White Christmas in Saigon

by Margaret Pemberton

  He kissed her one last time, hard and hungrily, and then he turned on his heel, striding from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  She stood where he had left her, listening as he pulled away from the front of the apartment, listening as the sound faded into the distance.

  He had gone. The coming six months would pass just as the previous six months had passed. All she had to do was endure them.

  ‘I love you, Lewis,’ she whispered aloud. ‘Oh, God, I love you so much!’ And then, forgetting all about her determination to be brave, she flung herself facedown on the crumpled sheets of the bed and cried.

  Chapter Six

  ‘You’re what?’ Serena’s father said incredulously, lowering his shotgun to his side.

  The last remains of the debris from the concert had been removed finally and for the first time since the event had taken place, he was enjoying a morning walk in his grounds, his two aging cocker spaniels at his heels.

  ‘We’re married,’ Serena said composedly. She held out her hand for his inspection and the plain narrow wedding ring, all they had been able to purchase in their haste, glittered corroboratingly.

  ‘You’re what?’ her father repeated, staring disbelievingly first at Serena and then at Kyle, who he couldn’t quite place, and then back at Serena again.

  ‘We’re married,’ Serena repeated obligingly. ‘It was all rather sudden, Daddy, and—’

  ‘You’re what?’

  Kyle sighed. Serena had been adamant that it was up to her to break the news to her father, but it was obvious that she wasn’t doing a very good job of it, or his new father-in-law was stone deaf. ‘We’re married, sir,’ he said, his careless stance and the rather bored tone of his voice taking away any respect there might have been in the word sir.

  ‘The devil you are!’ the earl spluttered, the dogs looking mournfully up at him, aggrieved at the interruption to their walk. ‘What sort of silly statement is that? Married indeed! Take your cock-and-bull stories somewhere else and leave me in peace!’

  This time it was Serena’s turn to sigh. Her father really was an ass at times. ‘We’re married,’ she said for the fourth time. ‘Married as in Darby and Joan, trouble and strife …’

  ‘Marriages are made in heaven,’ suggested Kyle helpfully.

  ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure,’ Serena finished, a little insensitively.

  ‘If this is a new parlour game, now is neither the time nor the place for it!’ her father said.

  They were standing on the crown of the hill looking down toward the house. It had taken Serena and Kyle a good ten minutes from the point where they had parked the car to walk up through the avenue of elms and waylay him, and in Kyle’s opinion it had been a wasted exercise.

  ‘For the love of God,’ Kyle muttered beneath his breath, and then, louder, ‘Serena and I were married yesterday. If you don’t choose to believe us, there’s nothing we can do about it. We’ve told you, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s where our responsibility ends.’

  The earl glared at him, his hand tightening on his shotgun, and Kyle backed away a foot or two. ‘How dare you, you insolent young pup! You’ve no business on my land! Remove yourself immediately!’

  ‘Kyle is a house guest, Daddy,’ Serena said with admirable patience. ‘He’s Royd Anderson’s son. They’ve been staying with us since the end of last month, remember?’

  Her father peered at Kyle, vaguely recognized him, and slackened his hold on the shotgun. ‘So he is. Stupid of me. Now, whatever it is you want, leave it to later, there’s a good girl. I haven’t had a day of peace since that wretched concert. Men were still moving litter at six o’clock yesterday morning, and some damn fool of a fellow has been on the telephone all morning insisting the event has to be repeated next year!’

  Kyle turned toward Serena and said in weary disbelief, ‘We’re wasting our time. You’ve told him four times, I’ve told him twice.’

  ‘Told me what?’ the earl asked with absentminded interest, wondering if they had perhaps interrupted him on his walk because they wanted to join him. Americans often liked a little shooting, and the Anderson boy looked as if he might be handy with a gun. He wasn’t dressed for it though. A button-down shirt and tight jeans and crepe-soled suede shoes. Serena was no better. Her minidress barely skimmed her bottom, and her thigh-high white boots had heels on them that made walking over rough ground virtually impossible.

  ‘Wellingtons,’ he said forthrightly. ‘Much more sensible.’

