The Last Princess (18 page)

“It’s not best for him,” she sobbed. “It’s not best for him to be sent away from his home and his mother.”

“Okay, okay! Have it your way,” he exploded. “But if Jeremy’s marks this next term don’t show a big improvement, he’s going to some kind of prep school.”

Harry spent a cold night on the sofa and was up very early the next morning. After dressing quickly, he dialed Ellis’s number and asked without preamble, “Are you free for lunch?”

“Sure. Say, one o’clock?”

He could hardly wait to get out of the house. Usually his and Lily’s grievances were short-lived, but for some reason, the subject of Jeremy stuck in his craw. He hoped lunch with Ellis would restore his good humor and perhaps his sense of proportion. One reason Harry was so furious with Lily was that even though her own method of raising Jeremy might be flawed, Harry knew his was equally at fault.

After ordering, Ellis and Harry talked a while about the current sales figures for
Mountains.
“It’s doing even better than the others.” Ellis smiled. “You’re going to make a mint.”

Harry shrugged. “The review in the
Times
wasn’t so good.”

“Come on, all they said was that the central character wasn’t as sharply etched as Archie Sanger. Other than that, it was quite favorable. Don’t take it all so much to heart.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Ellis laughed. “Your problem is that you’re never satisfied. The
Atlantic
loved it. You can’t please everyone.” Then, looking at him more closely, Ellis asked, “Harry, what else is bothering you?”

“It’s Lily,” said Harry, realizing the reason he’d come in for lunch was to share his problem. “She and I … well, the fact of the matter is we’ve been going round and round about Jeremy. I think that the boy should go away to school, and she is vehemently opposed to having any of the children leave home. It’s the only thing we ever fight about.”

“Well, she’s terribly devoted to those children.”

“That’s all fine, but I think she wants to keep them tied to her apron strings forever, and she mollycoddles Jeremy to death.”

“How old is the boy? Eleven? Maybe she thinks he’s a little young to go away.”

Stubbing out his cigarette viciously, Harry frowned. “Yes, but dammit, he just isn’t doing well at the school he’s going to. Lily’s a wonderful mother—and a wonderful wife, the best—but she just doesn’t crack the whip. They run the house, not she.”

“From what I’ve seen, Jeremy seems like a rather quiet, tractable kid,” Ellis said quietly. “Perhaps Lily doesn’t feel he would benefit from more discipline.”

Barely hearing the other man’s words, Harry continued. “He’s a smart boy. And by God, he’s going to make it, or else!”

“Like his father,” Ellis said ironically.

But the gentle sarcasm was lost on Harry. “I don’t mean to bore you with my problems, Ellis. It’s just that Lily and I so rarely argue. I don’t want to make her unhappy, but I just don’t feel I can give in on this issue. What the hell should I do?”

Ellis paused reflectively. “Well, you probably won’t change her mind by arguing, but maybe you can alter her point of view. Isolated out there on the farm, she’s gotten so close to the children that she may have lost her sense of proportion. Perhaps you all need a change.”

“Like what, a vacation?”

“Have you ever thought of moving? The war in Europe is almost over and when it ends in the Pacific there’s going to be an enormous housing shortage. Now is a perfect time to make an investment.”

“Leave the farm?”

“Is that such a radical idea? The farmhouse is charming, and I know how happy you’ve been there—but one of these days, now that there isn’t any financial imperative, you might like to scale back on your writing schedule and move a little closer to the city. I think that perhaps what Lily needs is some new interests.”

Harry looked at him with dawning interest. “A new house? You know, it’s incredible, but I’ve never thought of it. We’ve lived on the farm for so long.”

“You’ve had such tunnel vision, Harry. You’ve worked like a demon. Not that as your agent I want to discourage you, but as your friend I think that both you and Lily could benefit from being less isolated.”

As they ate their lunch, Harry mused. “I don’t want to live in Manhattan, I know that much. I can’t write when there are so many temptations and distractions.” A sudden vision of his parents’ brownstone loomed before him.

