Everlasting (33 page)

“Any luxuries.” Catherine smiled when he said that. It was a luxury for her to sit with Kit on a Sunday morning, drinking coffee, reading the
Times
, reading snippets aloud and laughing or arguing over them. It was a luxury to hold his hand in the movies. It was a luxury to let down her guard and sob with pleasurable mawkishness at
Love Story
, knowing that her own love story was ending happily. It was a luxury to feel his eyes, his breath, his skin, his weight, his heat, upon her body.

* * *

I
n late June Catherine sat in her office dictating memos to her staff. Shelly would be in charge, but she wanted to leave detailed instructions for everyone so she and Kit wouldn’t be interrupted on their honeymoon.

In one week, she and Kit would be married and honeymooning in Venice. When they returned they would move into the white colonial house in Connecticut that they had decided would be their home. The house had a flagstone path leading up to it and flowering bushes growing around it. Huge evergreens sheltered the northern side, and an apple tree grew outside the breakfast room window. It was a storybook house, the house of a million dreams. It came with enough land for riding horses and a six-stalled stable. There was a small orchard and a pond. It was out in the country and yet only a short drive to a charming New England town that had a decent public school system and a fabulous private school.

Flicking off her recorder, Catherine rose, stretched and yawned. On her desk was a photo she and Kit had taken of the house, which she kept there to remind her it was real. On her hand was her flashing engagement ring—not the emerald one that had belonged to Kit’s grandmother—Haley got that—but a simple diamond solitaire.

This was only normal life, she told herself. People got married, went on honeymoons, bought houses, every day. People had done it for years. She was not so different from every other human on the planet, after all. She really could have a husband, a home, a family. Most people accepted that as naturally as their breath.

“Hello, Catherine.”

She looked up.

Piet stood at the open door to her office. His white linen suit was exquisitely civilized, but when he smiled, his eyes flashed like a gypsy’s.

Catherine surprised herself. For the instant she saw Piet, she wanted to touch him, to run her hands over his face, his hair, his chest, to kiss him. The sight of him made her heart glad.

God. What was wrong with her?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Piet said.

“What?”

Piet nodded at the high-backed swivel desk chair that Catherine had pulled in front of herself, as if for protection. She looked down to see her own hands gripping the back of the chair so tightly, her knuckles were white.

Catherine laughed and released the chair. “Well, this is a shock,” she said. “Come in. Sit down.”

“How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.” She moved in front of her chair and sat down. She waved Piet onto the chair across from her. She couldn’t help the formality, the stiffness, with which she moved. “I’m going to be married next week. To Kit Bemish. A lawyer. We’re going to Venice for our honeymoon.”

The darkness in Piet’s eyes deepened. “Congratulations.”

For one brief moment they stared at each other. Then Piet smiled.

“It’s a good thing I got here before you left. I’ve finally gotten all the loose ends tied up, and I now have a serious proposal to make.” He waited one wicked beat of time before adding, “A business proposal.”

“Oh?”

He leaned forward. Now he was intent, all business. “Catherine, what I’m going to say is just between you and me. I’ve been working all year on this. It could be very big. In the next few years the flower business is going to change dramatically. Refrigeration and communication technology and air freight will make it possible for a better-quality and a larger variety of flowers to be shipped from Amsterdam than will be available locally. Land on Long Island is becoming more and more valuable for developers, and eventually flower growers there will sell their land. They’ll have to. Most of this country will buy their flowers from all over the world, shipped into and out of Holland.

“I have set up my own wholesale company. I want you as my partner. I will work out of Aalsmeer and Amsterdam. You will call me at, say, nine in the morning your time, to tell me what flowers you need. I will buy them at the flower auction, have them packed and flown to you. Because of the time difference the flowers you order in the morning will arrive that same afternoon. For your shop, for Blooms, you will have the finest quality of flowers, and a huge variety, unusual flowers. In addition, you will cut out the cost of the wholesaler.

“But more than that, I want you to branch out. I want you to wholesale flowers from Holland to the other New York florists. We will start simply working from a truck. Our prices will be competitive, and the flowers will be high quality. We will be the first to offer an enormous variety and such an unusual selection.”

