The Last Princess (4 page)

Trying to hide her frustration, she said evenly, “I don’t think so. You’ll be busy and won’t need me to distract you.”

“Yes, it’s going to be quite a race,” he said, “and I’m not letting Kennedy get away with the Cup—not this year.”

“I hope so, for your sake,” she said sadly as they went back in to dance. They didn’t have a chance to talk again until the large double doors closed on their last guest.

“It was a great party, Lily,” Roger said as her parents went upstairs. “And you looked beautiful.”

“Thank you. That’s sweet of you to say, Roger.”

“Well, I mean it. Now what are you going to do with yourself while I’m away?”

“Well, Mother and Father are leaving for Paris in the morning, and I’m driving down to see them off. Then I’m staying at Aunt Margaret’s. Randolph wants me to go to the opera.”

Roger kissed her good-bye, promising to call if he had time. After he left she stood alone in the echoing hall, feeling utterly deflated. Her parents were leaving, Roger was leaving, once again she felt abandoned.

Sighing, she went up to bed. At least there was tomorrow with Randolph to look forward to, she thought, and suddenly some of the sadness lifted.

T
HE NEXT DAY AT
noon, Violet and Charles’s luggage was stowed in the back of the black Duesenberg; the steamer trunks had already been sent. Having spent the morning in bed, prostrate from smiling at all her friends at the party, Violet came downstairs in good spirits. She was looking forward to ordering Lily’s trousseau from her own dressmaker in the Rue de la Paix. As they rolled along toward Manhattan, she indulged herself in a happy little daydream. It would be the most lavish wedding in the history of New York City.

St. Patrick’s would be filled with flowers—exotic orchids flown in from Brazil, roses from France, and of course lilies. The sanctuary would be filled with everybody who was anybody in society. The bridesmaids—twelve of them, just as in her own wedding—would wear peau de soie in the latest French style and the Fanchon bridal gown would be a vision in Alençon lace and seed pearls. And in the dream the bride was no longer a tall, willowy redhead, but a petite feminine Southern belle…. Violet closed her eyes and smiled.

When the whistle blew for visitors to go ashore from the
Berengaria,
Violet kissed her daughter with real affection. Lily had provided a way for Violet to relive her own girlhood. And Charles seemed so much happier these days. Roger would be a perfect son-in-law and, with God’s blessings, there would be many grandsons.

Lily stood beside Randolph and his mother as the huge ship pulled away from the dock. For some reason seeing her parents leave for two months made her sad.

“Cheer up, cousin,” Randolph said, giving her a comforting hug. “This evening you and I are going to paint the town red!”

As they drove through the streets of Manhattan, Lily felt the emerald weighing heavily on her finger. Impulsively, she slipped it off and put it into her handbag. Somehow, tonight, she didn’t want to be engaged. She wanted to be free, and carefree, and unencumbered. As Randolph had said, they would paint the town red.

Opening night at the Metropolitan was the gala initiation of the social season, and nothing could have been more exciting than seeing the dazzling array of New York’s privileged social set emerging from their polished limousines and chauffeur-driven Rolls.

The ladies had outdone themselves in obeisance to the latest fashion word. Slender and not-so-slender bodies were wrapped and tied and bowed in chiffons, silks, and brocades. Enormous gems sparkled on fingers and dangled from wrists. Furs were draped casually across bare arms. The men were correctly and uniformly attired in white tie and tails. They served as mere foils for the couturiered birds of paradise.

Lily peered through the window of the Rolls-Royce as the chauffeur pulled up in front of the marquee. She felt as if she were floating up the grand staircase on Randolph’s arm, so mesmerized was she by the spectacle. Although she had frequented the Opéra in Paris, the Met seemed even more opulent than that. There was a special kind of magic, as the operagoers promenaded back and forth and milled around. Lily wondered with a smile if this weren’t the real show.

That night there was a stellar cast—Pinza, Tibbett, and Müller—and the electricity in the air, the excitement engendered, permeated the crowd and the very stratosphere. As Lily mounted the staircase to Randolph’s box she glimpsed a tall, extraordinarily handsome young man, but what captured her attention even more than his startling good looks was his exasperated expression. What, she wondered, was there in this happy scene to annoy him so?

