s elopement was that it gave me
the perfect excuse to ask Sebastian when he was coming home.
‘Darling, it’s me,’ I said nervously when he came on the line. ‘Were you sleeping?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I—’
‘What is it?’
‘Well, it’s about Vicky – bad news – I wanted to tell you before you read it in the papers – she’s eloped again.’
There was a silence
‘She got married in Maryland yesterday to Sam Keller. Cornelius and I were flabbergasted but of course there’s nothing we
can do. We’ll just have to make the best of it.’
The silence continued. My heart ached for him. Finally I said in a rush: ‘Darling, I’m so very sorry—’
‘Don’t be. Okay, thanks for calling.’ The line went dead.
‘Sebastian—’ I still had no idea when he was coming home. I debated whether to call him back but decided I must leave him
alone to come to terms with his shock and disappointment. I felt depressed. Evidently I was destined to be a failure on the
phone that morning, and concluding that the news was so bad it could only be satisfactorily communicated by letter I rang
for my maid, dressed in my smartest black frock to negate the image of Vicky dressed in white, and went downstairs to write
to Andrew.
[2]
I loved my second son but he had never needed me. That too must have been the result of one of the natural laws governing
human relationships; if you give up a baby at birth in order to pursue a grand passion you should not be surprised later when
your child automatically turns to his nurse for maternal love and regards you merely as an agreeable stranger who tries to
kiss him too often.
However although I felt sad that I had missed the best years of Andrew’s childhood I was not bitter because Andrew was obviously
unmarred by being abandoned in early life. Not only had he been his father’s favourite but his excellent nurse had brought
him up with as
much love as if he had been her own child, so although in theory he had been deprived, in practice he had always basked in
a wealth of security and affection. It was Sebastian who had been deprived because Sebastian had been old enough to miss me
when I left home. Sometimes I thought that no matter how much love I lavished on Sebastian I would never be able to compensate
him for putting Cornelius first long ago.
Once I had tried to explain to the boys how mesmerized I had been when Cornelius had first burst into my life, but neither
of them had been much interested. ‘I didn’t want to leave you,’ I had said, the words tumbling out awkwardly because the subject
still made me feel so distressed. ‘It nearly killed me to leave you but I was so helpless, as if I had no will of my own.
It was like being hypnotized. I couldn’t have acted in any other way.’
‘So what?’ Sebastian had said carelessly. ‘You got us in the end. What does it matter now? Why go raking up the past and making
yourself upset all over again?’
And Andrew had said: ‘Gee, Mom, that’s just like the movies!’
I had wondered then if I would have found it easier to communicate with daughters, but my experience with Vicky had soon disabused
me of that particular fantasy. I always seemed to have difficulty expressing myself to my sons, perhaps because my separation
from them had left an indissoluble legacy of shyness or perhaps because I wanted so desperately for them to love me despite
all I had done. Caught between my desire to smother them with affection and my fear that Cornelius might look upon any over-indulgence
as a sign that I was compensating myself for the unborn children, my manner towards the boys ranged uneasily from warmth to
reserve.
‘Dearest Andrew,’ I wrote that morning after nibbling the end of my pen for ten minutes. I never found letter-writing easy
unless I was writing to Sebastian. To help me choose the correct words I pictured Andrew, who was finishing his last semester
at Groton. What would he be thinking about? Games probably. Andrew was so straightforward. I visualized his green eyes bright
with the spark my eyes had always lacked, his dark hair flopping forward across his forehead, his mouth curved in a cheerful
smile. He was every mother’s dream of a happy, normal, well-adjusted eighteen-year-old son. I was so proud of Andrew. I could
not imagine why I found it so hard to know what to say to him.
‘I guess you will be astonished to hear that Vicky has just got married,’ I wrote after two false starts. ‘She has married
Sam. Cornelius and I were very surprised but wish them well. Don’t believe any lurid
stories you may read in the papers because the journalists will be sure to muddle up the news somehow. If you wish to congratulate
Vicky by writing to her I’m sure she’d be very pleased.
