Tidal Wave (16 page)

“Robert and I were fearful about how our mother would take his death. We need not have been. She was remarkable. She sat us down and said, ‘Your father and I never intended you to be distressed at my being left alone now that he is gone. I have always felt since I survived the detention camps that I have been living on borrowed time. I have had more, more than I ever dreamed I would have in my life. Every day your father and I were together was a bonus. Every moment of shared love with him was like a miracle. That was the lesson I learned from being a prisoner in Loebok Linggau. Only your father’s body has gone. He will be with me always. Nothing will change for me. I will live my life out here with him by my side the best way I can.’

“After father’s death, my brother and I often talked about our parent’s love affair, wondering if we ourselves would ever be lucky enough to have such an experience. We were young then, but we recognized that theirs was a very special relationship.

“It was Robert who said that he supposed that if we didn’t, then the love affair we had as a family was at least a fair compensation. I had to agree with him.

“W.R. had been dying of cancer for six months. He did not tell Raine or us because he felt that he could not bear to inflict one more agonizing death on his adored wife’s
life. He swallowed one lethal tablet at teatime on that Sunday afternoon in the garden because he knew the secret could not be kept from her much longer. The roses were blooming, the family was happy and together. It seemed the right time to leave us. That was what he wrote in his letter.

“Robert and I feel that our father died as we had always known him — a courageous, responsible, honorable gentleman, deeply in love with his wife and children.

“Well,” said Arabella, “now you know from what stock I come! I’ve told you more about myself then I’ve ever told anyone. I didn’t intend to go on at such length. I’ve held it all inside for so long.”

Nicholas replied, “I knew you were extraordinary but I could never guess that you were part of the two men I most admire — your father and F.D.R. I’m speechless!”

They smiled at each other, then closed their eyes and relaxed in the dying rays of the sun.

Later Nicholas touched Arabella lightly on the shoulder. “The sun’s setting now,” he said, as he helped her out of her chair.

They walked away from their fellow passengers to the rail and looked down into the waves. Nicholas turned his back to the ocean, leaned against the rail, and looked at Arabella.

“I love the sound of the ocean,” he said, “the way it calls out as it laps against the ship and sings a watery refrain while being sliced through by the prow of the ship. I have a wonderful schooner. She is worse than a mistress, demanding to be cared for and loved, used all the time. I do love her and I think you would like her too. She’s called
Marigold
.”

Arabella imagined a sleek, elegant schooner in full sail against the wind, Nicholas at the helm. She had a jolt as she realized she had included herself in the picture, standing next to him, an indication of how much she wanted to be with him.

They moved toward the door to the bar on the observation
deck. Sensing that Nicholas seemed preoccupied, Arabella smiled at him and said, “Nicholas, if you have things to do, don’t worry about me. I’m quite happy.”

She saw the look of surprise come into his face and, to her slight annoyance, a touch of relief close behind.

“It’s been a lovely day from the moment I woke up and found you next to me,” he said, in what seemed an almost too-smooth manner, as if the spell of the moment had been broken.

Suddenly Arabella suffered that dreadful sinking feeling most women experience at some time in their lives when the man they want seems inexplicably distant. There is that terrifying split second when you feel him drift away, making you want to call out and say, “Don’t leave me.” Then all the traditional female conditioning compounds the agony by requiring silence, because, in most cases, if you let a man know you are suffering from fear of loss, you are sure to lose him. Funny, thought Arabella, it’s never like that when the circumstances are reversed. It’s still unfair and lopsided, the man-and-woman game of love. She pulled herself out of that lurching, downward emotional spiral and smiled to herself, thinking how fortunate she was having learned how to think of herself as an equal with men — in business and in love. All thanks to Anthony Quartermaine.

Nicholas said, “I’ll call you soon.”

“Yes, soon,” she repeated, all the while thinking, Why do they do it? How many women get hung up, are made to wait by the telephone because some man has left them dangling with that “I’ll call you soon”? Have they any idea how cruel it is and, if they did, would they stop? Arabella doubted it.

Nicholas could tell by the tone of her voice that Arabella was annoyed with him. Yet it was that same something, proud and sure, that attracted him to her, in addition to her beauty and sexuality. He felt a twinge in his loins thinking of the night before when he had broken through that pride, beauty, and confidence.

