The Last Princess (28 page)

Lily nodded. She seemed too distracted to comprehend the degree of his concern.

Mrs. Gallagher let him know how relieved she was to have him there. “I’m sure glad you’re staying. I’ll get the room ready for you. I’ve been so worried about the missus I can’t sleep nights.”

After Lily was in bed, Ellis brought her a mug of warm milk with a healthy slug of brandy and honey, then tucked the eiderdown in about her gently. “Sleep well now.”

But it was Ellis whose sleep was restless. Keeping a lonely vigil, he strained for the sound of weeping from her room next door, and twice tiptoed in to check on her.

But miraculously Lily slept through the night. At six o’clock, hearing Mrs. Gallagher in the kitchen, he got up and dressed. “I’m going down to New York and I’ll be back in about five hours. Mrs. Kohle is sleeping right now, but could you please check on her every half-hour or so? And when she wakes up, don’t leave her alone.”

“I’ll do that, Mr. Knox.”

He arrived in New York at just nine o’clock. Chatwick’s was not yet open, but he hammered on the door until they let him in.

The chefs bustled about in the kitchen, carting juicy roasts, savory pies, and newly baked bread back and forth. Ellis selected a succulent tarragon chicken, along with pâté, French bread, imported cheeses, several elegant fruit tarts, and chocolates and had them all packed in a willow hamper lined in blue-and-white-checked cloth along with cutlery, two crystal glasses, and a crisp ’49 Chablis.

With the hamper stowed in the trunk of the car, he turned the key in the ignition and drove back up to the farm. He knew that it seemed quixotic to drive five hours for a picnic basket, but if the gesture pleased Lily and helped take her mind off her sorrows, it was well worth the effort.

At eleven he was driving down the dirt road again, and the dust had barely settled before he was inside the farmhouse, calling, “Lily, get your jacket. We’re going for a drive.”

She was in the kitchen. Mrs. Gallagher had actually gotten her to help knead some dough for bread. Lily balked at the suggestion of a picnic, but Ellis was firm. He feared that if he passively accepted her refusal, she would sink still deeper into her depression.

“Get your jacket, woman. We’re going out.”

Lily was angry as they drove down the front drive. “What right do you have to do this?” she demanded. “I told you I didn’t want to go.”

“That’s too bad,” Ellis said easily. “Since I’m in the driver’s seat.”

Ellis took secret delight in her fierce reaction; even anger was preferable to apathy.

Gaze averted, she maintained a cold silence as Ellis drove down the country lanes. Of all people, she had expected him to understand. And now, suddenly he had become a stranger, at once arrogant and domineering.

He pulled off the road and parked near a grassy clearing in the midst of a grove of maple trees. The sunlight glowed as the lightest of breezes rippled over the field, but Lily did not notice or appreciate the pleasant scene.

Ellis took a steamer blanket out of the trunk and walked to Lily’s side of the car; he opened the door and offered her his hand. Lily frowned but let him lead her to the meadow and settle her on the blanket. As Ellis smoothed out the checked cloth, Lily surveyed the food in the hamper.

“Ellis,” she cried, “you didn’t go all the way to Chatwick’s for these things, did you?”

Ellis grinned.

“I wish you hadn’t. I’m really not worth all this trouble.”

“I’m a better judge of that than you, don’t you think?”

Pouring the wine, he continued. “Lily, I was terribly worried about you last night, you know.”

“Why?”

“All this talk about wanting to go to sleep and never waking up. That frightened me.”

“I’m sorry. That’s the way I feel.”

“Lily, will you please tell me what happened when I was in London?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But this time you
are
going to talk about it!”

“Ellis, can’t you just leave me alone?”

Taking her shoulders, he forced her to look into his eyes, and when she tried to wrench away, he held her even more tightly. He was not going to allow her to escape—not this time.

But his gentle, caring touch had an effect on her. Ellis was such a good friend. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Choking back the sobs, she told Ellis everything that weighed so heavily on her mind.

“Oh God, Ellis!” she cried. “I can’t help feeling as if Harry drove Jeremy to it. The thought tortures me, day and night. It’s terrible, it’s unfair, and I know it. But I just can’t get it out of my mind, and I feel so guilty about even having those thoughts! After all, Jeremy was Harry’s child, too, and I know in my heart that he would never have wished anything evil for him.”

