Possessions (47 page)

Swirling the brandy in his glass, Ross said, “You deserve an answer. The things of the past are important to me for the same reason I became an architect; because I need to feel there's a continuous line holding us together, all the generations and ages. We aren't in a void, spinning out our lives and then disappearing; we're part of something that stretches behind us and ahead of us, that gives meaning to our lives and everything we create. We all want to leave something behind; that means we need to believe others will see what we've made, touch it, bring it to life. In a way, that's what keeps us alive.”

He smiled and took Katherine's hand. “I didn't mean to lecture. At the moment I'm very much enjoying the present. Which reminds me. I'm meeting Carrie and Jon at the airport tomorrow. It's occurred to me”—his voice grew casual—“that they'd probably enjoy the country more than the city. And Todd and Jennifer's companionship. Would you mind if we join you tomorrow—when you fly to Menton?”

R
OSS had telephoned ahead, so Victoria was prepared for the invasion when the limousine arrived from the airport in Nice, and few would have guessed, from her unruffled smile and calm kisses, that she had not planned from the beginning to spend the month of July with four children under the age of twelve. But Ross, feeling responsible, whispered as he greeted her, “They won't bother you; I'll keep them on a leash, never out of my sight.”

“Oh, but you mustn't,” she said in alarm. “You'd have no time for yourself.”

Or to be with Katherine, he thought, which was what she really meant. Amused, he watched her welcome the children. Stubborn, tenacious, trying to manage her family's lives, so she could live through them. And clever, he reflected; she knew Katherine and I would get along. “We'll make time for everything,” he promised, bringing a smile to Victoria's face as she watched them go to their rooms to unpack.

The children were in a wing of four rooms and a playroom, with its own courtyard, that Hugh and Victoria had added to
the villa, anticipating noisy visits from grandchildren. Craig, Jennifer, Derek, and Ross had stayed there every summer, and as they grew older the playroom grew with them: rocking horses and Tinker Toys replaced by motorized Erector sets, model airplanes, and, finally, drafting tables, a television set and stereo, and a cabinet filled with chess, backgammon, Scrabble, Chinese Checkers, and Monopoly.

From the doorway, Ross shook his head wonderingly. “She hasn't changed a thing,” he told Katherine as they walked into the room. “The last time I was here was 1966; the four of us came for a couple of weeks when school ended. The next month Jennifer was killed and Victoria closed the whole wing. But”—gently he touched a chessman and a model of the Wright Brothers' first plane—“she didn't change a thing.”

Katherine picked up a small open box with a strand of black pearls coiled inside. “Jennifer's,” Ross said. “She left it behind when we went home.”

“She forgot it?” Katherine asked.

“She didn't want it. Which rooms are yours? Did Victoria ever tell you she has a scheme for assigning suites to visitors?”

“No.” He had cut her off. Too personal, Katherine thought. They walked out of the playroom and turned a corner into a wide corridor. One side was entirely of glass, looking through horizontal wooden slats into the villa's flower gardens and, beyond, the badminton court, croquet lawn, and vegetable gardens. In the mornings, the slats were closed to keep out the sun. On the other side of the corridor, doorways led to three suites, each with sliding glass doors opening on to the terrace that overlooked the pink-beige roofs of Menton, the crowded harbor and the azure Mediterranean. Wooden slats formed a canopy over the terrace, and were tilted after lunch to shade the house from the blazing afternoon sun. “Here is mine,” said Katherine, turning into a bedroom and sitting room in sage green and ivory: a cool oasis amid the blinding colors of the Riviera. “And what was Victoria's scheme in choosing it for me?”

Ross sat on the arm of a chair and looked about the two spacious rooms. “When we were growing up, the villa was always full of guests—writers, painters, diplomats, businessmen—coming and going, all summer long. Mostly we didn't pay much attention, but those who were given this suite we
watched, because Victoria made it clear they were her favorites. What we didn't know was whether she put them here because they were special, or whether they became special by staying here. Finally we decided the rooms were magic and each of us, I guess, dreamed of the day Victoria would ask
us
to stay in them.” He smiled. “Of course it never occurred to her; why should it? We had a whole wing to ourselves. And she had her special people. Not many—Victoria doesn't love easily or casually—but a few every summer, enough to make me remember these rooms. Do you know what her plans are for dinner tonight?”

