The Phantom of Fifth Avenue: The Mysterious Life and Scandalous Death of Heiress Huguette Clark (40 page)

On July 27, 2004, Huguette left the hospital that had been her round-the-clock home since March 1991. Chris came by the hospital to pack up Huguette’s possessions, and then Hadassah escorted her into a waiting ambulance. Concerned that the shock of natural sunlight might be too great after so many years indoors, a staff nurse insisted that Huguette’s eyes be covered.

When she arrived at her new room at Beth Israel—an ordinary space rather than the VIP wing—there was little worth opening her eyes for, just a gritty urban scene instead of the serene East River. When her former nurse Marie Pompei came to visit, Huguette plaintively asked, “Don’t you miss the view?”

I
n her new environment at the downscale and downtown Beth Israel Hospital, a world away from the serene zip code where she had resided for nine decades, Huguette reestablished her old routines. Perusing the Theriault doll auction catalogues for new acquisitions and working on her photography projects, the ninety-eight-year-old kept busy. She had taken up making jewelry and whiled away the hours stringing beads. But her diminished hearing was now really taking a toll. “She didn’t talk on the phone so much anymore,” says Chris Sattler. “She was getting old.”

Frustrated by her inability to hear, Huguette declined to have a television installed in her new quarters. She began to avoid most phone calls rather than embarrass herself by saying “What?” Huguette ignored messages left by her great-nephew André Baeyens and distant relation Paul Newell. Even Huguette’s beloved goddaughter Wanda Styka found herself waiting anxiously by the phone for a call that never came.

The two women had periodically experienced problems hearing each other, but Wanda had no inkling that a conversation on April 12, 2004, would be their last. That night Huguette called to thank Wanda for a box of truffles and two photo books,
Paris from Above
and a volume on Central Park. “Dearest Marraine telephoned at 9:16 p.m.,” Wanda wrote in her appointment calendar after the call ended. “We talked about WWI, WWII (Marraine mentioned tragic loss at
Normandy getting up hill) and Iraq War… She asked whether this was a good time to call… When saying good bye, she said, ‘Good night my darling.’ ”

After that call, Wanda became worried when six months passed without further contact. Ever since Huguette had entered the hospital in 1991, she had initiated their calls, either responding to Wanda’s letters or spontaneously picking up the phone. Huguette had never acknowledged to Wanda that she was no longer at 907 Fifth Avenue; Wanda finally learned the truth from Suzanne Pierre in 2003. Wanda did not want to intrude but found the silence disquieting.

“I did not hear from her. But I kept writing,” Wanda says. “I thought maybe it’s too difficult for her to speak. I would write, ‘I hope this finds you very well and happy,’ but I was a little concerned she might not be feeling well. I hoped she was surrounded by people who were loving.” Huguette continued to send affectionate Christmas cards accompanied by checks to Wanda. But Wanda never heard Huguette’s whispery French-accented voice again.

Age and illness were taking a toll on Huguette’s friendship with Suzanne Pierre. For Suzanne, who lived on Park Avenue at Eighty-Eighth Street, Huguette’s new location downtown was inconvenient. Suzanne did not visit as often but remained in contact daily with Huguette by phone. Huguette could still make out her friend’s comforting words. But Suzanne was now struggling with her own problems. Chris Sattler became baffled when he noticed that Suzanne’s gracious and warm personality seemed to be changing. She was short-tempered, even lashing out at him. She would make plans to go to the hospital and then forget or cancel at the last moment. The mystery was solved after Suzanne became disoriented while on vacation at Disney World with her son and granddaughter. Neurologists discovered that Suzanne was experiencing mini strokes; she was later diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.

With her goddaughter and best friend on the sidelines, Huguette became even more dependent on her caregiver Hadassah. But although the nurse had pushed for Huguette’s move downtown to Beth Israel South, Hadassah was not weathering the transition well. All those years of working eighty-four-hour weeks had finally gotten
to Hadassah. At fifty-four years old, the indefatigable nurse was experiencing excruciating headaches, back pain, and exhaustion. She was worn out.

By December 2004, Hadassah was finding it increasingly hard to drag herself to work seven days a week. She put on a good front for Huguette’s sake, but she was having a breakdown. Her husband Daniel explains, “If I say ‘breakdown,’ that means she is not the same… a little bit down… You need to get rest, you have to get rest.” Their son Avi recalled, “She was working so hard, no one can work that hard for that long. She was getting older, so she had those symptoms.”

