The Last Princess (52 page)

And they went on and on, dreaming their happy dreams, little suspecting the next turn in their fortunes.

Harry’s cough had improved slightly after his return from Paris, and he had decided not to see Dr. Simon after all. Summer had come and the warmth had helped him breathe more easily. By the next winter, when he had begun to hack again, he told Lily that it was just his chronic bronchitis. But the next summer had brought little relief. Harry had taken to drinking bottle after bottle of cough syrup to quell the persistent sound. In the fall, however, the violence of the paroxysms was such that he could no longer hide them from Lily.

“See the doctor, Harry!” she commanded. “You sound terrible—surely there’s something he can prescribe.”

“Don’t worry about it, Lily. I know that it sounds bad, but there’s nothing really wrong.”

Once in a while, he wondered if that was true, or whether he simply disliked the thought of the stern lecture he would certainly get from Doc Simon. Three years ago, the doctor had flatly ordered him to give up smoking, but he certainly wasn’t going to give it up, no matter what. He had simply smoked for too long. The truth was that these medicos loved to give orders. No one had ever proved that smoking was bad for you.

But one night, long after Lily had fallen asleep next to him, he was overcome by such a fit of coughing that he got up and lurched into the bathroom so as not to disturb her. And there it was that he stared in disbelief into the basin, where bright red blood and sputum spattered the porcelain. Hanging on to the rim, hardly able to catch his breath, he squeezed his eyes shut as the implications hit home: cancer.

Beads of perspiration rolled down his back. Lung cancer—inoperable, incurable, the wasting away, the helplessness, the intolerable pain at the end. And the timing, so incredibly bad.

When he had lost Lily before, he would have said that life was hardly worth living—but now, when he was on top of the world, he wanted to live more than ever before.

God damn it! Why now? he raged. And how on earth was he going to break the news to Lily?

Harry didn’t sleep anymore that night, and by nine o’clock the next morning, he was in Nate Simon’s office.

By noon, after his battery of exams, he was dressed again and was sitting in Nate’s well-appointed office, smoking one cigarette after another.

“Well?” Harry blurted put anxiously, as the other man seated himself behind his desk.

Nate Simon took off his horn-rimmed glasses, folded them onto his desk, and looked at Harry. It was always difficult to tell a patient news like this, even harder when it was a man you had known all your life. But there was no way around the harsh truth: There probably wasn’t one damned thing he could do to save Harry’s life. Harry was his age, not even fifty, with everything to live for: beautiful wife, new baby, all the success anyone could dream of.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Harry, I think you already know what I have to say.”

Harry nodded.

“I’m going to schedule you for surgery tomorrow morning at seven-thirty. I’ve got a top man in thoracic surgery to operate.”

“How bad is it, Doc? Give it to me straight.”

But Harry knew even before Nate Simon spoke by the way he shook his head. “It’s bad, Harry, I won’t lie to you. There’s a large mass on the chest X ray in the left lung.”

“And my chances?” Harry asked, knuckles white as he braced himself, clutching the chair.

Nate hesitated. “Well, they won’t know for sure until they go in, but it’s right at the base of the lobe. It looks as if it has invaded the mediastinum. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

But if it was, he was going to die.

Even though Harry had thought he was prepared for the worst, Nate’s words were a blow. Harry realized that for however much he’d steeled himself for the worst, he had still been hoping against hope that he didn’t have cancer.

“God, Nate,” he asked unsteadily, “how am I going to tell Lily? Everything’s going so well, we have a new baby. Things are better than they have been in years.”

“Do you want me to tell her?”

“No—no … I’d better do it.”

After he had left Nate’s office, he walked aimlessly until he finally came to Central Park. He sank onto a bench and looked around him. The Great Lawn was so green, the first crocuses and daffodils were in bloom. Harry ruefully thought of the opening words of
The Redemption of Archie Sanger
: “If I could know the day before I die …”

All his life, he had been a winner. With few exceptions, his had been a charmed life. Not only had he been blessed with a host of natural talents, he’d been lucky enough to be blessed with such people in his life as Lily and Ellis. Grudgingly, he had to acknowledge he was even lucky to have had the parents he had.

