Oliver glanced at him. ‘Why yes. When war breaks out you can sell anything at any price you are bold enough to ask.’
René lifted his nose in the air. Defeating this giant was going to take more than a gentlemanly jab. ‘Isn’t that immoral, Monsieur Hopper? While your countrymen were dying for their ideals, you were turning a profit!’
The room fell silent. It was as if everyone was holding their breath. Oliver was twice René’s size. The span of his hand was bigger than the Frenchman’s face. I secretly hoped he would punch him.
But Oliver only raised his ginger eyebrows in a world-weary way. ‘Where I come from we have a saying: “If someone sings out of tune in the choir, should you sing out of tune too?” Those young men were nothing but pawns, I’m afraid. Their ideals were noble but they had believed a pack of lies. A businessman can’t afford to be noble. He has to see things as they are, not as he wishes them to be.’
The guests exchanged glances, uncertain whether to side with Oliver or support René. Oliver appeared unperturbed whether people agreed with him or not.
Philippe’s face had flushed at the antagonistic turn of the conversation and he came to his companion’s defence. ‘Monsieur Hopper has used his profits to invest in railroads. Which in turn has greatly helped with rebuilding after the war.’
But Oliver was regarding Caroline again with fascination. ‘You’re a southerner,’ he said. ‘What’s your opinion?’
Caroline matched his scrutiny glance for glance, her eyes alive and attentive. ‘I am haunted by the stench of the cotton burning on our plantation. It was destroyed at the order of the plantation manager so it wouldn’t fall into Yankee hands. If I’d been older and had a choice, I would have asked you to sell the cotton to save my family and the remainder of our slaves from starvation.’
Voicing an opinion so vehemently was not considered ladylike. Tante Régina shuddered and glanced at Félicité, who hid a grin behind her fan. She seemed pleased that Caroline had shown herself as ill-bred.
‘Perhaps Monsieur Hopper would like to hear my sister and me sing a duet?’ she said. ‘If you don’t have time to go to the Paris Opera, we shall bring the music to you.’
Félicité’s smile vanished when Oliver nodded to her politely but sent Caroline a significant look. My sister’s face shone with triumph. She had captured the rich American’s attention, if only for a few minutes. I remembered her intense expression earlier and was convinced that she had drawn Oliver to her by the sheer force of her will.
Tante Régina was terse with us when she wished us goodbye and I had a feeling it would be a long time before she invited us to one of her afternoon teas again.
When we returned from church the following day, Grand-maman asked me to go to my room to practise my harp. She wanted to speak with Caroline alone. I worked on my glissandos and phrasing, but my sharp ears picked up every word that Grand-maman said to Caroline.
‘Darling Caroline, I love you and I admire you,’ she began, ‘and there is no doubt in my mind that you will create a great destiny for yourself. But in regard to men like Oliver Hopper, you mustn’t get ideas —’
‘Above my situation?’ Caroline finished for her. She didn’t sound angry or hurt, just amused.
Grand-maman sighed. ‘When you lost your parents I welcomed you and Emma into my home. I gave you everything in my heart and shared all I have with you both. But I cannot offer a dowry, and that is always going to be a hindrance to a rich man. Marriage among the very wealthy is as much a business transaction as it is a union of souls.’
‘What I have to offer is worth much more than a dowry,’ Caroline replied, with such absolute conviction that a chill ran down my spine. ‘I have the impression Oliver Hopper wants an ambitious woman by his side. Someone he can confide in.’
‘And how could you possibly know that?’ Grand-maman asked. ‘Yesterday was the first time you’d met him and you spoke for only a short time.’
I imagined the exasperated expression on Grand-maman’s face. She’d once told me that my heart was as clear as a summer sky, but Caroline’s was a mystery. I’d known exactly what she’d meant. It was impossible to guess what my sister was thinking most of the time.
‘Even if a man like Oliver Hopper did marry for those reasons,’ Grand-maman continued, ‘his family, friends and associates would snub a woman who was not an equal match for him. Apart from that, he is twice your age . . .’