Hadassah was also tired of arguing with the stubborn Huguette. The heiress had always been high-handed in her attitude toward medical advice, trying to avoid tests and intervention whenever possible. Now she was increasingly resistant to following medical directions. On December 21, 2004, Huguette objected when Hadassah wanted to call a doctor to examine her inflamed right eye. As Hadassah wrote in her nursing notes: “Patient vehemently refused and was very upset, states it will heal by itself.”

The weary Hadassah took ten days off, from January 3 to January 13, 2005. Huguette was distraught, repeatedly asking substitute nurses when Hadassah would return. Her distress was so apparent that Chris called Wally Bock several times to discuss how he could help. In the seesaw of her relationship with Huguette, Hadassah now had the upper hand. The copper heiress was bereft.

Not so Hadassah. Life without an alarm clock and the robotic daily commute, the pleasures of leisurely meals at home, and her family’s company—it was all a revelation. Hadassah realized that she needed to take care of herself for a change. She could not, would not, work so hard anymore. Her two sons were at college, and soon she would have an empty nest. This was her last chance to spend more time with her teenage daughter, Geula.

In the past, Hadassah had been afraid to cut back her hours for fear of losing her job, but now she felt secure enough to insist on a civilized eight-hour day, five-days-a-week schedule. Huguette was so happy to see Hadassah again that she acquiesced. Once back at work, the nurse
began to press Huguette to finally fill out the date on check #3510 for $5 million, written on Huguette’s J. P. Morgan account. On February 7, Huguette and Hadassah jointly called Wally Bock to inquire about coming up with the funds so that the check would clear.

A few days later, Huguette developed a cold that turned into pneumonia, raising fears that death was imminent for the ninety-eight-year-old. On February 15, Bock received back-to-back calls about the health of his wealthiest client. As the lawyer noted in his itemized monthly bill, Chris alerted him that “Mrs. Clark’s condition seems to be deteriorating.” Then Bock heard from Hadassah, whose priorities were more egocentric—she was worried about getting her $5 million.

The next day, Huguette rallied. She tried to pacify Hadassah with a check for $35,000. But the heiress’s illness had made her retainers realize that it was now-or-never time. If Huguette did not sign a new will, they would lose any claim to her fortune. Her entire estate would go to her distant relatives, the descendants of her half siblings, most of whom she had never met.

In her hospital notes, Hadassah wrote on February 22 that Huguette was “sleeping more than usual.” Her weight had dropped to eighty pounds—and that included three cashmere sweaters that she was wearing to stay warm. Ever since her mother died in 1963, Huguette had refused the entreaties from her lawyers to write a will. But suddenly the unthinkable occurred: Huguette finally agreed to meet with Bock and Kamsler on Monday, February 28, to discuss writing a new will that would make financial provisions for Hadassah.

The heiress agreed to put her estate in New Canaan, Connecticut, up for sale, acknowledging on paper that Hadassah would be paid $5 million out of the proceeds. Huguette still appeared to be in poor health. On March 2, Dr. Newman visited Huguette, writing in an e-mail to a colleague afterward, “She is indeed weakening and her deafness makes any communication quite agonizing.”

Huguette’s near-death experience had left her in a contemplative mood. When Dr. Singman went to see her on March 5, she entertained him by reciting a favorite fable—doing so in French and
Spanish—that seemed to explain her decision to lead a reclusive life. This poem had long resonated with Huguette. A half century earlier, she had given Wanda a version of the poem in an illustrated French-language children’s book. Only later would Wanda reread that book and understand what her godmother was trying to tell her.

Written by seventeenth-century French poet Jean-Pierre Claris de Florian, “The Little Cricket” describes a cricket hiding in the grass, envying a brilliantly colored butterfly spreading its wings. The self-deprecating cricket laments having no special talent nor alluring appearance to gain the admiration of others. But then rowdy children come along and are entranced by the insect. They chase the butterfly and capture it—and cruelly rip the gaudy insect apart. The poem ends on this note:

For Huguette, who had seen her life dissected in the newspapers from her childhood through her painful divorce, being in the public eye was humiliating. She had hidden from the world, doing everything possible to retain her privacy. She created art out of her own need to do so, not in the hope of recognition or acclaim—she truly believed that it cost too much to shine in this world.