For a moment he had the notion to change his mind, his
plans, bend forward and whisper, “Come on downstairs. I have a tremendous yen to make love to you.” He wanted to reach out and touch her, but instead he gave her the charming Nicholas Frayne smile and said, “I’m sorry about dinner tonight, but I have plans I can’t change. I’m having a working supper with Marvin. I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. How about some skeet-shooting tomorrow before lunch? Will you join me?”

“Yes, I’d like to.”

She turned back to the ocean. He moved closer to her and said softly, “I won’t kiss you good-bye — it seems so public here. Don’t you sense all the eyes in the bar are fixed on us?” Automatically they inched away from one another, remembering that they were, indeed, not alone.

“Yes, I think you’re right.” Arabella looked at the windows of the Observatory Bar. There was a glow from within that increased as the night grew darker around them.

“If you want to come to me later, Arabella, you have my key.” He brushed her cheek quickly with his fingertips and was gone.

She listened to his footsteps as he walked away, astonished that he assumed she would go to him a second time. She had actually forgotten to return the key to him, but now she made up her mind that she would not use it. If he wanted her, he would have to come after her, make the moves.

To resist any temptation, Arabella pulled her hand out of her pocket, stretched her arm straight out over the ship’s rail, opened her fist and, smiling to herself smugly, said, “I
had
your key,” as it dropped into the ocean far below.

There was just a twinge of regret and then she remembered one of W.R.’s most famous lines: “Empty gestures are full of vanity, selfishness, and ego.”

She began to laugh at herself, an ability that she considered one of her greatest assets. Pulling the lapels of luscious fur up around her neck, she hurried inside.

Chapter Eleven

Nicholas Frayne stood in the doorway between the sitting room and dining room of Marvin Kandy’s suite. He listened to the tap-tap-tapping of rapid typing and watched the two secretaries, Wendy Sears and Margaret Nettleworth, their fingers flying, working over the revised press release and personal letters.

The intricately carved antique dining table was piled high with neat stacks of Nicholas Frayne’s letterhead, boxes of envelopes, and printed invitations. Several posters were rolled up and secured by rubber bands. One large poster was stretched out flat and held down at four corners by a box of paper clips, a Scotch tape dispenser, a bottle of Perrier, and a dictionary.

Marvin finished reading the typed sheet of paper in his hand. Smiling, he looked up at Nicholas and walked past the two women working at the table. He patted each of them lightly on the shoulder, saying “Terrific. Just perfect. These are the last pages to be typed, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Nettleworth.

Marvin had a broad smile across his face, the sort of smile that comes with deep satisfaction for a job well done, a certain knowledge that you are right, on a winning ticket. He put a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder, looked up, and said, “I figure about fifteen minutes. That’s all, Nick, just fifteen minutes to proofread the last page.”

“Right,” Nicholas said and looked over Marvin’s shoulder at Mrs. Nettleworth. “Margaret, you must be exhausted. You and Wendy have both been wonderful.”

The two women looked up from their typewriters. These
few appreciative words and the famous Nicholas Frayne smile were like a shot of adrenaline for them.

Mrs. Nettleworth said, “Not exhausted, Mr. Frayne, just a bit overworked, but well worth it. I’ve often worked this hard before, but never have I been ‘forced’ to take a cruise to do it!”

They all laughed at that and then she continued. “The press announcement is marked for ‘immediate release,’ so the telex ought to be sent before the New York newspapers close.”

Mrs. Nettleworth picked up a folder and said, “This is the personal statement explaining why you are leaving films and going into politics and the evolution of that decision. It’s edited now. Would you like to look through it?”

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea.” Nicholas sat in a large wing chair, put his glasses on, and read the statement he’d begun drafting in his mind years ago. He let his hands fall into his lap as he considered for the thousandth time how different life would be — and now it was all going to happen in a very short time. And what would Arabella think! One day she’d been courted by a movie star, the next day a gubernatorial candidate. One day he was an unattached bachelor, the next day …

Marvin interrupted his thoughts. “What do you say, Nick — let’s the four of us have our dinner here in my dining room to finalize all the details before the news media hits us.”

“That’s fine, Marv, fine.”

Marvin ordered a delicious meal for them. The two women continued their work and the two men left for a quick drink together in the Vanya Bar.

As they were walking down the long corridor, Marvin, burning with enthusiasm and eagerness to begin what was a new life for him as well, said, “Nick, it’s a terrific press release, and in less than an hour’s time we’ll have telexed our news around the world. We begin a new era together, and I feel great about it!”

“So do I. It has been a long time coming, Marv, and I’m very glad you are with me.”

