An Embarrassment of Riches (36 page)

There were no Karolyises present. The only Karolyis was himself. For the first time in his life Alexander found himself wondering what family his grandfather had left behind in Hungary. Presumably he had other cousins, several times removed, living in and around the village his grandfather had left so long ago. It was an intriguing thought. Perhaps one day he would visit Hungary. It would be nice to erect a memorial there to his grandfather. A hospital or a school.

The purple plumes on the horses'heads bobbed in the strong sunlight as the cortège turned in the direction of St Thomas's. He had never before pondered on the enormity of his grandfather's and father's achievements but he did so now, and he was awestruck by them. His grandfather had been born in utter penury in an insignificant Hungarian village. The name Karolyis had meant nothing then. Now, less than a hundred years later, it was as synonymous with wealth as the name of King Solomon.

As he followed his father's flower-decked coffin into the church he looked around him at the vast sea of mourners. There were Schermerhorns, Brevoorts, Stuyvesants, De Peysters, Van Rensselaers, Rhinelanders, Van Cortlandts, Beekmans, Roosevelts, Jays. They were the princes of America, the equals of the Habsburgs and Hohenzollerns and Radziwills of Europe. And they were paying their respects to his father because, despite the slights he had suffered at their hands during the last few months, they could not afford to do otherwise. The Karolyis name
was
New York. Almost the entire city was Karolyis owned. Where real estate was concerned, only the Astors were rivals.

A hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. The rivals had put in an appearance too. The tall, distinguished figure of John Jacob Astor III was clearly visible, as was that of his younger brother, William Backhouse Astor, Junior.

William, like his own father, had married a Schermerhorn. ‘Though not one of the prettier members of our clan,' Henry had once said to him caustically. Remembering the remark, Alexander began to think about his parents'marriage. Without it, the Karolyis name would not have acquired such rapid social acceptance. Had that been the only reason his father had married his mother? Had it been merely a marriage of convenience? If so, then it was no wonder that his father had balked when he, Alexander, had shown not the slightest intention of marrying in a like manner.

With understanding came deep, burning regret. He would not have behaved any differently if he had understood earlier. He would still have insisted on marrying Genevre. He would still have wanted revenge for the hurt done to her. But at least he and his father could have talked. There would have been some point of contact between them.

He was so deep in his thoughts and in memories that Maura had to press his arm lightly to indicate to him that the service was over. At the graveside his eyes filled with unabashed tears. He had been wrong when he had said to Maura that he could never forgive his father. He forgave him now. And surely his father's unaltered will indicated that his father had also forgiven him?

It was time for him to shovel the first spadeful of earth on his father's coffin. He stepped forward, feeling more at peace with himself than he had done for months and months. When his child was born he would name him Victor, after his father. If the baby was a girl, then he would name her Victoria. He wondered if Maura would object to the name Victoria Genevre.

It was Phillip Jay who put an end to his musings. ‘Please excuse Helena and myself if we don't return home with you, Alexander.'

Alexander looked at him, surprised. He had certainly expected the Jays to be among the mourners returning to the Fifth Avenue mansion for sherry and a cold collation. Phillip had been a long-standing friend of his father's. ‘Under the circumstances …' Phillip continued awkwardly. ‘Helena, you know …'

Alexander didn't know but he wasn't able to pursue the subject. There was a long line waiting to shake his hand and to offer condolences. They were also, to a man, offering apologies about their inability to return to the Karolyis home for the customary sherry and repast.

After it had happened a third time realization dawned on Alexander like a thunderbolt. He was being socially cut. Despite having attended his father's funeral the mourners had no intention of coming to terms with the marriage that had so outraged them. He had been too deep in thoughts of his father to have previously noticed, but now he saw that Maura was being scarcely acknowledged. Rage suffused him. She was his
wife
, for Chrissakes! It was beyond belief that she should be treated with such ignorance.

Henry Schermerhorn approached him and he said savagely, ‘Are you going to make your apologies too, Henry?'

Henry ignored him. He took Maura's gloved hand, saying something Alexander couldn't catch. Then he said in answer to Alexander's query, ‘No, my boy. One of the benefits of being a bachelor is that I don't have to take feminine sensibilities into account.'