The poem epitomized the sad truths that had dominated her existence. Wounded by the deaths of loved ones, emotionally fragile, and afraid of being hurt, she had allowed very few people to become close. Her father had warned her that people would only want her for her inheritance, and that early parental caution made it hard for her to trust. Her money had purchased loyalty, but had it purchased true friendship or love? “She made it sound like you don’t need anybody, you don’t need a man in your life,” says retired-nurse-turned-friend Marie Pompei. “She didn’t seem like the kind of person who would have a close intimate relationship.” Even with female friends? “Not many.”

On March 7, 2005, two days after she recited the poem, Huguette finally took a step that she had resisted ever since her mother’s death in 1963. She signed a minimalist version of a will. Although Wallace Bock had prepared many detailed drafts in recent years—cutting out her relatives, giving cash to specific friends—this document was designed solely to insure that Hadassah got her money. The key paragraph: “Should my dear friend and companion Hadassah Peri not have received from me five million from the proceed of the sale of my property in New Canaan, I give and devise and bequeath to Hadassah the sum of five million.” Under this will, Huguette agreed to leave the remainder of her fortune to “my distributees who would share in my estate had I died intestate”—that is, her Clark relatives. Informed that she needed to pick executors, Huguette chose her accountant and her lawyer.

Bock and Kamsler brought the document to the hospital, joined by Lewis Siegel, a lawyer affiliated with Bock’s firm. Siegel was aware that this was a significant moment, recalling that Bock had frequently expressed his fear that unless Huguette signed a will “it was going to be a disaster, people grabbing for money.” Yet even though this was a momentous occasion, the three men had not brought witnesses with them and needed to recruit two on the spot.

“I was in the hall, waiting to go into my usual meeting with her,” Chris says. “I was all flabbergasted that I was asked to come in. They didn’t want me to read the will. I just signed it.” Chris found a nurse who agreed to serve as the second witness. As executors, Bock and Kamsler stood to earn fees of more than $3 million each.

It was done. Three people could breathe more easily—Hadassah, Wally, and Irving—with the comforting knowledge that they would benefit financially from Huguette’s death. It was done—but it wasn’t done. There was so much money still on the table, hundreds of millions in real estate, art, and jewels, all of which would now go to her distant relations. Her goddaughter, Wanda, and longtime employees like Chris had been left out.

Just eight days after signing that will, Huguette called Bock and said she wanted to give the entire proceeds of the sale of her Connecticut mansion, priced at $34 million, to Hadassah. Bock, who had
become adept at communicating with Huguette despite her hearing problems, told her that this would be a tax nightmare and dissuaded her. Casting around for other possessions that she could sell to raise cash, Huguette authorized her lawyer to sell one of her father’s rare collectibles,
The Book of Hours
, an illuminated manuscript dating back to the 1450s. It sold at Sotheby’s for $80,000. While Huguette’s health had stabilized, she was so cold that she had escalated to wearing six sweaters on top of her hospital gown.

Night after night, as she continued to play solitaire until the wee hours, Huguette had ample quiet time to contemplate what she wanted to do with the rest of her inheritance. Bock and Kamsler would later insist that Huguette’s March 7 will was always meant to be temporary, a stopgap measure to resolve Hadassah’s anxiety over her $5 million. Kamsler says that he immediately began discussions with Huguette in person and by phone about her true final wishes. Huguette liked her accommodating accountant and found him easier to deal with than her argumentative lawyer, who kept on using the infuriating word
no
to deflect her requests. So she relied on Kamsler to play the middleman in conveying her wishes.

Bellosguardo held a shimmering place in Huguette’s memories: those magical summers with her parents, days on the beach and evening concerts on the lawn. She loved her painting studio with canvases and an easel awaiting her return, her peaceful bedroom, the music room adorned with Tadé Styka paintings. Married on the estate overlooking the Pacific Ocean, she could now look back on her brief liaison with equanimity, since she and ex-husband William Gower had ended up as friends. Huguette decided to turn Bellosguardo into an arts foundation. This would be her legacy—the public would be able to enjoy this spot that had once enchanted her family.

Yet drawn by her father’s connection to the Corcoran Gallery, she also wanted to leave something to the museum. “We had discussions about various paintings and what she might want to do about the Corcoran,” Kamsler recalls. She decided to give the Corcoran a valuable Monet, one of more than 250 in the famous
Water Lilies
series painted by the artist. Huguette nervously asked, “Do you think that
will make them happy?” Kamsler’s reply: “I think that they will be ecstatic.”