In fact, it was the lengthy absence of his date.
Where in the hell was Claudia? What did women do in a powder room, aside from the obvious?

Heaving a sigh, he turned and caught Lily’s eye. He had never seen anything quite so exquisite as this auburn-haired woman in the black dress.

Although Harry Kohle had known a thousand beautiful women, he was mesmerized by her vivid green eyes and the luminous skin set off by double strands of pearls. He was still staring when Randolph, who had been checking their coats, came up and took her arm. My God, he thought, this gorgeous creature was with none other than his old classmate.

“Randolph!” Harry cheerfully greeted his friend, his eyes on Lily.

“Harry Kohle! By God, it’s good to see you! What were you up to all summer?”

“Doing a little writing of my own.” His eyes still on Lily, Harry asked, “Aren’t you planning to introduce me?”

“I’m sorry,” Randolph laughed. “Of course, you don’t know each other. Lily, this is my good friend, Harry Kohle, from Columbia. Harry, this is my cousin, Lily Goodhue, recently returned from Paris.”

“Your cousin!” Harry echoed incredulously. That meant she was fair game. Before he could begin his pitch, Claudia finally materialized. She was dressed in a crimson satin gown which both emphasized and revealed her full curves.

“Harry, where were you?” she said in an exasperated tone. “I thought you said to meet you over there.”

Harry didn’t bother to correct her. Turning back to Lily, he made the introductions as the lights dimmed twice, indicating they should find their seats.

“We’re off,” said Randolph. “I’ll be seeing you, Harry. Nice to meet you, Miss Sawyer.”

Harry Kohle nodded briefly, but his eyes were again on Lily as he said, “Good to see you, Randolph. Miss Goodhue, a pleasure.”

Ezio Pinza was in top form and at the end of the first act the applause was thunderous.

While Randolph was still deciding if they should brave the crowds for something to drink, Harry appeared at the entrance to their box holding three glasses.

“Anyone for a drink?”

Lily laughed. He must have dashed downstairs and back up again as the curtain fell, but his gaiety and enthusiasm were appealing.

Randolph was not surprised, knowing Harry Kohle to be a very resourceful fellow, the life of any party. “Brilliant, Harry! I was quailing at the thought of the mob around the bar. What do you have there?”

“Ginger ale,” he said, passing around the glasses.

Then, producing from his pocket a silver flask, he said, “Bourbon?”

Lily laughed. Harry Kohle obviously had no intention of letting Prohibition cramp his style.

“You son of a gun!” Randolph said. “I forgot the booze because I was out with my cousin.”

“Oh, really?” said Harry, his eyes never wavering from Lily’s face.

Randolph started to reply, then stopped short. This was no longer amusing. In fact, he was downright annoyed at the way Harry was looking at Lily … and worse, the way Lily was looking at him! She was so entranced it was only when the lights dimmed for the next act that she remembered Harry’s date.

“Couldn’t Claudia join us?”

Harry looked slightly abashed. “I believe she has gone to the powder room.”

After Harry left, Randolph commented acidly, “Did you buy that story?”

“Randolph!” Lily said.

“You don’t know him the way I do. I’ll bet he arranged to have a row with her.”

“Why?”

“Do I have to tell you, Lily?”

“Ssh!” she said as the conductor picked up his baton.

Maria Müller sang with such clarity and force the audience almost didn’t let her continue her performance. When the act finally came to a close, Harry was back at their box before they even rose from their seats.

“It’s so warm in here. Would you care to take a little air on the balcony?” he asked.

This time, Randolph was frankly unfriendly. Harry Kohle had more cheek than anyone else he knew. Wasn’t Lily offended by his brashness? But shockingly, she was replying, “I’d love that.” She knew she was being more flirtatious with Harry than she had ever been with Roger, but she felt this was her last chance to have fun as a single girl. Besides, Harry was terribly amusing and she was going to enjoy herself tonight. Outside she shivered a little and Harry quickly drew her stole around her bare shoulders. His hands felt warm against her skin as they brushed the nape of her neck. Lily didn’t want to analyze the sensation, the implications were too disturbing. But it was impossible to deny he roused sensations that Roger never stirred.

As he and Lily seated themselves again, Randolph muttered furiously, “What was that all about?”

“What do you mean?” Lily said innocently.

