The Last Princess (34 page)

They stayed in an inn which was over two thousand years old and had once housed Roman charioteers. The stable had been converted into a luxury hotel by a New York financier in the twenties. During the war years, it had been used to house refugees, but now it was a hotel again, and Harry and Valerie indulged themselves shamelessly. After the days visiting different desert sites, they were hot and felt permanently dusty, and there was no greater pleasure than to dip into one of the old Roman baths. There was a prescribed succession, from the faintly sulfurous
caldaria
, or hot baths, to the
tepidaria
, to the
frigidaria
, from which Valerie emerged squealing, “How do they get it so cold?”

“It’s good for you,” teased Harry, pulling her back in beside him and kissing her. He could never remember feeling so carefree. It was the best time in his life. He knew that
The Genesis
was to be his masterwork, and this week, he had fallen in love—with Aaron Aaronsohn.

He realized that in an ideal world he would be sharing this miraculous experience with his wife, not his mistress, but then, he consoled himself, life was too short to waste on vain regrets.

He was here, Valerie was here, and they gave each other great pleasure. They swam, they sunned themselves, they made love on the beach by moonlight. After the intense mental and physical exertions of the preceding month, they reveled in the pleasures of their short vacation.

It was on their last night, as they lay on the bed after making love, that the turning point came. The windows were open to the warm Mediterranean breeze, and there was a scent of oranges in the air. Still feeling the afterglow, Harry lay with his arms around Valerie. She uttered a faint sigh.

“What is it?” he asked idly.

“Oh, Harry. I wish this could go on forever,” she blurted out.

He shifted uncomfortably at the fervor in her voice. Deliberately avoiding the point, he said, “What about the book? We can’t just leave it to write itself, now can we?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

As she turned to face him, the moonlight suddenly fell across her face, illuminating it.

“I love you, Harry,” she whispered.

He stared back at her, not knowing what to say. “Valerie, I—”

“You don’t have to say that you love me. I just wanted you to know.”

Tremendous guilt washed over Harry. Subconsciously, he had known that this was coming, yet he had avoided even thinking about where they might be headed. But what had he expected? That he could make love to a woman time and again and still tell her each time, “Remember, this is only an affair.”

He had done absolutely nothing to discourage her. If anything, he had done the opposite, making love to her night after night, spending every day with her, sharing his every thought. Valerie could hardly be blamed for assuming that this was something more to him than a mere affair.

But now that she had brought him face to face with the issue, he had to deal with it head-on. Valerie was sweet, charming, vastly useful—but she wasn’t Lily. It was as simple as that. She had brought him a little oasis of happiness, but his secret soul longed to have that happiness with Lily.

He couldn’t encourage Valerie or allow her to hope. And yet, how could he be unkind? “Valerie, I don’t know what to say. I care for you very much, you know that. And if I were free, who’s to say what might happen between us?”

Valerie listened with rising displeasure. She knew what this was a preamble for. She had taken a risk in displaying her emotions so openly, but she could suppress her feelings no more. And time was at a premium. Once Lily was done with the ball, she would be coming out to Israel to join Harry. It was imperative that Valerie widen the rift between them—and quickly.

Choosing her words shrewdly, she asked with the greatest apparent sincerity, “Harry, can I speak freely with you?”

“Of course you can, Valerie.”

“Well, something has been on my mind for a long time. I have tremendous feelings of guilt about saying anything, but in a way, I feel that you’re not a good friend if you’re not honest.”

“Agreed. That goes without saying.”

“Oh, Harry, it’s just that when you see two people who mean so much to you, and there’s a terrible problem in their lives …”

“Go on,” he said, frowning slightly.

“No …” She hesitated. “No, forget that I said anything. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“But Valerie, you have brought it up. Please tell me.”

With a great show of reluctance, she began. “Well, Harry, over the past year I’ve spent a lot of time with Lily, and gradually I’ve begun to wonder. Do you think she still really and truly is happy being married to you? I mean, if a woman is content with a man she doesn’t keep him at arm’s length….”

“Wait a minute,” Harry interrupted. “Our marriage has gone through an upheaval, there’s no denying that, but I don’t think that it’s anything that, given time, can’t be worked out.”