And with that she lost all control. She wept violently, but as Ellis cradled her head on his shoulder once again, he knew that this was a different kind of storm.

Her tears released a flood of revelations. The truth of it was, for however much she blamed Harry, she equally blamed herself. She was Jeremy’s mother, after all. Shouldn’t she have realized how pressured he felt, how despondent he’d become? If Jeremy had died of an accident or illness, she would have gone through that normal period of bereavement, but it was the way he had died that had tormented her. She felt she had failed him, that she could have done something to prevent what he had done. Hadn’t she, in all honesty, projected her own guilt onto Harry because she couldn’t bear it? She had made him the scapegoat in hopes of alleviating her pain. Oh, not deliberately, of course. But gradually, over the time she’d spent at the farm, she came to understand what—albeit subconsciously—she had done. But deep down she knew she was to blame. Drew’s haunting indictment should have been directed at her too.

At long last, Ellis broke the silence. “You realize, don’t you,” he said quietly, “that you have a choice to make? And the only one who can make it is you. The point is, do you still love Harry? Because if you do, you have to forgive him.”

Lily knew how much she had hurt Harry by staying away. But she’d been so fearful of the words she might use against him—in anger or in grief. She had stayed away in part to preserve what remnant of their marriage was still left. But now it was time for her to take positive action. If she still loved Harry, she must.

Even Ellis sensed the change in her emotion. She was at a crossroads and knew it. Ellis hoped against hope she would tell him, “No, I don’t love Harry any longer.” But Lily turned her green eyes upon him and said, “The point is, Ellis, do you think Harry still loves me?”

With a pang, Ellis knew he would have to tell her the truth. “Yes, Lily. I’m sure of it. Now would you like me to drive you home? And I don’t mean the farm.”

Softly, she murmured, “Oh, Ellis, I always seem to be saying the same thing to you. You’re such a dear friend. What would I do without you?”

I
T WAS TWILIGHT AS
Ellis’s car rolled over the Triborough Bridge. The lights of the city were just beginning to turn on. Lily, who since Jeremy’s death had done everything she could to push thoughts of Harry from her mind, was suddenly obsessed with learning about his emotional state. She was hungry for any information Ellis might give her.

“How has Harry been? Has he been working? Oh Ellis—tell me.”

For a moment, he thought of Valerie. Then he recalled the way Harry had looked just yesterday, how low he’d sunk. “He’s been writing. But lately, I think he’s slowed down a bit. It’s been hard for him”—Ellis hesitated—“with you gone.”

When they pulled up in front of Lily’s building, Ellis carried her bags inside for her. “I imagine it would be best for you to go up alone.”

“Yes,” she said slowly. Then, turning, she embraced him and the warmth of her kiss lingered on his cheek as she looked into his eyes. “Thank you … for everything.”

Harry was in the middle of his third Scotch when he heard the key in the lock. Angrily he thought, Valerie again. Several times in the past few days she had come over uninvited, and each time he had sent her away. But it seemed she couldn’t take the hint. Harry cursed himself for ever having become involved with her. Hearing footsteps click on the parquet floor, he rose rather unsteadily and shouted, “Go away!” But speech left him the second he saw Lily framed in the archway.

At the sight of him, she almost gasped. My God, she thought, he looks dreadful. A five-day growth of beard dotted his chin; his eyes were bloodshot and ringed by dark circles. His clothes looked as if he had slept in them and hung loosely, revealing how much weight he’d lost in the past few weeks. A choking pall of cigarette smoke hung over the room.

Even without the empty bottles littering the coffee table Lily would have known that he had been drinking heavily.

As he stared at her mutely, Lily thought in anguish
, What have I done to cause this
?

“Harry?” she began uncertainly, “I’ve come home….”

Without a word, he staggered over to her, flung his arms around her, and began to cry.

She couldn’t understand the fierce, inarticulate things he was mumbling—but she knew what he was trying to convey. Tears coursed down her own cheeks—tears of love, of guilt, of gladness to be in his arms once again.