Catherine sat, thinking. “Won’t the cost of air freight be enormous?”

“Yes. But we will import such a large quantity that I, buying the flowers, will be able to get a price break that will more than make up for the freight cost. I have the figures to show you. With the volume of flowers Blooms uses, if you save even one cent a stem, you will be making good money. In addition to what you’ll charge as wholesaler to other florists.”

Catherine’s brain was already in high gear. “Perhaps it would be wise not to publicize to my competitors that Blooms is importing. Perhaps the wholesale business should be under a different name.”

Piet smiled. “So you are interested.”

Catherine returned his smile. “You knew I would be.”

* * *

I
t was night. Kit was furious. He was pacing the living room.

“I can’t believe you’re serious about this. How do you think I’ll feel, knowing your old lover is around you all the time?”

“I don’t love him anymore, Kit.” Catherine spoke as honestly as she could, confident that she could keep any fleeting desire for Piet under control. What she felt for Piet was undeniable, but Kit was necessary to her life, and she would never betray him. “Kit.
I love you
. I told you, he was just—a temporary thing. I haven’t even seen him for over a year! Isn’t that proof that we weren’t seriously involved? I shouldn’t have told you we were lovers, but I wanted no secrets between us. Look. Piet won’t be around me all the time. He won’t be around me at all. He’ll be in Holland.”

“And what about our new life? Our marriage? Why do you want to take on a new time-consuming, ambitious project like this just when we’re beginning our life together?”

“That’s not fair. I’m not asking you to give up practicing law in order to give all your time to me.”

“Women’s lib.”

“No. I’ve never been part of a herd, and you know it. Look, Kit, you have to understand what Blooms means to me.”

“I do understand. I’ve never suggested that you give it up, or sell it, or even stop managing it. What I don’t understand is your desire to take on more. Importing and wholesaling flowers is a major undertaking, Catherine. You’ll need more employees, accountants, truckers—it’s like starting a whole new business. I’m not asking you to give up what you have. I’m only asking you not to take on more at this point in your life. In our lives.”

“I promise you I won’t spend any more time at Blooms than I already do. I’ll delegate more. I’ve got Jason, Carla, Sandra, and now Shelly, all of whom are completely reliable and who can run Blooms without me. I’ll give them new positions, more responsibility, larger salaries, and they’ll be motivated to work harder. Kit, I really want to do this.”

“Why? Is it money?”

“Partly,” she admitted. “I like having money. I want to make more money, for us, for our children. So they never have to go through what I went through—that feeling of the bottom of the earth falling out from beneath their feet.”

“You can’t trust me to provide for that?”

“Kit, be realistic. Haley is getting everything you have in the divorce settlement.”

Catherine was silent then, but her thoughts lay unspoken between them. It was Catherine’s money from Blooms that they’d used for the down payment on the Connecticut house. When Kit’s parents died, he would inherit the Maine house, the Boston house, and a great deal of money. Until then, in all likelihood, Catherine would have more money from Blooms than he did from his legal practice. Catherine had been proud of him for not letting money come between them. It was a potentially more sensitive and more destructive matter than anything else.

“Kit. I’ve loved you ever since I met you. I’ve never stopped loving you. I never want to hurt you or make you unhappy. But I need you to understand how I feel about Blooms. It’s like—like a child to me, in a way. I love it. It’s mine. It’s not enough for me to let it just remain as it is. The business world is always changing. If you remain the same in business, you fall behind. If I didn’t do this for Blooms, it would be, oh, like not sending a child to college. Or not getting it proper medical care. Or not feeding it. It needs to grow.”

Kit didn’t reply. He stood at the window, looking out at the night. His back was tense.

Catherine went up and wrapped her arms around him. “I wish you knew how much I love you. How much I’ve always loved you. I’ve never been happier in my life.”

Still Kit remained tense, silent.

She nuzzled her head into his back. “Do you mean you’ll be happy only if I don’t go into the importing business with Piet? Is that what you want?”

She felt Kit’s muscles loosen.

“No,” he said. “I wouldn’t ask that much of you.”

Kit turned to face Catherine. He looked at her, then pulled her against him. Holding her tightly, he kissed the top of her head.