I became distracted from the conversation by something happening in the street. A black brougham with a liveried coachman and footman had stopped in front of our apartment building. The footman jumped down and helped two women out of the carriage, one elderly and one middle-aged. I couldn’t see their features clearly due to their extravagant hats, but their clothes were magnificent. The older woman’s skirt was trimmed with tassels and fringing, while the younger woman’s bustle dress was brocaded floral silk. Both wore velvet dolman sleeves trimmed with marabou feathers. I was wondering who they could be when a tall gentleman stepped out of the carriage after them. I recognised Oliver Hopper immediately.
Our building’s elderly concierge greeted the party on the street, bowing and nodding as if royalty had arrived.
‘Grand-maman! Caroline! He’s here!’ I said, running excitedly into the drawing room. ‘And he’s brought two ladies with him.’
‘Who?’ asked Grand-maman. While she had many friends who might call on us on Sunday afternoons, there were few men among them.
Caroline guessed who I was talking about. She calmly stood up and checked her appearance in the mirror above the fireplace. It was as if she had rehearsed this moment and was now readying herself for the performance. Her eyes darted me a warning, as if commanding me to leave the room. But I pretended not to notice. I wasn’t going to miss this visit.
The ringer on the apartment door jangled and Paulette answered it. Grand-maman started as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing when Oliver Hopper materialised in our drawing room flanked by the two finely dressed women.
‘My dear Madame Mercier,’ he began, ‘it was such a pleasure to meet you and your daughters yesterday at Madame Tolbert’s home that I wanted to bring my mother, Mrs Mary Hopper, and sister, Miss Anne Hopper, to see you.’ His cheeks were a high colour and he twisted the opal ring on his finger incessantly, as if he were trying to undo a screw.
Mrs Hopper and Anne were not what I had been expecting. Although their clothes were of the finest fabrics, their faces were care-worn and far from beautiful. Mrs Hopper’s skin was dry and wrinkled, and Anne’s sandy-grey hair was matched by sandy eyelashes and eyebrows. She appeared to have no colour at all about her. I had to blink my eyes a few times at Mrs Hopper’s hat. Attached to its high crown was a stuffed hummingbird. The sight of a lifeless pigeon in the street filled me with pity and I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to wear a dead bird on their head. I stared at it with morbid fascination until Caroline stepped on my foot to stop me.
Mrs Hopper’s severe mouth pursed into the faintest of smiles when she accepted Grand-maman’s offer of a chair. Anne seemed reluctant to sit and looked about the room with a frown on her face, until Oliver took her hand and almost forced her onto the sofa next to him.
Grand-maman did her best to put the women at ease, asking them how they were enjoying Paris. Mrs Hopper only gave the slightest inclination of her head in response to the questions, while Anne fidgeted with her sleeves and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece as if she couldn’t wait to get out of our apartment.
For the first time since arriving, Oliver looked directly at Caroline and smiled. Her face lit up and then she checked herself, returning his smile with a nod of her head.
I wanted to rush back to my room and collect my writing pad and pencil so I could record in detail this strangest of scenes, but as Paulette had arrived with a tray of tea and madeleines, I had no choice but to commit it to memory.
‘Will you accept a cup of tea?’ Caroline asked the women, trying to
save a conversation that seemed in danger of lapsing into silence. ‘Or do New Yorkers prefer coffee at this time of day?’
Mrs Hopper lifted her eyes, surprised by Caroline’s perfect English. She shook her head and glanced at Oliver. ‘Tea, thank you.’
Her reluctance to be drawn into conversation was obvious. Why had Oliver brought his mother and sister to see us if they were so unhappy to be here? Grand-maman valiantly continued to attempt to entertain the guests by telling them about the Exposition Universelle that had taken place in Paris two years previously, and how the head of the Statue of Liberty was showcased in the garden of the Trocadéro Palace. But after several awkward pauses, she left it to Caroline and Oliver to keep the conversation going.
‘I believe Bartholdi, the sculptor, modelled the face on his mother, and that the seven spikes on the crown represent the seven oceans and continents of the world,’ Caroline said, holding the plate of madeleines out to the women.
