An Embarrassment of Riches

by Margaret Pemberton

  ‘I’m seventeen,’ she said impishly, reading his mind all too clearly. ‘Don’t you think it terribly enlightened of Mr Jerome to invite young people to his parties and not to stuffily wait until they have formally “come out”?’

  Alexander grinned. ‘It would be a little difficult for him to do so when the divine Miss Patti is herself only seventeen,’ he said, having the sense not to add that she was also rumoured to be Leonard’s latest mistress.

  A waltz was being played. The furthest thing from his mind when he had accepted his invitation to the house-warming had been that he would find himself executing a waltz among middle-aged Brevoorts, Schermerhorns and Astors. He had accepted only because he liked and admired Leonard Jerome’s style and over-the-top exuberance and because he had intended paying a visit to the stables at the rear of the house where several Tarna-bred fillies were residing in luxurious comfort. Now he heard himself saying: ‘Would you care to dance?’

  Genevre looked enquiringly at her father who happily nodded his permission. As Alexander took her in his arms something seemed to move in the very centre of his being. It was as if he knew that from that moment on he would never again be quite the same person. He wanted to laugh aloud at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. He, Alexander Karolyis, who thought of himself as being assured and worldly beyond his years, was doing what he had vowed he would never do. He was falling in love.

  His fall had been total. Genevre was not only beautiful beyond his wildest dreams and intelligent as he had always known she was, she was also fun. He enjoyed being with her more than he enjoyed being with Charlie, more than he enjoyed being with Henry, more than he enjoyed being with anyone. His periodic visits to Josie Woods’s establishment ceased. As there could be no question of him having sexual relations with Genevre, he began, at the sexually fraught age of eighteen, to live a celibate life.

  Charlie thought he was mad. ‘I don’t understand why it matters’, he said time and time again. ‘If happily married men go to prostitutes, why can’t you? Genevre will never know, just as wives never seem to know.’

  ‘I would know,’ he had retorted, perplexing Charlie even further. ‘Besides, I don’t think happily married men do go to prostitutes. I won’t when I’m married to Genevre.’

  He crossed the junction with 18th Street and looked towards the fantastic gargoyles and towers of the Schermerhorn mansion. Charlie would be home now but he had no desire to call on him. He was still incredibly fond of Charlie, but they just didn’t seem to have much in common any more. When he wanted companionship, he wanted Genevre.

  She was sitting in the garden, waiting for him. ‘What did he say? Did he see reason?’ she asked, jumping to her feet and running towards him.

  ‘No,’ Alexander said briefly, catching her in his arms and holding her tight.

  With super-human strength Genevre prevented a spasm of relief from running through her body. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said gently, raising her face for his kiss.

  His mouth came down in swift, unfumbled contact on hers as he found release for all his frustrated, angry emotions. At the beginning of their relationship their-love-making had been restricted to light, stolen kisses and chaste hand-holding. In the last twelve months, since they had known that they were going to marry come what may, it had grown ever more passionate and reckless. Now, as he felt her breasts within her silk dress pushing teasingly against his shirt-fronted chest, and as her tongue slipped willingly and lovingly past his, he had to exert the restraint of a Hercules to prevent himself from rolling her to the grass and taking her then and there in hungry need.

  At last, breathing unsteadily, Genevre pushed herself away from him. ‘What will you do?’ she asked, her hands still against his chest. ‘If he won’t give way over the Army, he will never give way over our marriage.’

  Alexander took hold of her hands, his dark eyes burning. ‘It doesn’t matter a damn whether he gives way or not! The instant I return from Europe we marry and he can like it or he can go to hell!’

  Genevre knew that he was serious and she knew also what he would be giving up by his action. The loss of the vast Karolyis fortune did not bother her for her own sake, her own fortune from her father’s railroad empire was more than enough for her and for all her future needs, but she cared about its loss for Alexander. He had grown up amid indescribable wealth and he had not the slightest idea of what it would be like to live without it.