Later, on their return carriage ride, Alexander said tautly, ‘It isn't the men, Maura. If it weren't for their wives they'd all have paid their respects to you. But you won't suffer such humiliation again, believe me you won't!'

‘It doesn't matter.' She slid her hand into his, her face much paler than normal.

‘It matters like the very devil!' There were white lines around his mouth and a pulse had begun to beat at the corner of his jaw. ‘A
Van Rensselaer
snubbed me back there, for Chrissakes!'

Her hand tightened in his. ‘But isn't this what you had expected?' she asked, not understanding why he was reacting so violently. ‘Charlie told you how tough everyone had been on your father.'

‘I
wanted
them to be tough on my father,' he exploded furiously. ‘But my father's dead now! Surely you can see that it's going to be as inconvenient as hell if this kind of thing continues?'

There was nothing Maura could say. He was being totally unreasonable and he couldn't see it. Nor would he appreciate it if she pointed the fact out to him. Together they were going to have to come to terms with New York society's snobbish ostracism. Perhaps, after a little while, Alexander's peers would begin to accept her. Perhaps after the baby was born things would be different. She hoped so, for Alexander's sake. Her heart ached with love for him. He was such an odd mixture. Outwardly his careless self-assurance bordered on arrogance. Inwardly he was touchingly vulnerable. Never in a million years would she have imagined he would care about social slights and snubs and he had again surprised her. He did care. He cared very much.

As they stepped into the grand entrance-hall a footman approached her with a silver salver. ‘A letter for you, ma'am,' he said dutifully. ‘It came via Tarna.'

The hand-writing was Kieron's. The postmark was that of New York.

Elation suffused her. She would soon be reunited with the only person, apart from Isabel, who represented family and her old way of life. With Kieron around to laugh and reminisce with, her two separate lives, Irish and American, would merge into a complete whole. She turned joyously to Alexander but he was saying crisply to Haines: ‘Is Mr Kingston waiting for me in the Chinese drawing-room?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Then tell him I will be with him right away. When Mr Charlie Schermerhorn and Mr Henry Schermerhorn arrive direct them to join us.' He returned his attention to Maura, explaining, ‘Charlie and Henry are both family, however distant. It's only correct that they attend the reading of the will.'

She nodded. In her delight at being handed Kieron's letter she had forgotten all about the will. She slid the letter into her dress pocket. It would be inappropriate to begin discussing it now. She would talk about it with him later. She said hesitantly, thinking of the cold collation laid out in the dining-room, ‘Should I remain here to greet any mourners that arrive?'

His face tightened. ‘I doubt if anyone else will arrive and if they do so, Haines will take care of them until we are free to join them.'

She was still unsure as to what she should now do. Did he expect her to accompany him to the Chinese drawing-room? She didn't particularly want to be so vividly reminded of the bewilderment and then the horror that she and Isabel experienced when listening to the reading of Lord Clanmar's will, nor was she particularly interested in being privy to Victor Karolyis's last wishes and bequests.

There came the sound of a carriage rolling to a halt in the courtyard. ‘That must be Charlie or Henry,' she said, looking at him for guidance. ‘Should I join you later, in the dining-room?'

‘No.' He took hold of her arm. ‘You're my wife. Your place is with me,' and without waiting to see who was about to enter he guided her firmly towards the Chinese drawing-room.

Seconds after they had seated themselves, Charlie and Henry were shown into the room. It had never occurred to Charlie that Alexander would expect him to be present at such a formal, and potentially embarrassing, occasion and he was highly discomfited. What if Alexander were to find himself cut off without a dollar to his name? What if Victor had left his vast fortune to a mistress, or a dog's home? What if his Last Will and Testament was full of vitriolic abuse?

Henry seated himself without any such anxieties. Victor may have been ruthless and vindictive but he hadn't been a fool. Other than Alexander he had no direct family member to bequeath his estate to. Whatever the strings and conditions attached, the legendary Karolyis fortune would go in its entirety to his son. Wondering who he would leave his own much less, but still substantial fortune to, he settled himself comfortably on a deeply cushioned sofa and waited for Lyall Kingston to begin proceedings.