“You’re probably right, Harry. Just forget that I brought it up.”

But something within him wouldn’t let it go at that. “Valerie, do you know something I don’t? Has Lily actually said anything to you about not being happy?”

She looked at him for a long moment, then averted her eyes.

“Well, is there?” he probed.

Heaving a deep sigh, she finally said, “No, not in so many words. But it’s just that when we were talking and I urged her to come to Israel with you, she kept saying … well, frankly, what she seemed most concerned about was not letting Ellis down.”

“Not letting Ellis down!” Harry exclaimed. “In other words she cares more about pleasing him than pleasing me?”

Valerie’s expression was troubled as she replied, “Well, you know, Harry, she and he are very close friends. You know—oh, I shouldn’t say this. I’ve said much too much already.”

But Harry said grimly, “Now, there’s something you’re holding back. I want to hear it.”

Swallowing hard, Valerie said gently, “Harry, Ellis is in love with Lily. Don’t you know that?”

“No, dammit—I don’t!”

She shook her head. “It’s so apparent. It’s there every time he looks at her, every time he talks to her. You haven’t seen it because you haven’t wanted to.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Harry exploded. “He’s my agent, and my best friend. He has been for many, many years. There’s nothing between him and Lily but honest friendship.”

But in spite of his bravado, Valerie’s words came as a terrible shock. It seemed impossible—and yet, Lily had refused to come with him. Could that damned ball really have been the entire reason? No, it was absurd. Curtly he told Valerie, “I think you’ve misinterpreted the situation. Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

Soothingly she whispered, “Of course, Harry, darling. I’m sorry I brought it up. I’m sure it’s better not to think about it.”

But inwardly she felt triumphant. His anger was directed not at her, but at the very thought of his wife’s being unfaithful. She had planted the seed of doubt and mistrust. She suspected she’d hit upon fertile soil.

Turning to him, Valerie whispered urgently, “Hold me, Harry.” As she twisted closer, a fierce desire came over him and he made love to her again, almost savagely.

But the next day, as they drove back to Safed, Valerie sensed a subtle but definite change in him—a certain reserve, a withdrawing from their intimacy, and that afternoon, when they arrived back at Safed, he threw himself back into his work with renewed intensity, as though he might erase the sensual indulgences of Caesarea.

That same night, he called Lily. It was time to forget his pride and beg her to come. Valerie was wrong about Ellis, but somehow he was filled with an intense longing to see his wife, a longing he hadn’t felt for some time.

But unexpectedly, as he waited for her to answer the ringing phone, he was overcome by a renewed wave of hurt and anger—and jealousy. Unbidden came the thought of Ellis, in constant contact with her….

And then Lily answered. Over the scratchy connection, he heard, “Harry, I’m so glad to hear your voice! … How is the work going?”

Silently, Harry cursed the long distance between them and the barrier of the phone. “Fine, Lily.”

“I’m glad, darling.”

Forcing himself to sound pleasant, he asked, “How are the preparations for the ball coming along?”

“Oh, it’s all going beautifully.”

With Ellis’s help?
There was a long moment of silence as he fought with himself, but finally, abandoning his pride, he blurted out, “Lily, I want you to come out now—right away. I need you.”

“But Harry, darling … ,” Lily cried helplessly. “The ball is only two weeks away! And I need to make arrangements for the children’s summer camp. It’s impossible for me to come now; it really is. I’m sorry, darling, but it won’t be long now….”

Rage swelled in him. He’d always held on to the hope that if he really begged her, she’d come. But clearly she planned to stay thousands of miles from him … and only blocks from Ellis. It’s no wonder, Harry thought to himself, that he’d embarked on this uneasy affair with Valerie. Was it so strange to seek out other company after months of being shut out by your wife?

But at that moment, he didn’t think of his adulterous relationship with Valerie; that seemed irrelevant. What was important was that Lily’s allegiance to Ellis seemed stronger than her allegiance to him.

“I’ll be out just as soon as I can, darling,” she added quickly. “The day after the ball, in fact. But I just can’t let Ellis and everybody else down now.”

