Leon Uris (36 page)

In the sad and wistful calm of the moment, she had another glass of the stuff and liberated her tongue for fair.

What came about in life were the compromises and understandings of the grand salon at work.

“Felix and I decided to remain a bombastic couple and once in a while he even gives me a decent performance. We are the epitome of discretion. No scandal with the Villiards. So I was twenty-five and beautiful and kept my indulgences to a short, sweet duration.”

Lily lifted her feet and lay back on the couch.

“Once upon a time,” she said, “I fell madly, madly in love with a Russian concert pianist. He took me places that shattered my fantasy of my own perfection. He turned me into a bitch in heat . . . a dribbling, streaky-faced, jealous clinger . . .”

“Go on,” Zach said.

“I never understood the agony you can put yourself through when you lose control. I was so crushed that my doctor and I concocted a story that I had respiratory problems and needed to go to a sanitarium in Switzerland to recover. It was the beginning and end of love affairs I could not walk away from. Life as Baroness Lilly Villiard is plenty good enough for me.

“From the start, even with your American naïveté, I knew you would be trouble. So? I am court-trained to give a man pleasure, but once in a while I get fringe benefits from that rare lover, the
equal-pleasure partner. You were daring me into strange places and I came close to letting go a few times. What a mess that would have been.”

She sat up. “Are you hungry, Zach?”

“I’m fine.”

“What did Amanda Kerr make of your performance at the casino?”

“She chewed me out and dismissed me.”

“I don’t believe you,” Lilly said.

“Makes no difference,” he answered. “I’m going to be confined to quarters. I have to finish my job. I can’t bungle it.”

“And she loves you very much.”

“It has to pass. I’m going to be shipped out after I turn in my report. Probably sea duty.”

“You don’t mean to see her again?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I have a thirty-day furlough coming,” he spurted unintentionally.

“And the two of you are going to do something desperate, aren’t you?”

Zach need not have given an answer. He was wearing it.

“Do you wish to marry?”

“We can’t. She is underage and her father will never give permission, so neither will the Corps.”

“Running off is even crazier.”

“We can’t help ourselves. She is strong and capable. She’ll get through and carry on.”

“And Lieutenant O’Hara?”

“We will have our time together.”

“To what avail? A court-martial?”

“If need be.”

“Sergei Zolofskovitch loved me in the same way. He was willing to leave his wife for me, and take my children. We’d have a villa in Spain or Italy and be a gossip piece for the rest of our lives.
Had I your courage, I would have become the mistress of a crazy Russian. When he played a concert he’d transform his audience and bring them to tears of exaltation. That was the way he made love as well.”

“Ever sorry?”

“No, I would have ended up a drunk or a dope fiend.”

She lay back on the sofa and Zach stretched near her on the floor. She gave him a cushion and her hand dangled down, able to stroke his hair.

“Papa George does not want to lose your friendship.”

“I’m glad for that.”

“Zach?”

“Aye?”

“Have you made love to Amanda yet?”

“No.”

“It is really a dangerous game you are playing.”

“We realize that.”

“God, the places you will take each other.”

•
32
•

Everyone close to the boating scene speculated that the Kerr brothers and their mongrel yawl,
Lochinvar III,
were up to some mischief.

Yachtsmen, when not racing, were the friendliest of old-boys’- club sorts. Donald and Malcolm Kerr were as friendly as any chaps whose crooked fingers ever held a gin glass.

This year at anchor,
Lochinvar III
had an armed crew aboard. At dockside there was a constant flow of new sails, masts, lines, rigging being delivered, and they were taking the boat out twice the number of times usual.

Horace was the motivator. Poor old dear was looking for speed, but a Scottish schooner could fart only so fast.

The Kerrs did draw raised eyebrows as the Newport fleet sailed south or up into dry dock. Horace Kerr was remaining at Tobermory for Thanksgiving and brazenly announced he was going to make a run to Immigrant Reef.

The damned fool was going into rough seas and flirting with a nor’easter. It was a reckless side of Horace that had won him an appreciation as an entrepreneur, but this was going to get him into serious trouble.

At Tobermory, every pumpkin in Rhode Island that survived Halloween was purchased and its innards had been gutted for one of a thousand pies.

A concrete pond that was dug by engineers from Dutchman’s Hook held a slim two inches of water, enough to freeze over for curling matches and ice skating.

Rooms were assigned at the three homes and a beachside resort hotel and its staff hired for the overflow, second cousins and such.

Daisy got it all ready. No banister rail went undecorated and sleighs were on standby in case they got a decent snow.