“No.” He'd done it again, she thought; offered a glimpse of himself, then skidded away to something else.

“Because, I thought we might take a drive after dinner,” he went on. “Monte Carlo is a few miles down the road; worth seeing once and then avoided. Unless you had enough sightseeing in—?”

“Dad,” said Jon, charging in. “Carrie says I have to unpack. We're gonna be here all month; why do I have to unpack this minute? Why do I have to unpack anyway? I can find everything in my suitcase. Carrie's only dumping on me because she's mad at Jennifer.”

“Why is she mad at Jennifer?” Katherine asked.

Jon looked up dubiously, not sure how to behave with Katherine. She was butting in on their vacation, but his dad seemed to like her, so he and Carrie had talked it over and decided it would be smart to be careful. “Just ‘cause she and Todd were here all week,” he said, “they act like they live here and we don't belong.”

Seeing Katherine's dismay, Ross said quickly, “I think this requires some diplomacy. Do you mind if I handle it?”

She shook her head and watched the two of them leave the room.
Did she mind!
For a year she'd been forced to settle every squabble and soothe every anxiety by herself. Now she stood in the perfect silence of her room, content to let Ross deal with her children. And that, she thought, makes this a real vacation.

*  *  *

Sheltered from the gusting north winds, in an almost tropical climate, lush palm trees grow in Menton; citrus orchards yield oranges, tangerines, grapefruits, kumquats, and lemons year
round, and pine, olive, and cypress trees grow thickly on the hills beyond the town, hiding the villas tucked among them. A short drive away, the world's wealthy gamble all night, and tan by day; a two-hour drive away, skiers find snow all year long in the Alps. Aloof from them all, the villas of Menton, reached by paths and steep staircases, guard their privacy and ignore the tourists below.

At Villa Serein, Victoria attempted to impose her benevolent rule. “I have a complete list,” she told Ross and Katherine, “of the music and art festivals between Menton and Aix-en-Provence—a fine day's trip—plus the museums and churches and Roman ruins you will want to see. Hugh and I loved poking through them; Katherine, you must take your sketch pad; you'll find extraordinary formations. As for the children—” She spread a sheaf of papers on the table.

“I've arranged private sailing and rock-climbing excursions, and swimming and diving lessons in Menton's pool. In addition, I've spoken to a friend in Monaco who has tennis courts and his own coach; the children are welcome there any time. And of course, there are movie theaters, the library in the villa, and the games in the playroom. I presume they are appropriate.” She looked up. “If not, I will buy whatever . . .” Her voice faltered as she saw Ross shaking his head. “What is it?”

“You know what it is; we've been through this before. You cannot organize every hour of everyone's day. I need time with Carrie and Jon; I have to return to Paris for a few days; I want some time with you and with Katherine; I'd like some time alone. I think it would be best if we work out our own schedules and then try to put them together.”

“It would not be best,” Victoria said tartly. “I become exceedingly nervous when I don't know what is happening under my own roof. But I understand about the children; I should have realized. You and Katherine could take them sailing, in place of some of their sailing lessons; I'll arrange that—”

“I don't want you to arrange it,” he said. “You've been arranging since you took Katherine to Paris.”

“And what was wrong with that?” she demanded. “You had a fine time—!”

“Couldn't we decide this together?” Katherine asked. “Everything you've thought of is wonderful, but it doesn't leave me any time either; I have to design at least a dozen new pieces
of jewelry. And you didn't say what you're going to do. Couldn't we discuss it? Ross?”

“A good idea. We'll have a conference.”

“Would that make you less nervous?” Katherine asked Victoria.