“I know you love me. I love you. I want you to be happy. I want you to be the way you are. So—go ahead. Do it.”

“With your blessing?”

“With my blessing.”

Catherine sighed and leaned against him. She had just taken a terrifying risk. If Kit had wanted her to, she really would have given up the idea of importing flowers with Piet. She loved Kit enough to do that for him. But
God
how glad she was not to have to make that choice!

* * *

I
n June Catherine and Kit were married in the garden at Everly.

It was not a fairy-tale wedding. The best that could be said for it was that it made their union public and official.

They were married in the garden by the lily pond. The weather was perfect. A flawless blue sky blazed with light. The air was warm but not yet heavy with the humidity that would come in late summer. Kathryn’s garden was a lush rainbow of roses, lilies, iris, peonies, foxglove, mock orange, and lilacs.

Catherine wore a dress of ivory peau de soie that fell from pleats at the shoulders and a floppy brimmed hat with the band trimmed in Maiden’s Blush roses. The wedding bouquet, which Jason had designed especially for her, was a mass of tiny pink roses, white roses, and gardenias and slipped with ivory ribbons onto her grandmother Kathryn’s white leather prayer book. Ann was Catherine’s only bridesmaid. She had flown back from the British Everly, where she was working, just for the wedding. Kathryn acknowledged the importance of the occasion by wearing her valuable diamond necklace with a silk dress; at the last moment she popped on her floppy straw gardening hat to protect her face from the sun. Catherine’s father, looking marvelously handsome—for this was the sort of occasion he excelled at—gave Catherine away. While the minister led Catherine and Kit through the vows, Marjorie Eliot squirmed, fanning away, exasperated, at nonexistent bugs.

Jason wore a lavender silk suit that probably cost more than Catherine’s wedding dress, and when Catherine said, “I do,” he cried more than anyone else at the ceremony. Catherine’s mother didn’t cry at all. Sandra and her husband had brought Carla out for the wedding. Shelly was there, of course, and Catherine’s beloved Mr. Giles. Kit’s parents had steadfastly refused to attend, but his friend Don and his perceptive wife, Janie, were there, and the law partners, Mr. Woodrow and Mr. Spiegel, were there with their wives.

When the ceremony was over, a champagne dinner was served in the dining room, with the doors thrown open to the gardens. It was a beautiful, elegant day, but not what Catherine had thought it would be like. She did not feel swept away on clouds of love. She had come out to Everly the night before with Ann. And all through the wedding Catherine couldn’t stop noticing how rundown Everly was. It needed painting. It needed another full-time gardener. Catherine made a mental note to see if she could convince her grandmother to let her help out, but still she could not dismiss the foreboding she felt.

Also, she didn’t feel well. For several days she’d vomited every morning. Nerves, perhaps, though she’d never been the nervous type. It was more likely, since her period was three weeks late, that she was pregnant.

Chapter 10

New York, 1976

T
he January 1976 issue of
Vogue
ran a photoarticle about Catherine Eliot Bemish in their series “Women We Admire.” The largest picture was of Catherine holding her son, Drew, three years old, and her daughter, Lily, nine months old. Catherine was wearing a voluptuous crimson, lavender, and gold silk caftan. Gypsyish gold hoops hung at her ears. Drew was wearing a blue plaid bathrobe. Baby Lily was naked except for a pink bow in her blond whale spout, but the billowing sleeves of Catherine’s caftan covered much of Lily’s tiny body, leaving only her legs, arms, and shoulder exposed in their rosy plumpness.

Supposedly Catherine had just finished bathing her children, but in fact it had taken them three hours to get this casual-seeming setup ready. And certainly Catherine could never have worn the caftan to bathe her babies. The winged sleeves would have drooped in the tub and become waterlogged and heavy, the silk ruined. Catherine really wore jeans and a sweatshirt to bathe her babies, or sometimes even got into the tub with them. Afterward she would put on a comfortable, often washed terrycloth bathrobe that she wore for the rest of the evening. But for the photo, she wore the caftan. She sat where the photographer posed her, on her dressing room sofa, where the rich chintz flowers gleamed against the apple green wall of Catherine’s dressing room at her White River home, instead of in the children’s bedrooms, which were always littered with toys.