The Last Princess (6 page)

Harry took out a cigarette, lit it, and watched as the smoke spiraled up to the ceiling. He obviously wasn’t going to be able to reach Lily at her aunt’s. He’d have to call her Monday at her parents’ house on Long Island. He knew he’d have no trouble getting the number from one of her friends. And he was also certain she was not in love with her fiancé, no matter what Randolph said. Harry had enough experience with women to read the signs. No woman in love with one man responded to another the way she had to him.

He decided to give her a few days and try to see her the following weekend. He would use the time to find out a little about her fiancé.

O
N SATURDAY MORNING HARRY
called the Long Island number. He wanted to make sure not only that Lily was home, but that Roger Humphreys was absent.

When the butler answered the phone, he said briskly, “I’m calling for Roger Humphreys. May I speak to him, please?”

“He is not here, sir. I understand he is on Cape Cod. Would you like me to ask Miss Goodhue for the number?”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you. I believe I have it.”

Harry put down the phone, exultant. Lily was at home, and Roger was safely absent. Seizing a topcoat, he left the apartment, ran down the three flights of stairs, and jumped into his Stutz Bearcat. An hour and a half later, he drove up the long cobblestoned driveway, parked the car, and ran up the steps. He rang the bell without stopping to think what he would say to her. When the butler answered he could only stammer, “I’m … here to see Miss Goodhue. The name is Harry Kohle.”

Taking Harry’s hat, the butler left him in the foyer and disappeared.

Lily had just come in from playing tennis when the butler found her. “Miss Goodhue, you have a visitor. A Mr. Harry Kohle.”

Good God, what was he doing here?
she wondered, waving the butler away. “I’ll be down directly.”

After he had left, she gripped the bannister tightly to keep from falling. During the last week, she had thought about Harry constantly. Why hadn’t she just told Graves to say she was out?

But deep down, she knew. She had to see him once more. She had to know. She had begun to think her feelings were more than just the product of the champagne and music.

Taking a deep breath, she walked slowly down the stairs to the foyer. “What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to control her quivering voice.

“I had to see you. I’m in love with you.”

Lily was staggered. This was far different from her fantasy. It was frightening—threatening…. My God, he was real. She found herself trembling again as she had the first night she’d seen him. She prayed it didn’t show. In that instant, she wanted to cry out, “Why are you doing this to me? Why can’t you leave me in peace?” But instead, she asked bitingly, “What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you.”

“Why?”

Harry wasted no time in pretense. “Because I’m in love with you.”

Lily could not believe the simple declaration.

“I told you I’m engaged. To Roger Humphreys.”

“But you’re not in love with him,” he said, challenging her.

“Of course I am!”

“If that’s true, then why did you only mention your fiancé at the end of the evening?”

She lowered her eyes.

“And why didn’t you wear the ring I see you have on your finger now?”

Lily finally found her voice. “I don’t owe you any explanations, Mr. Kohle. And I don’t want you to ever try to see me again. Not ever!”

Harry’s voice was very calm as he replied. “I don’t give up that easily.”

“If you have any decency, you will leave now.” She went to the door, held it open, and waited. She refused to look up. All she remembered was that as the door closed behind him, she leaned against it and sobbed.

Harry gunned the motor as he drove away. He hadn’t expected Lily to greet him with open arms, but neither had he expected total rejection. He decided he would test the strength of his own feelings by seeing if he could forget her. For the next few weeks, he did everything in his power to erase her image. He spent his evenings carousing, starting in the fanciest restaurants or hottest new Broadway shows and ending at the speakeasies up in Harlem, drinking more than was good for him. He was the life of every party—and only the most perceptive observer would have noted that his eyes were curiously lifeless, his smiles forced and mechanical.

If only he had known Lily’s own troubled thoughts stirred by his unexpected visit. Little could he suspect how greatly his very presence had affected her.

Lily’s cold reception had been the result of an intense battle between her heart and her head. She must at all costs protect the bulwark which blinded her to all the things that were wrong in her impending marriage—and Harry Kohle threatened to breach that defense. The ironic result of his visit was to intensify her determination to reaffirm her relationship with Roger. So while Harry painted the town, Lily clung to Roger’s arm, gave him loving smiles, and laughed at his jokes.

