Treasures

by Belva Plain

  “I’m sure.”

  Once in the car, Martin kept talking. “That’s the stock exchange over there. I’ll take you to see it one day. You’ll think it’s a madhouse. Hundreds of traders shrieking and waving their arms, right up to the three-thirty closing bell. What an industry! Little guys gambling, big guys in risk arbitrage. Your brother does some of that, I’m told. Not me. I don’t like risk.”

  The car rolled along Wall Street. On either side were walls of windows and behind all the windows, Connie now knew, were rows of desks, telephones, and people talking. The fantastic wealth that talk produced! Of course, she corrected herself immediately, there was more to it than talk. To think otherwise was to oversimplify. It was naive. And yet, for an instant, a totally irrelevant picture came to mind, an image of Davey, bustling in his little factory, making something with his grimy hands.

  A cold April rainstorm had arisen, a brief return of winter. People were hurrying along the windy streets, crowding the subway entrances, pushing through the crowds, clutching the collars of their coats and their shabby parcels. But inside the car as it rolled uptown to “21,” it was warm and dry. There was even a folded lap robe if you wanted one, dark blue woolen with a monogram. Connie sighed and stretched her legs in comfort.

  “Feeling all right?” Martin asked, as always.

  “Wonderful.”

  To be so safe, and so removed from the poor souls in the streets and in the subways, was bliss.

  Forty-three acres surrounded this residence among the low hills of northern Westchester County. From the window where Connie stood, she could see the tennis courts, the heated pool, the stables, and the riding trail curving toward the woods. When the door opened, she turned toward Martin.

  His eyes grew wide. “My God,” he said, “my God, but you’re perfection itself!”

  “I don’t look three months pregnant?”

  “No one could possibly guess.”

  “I’ve gained eight pounds. And all where it shows. Or it would if this skirt weren’t so full.” She smoothed the diaphanous pink silk.

  From behind he put his arm around her waist. Through the mirror that faced them, she could see the white carnation in his buttonhole; she could see his happiness.

  “Are you sure you feel all right?” he asked.

  “I feel absolutely wonderful.”

  “The judge is already here, but we’ve got half an hour yet. People are still arriving. And Eddy just came with a surprise for us. Shall I send him up?”

  “Do. I’m getting nervous up here all by myself.”

  One could hear Eddy’s approach even on carpeted stairs and floors. His running steps thudded; he rattled keys, cleared his throat, made noises. It was as if his vigor, like Martin’s, were too much to contain. Now he almost leapt into the room, shouting at Connie.

  “Were you wondering why you haven’t gotten my wedding present yet?”

  “What a question! What am I supposed to answer?”

  “Don’t answer. Just go to the window.”

  Cars were lined up in the big graveled circle and all down the driveway as far as she could see.

  “Where am I supposed to look?”

  “Down on your right. Behind the Rolls where the chauffeur’s standing. What do you see?”

  “A station wagon.”

  He corrected her. “A Mercedes station wagon. Like it?”

  “Of course. It’s stunning.”

  “Well, it’s yours. From Pam and me.”

  “Eddy! You’re a darling! I love it. Love it!”

  “Well, it was Pam’s idea. We thought it would be just right for you and your offspring to go tooling about the countryside in. There’s room for Delphine and the rest of the dogs in the back too.”

  “Oh, you’re both darlings,” Connie repeated. “Why doesn’t Pam come up so I can thank her?”

  “You can thank her later.” Eddy hesitated, grew grave, and exclaimed softly, “What a pity that you never invited Lara!”

  Connie drew a sharp breath. There was a fluttering in her heart, and she had to sit down. “Oh, Eddy! How can you do this to me today? I can’t start crying, smudging my eyes now! I did invite her. I wrote a lovely letter last week and sent it with such hope, and such fears, I can’t tell you! I didn’t know how she would take it. I thought probably she would be angry that I even asked her. And you see, I was right, I haven’t heard a word. Not a word. I knew she wouldn’t come.”