At his utter silence, Lily hesitated, then said, “Harry? I am sorry that I can’t come now, and I know that you’re unhappy with me …”

“Oh, spare me your excuses, Lily!” he suddenly snapped. “If—the ball”—he had almost said Ellis’s name—“is more important to you than I am, then so be it. I’ve told you that I want you, but if you’re too busy or not interested, then fine. I’m not going to force you.”

Lily clutched the receiver tightly. “Harry, you don’t understand…. I really would if I could….”

“I think I do understand, Lily—all too well. Listen, have fun with your ball. I’m sure it will be a huge success. Good-bye.”

“Harry,” she cried. But he had already hung up.

His breathing gradually returning to normal, an odd sense of relief diluted his anger. If he’d had pangs of guilt over sleeping with Valerie, he wasn’t troubled by them now.

Lily had chosen once again to place him last on her list of priorities—and the more he thought about it, the more defiant he grew. He could just pick up with Valerie where they’d stopped.

He switched out the light and strode from his study, slamming the door behind him. After a perfunctory tap on Valerie’s door, he entered to find her lounging on the bed in a brief satin negligee.

“Tired?” he asked.

A slow, enchanting smile lit her face. “Not a bit.” She clarified her statement. “Not now.”

And once again, they came passionately together.

T
HE NEXT DAY IN
New York, as Lily sat with the members of her committee over lunch, she scarcely heard what anyone was saying. The conversation with Harry haunted her thoughts.

His peremptory demand had been totally unreasonable, but then, what if something had come up? What if he just had to see her? Wasn’t yesterday’s call the one she’d been waiting for? He hadn’t begged her really, or said “I love you.” But his simple “I need you” spoke for itself.

All night she lay awake berating herself. Her place was with her husband; she should not have allowed anybody to convince her otherwise, even Valerie.

“You’re certainly in a fog today,” she heard her friend Joan say teasingly.

Smiling, Lily returned quietly, “Will you all excuse me for a moment? I need to make a phone call. There’s something I forgot.”

Once inside the booth, she dialed a familiar number. “Ellis, this is Lily. Can you come to dinner tonight?”

“Is anything wrong?” he asked with quick perception.

“No, not really. Are you free?”

“For you, my dear, I’d give up a meeting with Hemingway himself.”

“How about seven, at my place? I want to cook for you.”

She desperately needed to do something, to occupy herself with hard work. She went out and made the rounds of her favorite food shops. She wanted only the best for Ellis.

The butcher found her two of the thickest, tenderest fillets, the fishmonger a dozen fresh Blue Points to be served on the half-shell; the greengrocer, truffles, shallots, and dainty white asparagus flown in from France. While picking up fresh apricots and cream, she decided to bake a French fruit tart, an elegant version of a pie that had been Ellis’s favorite from her days on the farm. Finally, she selected a lovely ’47 Château Lafite and hurried home to start her preparations. It was so wonderful to have someone to cook for for a change.

Promptly at seven the doorbell rang, and Lily, having just closed the oven door on the tart, glanced at the clock, took off her apron, and ran to the door, smoothing her hair.

There stood Ellis, half hidden by an enormous bouquet. The first spring lilies had just come into bloom, and the fragrance was heady. In his hand were a bottle of Dom Pérignon and a box of elegant Swiss chocolates.

“Oh Ellis! You shouldn’t have!”

“I think you deserve a few treats, Lily,” he smiled.

“You’re too good to me, you know.”

Reaching up, she kissed his cheek lightly. “I don’t know if I deserve it, but it’s sweet of you anyway, Ellis. Now why don’t you go in and help yourself to a drink. I’ll be right with you.”

Lily surveyed the kitchen one last time. The tournedos Rossini were ready to go on; hers would be medium rare but she remembered Ellis liked his rare. The tart would take another thirty minutes.

Returning to the living room, she found Ellis turning from the bar with two glasses. “I took the liberty of making you a martini.”

She took one and sipped lightly, then smiled up at him. “Perfect. You do make the most marvelous martini, Ellis.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He bowed slightly, accepting the compliment. “After all these years, I think I can mix it to your taste.”