The weekend they were houseguests at Jill Robinson’s country estate Lily determined to force Roger to try to make love to her. On Saturday night, Lily floated downstairs in white chiffon and sparkled like the ring on her finger. She drank a good deal of wine at dinner and was gay and talkative. Later, when Roger was dancing with Jill, as befitted his obligation to his hostess, Lily cut in and led him into the library. Turning down the lights, Lily caught her breath, overcome with a sense of her own sexuality. Whether it was stimulated by Roger or her own sense of need, Lily knew only that she wanted Roger to sweep her off her feet. Deliberately, she lifted her lips to his, winding her arms around his neck.

“I love you, Roger. I love you,” she whispered fervently.

“I love you, too,” he said, and in that moment he almost believed it.

Slowly they sank onto the brown velvet sofa, intertwined….

But then suddenly there was a knock on the door. Roger leapt up, looking disheveled and feeling ridiculous.

“Oh, my God,” he muttered. “What are we doing?”

“Out the French doors,” she said, trying not to giggle. “I don’t want you compromised.”

As he stepped into the garden, Lily opened the door.

“I hope I haven’t disturbed you,” said Bert Hamilton. “I just wanted something to read before I go to bed.” He walked over to the first case, took down a book at random, and fled with an apologetic smile.

Lily checked her hair in the mirror, then went back out to the drawing room.

“What have you been up to?” asked Jill. “You and Roger were certainly gone a long time together.”

Lily flushed guiltily. “What do you mean?”

“Oh Lily, don’t pretend! You two are engaged, after all.”

“Nothing happened,” Lily said. She saw the look of pity in her friend’s eyes. Oblivious to the fact that most of her crowd considered Roger a cold fish, Lily felt the moment in the study confirmed his passion. Her doubts had been quieted and she could look forward to her wedding day with no further qualms.

In Manhattan, Harry Kohle had also made up his mind. His attempts to drown Lily’s image in an orgy of other beds had failed dismally. As he walked down Madison Avenue all he saw in the huge plate-glass windows was Lily’s face—that magnificent, beautiful face. In that moment, he made up his mind. She was mistaken if she thought he was going to give up this easily.

Impulsively, he stopped in front of Ratto’s Florist and went inside.

A
T THE FRENCH DESK
in her bedroom, Lily was writing a letter to her parents. She was about to say,
Roger and I are so happy these days
… when there was a light knock on the door.

“Come in,” Lily called.

Her maid, Marie, entered, almost hidden by the most enormous basket of flowers Lily had ever seen. Lily of the valley, white orchids, and palest pink
rubrum
lilies. She was overwhelmed. She couldn’t believe Roger had done something so romantic. But when she opened the little envelope, the bold black scrawl read, “To the most beautiful woman in the world. With all my love—Harry.”

Heart pounding, she threw the card into the wastebasket. How could he do this to her? Just when she had begun to feel a sense of peace. Harry Kohle was callously upsetting her again.

“Where do you want the flowers, ma’am?” said Marie for the second time.

“I don’t want them. Throw them away.”

After the door closed behind Marie, Lily burst into tears. She wept for a long time, only gradually beginning to recover her composure. There was only one thing to do, she determined. And that was to pretend Harry Kohle never existed.

But if Lily thought that strategy would work, she was entirely mistaken. Harry Kohle was only beginning to make himself known to her. That same afternoon, the phone calls began. Then came the boxes of candy and then more flowers.

Lily refused to take the calls, gave the candy to the servants, threw the flowers away, but as the bombardment continued, she grew increasingly frantic. What would happen if Roger learned about this—or, worse yet, her parents? She was at her wits’ end. She first thought of calling Randolph, then decided her best chance was to confront Harry himself. She had no trouble finding his number, but her bravado faded rapidly as she waited for the ring.

“Mr. Kohle?” she said when he answered. “I’m calling to ask you to stop your nonsense and leave me alone.”

“Did you get my flowers today?” he asked pleasantly.

At his bland response, her calm shattered. Almost in tears, she asked, “Why? Why are you harassing me?”

“I love you, Lily,” he answered with sudden intensity. “This is the only way I know to get your attention. I honestly believe your engagement is a horrible mistake. You don’t love Roger.”