  Kyle raised his eyes to heaven, wondering if insanity ran in the family and if perhaps marrying Serena in haste, without a medical check beforehand, had been wise.

  ‘We haven’t come to help you decimate the local wildlife,’ Serena said, long practice enabling her to follow her father’s often tortured thought processes. ‘We’ve come to tell you that we’ve been away for a few days. In Scotland.’

  ‘Hadn’t missed you,’ her father said truthfully. ‘Were you here for the concert? Shocking row. Couldn’t hear myself think. Shall never have another.’

  Serena refused to be deflected into talking about the concert. ‘We went to Scotland to get married,’ she persisted, speaking slowly and clearly, as if to a child. Her father continued to stare at her in blank incomprehension, and she abandoned patience, saying exasperatedly, ‘For Christ’s sake, Daddy! We eloped!’

  ‘You what?’ he expostulated for the fourth time, understanding at last beginning to dawn. ‘You can’t be married! You’re too young. Need consent.’

  ‘That’s why we eloped,’ Serena said with remarkable restraint. ‘You don’t need consent in Scotland, Daddy. Not if you’re over sixteen.’

  She held her left hand out towards him again. He looked down at the shining new wedding ring and said with commendable brevity, ‘Your mother won’t like it. There’s going to be a devil of a fuss.’ He peered long and hard at Kyle, and then said with brutal candour, ‘Come to think of it, I don’t like it much either. Needs some thinking about.’ And he turned on his heel, stalking away. The spaniels spoiled the effect somewhat. They had fallen asleep and he had to return for them, prodding them awake with the butt of his shotgun.

  ‘I suppose it could have been worse,’ Kyle said as he and Serena began to walk back towards the house.

  ‘Oh, yes, and it will be! Poor daddy. He really did make hard work of it, didn’t he? I wonder what conclusion he will come to after his walk and his think?’

  ‘God only knows.’ At the prospect of Serena’s father thinking, Kyle’s imagination failed him. For the past four days he had been permanently high on alcohol or marijuana or both, and he was finding his present sobriety something of a strain.

  ‘Who do we tell next?’ he asked, determined that whoever it was, he would fortify himself with a joint or a stiff whisky beforehand.

  ‘What about your father? He’s the one who holds the purse strings, isn’t he? Might as well find out if you’re to be cut off without a dollar to your name,’ Serena suggested.

  ‘If I am, I shall divorce you,’ he threatened in perfect seriousness.

  Serena grinned and pushed her long mane of pale gold hair away from her face. ‘Don’t worry. If you and your money are parted, I shall beg for a divorce!’

  The earl’s reaction to news of the marriage was mild in comparison with Kyle’s father’s. ‘Of all the stupid, crass, inane things to have done!’ he thundered. ‘We’re guests here, for Christ’s sake! Don’t you realize he’s a peer of the realm? How many millions of …’

  He was about to ask how many million dollars the whole fiasco was going to cost, before it was over, in alimony and settlements, when the peer in question ambled into the room. He bit the words back with difficulty, contenting himself with a strangled ‘You need horsewhipping, for Christ’s sake!’

  Kyle stood nonchalantly in the centre of the yellow-walled room, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, Serena at his side. His father, mindful of his host’s presence, sucked in his breath.
‘Just answer me one question,’ he demanded unsteadily, ‘in the name of God, why?’

  Kyle shrugged. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ he said truthfully, a lock of blue-black hair failing Byronically low across his brow.

  His father choked, Serena giggled, and the earl said in obvious puzzlement, ‘There’s half a dozen newspaper reporters at the gates, clamouring for admittance. Wouldn’t be fobbed off. Said they knew the story of the elopement was genuine. Said someone had telephoned them anonymously from here with the news.’

  Royd Anderson suppressed a groan and tried to look as baffled by the information as the bearer of it. He knew damned well who had leaked the news to the press, sabotaging any hopes of a quiet annulment. His wife had stared at him for only the briefest of seconds after he had broken the news to her, then said unequivocally, ‘Good, it couldn’t be better.’

