“So I’m just hoping, after all this passes … Of course, it’s not everything, having the right guy. But maybe there’ll be a nice guy she finds.” He gave a soft laugh. “Somebody who really deserves her! I guess every father sets that bar impossibly high.”
He looked at Julia and tried to grin. His big, masculine, handsome, dissipated face seemed to struggle to light up, like an engine that wouldn’t start. He spread out his long arms. “Hey, I was in pictures,” he said. “We’ve got to have a happy ending!”
As he spoke, Julia sat leaning forward in the chair with her knees and ankles together and her hands in her lap. She had stopped crying and listened to Graham with great solemnity.
Dick appeared at the door.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” he said. He looked back and forth between Julia and Graham, obviously wondering why in the world they were alone in this twilit room. He and Graham introduced themselves and spoke for a moment about the tragedy. Then Dick said, “Well, darling?” Julia shook Graham’s hand and said quietly, “Holly is lucky.” “No,” he replied. “No, I am.”
Recalling all this, thinking about Holly, as she did hourly, Julia wrestled with her responsibility for Jonathan’s death. Of course it wasn’t her fault, exactly. But if she hadn’t been there, if she hadn’t agreed to go off with Jonathan … It caused her torment. If she struck and killed a pedestrian with her car, even if the fault was entirely the pedestrian’s, she knew she would still feel terrible about it. How much worse what had happened with Jonathan! Julia had helped Jonathan betray Holly, which was bad enough in the first place. Then for him to die as a result … It was torment. And Holly was her victim.
As Julia weighed whether or not to help Charlotte, these thoughts about her and about Holly piled higher on one side of the scales. And it wasn’t just Charlotte and Holly, it was also Peter.
Julia and Dick were going out to dinner with Charlotte and her new beau. This would be the first time they would meet him, and Julia wasn’t looking forward to it. In the presence of her father, Charlotte always tried too hard to seem sophisticated, cosmopolitan, and unbowed by his indifference. Introducing him to a man with whom she was involved, Charlotte would try to act even more self-possessed, confident, knowing. She would tease Dick in an arch, humorless manner. Watching Charlotte in this state was never very enjoyable. In this case, the chances were that Charlotte would likely be especially nervous, for the indications were that the new guy was a serious candidate for husband.
His name was Peter Russell and he did something on Wall Street. He had grown up in a town and gone to schools that Dick and Janet would find entirely unexceptionable. His parents, while not in Dick’s social milieu and quite provincial in Dick’s view, were solid gentry. (Peter’s father had never tried to compose poems in French, as Dick had in his youth, and he bought his suits off the rack, and he had not seduced many women, but he had been a hockey star in college, had run large divisions of a successful company, and had helped materially to improve his state’s system of foster care; meanwhile, his wife had raised millions of dollars for different charities, was famous for her rhododendrons, and was a descendant of the founders of Barnstable, Massachusetts; together they had lovingly raised three relatively sane and happy children: it never occurred to Dick that they might look down on him.) As for the lad himself—well, in her time, Julia had met scores of young men who did something on Wall Street. Some were mannerly, others quite loud and coarse. They might be very good-looking with the sleek, strong build of somebody who had lettered in double-scull rowing or something like that, or they might be square-jawed ex-marines. Invariably, they loved golf. She had learned to distinguish easily between those on the sell side and those on the buy side; the former were shorter and louder and drank more, and the latter maintained a more aloof, analytical air. The most courteous and easiest to talk to were the nice young men with smooth complexions and thick heads of chestnut brown hair who worked in the private wealth group at a bank. She wasn’t sure where Peter fit in. It probably wouldn’t be too bad. She could get him going on his golf game or what he did when a client was looking for a little more yield (“There’s usually a corporate out there with a call provision …”). If he was interested in Charlotte, though, he might have an “artistic” side, and the thought of this made Julia groan. Little was worse than having to listen to a young man who did something on Wall Street talk about contemporary art or whatever other interest he had cultivated, to show that he had dimensions and contradictions. Why did they always like such junk? You didn’t ever hear them say that on their last trip to the museum they had fallen in love with a little tempera of the Annunciation that they had never noticed before. Well—what was two or three hours of her life? Golf, “art,” the trip to South America during college, and yield.