“What makes you so damned smart, Harry Kohle? Why do you think you know everything?” she cried, her voice trembling.

“Not everything, Lily—just you. If you were really in love with this Humphreys, you wouldn’t have acted the way you did with me. And you would not have been so angry when I came to see you. For some reason, you’re trying to convince yourself to go through with the wedding, but you’re not doing a very good job of it. Why don’t you admit it?”

“Stop, stop! I don’t want to listen.” She put down the receiver with shaking fingers. Oh God, she thought, Harry was right. Every word he said seemed to come from her own heart. She didn’t love Roger. The marriage would never work. Sinking onto the couch, she buried her face in her hands and wept. How could she go back to Roger, feeling this way? But she must. Harry presented no alternative. And in any case, it was impossible to break her engagement. She was bound now by her words and deeds as well as by her parents’ wishes. There was no turning back now.

After a sleepless night, Lily arose wearily, refused breakfast, and went out to the rose garden. She began pulling weeds and cultivating around the bases of the luxuriant bushes, soothed by the rhythmic, repetitive motions. The sun rose higher and higher while she knelt trying to think only of the soil beneath her palms.

It was well into the afternoon when Harry turned into the drive and stopped in front of the house. About to ascend the broad stone steps, he suddenly noticed Lily’s figure in the garden. To his worshipful eyes, she looked as exquisite in a simple cotton smock and a straw hat as she had that night at the opera. He stood for a long time, his heart beating irregularly. Then he quietly made his way up the path. It wasn’t until his shadow fell over her that she looked up, startled.

Gently, he reached down and helped her to her feet. She tried to pull away from his hands, but somehow found it impossible. When they stood face to face, she whispered, “I wish you hadn’t come.”

“I had to. Do you think I could just let you go?”

“It would have been better because nothing has changed.”

“That’s not true. Everything has changed.”

“I’m still going to marry Roger.”

“All right, you’re going to marry him. But if you’re so certain of your future, you shouldn’t be afraid of spending an evening with me. Let me take you to dinner just once—tonight?”

“No!”

“I promise that you’ll have nothing to fear; I know a little place where no one will see us.”

If only he knew that she was more frightened of herself than she was of him.

“I just can’t! It wouldn’t be right.”

“Lily, you’ll have a lifetime with Roger. Can’t you just give me a few hours?”

Nervously pulling a rose from the bush at her side, Lily rubbed the petals until they shredded between her fingertips. “If I spend the evening with you, will you promise to go away afterward and leave me in peace?”

“I promise,” he lied, knowing he would never leave her in peace.

Without another word exchanged, they turned and walked to the terrace and through the French doors to the library. Leaving him there, Lily went upstairs, slipped into a silk blouse and a tweed skirt and jacket. She twisted her luxuriant hair into a severe knot at the nape of her neck, added a dab of lipstick, and descended to the library again.

They drove in silence up the coast. Lily sat with her hands folded in her lap, feeling as though she were being hurtled into the unknown. She could have said no to Harry, but from the moment she had first seen him at the opera, her life had been out of control.

After an hour and a half, Harry turned off onto a winding dirt road and came to a halt in front of an old inn. It was a beautiful setting. The light of the setting sun filtered down through the sycamores, casting a lacy shadow upon the ground, while nearby a small brook cascaded over the boulders. The water was so crystal clear, Lily could see the flash of fish gliding by with balletic grace.

Even in the chill air, Lily felt an inner glow at the sight of the old-fashioned structure. The sign overhead read “Creekside Inn—Est. 1839.” The patina on the clapboard siding was silvery with age. Smoke puffed gently from the stone chimney, only to dissipate in the treetops.

After they were seated in the pine-paneled dining room, Lily did her best to pretend that this was just a casual dinner with a friend, but she was uncontrollably aware of Harry’s disturbing good looks and the current of electricity that seemed to spark between them. Lily suddenly felt ill at ease. This was not right, her being there. It wasn’t a question of propriety or convention, it was her own sense of honor Lily felt she was violating. She had been trying to fight his mysterious attraction ever since the night they met. She wasn’t sure it was love, but whatever it might be, it frightened her.