Kingston did so without any unnecessary theatrical pauses for effect. ‘The late Mr Victor Karolyis's will is, despite the complexity of his holdings, extremely simple,' he began almost apologetically.

Charlie stuffed his thumbs in his waistcoat jacket and looked up at the ceiling, hardly able to bear the suspense. Henry's boredom was relieved by a flicker of amusement. Simplicity was not a word he had ever associated with Victor. Alexander, knowing very well what was to come, tapped a foot impatiently on the rose-garlanded carpet. ‘There are no extraneous bequests,' Lyall Kingston continued, carefully keeping the shock he felt out of his voice.

There was certainly not one to himself. When he had first read the will he had almost choked over its paucity of bequests. The richest man in New York State, almost certainly the richest man in America, possibly the richest man in the entire world, had not left one cent to any charitable institution or to any long-serving employee. It almost beggared belief. The wording of the will was starkly simple. Everything that Victor Karolyis possessed was to pass to his son.

He read the brief formal words in as dispassionate a voice as was possible. Charlie let out a vulgar whistle of relief. Henry's thin nostrils flared in annoyance. He had been wrong to have thought Victor anything but a fool. Only a fool would have left nothing to charity or to the city. When the Press got to hear of it there would be an uproar. Not one hospital or school founded and funded; not a public library bearing the Karolyis name; not an art gallery, complete with donated art treasures. The opprobium that would fall on the rest of his family, however distant, would be immense. They would all be vilified for meanness, for lack of civic pride; for lack of any show of gratitude at all to the city that had given them so much.

Maura felt only bewilderment. Although Lord Clanmar's will had perplexedly omitted any reference to herself, it had been full of caring bequests to those who had served him. Had Victor Karolyis assumed that Alexander would rectify the omissions? Were such bequests perhaps not read out publicly in America? At least there had been no bitter reference to herself, and for that she was grateful.

‘I'll meet with you tomorrow morning at nine,' Alexander said curtly to Lyall Kingston.

Lyall nodded. It was going to take lots of morning meetings to appraise Alexander of the complex ramifications of the financial empire he had inherited.

‘As there is no-one present but ourselves I think the sherry can be dispensed with, don't you, my boy?' Henry said to Alexander as he rose to his feet. ‘A decent claret will be far more agreeable.'

Alexander fully agreed with him. He felt suddenly quite extraordinarily tired. ‘Claret and brandy,' he said, leading the way not into the formal dining-room, still laid for an army of mourners, but into a smaller, more intimate, dining-room next door to the library. It didn't occur to him to be surprised that Haines had already anticipated his wishes and that an oval rosewood table had been exquisitely laid for them.

‘I rather like this arrangement,' Henry said with sincerity. ‘I've always hated the hypocritical conversations that take place after a funeral over the sherry. All false syrup and eulogies about how worthy the deceased had been. This is far more civilized. I shall demand that no more than a handful of relatives gather after my own demise.' Charlie grinned. He had previously never understood Alexander's bizarre friendship with old Henry but he was beginning to do so now. It had been decent of Henry to behave as if Alexander's marriage was one that was perfectly proper. His courtesy to Maura at Victor's graveside had eased the potentially explosive situation. There had been a moment when Charlie had thought Alexander had been going to deck Van Rensselaer. He took an appreciative swallow of his wine, his grin deepening at the thought of the furore that would have followed such an action.

With the will-reading behind her, Maura was able to turn her thoughts once more to the letter in her pocket. She wondered where Kieron was staying. He hadn't any relatives in New York, nor did he have any friends in the city, apart from herself. Her fingers itched to open the envelope. She wondered if he had found employment and if so, what kind of employment. There was certainly no call for land-agents in New York. What else would he be able to do? She remembered his fierce intelligence and adaptability and did not even begin to worry. Kieron would be able to succeed at anything he set his mind to. The envelope crackled tantalizingly as she responded to Henry's genuinely interested queries about life in Ireland. The minute Henry and Charlie departed she would read it. And tomorrow she would be hostess to Kieron.