by Gill Paul
As she watched Lee execute a perfect dive into the pool, Maria tucked her sarong around her ankles, feeling elephantine. It was exactly the way she used to feel alongside Jacinthy when they were children. Strange how the ghosts of childhood insecurities lingered in adult life.
AFTER LEE EMERGED from the pool, hair sleek as an otter’s, she spread her towel on a sunbed and lay on her back, sunglasses masking her face.
A steward approached to ask, “Would you like a drink, ma’am?” and she glowered at him.
“I am a princess and expect to be addressed as such.”
“My apologies, Your Highness.” He bowed.
“I’ll have a vodka and lime.”
The steward left to get the drink and Maria came to sit by Lee, meaning to start a conversation.
“What ages are your children now?” she began, reasoning that all mothers liked to talk about their children.
Lee paused before replying, as if trying to remember. “Anthony is three and Tina two.”
“I love toddlers! They’re so cute,” Maria said. “You should have brought them with you.” She wondered how Lee could leave them. If she had children, she would never have gone anywhere without them.
As if sensing criticism, Lee replied, “Everyone needs a break from their kids. They drive you insane otherwise.”
Maria gave a little laugh, assuming she was joking, but Lee’s expression behind the glasses was stony. “You’ve lived in London for a while, I believe,” Maria persevered. “Do you like the city? Is it a good place to raise children?”
“Of course it is. Otherwise we would move.” Lee turned to lie facedown, reaching behind her to unfasten her bikini top. Maria caught a glimpse of the side of her left breast.
She decided to give up. Striving to make conversation was clearly fruitless. Instead she lay back and closed her eyes. Lee did not attempt any further communication, so after a while Maria rose to see what the men were doing.
“Do you find Lee rude, or is it just me?” she asked Ari in their suite later.
“She’s reserved,” he said. “It takes her awhile to relax with new people.”
“She’s never asked a single question about me. I think she reckons I’m not grand enough to merit her acquaintance.”
Ari chuckled. “I’m the son of a tobacco importer. That’s hardly grand, yet she’s perfectly friendly to me.”
“I’m afraid it’s nothing to do with class in your case, darling. You can bet your bottom dollar she wouldn’t give you the time of day if it weren’t for the size of your bank balance.”
“I’m well aware of that, my love. Of all my friends, only you and Costa would stand by me if I was broke.”
Over cocktails that evening, Maria tried once more to befriend Lee but her questions were met with monosyllabic answers that verged on rudeness. Her efforts weren’t helped by the fact that Lee and Stas were big drinkers and Ari matched them, glass for glass, while Maria couldn’t keep up. She had a low tolerance for alcohol at the best of times, and it made her nauseated if she drank more than a couple of glasses of wine while taking the fertility drugs. It meant she felt excluded when they laughed themselves silly at jokes that were not remotely funny, or played card games in which the loser had to down a shot of vodka, but that soon became the evening routine.
After the Radziwills had been on board for a week, Maria had to fly to Germany to sing three concerts, followed by one in London and another in Paris. While packing, she couldn’t find her sleeping pills and opened one of Ari’s drawers to see if they had been put there by accident. Inside she saw a scarlet-and-gold Cartier jewelry box and couldn’t resist opening it. There was a pretty diamond bangle nestling on red velvet inside, and a note in Ari’s handwriting that read, “To my dearest, my sweetest love.”
Maria smiled. He must be planning to give it to her for her name day in August. She would have to pretend to be surprised.
WHEN MARIA ARRIVED back at the Christina in early June, Ari was on the telephone, ensconced in a complex financial discussion with some unknown colleague. She kissed him on the cheek and he held up a finger to indicate that he had to finish the call.
She wandered down to her cabin to change, joyful to be there again with a whole summer of relaxation stretching in front of her, apart from a Copenhagen concert in early July, which she needn’t think about yet. She took off her traveling clothes and tied a sarong over her favorite swimsuit, then wandered along the corridors to Ari’s suite. The door was open and she went inside and lay on his bed. An idea came to her: it always aroused him if she reclined naked, adorned in jewelry that he had bought her. Perhaps she would surprise him by donning some jewels and waiting for him to come and find her.