They met for a drink at Dick and Julia’s. Peter was of medium build and height. He was good-looking in a mild way. He had a pleasant, kind face, with hazel eyes. None of this was unusual, but there was something different about Peter that Julia sensed right away. He had lovely manners and was rather quiet; he let Charlotte take the lead in conversation, and he seemed to have a calming effect on her. What was it about him? A tincture of sadness? Poor boy, for Julia saw it now: his heart had been broken. He obviously wasn’t in love with Charlotte, and there was an air of fatalism on his part about their future.
They went to a restaurant and Julia remembered what happened as they were settling in their seats, the women on the banquette and the men opposite them. Charlotte commented on how beautiful the room was and said that it was too bad that Dick and Peter couldn’t see it.
“Not at all,” Peter said. “Sitting across from two such beautiful women, we have the best view in the house, don’t you think so, sir?”
Dick wasn’t expecting such “wit”—on an occasion like this, that was his department—so he was momentarily startled. Then he said, “Yes! Yes, indeed!” He put his hand on Peter’s shoulder and laughed. “Quite so!”
A moment later, by accident, Peter and Julia caught each other’s eye, and Peter reflexively shrugged and grinned, shooting her a look that said, “He bought it.”
As the evening progressed Peter continued to surprise Julia. Certainly, it had been revealed that he was a good squash player, that he liked to go hiking, that he had visited Guatemala. Beyond those predictable attributes, however, Julia discovered someone to whom she actually enjoyed talking. By a remarkable coincidence, it turned out that they both had the same favorite Italian song, “L’alba sepàra dalla luce l’ombra.” After dessert, Dick had insisted on cognac. Peter hardly could decline, although the women did. Charlotte asked Dick about a recent agricultural ruling handed down by Brussels. Answering, Dick contradicted the whole premise of the question; soon enough he had gained speed and was giving a long explanation of the ruling’s effects, while repeatedly referring to one high official by his first name (Jürgen).
Peter and Julia were only half listening. As Dick talked on, Julia leaned forward. “Tell me something,” she said to Peter. “We’ve gotten through this whole evening and you haven’t said a word about your career. How come?”
“Oh,” Peter said. “Well—I save that for when I am going out to dinner with a woman for the first time. We’ll talk about it—that is, I will—for pretty much the entire meal. I mean, not every minute—you’ve got to order and so forth. Also, when a woman and I are in each other’s arms after … after … you know, I like to tell her about it. It’s beautiful.”
“I see,” said Julia. “But otherwise you don’t raise the subject?”
“Not usually.”
“What if someone asks you what you do?”
“Well, then you’re stuck, aren’t you? I’ve always wanted to sort of draw myself up and say with a withering look, ‘I am a gentleman.’”
“Yes, the best answer,” said Julia. “But it isn’t one you can honestly give, is it—and tell me if I don’t have this right—what with the fancy j
ob at the top firm and the big bonus and all?”
“Sadly, no.”
Julia liked Peter. Over the months and years, she had always been happy to see him, and, in fact, he had worked his way into her heart.
Charlotte had been asleep for two hours or longer, but Julia had gone over all these memories again and again, and by this time she was wide awake. She laughed and cried, thinking about Charlotte, Holly, and Peter. If Charlotte bolted, maybe, probably, they would all end up miserable. Maybe, probably, the love business was completely bogus. But what if it was not? Oh, how she wanted to help all three of them!