  Eddy threw his head back in delighted laughter. “Oh, but you’re wrong! She’s here! They’ve even brought Sue, all dressed up like a wedding cake. She didn’t answer because she wanted to surprise you. She’s waiting in the hall at the top of the stairs.”

  “Oh, my God! Oh, Eddy, where is she? Bring her in!”

  Connie’s eyes, brimming with tears all mingled with mascara, stung so sharply that Lara seemed to be wavering in the doorway. She’s grown older, Connie thought; her waist is thick, she’s thirty-five. And she held out her arms.

  Lara cried. Then, murmuring, “I mustn’t crush your dress,” she let go of Connie, saying over and over, “But I am so glad, so glad.”

  “You didn’t answer me, so I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “Oh, I was hoping you would invite us. Davey said, and Eddy said so many times, long before this, that I should call you. And I wanted to, but I dreaded a rejection.” Lara’s eyebrows drew together, giving her a painful, almost an imploring expression. In that instant Connie recognized their mother.

  “I wish Peg were here,” she said.

  Eddy, who, like a proud, tender parent, was watching them, said quickly, “If she were, she’d say, ‘Get on with the party.’ ” He looked at his watch. “I’m going to leave you two now, but in twenty minutes I’ll be back to take the bride downstairs and give her away.”

  “When you come back, will you bring Davey and Sue for just a minute? I want Connie to see my Sue.”

  The sisters were left with more than two years’ worth of living to disclose.

  “Eddy tells me your little girl is darling,” Connie began.

  “Oh, she is. I am so grateful for the way she’s growing.”

  “And he tells me that Davey and you have a fabulous business.”

  “Well, he ought to know. He’s had enough to do with it. But fabulous is a big word.”

  “Doesn’t Eddy always use big words? Big, that’s Eddy. But I’m impressed, anyway. When I think of that shed in your backyard, when I think of so many things we lived through together, and of all the changes now …”

  “Sometimes it doesn’t do to remember too much. I wish I could forget, and maybe I will yet, the things I said to you. I was too harsh, Connie. I guess it was just that, after all those years of wanting a baby, I went crazy because you could have one and didn’t want it.”

  “Don’t,” Connie said gently, “it’s past, it’s over. Don’t spoil this happiness.”

  “You’re right.” Lara glanced around the room. “This house! I’ve never seen anything like it. Why, you’re living like a princess, Connie.”

  On the floor near the door stood a pile of brass-bound luggage ready to be taken downstairs. The matching pieces were made of maroon leather, the softest, most perishable kind that is used for expensive handbags.

  “Such beautiful suitcases,” Lara said.

  “My birthday present. Martin selected them.”

  “I hope they don’t bang them all up at the airport. Just flying from home to New York, they made a dent in my brand-new case. But Davey says it can be fixed.”

  A careful, frugal housekeeper had spoken. Use it up, make it do, wear it out. That was the way Lara had been taught and the way she would follow. And Connie could barely imagine Lara’s shock if she knew that Martin had paid twelve thousand dollars for those six pieces.

  “You must be going far. Or is your honeymoon a secret?”

  “We’re going around the world.” Connie hesitated, trying to decide whether to minimize the truth or to reve
al it all, and decided to reveal it; they had never hidden things from one another in the past, and there was no good reason to start now. “Martin’s firm has bought a new jet. It’s got everything, even a grand piano. Isn’t that fantastic? We’ll be seeing such fairy-tale places too. Bora Bora and Kashmir and Madagascar. I’ve been trying desperately to learn something about them before we get there. Martin admires me when I know things. Did you meet him when you came in?”

  “Briefly. Eddy introduced us.”

  “Martin’s very sweet. And he’s a man, not—” She had been about to say, “not a Richard,” but was stopped by the recall of last week’s affecting note from Richard, wishing her every happiness with Martin, and said instead, “When you get to know him, you’ll see. You’ll really like him.”

  “If you love him, of course I will.” The conversation then came to a stop. It was as if they had both at the same moment been struck by the reality of each other’s presence. They were examining each other. She is sturdy and comforting, Connie said to herself. She copes, and will be the same if she lives to be ninety.