Randolph didn’t bother to reply, but sulked for the rest of the performance, even when the cast finally took the last bow as the audience shouted and tossed bouquets.

Lily had to admit a feeling of disappointment when Harry Kohle failed to appear at their box.

Outside, Randolph’s Rolls was waiting, but just as he started to open the door for her, Harry came up beside her.

Noticing that Claudia was nowhere in sight, Randolph said angrily, “Did someone shanghai your girlfriend?”

“Well, she wasn’t feeling well all evening. I’ve sent her home in a cab.” Harry spoke casually but actually his behavior during the intermission had caused Claudia to make an ugly scene. He had taken advantage of her fury to pack her off.

Now, smiling debonairly at Lily, he said, “I’d like to take you both to a late supper. I know a fabulous place.”

It was not surprising that Harry was attracted to Lily, thought Randolph. If she weren’t his own cousin, he would have been madly in love with her himself. But he knew Harry’s reputation. He was the love-them-and-leave-them type. And he wasn’t going to let Lily get hurt. Unfortunately, he was trained not to make a public scene and he couldn’t seem to get Lily’s attention, not even to tell her to put her ring back on.

First they went to Ginger’s, on the corner of Forty-second and Lexington, where they dined on oysters and steak, then uptown to a Harlem speakeasy.

They descended the narrow staircase of a room filled with lots of smoke. Four girls wearing scanty sequined costumes belted out “Bill Bailey, Won’t You Please Come Home?” Then there was a hush and the lights dimmed. The music grew soft. Then a spot hit the far corner of the stage and there appeared a rising young singer predicted to be the next Ethel Waters.

Her voice was soft, low, and sultry. Then, much like the hush after the fall of the curtain at the opera, there was a full minute of silence before the applause broke out. Several encores later the audience finally let her go and the band struck up a Charleston.

Harry took Lily’s hand and guided her onto the dance floor while Randolph watched angrily. His frown deepened when the music slowed to a fox trot and he saw Lily rest her cheek on Harry’s shoulder. When they returned to the table, Lily asked gaily, “Are we going to have champagne?”

“Of course,” replied Harry, signaling the waiter.

“Lily, I don’t think you should,” Randolph said authoritatively.

“Oh, don’t be an old stick-in-the-mud! Let’s have some fun!” Smiling, Lily took his hand. “What could possibly happen with you here to protect me?” Her words made him feel like Methuselah. Harry had taken over.

“Cheeky devil,” Randolph muttered to himself as Harry slipped the waiter a bill, but he was speechless when the man returned with a magnum.
Next thing, Harry will be drinking it from her slipper!
Randolph had seen Harry in action before. He hoped he wasn’t overreacting to his cousin’s interest in his friend, but all the time he had seen her with Roger he’d never sensed such electricity. In fact, he had never seen Lily so alive, so spontaneous, so … happy as she seemed tonight.

When he heard of her engagement, he had heartily approved. Lily had been so desperately lonely and unloved in her childhood—she needed marriage and family. And Roger came from a good family, seemed a decent enough fellow. But tonight it was clear that there was something lacking in the relationship. Of course, propriety prevented their being demonstrative in public, but still, a couple engaged to be married usually had a way of looking at each other, a way of touching hands when they thought that no one else was looking. Lily and Roger did none of that, and for the first time Randolph wondered if Roger himself were in love. That was beside the point, though. Whatever her feelings for Roger, Harry was not the man for her. He was not looking for marriage. All through college he’d had girls falling at his feet. He’d go out with them for a while, usually sleep with them, and then toss them aside. Randolph wasn’t about to see Lily hurt by a cad like him. But as Harry guided her about the dance floor to “The Man I Love,” Randolph noticed a look on Harry’s face he’d never seen before.

As for Lily, she was in such a state of euphoria that she thought of nothing beyond the moment. All she knew as she swayed in Harry’s arms was that she had never felt this way before.

But the enchanting evening came to an end, much as Lily knew it would. The Rolls stopped before Harry’s apartment. He got out and stuck his head back in the car window. Ignoring Randolph, he asked, “May I call you tomorrow?”

Lily came back down to earth with a thud. Finding her voice, she said haltingly, “Harry, I—I can’t.”

“Why not?” he asked softly. “I want to see you again—you must know that.”