Yet a moment came, late into the night, when she hardened herself against all this sentimentality. What had happened to her? Somehow she had fallen under some kind of spell; now the instincts for self-preservation and for the protection of one’s child forcefully reasserted themselves. Such mush. No. No, no, no, no. She would not put her own and her baby’s well-being at risk for the sake of these others. No. It was too bad, it was tough, but that was life. It is a far, far better thing I do, than I have ever done—this was not Julia’s style. She felt sorry for all of them. She really did. What had happened to Jonathan was terrible, of course. But it was an accident, and Julia’s role was entirely fortuitous. If Charlotte was so in love, and if she wanted to act accordingly, then she’d have to accept the consequences. As for Holly and Peter—it wasn’t any of Julia’s business. If they couldn’t overcome the obstacles between them, then—it was a harsh judgment, but it was true—it was their own fault, and they didn’t deserve to get whatever it was that they wanted. Let Dick and his children hash out their problems in the years to come. Let Peter and Holly figure it out for themselves. Julia’s duty was to get money, using any advantage she could.
When the sun rose the next day, Julia was awake to watch it. She stood on the terrace in her nightgown, shivering; the cold stone chilled her feet. With no clouds to tint, the sun produced a diffuse red glow. As it rose, Julia saw the sky rinse it of successively lighter shades of red, pink, and yellow, until it was a pure, blinding white. It would be a beautiful day.
Charlotte slept late. Julia wrote letters, read her book, picked apples. When she returned to the house with her basket, she found Charlotte in the kitchen, drinking coffee and chatting with Mme. Gorotiaga. Charlotte told Julia how wonderfully she had slept. She always slept well here, but she had been in the deepest sleep she had ever known, she thought. This house must be the best place to sleep on earth.
It was decided that for lunch, Julia and Charlotte would walk to a spot with a particularly fine view and have a picnic. Mme. Gorotiaga made them chicken sandwiches with butter and parsley, and they took some water, a third of a bottle of wine, a thermos of coffee, cheese, apples, walnuts, and chocolate. The path was rocky, but it had a gentle slope, and as they walked along it, the valley was slowly revealed. Reaching their destination, Julia and Charlotte could see melon fields, now all astubble, and the vein of silver that was the river. A dozen varieties of shrubs and another dozen of grasses, each its own shade of green, stretched away from them. In the distance, one could see the clustered brown cubes of the village. At this time of day, a little after noon, the sun seemed to brush its light painstakingly on every leaf, twig, and pebble.
Walking had made the women hot and they took off their sweaters. They sat on a blanket and ate their lunch, which was delicious. Why would someone make a sandwich in any other way? Now they were drinking the coffee and eating the chocolate. Charlotte drew up one leg, wrapped her arms around her shin, and rested her chin on her knee. She sighed contentedly.
“I love it here,” she said. “What a wonderful spot.” She turned her head to the right. “And there’s the house. It looks so grand! I love the house, too. It’s so beautiful and solid and serene.”
She now turned toward Julia; she was smiling eagerly. Julia smiled back and then looked out at the valley. It was hot. The sun seemed to weigh her down, but not in an unpleasant way—more as if it were swaddling her.
They talked about this and that. Charlotte expressed keen, and surely exaggerated, interest in the fate of the espaliered pear trees, which had been faring poorly. Was it really true that one of the Gorotiagas’ children intended to go to America? There was a church with a Byzantine-style tower that Charlotte had always wanted to view, and she hoped she would be able to do so on this visit. They didn’t talk about the subjects that had occupied them the previous night.
At one point, they fell silent for a while, luxuriating in their full bellies; the sun, whose warmth, with midday well past, had become entirely delicious; the view of valleys and crisscrossing hills. Eventually, Julia spoke.
“Tell me something, Charlotte.”
“Yes?”
“Do you really love the house?”
“Oh, yes!”
Julia stared off at a castle that stood on a promontory miles and miles away. This time of year, you could see it so clearly. Charlotte waited for Julia to continue. It seemed like a long time before she did.
“Well, then,” she said, still looking off, “if you like it so much, it might interest you to know that you own it.”
Charlotte stared at Julia, bewildered. “I’m sorry,” Charlotte said. “What do you mean?”