Thoughtfully, Ellis said, “You know, I saw a property in Greenwich not too long ago that was the most magnificent piece of real estate. If I were married with children, I would have bought it on the spot.” Continuing, he rhapsodized, “Ten of the most verdant, beautiful acres on God’s green earth. A low, rolling meadowland which gradually sweeps up to the crest of a hill and at the summit, the panorama is indescribable, bluish-purple mountains to the west, a lake to the east which is so clear and calm that it reflects the sky and the trees like a mirror, and when the sun rises over it in a blaze of pinks and golds, well, you just have to see it.”

Forgetting that Ellis too had been a writer, Harry was startled to hear him so lyrical about a country property.

“And you think it might be right for Lily and me?”

“I can’t imagine a more beautiful setting.” Ellis choked back the next words: “for Lily.” He could picture her in a lovely white frame house, with roses rioting over the veranda and smooth lawns stretching down to the beach. She would give it the same warmth and graciousness she had the farm, he thought enviously, little dreaming of the imposing modern house that had leapt into Harry’s mind.

“By God, I’m going to go see it this afternoon,” Harry exclaimed. “Who’s handling the property?”

As he bid Ellis good-bye, his head was awhirl with his new idea. Damned if Ellis wasn’t right! He and Lily deserved to enjoy the fruits of his success. Until the publication of
The Mountains Roared
, Harry himself had been afraid to accept his financial worth, but now, with the final novel of the trilogy firmly perched atop the bestseller list, he could admit that he was not only a famous author but also a very wealthy man. He had once promised Lily he’d buy her the moon. Well, he could start by getting her an estate like the one where she’d lived as a child.

Strangely, as he drove through Westchester, the image of Lily faded, to be replaced by a picture of his father. And the house of his dreams was nothing like the warm, happy home Lily would have wanted but was instead a stark, modern showplace that would convince Benjamin Kohle that his youngest son had made it big without any help from his father. He began to dream of a glass palace, perhaps designed by Mies van der Rohe. And when it was finished, he would have a party that would set Manhattan on its ear. It would be the social event of the year.

It was late in the afternoon when he finally stood at the top of the hill and surveyed the panorama, even more magnificent than Ellis had said. The vista left him awestruck.

Taking one last look, he ran down the rolling slope through the meadow with a sense of freedom he had never felt before and jumped into his car. This was his—and he had to secure it before someone else discovered it. He didn’t even flinch when the agent told him. “The price is three hundred thousand dollars.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, he wrote out a check for fifty thousand as a deposit. This would be a total surprise for Lily, a wonderful surprise.

When Harry arrived home in a state of euphoria, all the discord was completely forgotten. He and Lily embraced and forgave each other, and made love that night.

The next day, as soon as the bus had disappeared, Harry said gaily, “Lily, darling, I’m not going to work today. I just feel like going for a drive. I want to celebrate.”

“What are we celebrating?” Lily asked, bemused.

“You and me.”

Laughingly, she said, “Okay. Shall I bring a picnic with champagne?”

“Absolutely.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

As they drove along, Lily’s spirits rose even higher. Harry was as charming as the night they met. They talked about a multitude of inconsequential things, for the first time in a long time. It was as though they were getting to know each other once again, and Lily was so happy that she paid no attention to where they were going until Harry pulled off a country road, saying, “This looks like a good place for a picnic.”

They set off down the narrow lane hand in hand. The meadow, facing Long Island Sound, was the color of ripe wheat and scores of sailboats dotted the water.

As they stood in rapt silence admiring the view, Lily became aware of a feeling of expectancy. It was as if Harry were waiting for her approval. “Have you been here before?” she asked.

When he didn’t answer, her suspicion grew. “Harry, what is going on?”

He turned to her and she saw that his eyes were alight with excitement. “Darling, I wanted it to be a surprise. I bought this property yesterday, Lily. Don’t you love it?”

“For us—to live on?” she asked incredulously.

“Can you think of a more magnificent site to build our dream house?”

“That’s not the point. You bought this property without even asking me? Harry, how could you? Doesn’t my opinion count for anything with you anymore? Suppose I hated this place?”

“I thought you would be thrilled,” he shot back defensively. “I only wanted to surprise you!”