The only tragedy that had ever made him think he had lost God’s favor was Jeremy’s death. As the years had passed, time had helped heal the wounding memories, and the advent of Cadeau had somehow given him a new chance.

What a fool he had been to think that he had gotten away with it all; gotten away with betraying Lily, believing that despite his terrible breach of faith he had a second chance for a wonderful life with her.

Now he knew that his sins had not been forgiven; they had been saved up to chastise him in one shattering blow—now, when he had the most to lose. Six months from this moment, all the things around him, everything he could see from this bench, would still be here, but he would not.

Cadeau would grow into girlhood, then young womanhood. And he would miss it all.

Almost instinctively, he fumbled in his pocket for his Pall Malls, struck a match, and lit a cigarette. He drew in deeply, then exhaled in a sigh as he looked out over the expanse of green, his mind seemingly blank. Then, quite suddenly, he was racked by sobs. Passersby glanced curiously at him as he cried on, not even trying to gain control of himself.

But finally, exhausted, he could cry no more. Sitting up slowly, he took out a handkerchief, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose. Somehow the tears themselves had helped purge him of his fears. He returned to Sutton Place shaken and resigned.

Late that afternoon, he sat with Lily in the lengthening shadows of their magnificent salon. It had all been said. More tears had fallen—Lily’s this time, not his—and the disbelieving protests had been spoken.

Lily looked about her at all the beautiful things they had acquired over the years, at all the hard-won bits and pieces of wood and silk and canvas. What happiness could they bring now if Harry couldn’t be there to share them with her? Just when it seemed they had hit upon the happiness that had eluded them for so long, it was being snatched away. But still there was hope. Harry was young, he had been in robust health before the recent troubles. And medical science these days would work miracles. The prognosis couldn’t be as grim as Harry had said. She couldn’t believe it.

But from the very moment he had said the dread word “cancer,” she became afraid. And now, as she looked at him, silhouetted in his chair, he suddenly seemed very frail. Harry could die. Already she felt the terrible loss looming. She was afflicted by the same knot in her stomach that she had felt in Jeremy’s room at Exeter that awful day. The haunting memories came back.

Oh, Jeremy, she thought, if you sit at the right hand of God, please pray for your father.

But in spite of her own grief and torment, she knew she must be strong for her husband as he faced his time of trial. He had to be admitted to the hospital that evening. As soon as he had packed his things, they clung together in a long embrace, as though by holding on to each other they might somehow put off the inevitable.

Lily went to the stereo and put on a record. A moment later Harry heard the strains of “My Blue Heaven.” A reminiscent smile crossed his lips.

“You always loved this, didn’t you?”

“I suppose it’s a little corny,” she murmured.

“No, it’s beautiful,” he said, curving his arm about her. “It reminds me of our first date. Would you like to dance?”

They circled for a moment, silently remembering that time when they had been so young, so willing to toss all to the wind for each other. But even dancing seemed too much of a strain. Lily suggested he sit down, she would make them drinks.

Over the years, Lily had acquired Ellis’s taste for bone-dry martinis. Standing at the bar cart, she kept her back to Harry as she tried to hide the tears fighting to be shed. She mixed a pitcher with unconscious precision. Plunking two olives into the glasses, she took a deep breath, fixed a calm expression on her face, and brought the tray over to the coffee table. Harry took a sip, leaned over and kissed her, and said, “Perfect—like everything you do.”

They sipped slowly, making a staunch effort to pretend that everything would be all right. They each blotted out the thought of what the morrow would bring.

Harry said, “I’m going to take my two best girls to the Bahamas for Christmas this year. Would you like that?”

“Sounds wonderful,” Lily replied, trying to keep her chin from quivering.

“I can just see Cadeau running on that beach. Do you think she’ll have freckles, Lily?”

“I have a feeling she will. We’ll have to get her a hat.”

“Matching ones for the two of you.”

Then, in an altered voice, he suddenly cried, “Oh, Lily—just hold me.

She held him tightly as he murmured brokenly, “It’s not even so much dying, Lily, it’s the thought of losing you. God, I love you so!”