Anne gingerly accepted one, but Mrs Hopper stared at the small cakes as if she’d been offered poison before shaking her head.
Caroline put down the plate with a good-natured smile. Oliver sent her an admiring glance, as if grateful for her ability to persevere in the face of difficulty.
‘I’ve heard that when it’s erected it will be the tallest iron structure ever built,’ he said. ‘I wish I could recall the civil engineer’s name . . .’
‘Gustave Eiffel,’ Caroline told him. ‘I do hope one day he will build something magnificent for Paris too.’
Although Oliver and Caroline were enjoying each other’s company, Anne’s attention kept returning to the clock as if she was mentally trying to manipulate the hands to move faster.
Oliver noticed and, with a resigned expression of obligation, stood up and brought the gathering to an end. ‘Thank you very much for your kind hospitality, Madame Mercier, but we must not take up any more of your time.’
‘Not at all,’ replied Grand-maman graciously. ‘It has been a pleasure to have you in our home.’
From the way his mother and sister behaved, I assumed that we wouldn’t hear from Oliver again. So I was taken aback when a week later I returned from school to find his brougham parked in front of our house and the footman and coachman in conversation beside it. I couldn’t imagine why he had returned. Had his mother or sister left something behind?
I slipped through the front door and heard Oliver talking with Grand-maman and Caroline in the drawing room. Their tone was serious and I was sure that if they saw me they would send me away. So I hid behind the coat stand and peered into the room through a gap in the door.
Oliver was seated in a chair opposite Grand-maman and Caroline, who were on the sofa. My sister had styled her hair in fashionable loops piled on top of her head and she was wearing her best silk tea dress. Had she expected Oliver to call? She had an uncanny ability to predict events.
‘My mother and sister found you both charming,’ Oliver said. He sounded more at ease than during his previous visit.
‘But they were so quiet,’ replied Grand-maman, unable to keep the astonishment out of her voice. ‘I had the impression they were unhappy to be here.’
Oliver looked sheepish for a moment before regaining his confident demeanour. ‘Yes, indeed.’ Then, glancing at Caroline, he added, ‘That is their manner and you mustn’t be disturbed by it. Paris has its charms but they are overawed by it, and were intimidated by your social ease. They prefer to be in their own home with each other for company.’
I replayed the visit in my head. What we had taken for disapproval had merely been timidity. But how could two women from New York — so big and frenetic from the pictures I’d seen — be overawed by Paris?
‘So they are shy?’ asked Grand-maman, rubbing her eyebrow.
Oliver grinned. ‘Unlike me, Madame Mercier. We are originally from the Midwest. My father died when I was nine and life on our farm was a struggle for my mother and sister. We lived in a single-room log cabin that was freezing in winter. I left for New York when I was fourteen to make something of myself so I could help them.’
‘How extraordinary,’ said Grand-maman, ‘and how admirable too.’
Caroline leaned forward in her seat. ‘You have my sympathy, Mr Hopper. As you know, I lost my parents and our plantation home as a child. I understand how difficult life can be, and how strong one must be not to give in to despair.’
My sister was a kinder person around Oliver. If I had told her about something unfortunate that had happened to me, she would have replied, ‘Too bad for you!’
Oliver shrugged. ‘Unfortunately my father was a violent drunkard, Miss Caroline. His death was the result of a foolish accident with a plough. I do the best I can for my mother and sister, but they have never recovered from the harshness of their early life.’
Caroline took a moment to consider what Oliver had said. Then she straightened her back and replied with an air of unruffled strength, ‘I am certain that confidence will come in time . . . and with the right kind of encouragement.’
I watched their exchange with fascination. There was another conversation taking place beneath the surface. It was as if they could read each other’s minds.
Oliver’s eyes dwelled on Caroline for a moment before he turned back to Grand-maman. ‘Well, I think Miss Caroline and I understand each other,’ he declared. ‘Madame Tolbert asked if I was looking for a wife, Madame Mercier. I didn’t want to say it in her company, but indeed I am. I need a practical and ambitious woman, not a frivolous one. Someone who can charm the wives of the men I must do business with.’