  “What are you seeing when you look at me so gravely?” asked Lara.

  Connie shook her head. “No, no, I was only seeing your dress. I like the color, the blue.”

  “I bought it on the run as soon as I knew we were coming. Does it make me look fat?”

  “Not really. But you have put on some weight.”

  “Fifteen pounds.”

  “As much as that! How did you let it happen?”

  “I suppose you can’t guess.” Lara’s eyes were very bright, as if still tearful, although now she was smiling. “I’m pregnant.”

  Could she be? No, not after all those years.

  “Are you shocked? Yes, it’s true. I’m in my sixth month, so you see, I’m really not all that fat.”

  Connie got up and put her arms around Lara. Moved to the heart, she could find nothing to say.

  “Connie, no tears,” Lara protested gently. “Your makeup. Here, let me wipe it.”

  “Did Eddy tell you I was pregnant too?”

  Eddy, appearing just then at the door, denied that. “Definitely not. I considered that your secret if you wanted to keep it. Now, take a look at who’s here.”

  “Davey!” There he stood, almost shyly, with a twinkling smile, immediately so familiar that she felt with a shock how much she must have missed him too.

  “Come in and let me hug you. You look surprised.… You heard what I said.”

  “It seems as if an awful lot’s happening at once, that’s why.”

  “When is it to be?” asked Lara.

  “Not till December. Are you shocked?”

  “Of course not, darling.”

  And Davey added, “Why should we be? We’re only happy for you.”

  “Yes, both of them making an uncle out of me,” Eddy said. “Or I should say ‘again,’ because I am one already. Where is she? Where are you, Sue?”

  “Here.” And from behind Davey stepped a dark-haired little girl in a party dress.

  “This is Aunt Connie,” Lara announced. “Isn’t she pretty in her bride dress?”

  Great, solemn eyes stared at Connie. “She’s not as big as you are, Aunt Lara.”

  “Her baby’s not as near to being born as ours is, that’s why.” And as Connie’s confusion must have been evident, Lara explained, “Sue’s known for a long time that she’s going to have a sister. The doctor told us.”

  “So we’d know what color to make the baby’s room,” Sue interposed. “The room’s right next to mine. It’s pink, and I’m giving her a pink cat when she comes. I bought it with my allowance.”

  They’ve worked some sort of miracle here, Connie thought, recollecting Eddy’s first accounts of a frightened, orphaned waif and Lara’s patient struggles. Bending to kiss this little chatterer on either cheek, she said, “I think your baby will be the luckiest baby in the world to have a sister like you.”

  Connie’s eyes met Lara’s over Sue’s head. The emotion inside the four walls of the room was tangible, almost too much to be borne.

  “This is something like it, you two together again,” said Eddy. Then he, too, must suddenly have sensed the need to lighten the moment, for with mock brusqueness he gave orders: “Go on out, everybody, hurry down. I’m giving the bride away, and we’re ready to make our grand entrance.”

  Connie floated. In her long pink dress, the color of evening clouds, she floated down the spiral stairs into the drawing room and down the aisle between the guests on their little gilt chairs, to where Martin stood waiting.

  Beside her there hovered a singular creature, her own spirit, disembodied, cannily observing the event and everyone in it, including herself.

  The judge is wizened; his voice is as dry as his words; there is no poetry in them as there was that other time in Houston when the minister began: Dearly beloved, we are gathered here. Connie likes poetry in stately ceremony, but it’s better this way after all, less complicated than choosing either minister or rabbi. As long as they are safely married and the baby safely growing, nothing else is important.

  In a few minutes the ring is given, and it is all over. Martin bends down and kisses Connie; it is a long kiss on the mouth, and she is a little embarrassed before all these people. She catches Bitsy’s eye. Now she is infinitely richer than Bitsy, which is what counts, even though Bitsy may well sniff at Martin Berg for being nouveau.