“There are many, many people with you. Although I hate losing you as an actor and director, I sure as hell am going to like working for you as Governor.”

“Thanks, Marv. It helps a great deal to know you’re always there.”

“You know, that Wendy’s been just great. And of course Mrs. Nettleworth keeps us all going. They’ve both been real troopers. As a matter of fact, let’s go down to that floating Rodeo Drive and see if we can’t find a surprise for them. I wouldn’t mind buying them each an expensive bottle of perfume or something. Just a little gesture to show how much we appreciate their work.”

“I should have thought of that. Of course let’s go.”

The perfumery was still open. The two men stood among the crystal bottles and jars, boxes of soaps, dusting powder, and exquisite perfumes, while the salesgirl wrapped up Marvin’s selections.

He said to Nicholas, “I wish you weren’t so set against that poster — the one you rejected with the emphatic no. That poster could get you a million votes.”

“I won’t have it, Marv, and that’s final. It’s too Hollywood, too movie-starish. Granted, it says it all, but it’s too flip an image. It’s too slick. It has too much of a playboy look to it, an image I never really had as an actor and I certainly don’t want now!”

“You’re wrong, Nick. You’re oversensitive about winning politically on your good looks. No one is hanging a label of playboy on you. The serious part of your character is well established. The whole world knows you’ve spent a lifetime committing yourself to things that could easily have ruined your career — like your antiwar protests, your conservation efforts, your support of ERA and gay rights. You may be a handsome profile on a poster, but the public will relate to the Nicholas Frayne they know — the actor
and
the supporter of ideals and ideas.

“The public thinks of you as a socially significant actor,
like Brando, Redford, Fonda. No, I’ll tell you — you’re wrong, Nick. The more handsome the poster, the more they’ll see the man behind it. Don’t be a schmuck, Nick. Look at the Kennedys. They understood that it was no sin to be a good-looking politician.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Marv. You may be right. But I just feel this is no time to be the least flippant about my intentions.”

“Well, I think you’re overreacting. You’ve always been taken seriously, in everything you’ve ever done. Why should they see you any differently now? Look, you’ll feel much better after the first press conference on the dock in New York and we’ve heard what the papers have to say. Forget about the posters for now. We can hold off until then.”

“Good idea. Let me think about it.”

Nicholas picked up a bottle of Armani perfume, unscrewed the top, and took a whiff. He listened as Marvin went on. “I just have to say, Nick, you’ve got to get over this thing you’ve got about photography in general. This poster can wait, but not forever! And really, it’s such a great shot!— standing with one foot up on the rail, bending forward and throwing your hat into the ring.”

The essence of Armani flooded Nicholas’s senses and he momentarily forgot about the press release, the poster, and the campaign to put him in the Governor’s mansion in his home state, Rhode Island. The fruity, floral aroma of jasmine, Bulgarian roses, cassis, basil, coriander, and musk reminded him of Arabella. She was indeed like flowers and fruit, spices and sexual secretions all blended together. Natural yet exotic, a vision coming from the earth and ripened by the sun and the moon.

He passed the tester under his nose again, then held it under Marvin’s nose and said, “How about this for a fragrance? Mmmm. I wonder how Arabella would like to bathe in this.”

“Well, why don’t you find out? It’s a terrific idea!”

Nicholas purchased two giant-sized bottles. He had one
sent to Arabella’s stateroom and the other to his, a note attached to each.

Then the two men left for a drink at the bar. From there they went to the communications office to deliver the press release tucked away in Marvin’s breast pocket. The communications office on board the
Tatanya Annanovna
was an average-sized room with several telephones, telex machines, and telegraph operators. The center contained the most sophisticated equipment available, enabling the ship to communicate instantly, twenty-four hours a day, with any place in the world without delay. Linked to satellites and computers, it offered better telephone, telex, and cable facilities than the average small city in Europe. Gone were the days of having to link by ship-to-shore radio in order to receive or make a call.

Nicholas and Marvin were standing in the communications room with the purser and the communications officer. An assistant was telexing the press release to Reuters news service and several specific top reporters on newspapers across the States. Nicholas wondered why in God’s name he hadn’t taken the time when they were up on deck that afternoon to tell Arabella of this enormous change in his life.

Why wasn’t she there next to him when he telexed his news to the world? That afternoon their relationship had seemed all too new to him and holding back seemed natural. Was he mad? Here he was, only hours later, and her not being there felt
unnatural
. Well, it wouldn’t happen again, he thought. We’ll have a lifetime together and there’ll be just as many important moments like this for us to share.