“You might have asked me what I thought would make me happy. Have you ever heard me express a desire for a dream house?”

For a moment they stared at each other angrily. Then Harry said, “Lily, if you don’t want this place, I’ll simply cancel my offer and stop my check. I’m not going to argue with you about a goddamn house. I only did it for you.”

In reality, their argument was not about real estate. However, neither could tell the other what was in his heart.

It wasn’t that Lily disliked the property, it was that in buying it without consulting her, Harry had reinforced her lack of self-esteem. Harry, on the other hand, felt she was being unreasonable, just as she was when they discussed Jeremy. The two issues somehow merged in his mind. He stood staring stonily at the water. Lily turned to continue arguing, but seeing his bleak expression she softened. For the first time since the publication of
Archie Sanger,
he seemed hurt and vulnerable. Suddenly she felt utterly ungrateful. Of course he had done this as a wonderful surprise, not to demean her.

Slowly she reached out, touched his arm. “It
is
beautiful, Harry.”

He turned and searched her face. Was she merely acquiescing, or did she truly understand?

“Do you really like it? Because if you don’t, I’ll just tell the realtor we’ve changed our minds.”

“No, Harry, keep it,” she said softly. “We’ll build our dream house.”

As they celebrated over champagne, neither realized just how different their respective dream houses could be.

H
ARRY HIRED MIES VAN
der Rohe, the most prestigious architect in America. When Lily first saw the plans she almost fainted. The preliminary drawings were so stark, so austere, she found it difficult to imagine herself living in such a house. She had visualized a charming farmhouse, like those she had admired so in Provence, but having made the commitment to the property, she didn’t want to upset Harry now. It seemed so important to him. So what he loved was a house of chrome, marble, and glass—then she would learn to love it too. After all, she was married not to a house but to a man.

After the groundbreaking, they drove out to the site frequently, even though no real work would begin until the spring. Even that would be delayed by the difficulty in buying materials. All winter Harry was as impatient as a small boy and for the first time in years he was happy to be called out of his study to join the family. It was as if his obsession with the house had eroded his devotion to work.

Lily was happier than she’d been in years, until one day at the end of May Jeremy came home from his next-to-last day of school, went into his room, and locked the door. At five o’clock, Lily, busy with dinner, realized that she hadn’t seen him since he had gotten home.

She went to the door, tried the handle, and found it locked. “Jeremy?”

Rattling the handle, she suddenly felt panicky. “Jeremy, open the door!”

Finally the knob turned and she saw a wan, red-eyed boy. “Darling, what’s wrong?” she cried, drawing him into her arms. “What—”

Then her eyes fell on the small rectangle lying facedown on the bed, and she knew. “Jeremy, is that your report card?”

He watched in silence as she read with a sinking heart the solid line of Cs—with a single A in art.

“Oh, Jeremy,” she cried softly. “Oh, sweetheart—”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he mumbled, tears beginning to roll down his face again. “I tried—I really did.”

“I know, darling,” she said, drawing him onto her lap and stroking his head gently. “Don’t cry now.”

“But Daddy will be so angry!” he wailed.

“We’ll tell him together. Please, don’t cry.”

In truth, Lily had always been perplexed by Jeremy’s inability to master reading. He might not be brilliant, but he was certainly as intelligent as most children. But he had never seemed to grasp the difference between a “b” and a “d,” and had always confused “dog” and “god.” All year she had drilled him, but it seemed to do no good.

It was baffling, but at the moment Lily’s main concern was how they were going to face Harry.

That night, after the children had gone to their rooms, Harry sat at the kitchen table while Lily asked, “More pie?”

“No, thank you, dear. Just a little more coffee.”

Pouring a cup for him, she took a deep breath.

“Darling, Jeremy got his report card today, and frankly, I don’t think you’ll be pleased.”

Harry scanned the proffered card and his face grew livid. Slamming his hand down on the table, he shouted, “This is it, Lily. I’m not going to settle for this! Jeremy is going to boarding school next fall. Whether you like it or not.” He jumped up and stalked down the hall to his study with Lily at his heels.