‘I do hope school is going well – not long now before you come home! No doubt you’ll be sad to leave but what a happy time
you’ve had there and how well you’ve done. Longing to see you, darling, all my love …’
I seldom wrote long letters. I acted on the principle that a boy at school would prefer to get short letters regularly than
long letters sporadically, and neither of the boys had ever complained.
A great longing for Sebastian swept over me, and as soon as Andrew’s letter was sealed I pulled a fresh sheet of paper towards
me and wrote impulsively: ‘Darling – I’m so sorry about this stupid marriage of Vicky’s – I know how hurt you must be, but
don’t be angry with Cornelius because he truly didn’t sanction this – when he got the news he was so horrified that he had
a bad attack of asthma. I’m angry with Sam for making such an exhibition of himself with a young girl, and I’m
livid
with Vicky for being so irresponsible although of course she’s only eighteen and very immature and I should make allowances.
Now darling, I know you must be so depressed but do please take an optimistic view if you can. At least Sam is a known quantity
and we can be sure he’ll take care of Vicky in style – it’s not as if she’d married that beach-boy whose only knowledge of
civilized life consisted of a shack in a California subdivision tract. There’s also another point which is obvious to me but
may not be so obvious to you:
this marriage won’t last
. I give it five years at the most, and just think: by that time you’ll be twenty-five and established at the bank and the
whole situation will look very different. All my love, darling …’
After rereading the letter twice I sealed it with meticulous care and then nerved myself to write the necessary letter to
Vicky. After three drafts, two cups of coffee and four of the cigarettes I so rarely smoked I produced a letter which read:
‘My dearest Vicky: I was, of course, surprised to hear of your marriage but nonetheless send you my very best wishes for the
future. It does help that we all know Sam so well and are more than aware of those attractive qualities which made him one
of the most eligible bachelors in New York. I’m sure many girls would envy you in your new role.
‘Your father is wholly reconciled to the news and you can be sure that we’ll both give you a warm reception when you return
to New York. Meanwhile please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help smooth your passage from one world to another.
I too married
young, as you know, and I often wished I had an older woman to talk to occasionally about the more unfamiliar aspects of married
life. I know we have had our differences in the past, but please understand that I have always been deeply concerned for you
and that as your father’s only child you have a very special place in my affections. With fondest love …’
I felt so exhausted after this protracted effort that I hardly had the strength to pick up my pen again but I was determined
not to shirk the last letter. Having ground my cigarette to pieces in the ashtray I wrote firmly:
‘Dear Sam: I have no wish to give you advice when you obviously have the whole matter so totally in control, but may I suggest
you stop by here with Vicky as soon as you return to New York? Poor Cornelius is determined to accept the situation but he
does need to be reassured that his daughter is well and happy. I doubt if you need my good wishes for the future but you are
certainly welcome to them if you think they will improve family relations. Sincerely, Alicia.’
I mailed my last two letters to Sam’s Park Avenue apartment, and a week later on a Friday evening the butler announced that
Mr and Mrs Keller had arrived to see us.
[3]
Sam looked slimmer, smarter and very bright-eyed. The celebrated Keller charm was much in evidence. Vicky, ravishing in a
little pink dress with a matching ribbon tying back her fair curls, clung to his arm and gazed up at him adoringly. I had
expected some semblance of marital harmony, but this overpowering bliss stunned me so much that I was speechless. In panic
I turned to Cornelius but saw with dread that he too was tongue-tied.
Fortunately Sam – as usual – produced exactly the right words to help us all gloss over the awkwardness, and within minutes
I was able to say sincerely to Vicky: ‘You look wonderful, dear. I’ve never seen you look prettier.’
‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ sighed Sam.
Some unpleasant emotion which could not be named made my fingers curl tightly into the palms of my hands. I watched him slip
his arm around her as they sat down on the couch, watched her immediately lean closer to him as she smiled up into his eyes.
‘I can’t think why Carraway’s taking such a long time with the champagne,’ I said rapidly to Cornelius as I stood up. ‘Shall
I—’
‘Yes, ring the bell.’ Cornelius, mysteriously, was also rising to his feet as if he could no longer remain seated. We looked
at one another without comprehension and sat down again. To my horror I realized I had forgotten to ring the bell.
‘Is there an ashtray, Alicia?’ said Sam casually, opening his cigarette case.