  ‘What do you mean, it couldn’t be better?’ he had yelled. ‘Don’t you realize what this marriage is going to cost us? This isn’t a marriage that is going to last! This is a joke! You can bet your life both of them were stoned out of their minds when they said “I will” or “I do” or whatever the hell it was that they said. When it comes to the divorce, and the Blyth-Templeton lawyers get to work, they’ll be talking in seven-digit telephone numbers! Christ!’ He ran his hand through his thick thatch of grizzled hair. ‘The only reason for that awful pop concert was to get some cash to fill the family coffers! By marrying Kyle, that girl has set herself up financially for the rest of her life! And on my money, goddammit!’

  ‘You’re being extremely shortsighted!’ his wife had said with composure. ‘Think of the social advantages. Serena’s name has been linked romantically with that of Prince Charles. She could probably have been the future queen of England if she’d put her mind to it.’

  ‘The future king of England could probably have afforded the divorce! I can’t!’

  They were in their bedroom and she was sitting at the dressing table. Until now she had been talking to his reflection in the mirror, but now she turned to face him, saying chidingly, ‘You’re being ridiculous, Royd. Look at things sensibly for a minute. The way Kyle has been behaving these past two years, he could have eloped with a barfly, a two-bit actress, a flagrant fortune hunter …’

  ‘She is a fortune hunter!’

  ‘But she’s not a two-bit actress! She is Lady Serena. She is the only daughter of one of England’s oldest and most respected aristocratic families. The Blyth-Templetons can trace their family tree right back to Henry VIII. Think of the social contacts we will gain. Serena is still close friends with Prince Charles. He will attend the wedding, he will probably be godfather to their first child …’

  ‘Have you completely lost your mind? The wedding is over! In the past! History!’

  ‘That wedding may be over,’ his wife agreed, undeterred, ‘but the real wedding is still to come. I believe St Margaret’s, Westminster, is the church for high society weddings. We shall have to hire a couple of private planes to ensure that our side of the family is represented. The Boston Globe and the society editors of The Washington Post and The New York Times will have to be informed.’

  Royd chewed his bottom lip. ‘You really think this could be to our advantage?’ he asked, frowning.

  ‘Of course it is!’ She rose to her feet, crossing the room toward him, removing a speck of fluff from the shoulder of his jacket. ‘Think of some of the girls Kyle might have eloped with. Think of the prestige of him marrying a girl whose name has been romantically linked with that of England’s future king. Think of the social advantages of our being related by marriage to leading members of the British aristocracy. The only thing is, we mustn’t seem too pleased by it. We don’t want the Blyth-Templetons thinking that we planned it. They must be absolutely furious. By marrying Kyle, Serena has ruined any hopes they might have had where Prince Charles was concerned. They are probably scheming how to have it speedily annulled right this very moment.’

  Royd had muttered darkly that be wouldn’t blame them if they were, and had marched off in the direction of the yellow room, where he had been informed that the newlyweds were awaiting him. He still hadn’t spoken to Kyle face-to-face. News of the wedding had been telephoned to him earlier in the day, when he had been enjoying a lavish business lunch in London. He had promptly abandoned his steak tartare and driven back to Bedingham at high speed.

  His host had greeted him and had unhappily confirmed that their respective children had, indeed, eloped to Gretna Green and had now returned to Bedingham as man and wife.

  Royd still couldn’t believe it. Kyle was suicidally hotheaded, but for him to get married, and at nineteen, made no sense whatsoever. He had already discounted the fact that Serena might be pregnant. Hell, they’d been in England only three weeks! Even if Kyle had knocked her up the moment he had met her, she still couldn’t know if she was pregnant or not. Besides, he was damned sure that neither Kyle nor Serena possessed a shred of the kind of responsibility that might have prompted a quick marriage if she had been.

  His anger, which had been white hot, had ebbed a little since his conversation with his wife. She had been right. There were advantages to the marriage. As he strode along the long portrait-lined corridor and down the main staircase, his remaining fury was tempered by embarrassment. Kyle was a guest at Bedingham, for Christ’s sake, and as a guest he had transgressed every rule in the book. He slammed into the drawing room, intending to give his son the lecture of his life, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by his host walking in on them.