  ‘Papa is expecting us to join him for tea,’ she said reluctantly, stepping away from him and beginning to lead him towards the house, wondering for the hundredth time how Victor Karolyis could be reconciled to their love for each other. One of Alexander’s hopes had been that if he acquitted himself gloriously in the war his father would have been forced to acknowledge his maturity and would then have looked more favourably on his decision. As it was, he was not allowing Alexander to enlist and in her heart of hearts she couldn’t help but be vastly relieved. At least now she would not have to live with the fear of him being killed or maimed in battle.

  ‘So your father turned the idea down flat, did he?’ William Hudson said without preamble as they joined him for afternoon tea. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised. I’ve heard it said that he thinks the war will be over by Christmas and although I’m not in agreement with him on many things, I have to admit that I’m in agreement with him there.’

  Victor Karolyis was a name William Hudson now seldom uttered. When Alexander Karolyis had asked for Genevre’s hand in marriage he had given his consent whole-heartedly, delighted at the prospect of his daughter marrying into a family that was synonymous with wealth from coast to coast. When Victor Karolyis had vehemently opposed the marriage he had been dumbfounded. His own wealth was such that he couldn’t conceive of Genevre being accused of fortune-hunting and what other objections to the marriage could Karolyis possible have? He soon discovered.

  ‘European royalty?’ he had roared in his booming Yorkshire accent. ‘Ye gods! Who does the man think he is? He can’t possibly be serious! Does he really think that one of Queen Victoria’s brood, or any other member of the British royal family would for one moment consider allying themselves with the son of a jumped-up Hungarian immigrant?’

  ‘Mr Karolyis was not an immigrant, Papa,’ Genevre had said to him patiently. ‘It was Alexander’s grandfather who was the immigrant, and by European royalty I think that Alexander’s father is referring to lesser known royal houses, or royal houses in exile.’

  ‘Then he’ll be damned lucky to find a Protestant daughter-in-law,’ her father had said with asperity, thinking of Bourbons and Esterhazys and half a dozen other staunchly Catholic royal houses. ‘What does Alexander think of all this? Is he prepared to go grovelling around Europe trying to buy himself a suitably impoverished royal bride and making himself a laughing-stock?’

  ‘No, Papa,’ Genevre had said again, with endless patience. ‘But an aristocratic daughter-in-law has always been his father’s dream and it is one that he is not easily going to relinquish.’

  Nor had he. William Hudson had found Victor’s stance almost unbelievable. That the man should have the arrogance to believe it possible that his riches would buy him an aristocratic and possibly even royal bride was farcical enough. That because of this ambition he then deemed Genevre as not being good enough for his son to marry was more than William could stomach.

  He cast a speculative look across the tea-table at Alexander. He had always found him extremely likeable, but there were moments when he wondered if, with the passage of time, Alexander would grow just as arrogant and as merciless as his father. There was something about the chiselled mouth and the set of his dark, narrow eyes that indicated pride and temper, as well as passion.

  As Alexander and Genevre began again to discuss the war he pondered. All in all, it might be for the best if Genevre’s relationship with Alexander was severed. He had no desire to see her trapped in a marriage with a man who might one day consider that his father’s advice had been the righ
t advice, and that he could have married more advantageously.

  ‘I shan’t volunteer as a nurse now,’ Genevre was saying. ‘I would only have done so if you had enlisted.’

  Alexander would be twenty-one in a year’s time and had declared his intention of then marrying Genevre with or without Victor’s blessing. The more he thought about it, the more William disliked the idea. The marriage would have been an ideal one if Victor Karolyis had been as delighted about it as he himself had initially been. As it was, the whole of New York would know that Victor did not consider Genevre worthy of being a Karolyis bride and instead of being the social occasion of the year, the wedding would instead be a shaming hole-in-the-corner affair. There was also the question of money. With only Tarna as an inheritance Alexander would not be in a position to provide adequately for Genevre. She would be reliant on her own fortune. His mouth tightened. Worse, Alexander might very well become reliant on it and he hadn’t worked hard all his life to see his fortune being dissipated by the disinherited son of the wealthiest man in the entire United States.