‘I see,’ said Grand-maman, looking taken aback. She glanced uncertainly at Caroline.
‘I didn’t expect to find such a wife in Paris, but as fortune has turned out I have,’ continued Oliver. ‘I ask your permission to marry your granddaughter.’
My hand flew to my mouth. I’d heard that New Yorkers were always in a hurry, but this seemed to be moving especially fast. I wished I could see inside Caroline’s head to know what she was thinking. But from the flash of victory in her eyes, this was the outcome she had expected all along.
‘Asking my permission is gallant of you, Mr Hopper,’ replied Grand-maman, her voice trembling. ‘But in this case it is up to Caroline to decide for herself what is in her heart. You haven’t had a chance to get to know each other. You certainly have my approval to court Caroline if she is agreeable to it.’
‘There is no time for courting, unfortunately,’ said Oliver in a tone of apology. ‘I must depart for New York in three days’ time, so I need a decision today.’
Grand-maman stared at him incredulously. ‘But, Mr Hopper, this is not Wall Street and you are not making a decision about buying stocks! How do you know you and Caroline will be compatible? Marriage is for life.’
‘I’m not taking this lightly,’ replied Oliver, ‘but I am a man who knows what he wants when he sees it. And I think Miss Caroline is a woman who knows her own mind too.’
Grand-maman was about to protest again when Caroline placed her hand on her arm to stop her.
‘I would like to hear what Mr Hopper has to say,’ she said firmly.
Oliver nodded. ‘I have amassed a fortune of twenty-five million dollars, starting from nothing, but my investments are quickly rising. I intend to be the King of New York by the time I’m forty, and I want you to be my queen. You will not lack for any material comfort you desire, Miss Caroline. I am not after a trophy, a mere decoration. You will be in charge of organising my social affairs and I will not withhold from you whatever amount of money you need to accomplish that. I only ask that you be kind to my mother and sister and help them along where you can.’
Grand-maman fixed her eyes searchingly on Caroline. But my sister paid her no attention. She was pursuing her own train of thought.
I remembered what Grand-maman had said about marriage between the wealthy being like a business transaction and that was certainly the way Oliver’s proposal came acros
s. But then his gaze softened and a smile came to his face and for a few seconds I imagined he was a romantic prince serenading my sister beneath her window.
‘What do you say to that, Miss Caroline?’
My sister’s face was glowing and she lifted her chin regally. ‘The Queen of New York,’ she repeated. Then, ignoring Grand-maman’s imploring expression, she looked directly into Oliver’s eyes and said, ‘My reply to your proposal, Mr Hopper, is yes. A most certain yes!’
FOUR
‘But why can’t you marry here in Paris?’ Grand-maman asked Caroline while we watched her pack the steamer trunks and hatboxes that had arrived from the Moynat store that morning.
The bed was covered in furs, hats and gloves and there was nowhere to sit. Grand-maman stood in the doorway, while I crouched near the armchair and fingered the lace on one of the gold-embroidered silk petticoats draped over it.
Oliver had returned to New York three weeks previously and Caroline was due to follow him in one week’s time. He had opened accounts at all the exclusive stores on the Rue de la Paix for Caroline to purchase her trousseau. I had seen the receipt for the silk corset she was now folding into a satin bag. It had cost five hundred francs! When Oliver had promised Caroline she would not lack for any material comfort she desired, he had been true to his word.
I picked up one of the new parasols. Its jade handle was encrusted with rubies. Apart from the clothes Caroline was packing, she had ordered a full wardrobe of morning dresses, dinner dresses, visiting dresses, tea gowns, ball gowns and opera cloaks from Worth. The three hundred seamstresses employed by the couture designer would be working overtime to fulfil the order, but the exorbitant amount of money Caroline was spending made it worth their while. My attention turned to a fan of mother-of-pearl sticks and leaves of Belgian lace decorated with flowers and birds, and I remembered all the times Caroline and I had stood on the Rue de la Paix and gazed in the store windows. It was as if all she had willed was coming to pass.
The Invitation Page 4