  ‘Newspaper reporters are a bloody tenacious breed,’ the earl was saying glumly. ‘Won’t leave until they get a story. One of them even had the effrontery to ask if he could come in and take a photograph of the happy couple!’

  ‘Well, he can’t!’ Kyle snapped, his amusement at the consternation he and Serena had caused beginning to wane.

  His father-in-law eyed him unlovingly. He couldn’t imagine what Serena saw in him. He looked more Irish than American. All quick temper and damn-your-eyes. ‘It’s not what I would have wanted,’ he said with unhappy bluntness, ‘but now that it’s happened, there’s nothing to do but live with it.’

  Royd, once he was sure that it was the marriage that was being referred to and not the presence of the newspaper reporters, breathed an infinitesimal sigh of relief. Now that news of the elopement had been leaked to the press, any steps his host might have taken in order to terminate the marriage would have been seen only as an insult to Kyle and to himself. ‘How did Serena’s mother take the news?’ he asked in awkward concern.

  He had been friends with the earl for nearly five years, ever since they had been guests on a Mediterranean yachting cruise hosted by a mutual friend, but he still found it difficult to think of the countess by her Christian name, and virtually impossible to address her by it. To address her by her title, when he was her guest, went against his democratic principles. So ‘Serena’s mother’ helped him get around the situation.

  The earl pondered the question. He was physically unable to tell a lie, and he was dimly aware that to tell the truth might be a little tactless. ‘Emotionally,’ he said at last, rather pleased with his choice of word. ‘She took the news very emotionally.’

  The stark truth was that his wife had shocked him by being, not outraged at the news, but overjoyed. ‘Oh, it’s a wonderful marriage! How clever of Serena! There will have to be another wedding, of course. A proper one at Bedingham. We’ll have the reception out of doors on the front lawn, with a few marquees in case of rain.’

  ‘Can’t see what you’re so pleased about,’ he had protested, baffled. ‘The child is only eighteen. The whole affair is damned ridiculous.’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ his wife had said practically. ‘The Andersons are one of Boston’s oldest families and they are extremely wealthy. As the only son, Kyle will eventually inherit. I couldn’t be more pleased at the way things have worked out if I’d arranged it all myself.�
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  ‘Well, I’m not pleased,’ he said stubbornly. ‘If there’s going to be a proper wedding at Bedingham, it means there will be caterers all over the place and hundreds of people littering the grounds with their vile cocktail sticks and cherry stones. It will be nearly as bad as the concert and I’m not having another of those, no matter how financially successful you say that it was!’

  He said now, reluctantly, ‘There’ll have to be another wedding, of course. Families present. All that sort of thing.’

  Kyle groaned and Serena looked across at him in amusement. ‘It’s beginning to get a teeny bit boring, isn’t it? Shall we drive up to London and celebrate our nuptials with champagne at the Ritz?’

  ‘No! I’ve just driven all night from Scotland! I’m sure as hell not going to drive all the way to London!’ the groom said unequivocally.

  The earl waited with interest for his daughter’s reply. When Serena suggested doing something, she was accustomed to people falling in with her plans. It became obvious, almost immediately, that she had no intention of having them thwarted now.

  ‘Then I’ll go by myself,’ she said, unperturbed, holding out her hand for the car keys.

  The earl’s interest deepened. Kyle’s father held his breath. The groom was being faced with an ultimatum, and both of them knew it. The groom knew it, too, and was blissfully indifferent.

  ‘She’s getting low on gasoline,’ he said, speaking of Serena’s Porsche as if it were a ship at sea and sliding his hand into his hip pocket for the car keys. ‘You’d better put some in at the first gas station you come to.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Serena said coolly, taking the keys from him. ‘See you. Bye,’ she added and turning on her heel, she strode nonchalantly from the room.

  The earl was aware of a grudging surge of respect for his new son-in-law. He had called Serena’s bluff and seemed unconcerned about the outcome. Perhaps there was more to him than he had first thought. ‘Have a whisky,’ he said to him companionably. ‘Devilish long drive, Scotland to Bedingham. Wouldn’t fancy it myself.’