  ‘There will be no getting out of the Grand Tour,’ Alexander was saying resignedly. ‘If I’d had any sense I would have gone when Charlie went in ’60.’

  ‘And when is it arranged that you will go to Europe now?’ William queried.

  ‘At the beginning of next year.’

  Because they were sitting with her father Alexander was unable to hold Genevre’s hand. Instead of giving it a reassuring squeeze he looked across at her instead, trying to give her reassurance with his eyes.

  The obligatory Grand Tour to Europe in order to finish his education was one there was no getting out of. Nor, if he was totally honest, did he wish to get out of it. But he would be away for nearly a year and he would miss Genevre badly.

  Her eyes met his and he knew that they were both thinking the same thing. When he departed for Europe he would still be twenty years old, but when he returned he would be twenty-one and the pain of their separation would be totally forgotten in the joy of their being able to marry.

  William Hudson frowned to himself, deep in thought. He knew it was customary for wealthy young Americans to finish their education by making an extended trip to Europe, but he also knew that Victor Karolyis intended Alexander’s trip to be far more than merely educational. He would expect Alexander to put his time in Europe to good use and to return with a suitably aristocratic bride.

  ‘Such an opportunity is certainly not one to miss,’ he said encouragingly to Alexander. ‘Paris, Rome, Florence, Venice and Vienna. It will be a wonderful experience.’

  ‘Perhaps we could make a trip to Europe at the same time?’ Genevre suggested eagerly. ‘Then we could meet up with Alexander for a little while in Paris or in Rome?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ her father said non-committally. ‘And now, young man, I think it is time you were on your way. Genevre is to go to a concert tonight with Mrs Jerome and her girls and time is getting on.’

  Alexander rose reluctantly. He appreciated that William Hudson was an exceptional parent in that he allowed him to meet with Genevre when there was no question of them being formally engaged, but the times when they could meet were all too infrequent and all too often William was present, as now. For a passionate young man of twenty it was highly unsatisfactory and he inwardly fumed again at his father’s intransigence.

  If his father did not disapprove of Genevre and her father, then he could have suggested to him that the Hudsons were invited to Tarna. The mere thought of Genevre at Tarna made him ache with physical longing. At Tarna they would have been able to evade watching parental eyes. At Tarna they would have been able to escape into the countryside alone. At Tarna they would have been able to make love.

  ‘Goodbye, sir,’ he said, taking his leave of William, the rising in his crotch so burning and insistent that he wondered for how much longer he would be able to continue forgoing the sexual pleasures he had been accustomed to at Josie’s.

  Genevre stood at her father’s side and as he took her hand to say goodbye he knew that he would find the strength from somewhere. She was the love of his life and he was going to be as faithful to her now, before they married, as he fully intended being after they were married.

  ‘Goodbye,’ she said lovingly, ‘and please don’t fight with your father, Alexander. He may yet come round if we are patient.’

  He had said nothing for he knew that she was wrong. His father was as stubborn as he was himself. Once his mind was made up, nothing would change it.

  ‘I’ve had second thoughts about your Grand Tour,’ his father said to him two hours later when he had called him into his study. ‘The tutor who accompanied Charlie Schermerhorn is no longer free to accompany you the months we had planned he should do so. The arrangements will have to be changed.’

  Alexander leaned against the door, his arms negligently folded, one foot crossing the other at the ankle. He knew damn well that the change of arrangements was nothing to do with Charlie’s meek and mild tutor. Once he had agreed to Victor’s initial dates it would have been more than his life was worth to have said then that they were inconvenient.

  ‘Changed in what way?’ he enquired, sure that he already knew.