“You own it, with David and Deirdre.”
“I still don’t understand,” said Charlotte. “What do you mean? How can that be?”
Julia turned toward Charlotte. She smiled gently at her and took her hand, something she couldn’t remember ever having done before. “Charlotte, I’m going to tell you something that I think will be good news, but that’s going to complicate your life and that has some bad news that goes along with it. But it’s all things you should know.”
Charlotte went pale. “God!” she said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m scared.”
“Don’t worry,” Julia said. “None of it is life-and-death.”
So Julia told Charlotte everything. She described the legacy that Charlotte’s grandfather had left her and her brother and sister, and how her father had been named the fiduciary responsible for it. Dick, Julia explained, had taken advantage of this position, and she told Charlotte as much as she could about the fees, distributions, loans, purchases, and “investments.” The house had been bought with the children’s funds, and, technically, it was theirs. This was also true of the country house in Connecticut, various pieces of furniture and works of art, and, probably, some of Dick’s cuff links and custom-made shirts. Dick had even used money from Charlotte’s share to pay himself for the painting that he had “given” her for her twenty-first birthday. There was a good reason, taxwise, to do it this way, Dick had assured Julia, and he had relied on an appraisal, so no one could question the price. While Charlotte listened, she looked down at a sprig she was twirling in her fingers, but when she heard about the painting she looked up sharply and seemed as if she were about to be ill. Then she went back to studying her sprig.
Like all embezzlers, Julia continued, Dick had probably started small, but as he saw how easy it was, he had begun to think bigger and bigger, and eventually worked himself into a position where all sorts of acts seemed legitimate. You might think that a lawyer would be especially scrupulous, but, well, then you would be wrong about lawyers. Dick had certainly exercised some care, however. Julia understood that it was hard to successfully sue someone in his position, and everything had at least a whiff of plausibility. Moreover, Dick was certain that, even if it occurred to his children that they could sue him, they would be much too afraid to do so. And who could complain? This place, to take just one example, had appreciated far more than the stock market in the same period!
“You know,” Julia said, “he was always planning on telling you. But he was going to buy some things back and repay the loans, shape things up, which he never got around to. And he talked about how it would be bad for David to know about the money; and as for you girls, well, he’d say that having money never does a girl
any good where men are concerned.
“The point is that whatever your father has done and what you think of it, you have enough money to go live in your castle, if you want; enough to fix it up and support an heir and even a couple of little sisters.”
Charlotte kept looking down.
“I know it’s a lot to absorb,” said Julia. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I’m sorry for my part in it.”
Two or three minutes passed before Charlotte spoke. “It’s the painting that really gets me. That was the one thing, the one thing that I thought he really cared about and really wanted to be mine, something precious and also, to be honest, pretty valuable, that he wanted to give to me.” She tossed the sprig away.
They sat in silence. The sun cooled as it descended from its peak, and now the grasses glowed and cast long shadows. A breeze came up, as it usually did in the afternoon, swirling around Charlotte and Julia. They collected their crusts, plates, silverware, napkins, and cups, folded the blanket, and walked back to the house.
Both Charlotte and Julia took naps. Julia slept deeply and for a long time, having gotten so little sleep the night before. Awaking, she read for a while in bed. She felt oddly serene. Telling Charlotte had turned out to be very easy, for at one point just before dawn it had become inarguable that it was the right—the only—thing to do. She wondered if she had been suckered by her conscience, and by Cupid. After a day or two, she would probably think so. But right now, she felt serene. In this state, it was easy for her to decide to perform another beau geste, which followed logically from the first; for weeks this radical idea had been swimming around, like a large sea monster, just below the surface of her consciousness. In for a penny, in for a pound.
She heard a soft knock and called “Entrez!” It was Charlotte, who let in one of the cats when she opened the door. One of the dogs, sleeping on the floor, barked, and the cat jumped on the bed; the dog went back to sleep.
Love In the Air Page 25