“Most likely,” she said. “Often I think I'm most nervous when I don't get my way.”

Ross laughed. “Often I think so too. Well, let's see what we can organize.”

Uphill of the villa, with a view of the terrace where the adults were talking, Jennifer, Todd, Carrie, and Jon sat cross-legged in the shade of a cypress tree, eating oranges and playing Scrabble. It was a morose game. Jennifer and Todd thought Carrie and Jon had been foisted on them, cutting into the exclusive attention they got from their great-grandmother while their mother was in Paris; and Carrie and Jon, remembering their mother's biting comments, thought Katherine and her children were intruders and troublemakers. But Ross had practically ordered them all to get along, saying he expected a peaceful vacation and they could be peaceful separately or together, but they had to understand that sailing and rock-climbing and tennis weren't for one person at a time. Either they did them as a group, or not at all. It was up to them.

So they were a group, playing a glum but determined game of Scrabble. They watched Todd ponder his letters, then place three tiles on the board. “B-U-X,” he spelled aloud, adding in a rush, “That's fourteen points and it's doubled so I get—”

“There's no such word,” Jennifer said indignantly.

“There is too.” He looked sideways at the others and began to giggle. “It means lots of money.”

A smothered laugh burst from Jon, and in spite of themselves Carrie and Jennifer laughed, too. “Not bad,” Carrie conceded.

“Then I can have it?” Todd asked. “Twenty-eight points?”

“No,” they all said in unison.

“Nuts.” He pondered, found another place to make “bull,” then watched sternly as Jennifer took her turn and made “filial.”
“That's
not a word, either.”

“It is too. Just because you never heard of it—”

“It is a word,” said Carrie.

“Meaning what?” Todd demanded.

“Being a son or daughter.”

“Oh. Well, it isn't a word for everybody.”

“It
is
for everybody!” Jennifer said impatiently. “When you have a mother and father you're a—”

“I don't have a father. Neither do you.”

“That is the stupidest thing I ever heard!” Furious, Jennifer shoved aside her letters. “We do have a father. He just isn't here right now.”

“If he isn't here we don't have him.”

“Hey,” scowled Jon. “My dad doesn't live with us but we still have him.”

“That's not the same,” Todd retorted. “You know where your dad is, even when you're not with him. That's a lot better than with my dad—”

“It isn't better, it's worse, 'cause I know he's there and it's crazy that he's not living with us—I mean, you know he's just across the bay, you can sort of see where he lives—but he's not with you when you want him and that's
crazy
 . . .”

“It's better than not even knowing if your dad is alive or not!”

“How do you know!”

“Oh, stop it!” Jennifer cried. “The worst thing of all is never seeing your father and we haven't seen ours in months and months—”

“Yes, but then you get used to it,” said Carrie. “I mean, with our dad we're always saying goodbye. We spend a weekend with him or have dinner or something and then he takes us home and he never comes in, he stays outside and we say goodbye. Every time I turn around I have to say goodbye!”

“You say hello, too,” Todd countered.

“Yes, but I'm always thinking about later, how I'm going to have to say goodbye all over again. It's awful and I start to cry because I never get used to it.”

“Well I'd rather cry,” said Jennifer flatly, “than not have a father at all.”

“You said we did have a father!” Todd yelled.

“Not close by, like Carrie and Jon. We have a father somewhere, and he sends us money, but we never talk to him or go places with him like they do . . . they see their dad every day!”

“Only here,” said Carrie. “Not at home.” Her eyes filled with tears. “And if you want to know what's really the worst
of all, it's looking out your window and watching your father drive away. Seeing the
back
of his
car.”

“You think
that's
bad,” Todd declared. “Try thinking you'll never see your father again.”

Silence fell. Orange peels lay on the wild grass; a bee circled over them, buzzing loudly before disappearing into the bushes nearby. “This is silly,” Jennifer said in a small voice. “We all have things that are bad. I don't want to have a
contest
about them.”

“I don't either,” said Carrie. “Nobody would win.”