  They are walking back down the aisle between rows of smiles. Martin’s brother Ben thinks Connie is a trophy wife, and perhaps she is, for she’s Martin’s prize today, and he treats her like a prize. But his Chicago sisters-in-law, elderly and bedecked with jewelry, have kind, sentimental faces; Oh, Martin, she’s beautiful they whisper as she passes. Eddy winks, and Pam blows a kiss. Pam is a sport. She has a good time everywhere. There’s Preston’s white patrician head. His eyes, with a canny twinkle in them, meet Connie’s and linger a second too long. His wife looks about old enough to be his mother, although they met when they were both in college. Martin’s son is sullen. He came unwillingly and will fly back to Paris tomorrow. There’s Melissa in bottle-green with real lace, a beautiful French dress, but green again. Her mother must not like her. Connie will help her. Connie will be good to Martin’s children, will remember their favorite foods and do everything right.

  Now they stand in the receiving line to be kissed and congratulated. Having passed through the line, the guests disperse themselves among the airy rooms and out into the gardens. Music strikes up, music for happiness.

  How Connie’s mother would have loved all this! How Connie loves it! She is glowing.

  Tables were set up under flowered umbrellas on the terraces and lawns. Waiters bearing silver trays in their white-gloved hands moved about among the tables and followed guests along paths between high banks of laurel, offering a variety of hors d’oeuvres so lavish as to make superfluous the dinner that was to follow inside the great house.

  So large and so diverse was the crowd that friends had a hard time finding each other. Some husbands and wives had to stand apart with no one else to talk to, while other people, weary of wandering, glass in hand, took the first available seat and started some sort of courteous conversation with total strangers.

  “Twenty-three years and then a divorce,” remarked Caroline DeWitt. “The man ought to be ashamed, that’s all I have to say.”

  “This is hardly the place in which to say it,” her husband replied. “You’re talking about my partner.”

  “I’m not in the habit of embarrassing you, Preston. I was practically whispering. And it is shameful, no matter what you think. Doris was a much more suitable wife. Not that I ever knew her that well, but you could just look at her and see she was more suitable.”

  “Apparently, he doesn’t think so,” Preston answered dryly.

  “Just look at the dress this one’s wearing. These people are terribly overdressed. The whole thing is overdone. Ostentatious. Too much food, too man
y flowers. Ah! Now, there’s a well-dressed young woman. The tall one in the black-and-white print over there.”

  “She’s the bride’s sister-in-law. Married to the Young Prince.”

  “Not that Osborne they talk about?”

  “Yes, Osborne. I’ve been in this business a long, long time and my father before me, but I still don’t know how he does it.”

  “He knew enough to marry a lady, anyway. There’s no mistaking quality. Even to the way she sits. You see what I mean?”

  Pam was saying, “This must be a wonderful country for horses. We ought to buy a place like this, Eddy, don’t you think so? I’m getting tired of Long Island. It’s gotten too crowded, even in the best parts of it.”

  “Kentucky? I can’t live there, honey. It’s too far.”

  “I visited my school roommate there one summer, and I love it, loved all the space.” Pam spoke wistfully.

  “All right. When I retire. But I’m hardly ready to retire yet! Things are going too well for that.”

  Hopefully now, Pam regarded Eddy. “It could be an investment. Horses can make a lot of money for you.”

  “You’d really like it?”

  “I’d adore it.”

  “Then I promise I’ll keep it in mind for the future.”

  And why not? Make her happy. That’s what life is all about, what money is for, he thought, feeling again the nice glow of ample generosity. And he imagined himself saying someday, “Our place in Kentucky”; he imagined himself walking—no, riding—over hundreds of acres, all his own; he imagined, too, the people who would be their friends and neighbors, the southern gentry. Pam would fit there to perfection. He had noticed that sourpuss wife of DeWitt’s admiring her a few minutes ago. Like seeks out like, he told himself. Old wealth, even when, as in Pam’s case, it had been lost, left its aura.

  “Your sister’s done well for herself,” Pam remarked now, “taking a big step farther up with each marriage.”

  “Oh, this will be the last, no question about it.”

  “You think so?”