Finally, raising his head, he looked at her with burning eyes. “Is it really you or am I hallucinating?”

“It’s me, Harry.”

“Oh God, I’ve missed you so!”

Drawing her down onto the sofa, Harry swept her into his arms once again, stroking her hair and kissing her hungrily.

“Harry, I want to explain—”

“Lily, I don’t want to know why you went away,” he interrupted, “or why you stayed away so long. All I care about is that you’re back.”

T
EN MONTHS HAD PASSED
since Jeremy’s death, and though Lily and Harry had reconciled, their guilt surrounding that death still plagued them. In some ways little had changed, for all their mutual pledges.

At first, sensing that Harry didn’t want to talk about him, Lily was careful to avoid all mention of Jeremy. Later, she found it only natural to reminisce about his childhood, about his early years. But Harry seemed to want to blot out all memory of the boy. He cringed every time Lily spoke his name.

For however much Harry tried not to react, and however much Lily tried not to bring up Jeremy, the two of them couldn’t help but gravitate to very different ways to handle their grief.

And so, despite all the trials and heartaches they had weathered, and despite Harry’s promises to change, Lily found herself back in their Sutton Place apartment as isolated and as aimless as she had been when they first moved to the city.

Harry turned to his writing with renewed dedication while Lily grew more unsure of herself than ever. She questioned everything about herself—her abilities and her own worth. There were many days when she was almost afraid to go out of her own apartment. The prospect of moving into a career the way Ellis had proposed so long ago seemed daunting.

Deep down, Lily knew she must turn her energies somewhere, lest she slip back into the severe depression that had overcome her after Jeremy’s death. And she knew she had to carve a niche for herself if she were to survive Harry’s withdrawal.

Yet every time Ellis called with new suggestions as to what to do, she was overcome by anxiety and demurred. “I don’t think I’m really qualified … perhaps something else.”

Aware that she was crippled by self-doubts, Ellis determined to force her hand gently. Finally, he hit upon the idea of calling his friend Joan Lawrence. “There is a woman I’m very anxious for you to meet. She’s Harry Kohle’s wife. She’d like to get involved in some volunteer work. I think she’d be terribly good in the Opera Guild. She lost her oldest son last year, so she has had a rough time recently. What I thought I’d do is have a dinner party for, oh, about ten people, so that you can meet. I think she needs a little push to get herself started again. Are you and George busy Wednesday night?”

“No we’re not, and we’d love to come. I’ll look forward to meeting her.”

As he went down his guest list, he hesitated. He was somehow loath to ask any of the women he dated. It was a quirk he couldn’t explain, but somehow he didn’t want Lily to sit at the same table with anyone with whom he’d been involved.

For his own dinner partner he chose Judith Gold, his associate for some dozen years. Everyone knew their relationship had always been strictly platonic.

The evening was a great success, as Ellis held court at his usual table at “21,” but best of all, Lily seemed to be enjoying herself. He knew that she and Harry almost never went out. Over the years, Harry had become almost a recluse when it came to restaurants; he hated being interrupted to sign autographs for fawning fans. But tonight it was obvious that Lily loved being out on the town for a change. She and Joan took to each other immediately. Before the evening was over, much to Ellis’s delight, Lily had become a patron of the Opera Guild.

Lily was soon pleased to be involved and not long after that propitious evening, she also began to work as a volunteer for the March of Dimes, for which Ellis was a trustee.

But she was far from prepared when one evening Joan called. “Lily, how would you like to be chairman of the Spring Ball?”

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “I couldn’t handle anything like that!” The ball was the biggest fund-raiser of the year.

“Well, Ellis seems to feel that you’re eminently qualified.”

“He does? Oh no, Joan, please find someone else.”

“Well, from what I know of you, I think you’d be fabulous too. You are so good with people, Lily, so good at getting them all to work together.”

Joan elicited a reluctant promise from Lily that she would think about it. As soon as Lily hung up, she dialed Ellis.

“How could you? The biggest social event of the year and you’re trying to put me in charge?”

“Why not?”

“You know that I’ve never done anything in my life like this before!”

“Neither had Lindbergh before his solo flight across the Atlantic,” came the calm reply.