  Victor faced him from behind his huge leather-topped desk. ‘You leave in a week aboard the Persia,’ he said unprevaricatingly. ‘Because of the war blockades you may be inconvenienced, but the inconvenience will be slight.’

  Despite the direness of the situation Alexander had to suppress a grin. As far as his father was concerned, inconveniences to other people were always slight, unlike inconveniences to himself which he always regarded as major catastrophes.

  ‘And what about the law office?’

  On leaving Columbia he had spent a year at Harvard Law School and his father had then arranged for him to spend a further year working with his own legal advisers. The idea behind it was not that Alexander should ever become a lawyer, but that he should have enough legal expertise to be able to understand the ramifications of the many legislative housing acts and the small print on the leases and deeds of the vast Karolyis property empire.

  ‘To hell with the law office,’ his father said graphically, doubting that Alexander had spent much actual time there. ‘Your itinerary is here.’ He skidded a folder across his desk-top in Alexander’s direction. ‘London, Amsterdam, Brussels, Paris, Berlin, Strasbourg, Vienna, Waterford …’

  ‘Waterford?’

  ‘It’s in southern Ireland. You will be staying with Lord Powerscourt. I met him some months ago when he was here on business. He has a large estate and as an Anglo-Irish peer sits in the British House of Lords.’

  ‘I thought my trip was supposed to be educational, not social,’ Alexander said scathingly as he uncrossed his legs and stepped towards the desk, picking up the folder and flicking through it with disinterest. ‘I notice neither Spain nor Italy feature very largely. What about the architectural glories of Madrid and Rome? Am I to be denied those because you think my chances of meeting with a Protestant aristocrat in a Catholic country would be rather thin?’

  ‘If you look closely you will see that both Rome and Florence are on your itinerary,’ his father said tightly. ‘As to your last remark, a great deal of time and effort has gone into obtaining suitable introductions for you. I’m trusting that you will make the most of them. If you don’t, then you know what the consequences will be.’

  Alexander skidded the folder back towards his father. ‘Oh yes,’ he said laconically, ‘I know.’ And turning on his heel he left the room.

  He lay on his bed, staring up at the gilded and cherub-encrusted ceiling. He knew damned well why his father had brought forward the date of his departure. It was because of Genevre. His father hoped that by separating them for nearly a year he would put an end to their love for each other.

  He swung his legs from the bed and strode across to the window. That the separation would not do so he knew without a doubt. The months apart would be painf
ul for both of them but they had long known that they would have to suffer nearly a year’s separation when he went to Europe and they were both mentally prepared for it. By bringing the date forward his father had merely ensured that they would have to endure it sooner, rather than later.

  He sat on the narrow window-ledge, one leg resting on it, the knee drawn high, the other leg swinging free. It was incredible that his father should still believe he would be looking for a suitable bride when in England or Holland or Germany or any other Protestant country. And if he didn’t? Did his father’s last threat mean that he would not only disinherit him if he married Genevre, but that he would also disinherit him if he came home from his trip an unengaged bachelor? Either way it looked as if he was facing a relatively impoverished future. Apart from Tarna.

  His longing for the only place he really regarded as home was almost unbearable. There was no chance now of visiting it before he left for Europe. It would quite possibly be a year before he was able once again to stand in horse-filled meadows, gazing down at the slow-moving Hudson. That there was no time for him to travel there to say goodbye was yet another grievance to be laid at his father’s door. But he would say goodbye to Genevre. He would say goodbye to her in the only way that would give either of them any comfort during the long, lonely months that lay ahead of them. He would say goodbye to her with his body. Somehow, some way, he would possess her before they parted. But where on earth could they meet in necessary privacy? How in the world would she be able to escape from her father’s fond supervision?

  ‘Think, Alexander! Think!’ he said aloud to himself in savage fervour. ‘Where would William Hudson freely allow Genevre to go without questioning the propriety of her being there and the time she spent there?’