Marvin Kandy was not considered to be one of Hollywood’s top three agents for nothing. His devotion to his clients and interest in their welfare combined with an innate ability to do the right thing at the right moment was common knowledge. As the message began feeding itself irretrievably around the world, a waiter arrived with champagne glasses and a jeroboam of Dom Perignon 1967.

The communications officer began reading aloud from the printout:

“ ‘This evening, on board the S.S.
Tatanya Annanovna
, somewhere at sea, Mr. Nicholas Frayne announced his candidacy for the Governorship of the State of Rhode Island, his home state. After considering at great length the choice between his work as an actor and director, bringing entertainment to a vast public and a political career, he has made the decision to run. Mr. Frayne is retiring from the acting profession in the hope of representing the people of his state in their rights for good government. It is with heartfelt thanks to the public around the world who have supported him as an actor and director that he leaves them. Mr. Frayne hopes that the people of his state will support him, not as an actor now, but as a representative of their wishes so that he may fight for a better life, a better homeland, and a better world ….’”

The small group broke into spontaneous applause. The communications officer continued, breaking off only briefly to say, “Congratulations and good luck, sir.”

As usual, with precision timing, Marvin let the cork on the champagne fly.

The party in the purser’s office became excited when the communications officer completed his telex and the machine immediately began tapping out a message from Reuters:

“Here we go,” said Marvin, as he drained his glass and held it up to be refilled. Then he began dictating the reply to the communications officer:

The ship’s purser and his assistant were obviously thrilled to be present at such an event and asked if they might post a copy of the press release on the purser’s announcement board. It was Marvin who tapped on the desk for attention and emotionally gave the toast that no one else dared to.

He said, “I should like to propose a toast to a good friend and brilliant mind, a caring human being, Mr. Nicholas Frayne, the next Governor of the State of Rhode Island, and a future President of the United States.”

There was a split second of silence, almost reverent, broken by “Hear, hear,” from the assembled company.

“Well, it’s all out now,” said a very happy, smiling Nicholas.

The four campaign comrades reunited in the dining room of Marvin’s Yalta suite and had a delicious dinner of pâté, saddle of lamb with tiny peas and potatoes, and a Grand Marnier mousse served to them while they talked politics and planned the next moves to be made. During the meal, Marvin slipped a sealed envelope to Nicholas. “Take this with you to read later,” he said. “I know you’ll find it significant.”

At a little past midnight Mrs. Nettleworth excused herself, took her package of perfume — Balenciaga’s Le Dix — kissed Nicholas and Marvin on the cheek, thanked Wendy Sears for being so conscientious and good in her work, and left.

Nicholas thought Arabella must surely be waiting for him, wondering where he was.

When he entered the room, the curtains had been drawn and a light had been turned on. The huge package from the perfumery was sitting unwrapped on the coffee table. He called for Arabella; no answer. He went into his bedroom. The bed had been turned down but she was not in it and, it seemed, had not been. He was suddenly distressed and overcome with feelings of anxiety. What if she would see the announcement before he had an opportunity to speak with her? Would she feel betrayed? He knew he had to see her now.

He picked up the telephone and called her cabin. The telephone rang and rang. He hung up and went to the small pantry and poured himself a cup of coffee, walked back to the drawing room and sat down, wondering where she might be, why she had not come. He untied the parcel meant for her, broke the seal on the Armani, and passed the stopper under his nose. The mixed aromas of the coffee and perfume aroused his senses and his thoughts turned sexual.

Nicholas finished his coffee and went searching for Arabella. Not finding her in the ship’s public rooms, he began looking outside on the various decks — even going to the spot where he had left her that afternoon. She wasn’t there either. He hoped she was not with another man.

It was past two in the morning as he continued looking for her on the lighted decks. There was an eerie vastness, an unending emptiness as the ship seemed to meld with the night. The Vanya Bar was nearly deserted, the library silent. The only signs of life were the few sailors going about their duites like sleepwalkers on a ghost ship, the muffled sounds of people finishing off their evenings in their rooms, or the occasional couple strolling arm in arm through the long, softly lit corridors to a cabin. From behind a glass door on deck Nicholas watched a ship’s officer slip his hands beneath the fur coat of a beautiful young woman. There was something sensual, isolated, and raunchy about the deserted ship that made Nicholas feel not only sexy but a particular combination of romantic and depraved.