On the third day before Thanksgiving, Kerrs arrived from everywhere. Welcome parties were held at the homes of Malcolm and Donald in order to save the grand climax banquet for the main house.

Matching faces with places and times flown by led to jolly stuffy kisses, backslaps, and pinched cheeks. Horace commended himself for his largesse and was in high spirits.

He had not exactly spoken or written to Upton, but had had a representative in London extend an invitation. Upton returned a kind note by cable that he was otherwise engaged but appreciated the thought.

Thank God.

There was a treasure hunt for the children with a grand prize of a hundred-dollar gold piece from great-uncle-uncle-cousin and second cousin of all of them, Horace, and an ice hockey exhibition between the Providence Pilgrims and the Springfield Manufacturers, and music up from Baltimore consisting of teachers and students from the Peabody Institute, with top-quality soloists.

. . . and nonstop activity for the kids.

Why didn’t I do this a century ago? Horace wondered.

The children were fed at their own afternoon affair, served by a
black staff dressed as Pilgrims and Indians. Those who were still awake into the evening were skillfully attended to by nannies and governesses.

Daisy had arranged the tables in the grand salon in a circular manner so that rank was not an issue.

For favors, there were golden cuff links of ships, golden brooches of ships, and models of the greatest of the Kerr ships.

Malcolm and Donald arrived in handsomely tailored jackets as former vice-commodore and commodore of their Chesapeake Yacht Club.

They glutted themselves into a state of slow motion as the glee club from the naval training school sang hymns of thanks and humility.

With toast upon toast the gentlemen enjoyed their cigars.

. . . until all that one craved now was a snooze. Horace zeroed in on the moment. Before he lost his captives, he clinked his glass with a spoon and held his arms wide like a preacher.

The room quieted. Don’t drag it out, Horace, nail it now.

“. . . I am so filled, as though I have launched the ship of my life. For our final toast I am going to let you in on a deep secret that I planned to hold until Christmas. The moment is so soaring it demands I share it with you.”

Well, that sobered them up.

“You are, of course, all aware of the great work of the Kerr Foundation, begun by our beloved patriarch, Angus—”

“Hear! Hear!”

“—who passed on to me his great bent, and charitable institution over which I have presided, with the assistance of my brothers, Malcolm and Donald”—who stood and were cheered.

Horace listed the foundation’s generosity, orphan home, the church, a school for Negro children of exceptional promise, support for the arts including the purchase of a permanent box at the Metropolitan Opera, a stud farm to perfect quarter horses, grants to over twenty-three charities, “which I shall not list . . .”

Backdraft of laughter.

“. . . and now, our crowning achievement.”

Silence raged.

“My daughter Amanda has been inspired to establish a college in her name for the advancement of women’s education . . .

“Therefore . . . to that end . . .

“I am proud to announce that the Kerr Family Foundation has purchased eight hundred and thirty-seven acres of pristine land midway between Baltimore and Washington along the Patuxent River near Severn.”

The room arose, profoundly.

“I grant Amanda this deed for the campus of the Amanda Kerr College for Women.”

The rest need not be recorded, nor could be, over the din and shouts of “hurrah” and orchestra playing “A Mighty Fortress” and the black Pilgrims and Indians whooping.

Amanda was shocked, barely able to come to her feet to receive a clout of an embrace she’d never known from her father, and Daisy was up and the rafters rang . . .

For they are jolly good fellows,

For they are jolly good fellows . . .

Maybe Amanda would pull Glen Constable to his feet! Maybe! Come on, dammit!

With a last gasp of rationality, Amanda realized that this was pinnacle Horace Kerr stuff, boxing her in, and it was Horace who jerked Glen to his feet.

Hip-Hip Hooray

Hip-Hip Hooray

Hip-Hip Hooray

The commodores and commoners of the Kerr clan returned to their lesser domains in the next few days. But what gaiety it had been!

“Great fun!”

“Really great fun!”

They caught their trains and boats with bubbling hints of major occasions to come . . . a cornerstone for the college . . . a merger with Constable . . . maybe a royal wedding . . . heady stuff.

Daisy had watched Emily’s every blink and she had held up rather well, particularly at her teas, but when departure after departure took place, she began to show signs of weird behavior, warning of a coming attack.

Since Horace was preparing to sail to Immigrant Reef, Daisy decided to accompany Emily back to Baltimore, settle her in, and return to Newport.

House empty except for Amanda? Glen Constable needed very little convincing to remain at Tobermory and keep Amanda company while Horace made his sail.

Having drained all his milk of human kindness, Horace set out on a rough-water run with himself at the helm.

•
33
•