But then it was time to drive to the hospital.

T
HE NEXT MORNING LILY
sat in the surgery waiting room, surrounded by Ellis, Drew, and Randy, waiting for news of Harry.

Drew was ashen and silent. He had not laid eyes on his father once since that terrible day when they had had their confrontation in his seedy apartment. In the past two years, he had ignored all of Lily’s pleas to reconcile with his father, saying defiantly that he didn’t care if he never saw him again. He came to see Cadeau from time to time, but he had resolutely avoided contact with Harry.

But the night before, when Ellis had come and told him about his father’s illness, Drew had been devastated. Harry, dying? It couldn’t be. His father, the all-powerful, the invincible?

But as the truth of Ellis’s words penetrated, Drew knew one thing—he must go to him, no matter how serious their rift had been.

In truth, Drew had never fully recovered from the loss of Jeremy. He still thought about him, still mourned him, and blamed himself for leaving him unprotected. But now Drew knew that he had been wrong. Deep down, his family was as dear to him as Lily was. Now the thought of losing his father devastated him. But his face must not have given away his thoughts, for Ellis’s voice was suddenly rough and peremptory.

“Grow up, Drew! Your father is facing life-threatening surgery tomorrow. I know that you and he have had your differences, but you’re going to have to set them aside, if for no other reason than that your mother needs you.”

The two of them had always had a friendly camaraderie; Drew had never minded Ellis’s calm, avuncular tone, the way he’d resented Harry’s easily roused fury. He hastened to explain himself to the older man.

“No, of course! You’re absolutely right, Ellis. I wouldn’t dream of staying away at a time like this.”

Ellis nodded, then briefly put his hand on Drew’s shoulder. “I knew I couldn’t be wrong about you, Drew. You’re a good man.”

Now, Drew sat silently, thinking over and over again about the angry words he and his father had once exchanged. Were those to be the last they would ever speak to each other? If only Harry survived this operation, Drew would beg his forgiveness and tell him how much he loved him.

Next to him, Randy gazed broodingly at his coffee. Always less mercurial than his brother, he appeared relatively calm. Only the tiny lines around his eyes and the slight furrow of his brow betrayed how deeply worried he was.

Lily sat biting her lip. It had been a tremendous solace to her to see her two tall sons this morning and feel their comforting embraces, but at this moment she longed to have Cadeau in her lap.

If she could only bury her face in her silky red curls, hug her fiercely, it might distract Lily from the thought of the scalpel cutting and probing into Harry somewhere beyond the closed doors.

Next to her, Ellis watched, pained to see her white knuckles, her sodden handkerchief. He reached out silently and took her hand. Tears glistened in Lily’s eyes again as she whispered, “Thanks.”

In every crisis of their lives, Ellis had been there, an abiding friend. He had so often been their life raft into better times. And time and again they had turned to him. Sometimes Lily felt that he was the greatest fruit of Harry’s writing career. And now, she wondered, had they really been fair to Ellis? Their friendship had always been so natural and easy. But whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, that fateful night when she had offered herself to him had changed everything forever.

She had felt myriad emotions once he had said he loved her, but she had shied from ever examining those feelings again, either his or her own.

At times it seemed almost unbelievable that the entire evening had actually occurred. Neither she nor Ellis had made any effort to talk about it since that day he had driven up to see her at the farm. If he were in love with her still, he was a master at hiding it.

Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted as the door opened to admit Benjamin and Elise Kohle. Lily had wanted to spare them, but Dr. Simon had said that the surgery itself carried a significant risk. She felt she had to break the news to them. On the eve of Harry’s surgery, the Kohles had gone to the hospital to talk to their son.

Now, after greeting Ellis and embracing Lily and their grandsons, they sat down. Their grief was evident on their faces.

God, they looked old, Ellis thought a little sadly. Benjamin Kohle looked shrunken where he had once seemed so resilient and strong, and Mrs. Kohle was now a frail little old lady.

For six hours they kept their sad vigil. Finally the surgery doors flew open and Nate Simon emerged, looking weary.