I took advantage of the new excuse to rise to my feet, but when I brought Sam the ashtray I gave him a hard look to see whether
he had deliberately staged the excuse to save me embarrassment. It was impossible to tell. He was smiling at Vicky again and
seemed unaware of the ashtray I placed on the table in front of him.
‘Well, honey, open up your purse and let’s show Neil and Alicia all those wonderful photos we took in Bermuda!’ He turned
to toss an explanation in our direction. ‘I chartered a yacht which picked us up in Annapolis the morning after we were married.’
‘Oh, it was so romantic!’ said Vicky dreamily. ‘And when we got to Bermuda we found this beach which was just gorgeous, and—’
‘You’re not going to smoke, Sam, are you?’ said Cornelius, betraying he had been unaware of the preceding conversation. ‘My
asthma’s been very bad lately.’
My nails dug deeper into the palms of my hands. I suddenly knew that I had to treat Sam and Vicky with the greatest possible
warmth, although why I should have felt this was so important I had no idea. ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Cornelius!’ I exclaimed.
‘Of course Sam must have a cigarette! I’ll adjust the air conditioning to extract the smoke. Yes, Vicky dearest, do show us
all your lovely photos – I can’t wait to see them! Did you have good weather? Bermuda’s such heaven – I remember it’s one
of your favourite places, isn’t it, Sam?’
Sam began to talk in his deep leisurely voice about Bermuda while Vicky passed around the photographs. I was just trying for
the third time to take an intelligent interest in the conversation when Carraway entered with the champagne.
‘Well!’ I said frantically as we all raised our glasses. ‘Here’s to a very happy marriage!’
‘Our best wishes to you,’ added Cornelius politely, and to my relief I realized he was recovering his nerve.
‘Why, thank you!’ said Sam with his warmest, most captivating smile. ‘We appreciate that, don’t we, honey?’
‘Mmmmm … oooh, what lovely champagne!’
I noticed that we all drank equally fast.
‘And here’s to you two!’ said Sam, finally unleashing the full force of his charm to bend the scene to his will. ‘Thanks for
giving us such a
truly great welcome and for being so magnificently generous and understanding – no, I mean it! I truly do! Now I owe you wonderful
people an apology so I’m going to go right ahead and apologize for temporarily wrecking your peace of mind – well, I did,
didn’t I! Let’s call a spade a spade! – but bearing in mind all the water that had previously flowed under the bridge I just
didn’t see that I had any alternative except to play Romeo and elope. I knew you’d both oppose me if I went to you and said:
“Well, it’s a funny thing but I really do want to marry your unique, beautiful, enchanting daughter,” – and be honest, Neil,
you still doubt my sincerity, don’t you? Well, you needn’t. I love Vicky and she loves me, and we’re going to be the happiest
couple in all New York.’
The most extraordinary part of all was that I believed him.
[4]
After the Kellers had gone Cornelius retired to the library to work but later from my bedroom window I saw him slip out of
the house with his bodyguard. He wore casual clothes, a white tennis shirt, sneakers and blue denims, and I knew he was on
his way to the woman in Greenwich Village. The Cadillac crawled away; the courtyard gates swung shut, and turning abruptly
from the window I left my room and began to walk.
The house was very large and I walked a long way. Situated on the corner of a Fifth Avenue block, the house overlooked Central
Park although the main entrance into the forecourt stood on the intersecting crosstown street. Paul Van Zale had built the
place for Sylvia after their marriage in 1912, and on his death in 1926 the mansion had passed to Cornelius together with
the rest of the Van Zale fortune. The irony was that although Cornelius secretly disliked the house – the heavy European-style
architecture was hardly in accord with his modern tastes – he obstinately refused to sell it. For him it was a symbol of his
power, a fitting counterpart to the magnificent Renaissance-style building at Willow and Wall, and so we went on living there,
even now the children were grown up. I did not mind. I had always lived in huge gloomy houses filled with antiques. My father
Dean Blaise, a contemporary of Paul’s, had also been an investment banker with a grandiose taste in houses, and even after
I married Ralph my surroundings had changed little. My father had given us a mansion filled with antiques in Albany when Ralph
had embarked on his political career.