She sat up, planning to go to the safe to retrieve a necklace and some bracelets—perhaps the emerald-and-diamond ones—and it was then she saw the merest scrap of fabric wedged in a tight space between the edge of the bed and the wall, barely visible. She broke a fingernail prizing it out. The fabric was orange, with a green-and-white pattern. Maria instantly recognized a tie from Lee’s bikini bottoms.
Cold fingers gripped her heart, followed by a wave of acid rage. “Ari-sto!” she screamed, so loudly that she strained her throat.
She was trembling as she charged up to the boat deck, clutching the piece of fabric. He was still on the phone and looked puzzled at her approach. A beer sat on a nearby table and she picked it up and hurled it at his head, glass and all.
“Holy Christo!” he exclaimed, swerving to avoid it. “I’ll call you back,” he said into the receiver, just as Maria launched herself at him, punching him in the chest. “What is it? Stop, damn you!” He held up his arms to shield his face.
“You bastard! I trusted you!” Maria kicked his shin with her bare foot, hurting her toe, then swung at his head with her fist.
“What on earth are you talking about?” he demanded, grabbing her wrists and restraining her.
Maria sank her teeth into his forearm, causing him to yelp and leap backward. “This!” She flung the fabric tie at him.
He looked bemused. “What is it?”
“Part of Lee’s bikini. It was in your bedroom. Down the side of your bed. The bed where you and I make love. I hate you for this, Ari. I will never forgive you.” Tears were coming but she refused to give in to them. She needed him to feel the force of her rage.
“Stop, Maria. There must be some mistake. I have no idea how it got there. None.” He held out his hands, all wounded innocence.
She paused, scrutinizing him. “You’re lying.”
“I swear it’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you.” He took off his sunglasses so she could see into his eyes.
“How could the tie of Lee’s bikini get down the side of your bed? There’s no other explanation.”
He shrugged, seeming mystified. “Maybe one of the maids dropped it. Perhaps it got caught up in the sheets at the laundry. Please, darling. I hate to see this jealous side. It’s not worthy of you.”
Am I going mad? Maria wondered. But she could feel the truth in her heart. That’s why Lee wouldn’t be friends with her—because she had decided to seduce Ari. Maybe they had already slept together before the cruise. Ari had invited Stas to become a director of Olympic Airways some months earlier. Was that a quid pro quo for sleeping with his wife?
“How long has it been going on?” she demanded. “Weeks? Months?”
“Nothing is going on,” he insisted. Reassured that her rage had subsided a little, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. “Please don’t be jealous. You’ve got the wrong end of the stick. These past three weeks, I have been lonely in my bed and pining for you. Here.” He guided her hand to a swelling in his shorts. “All this passion has made me want you, badly. Let’s go to bed.”
Maria allowed him to lead her down to his cabin. She was still trembling with fury, but lust took over and the sex was wild and violent. She scratched his back, leaving long bloody trails, and bit him till he yelled for he
r to stop; he pushed inside her hard, forcing her legs over her shoulders so he could dominate entirely.
Afterward, as she lay with her head on his chest, both of them slick with sweat because they had not stopped to switch on the air conditioner, reality engulfed her once more.
“I thought you loved me as much as I loved you,” she said, in a voice that was small and sad. “But you don’t. It would never occur to me to be unfaithful to you. If any man tried to seduce me I would tell him not to be so ridiculous. But I left you here with a rude, haughty woman who happens to have a famous sister, and you couldn’t resist. I’m disappointed in you. Disappointed and deeply hurt.”
Ari was quiet at that; then he spoke softly. “You have to believe me that it meant nothing.”
“It means everything to me.”
“The last thing I wanted was to hurt you.” He stroked her hair.
“I’m sure that’s true. You hoped I would never find out.” Her heart ached, as if it had been punched. “How many times did it happen?”
“Once. Only once,” he said quickly. “She appeared at my door in that bikini and threw herself at me. I was weak, and I’m sorry. Believe me, it will never happen again.”
Maria nodded, then peeled herself away from him and rose. “I need a drink,” she said. “And some time on my own. I’ll see you at dinner.”
She called for a glass of champagne, then went to her cabin and closed the door, sitting down in an armchair and taking a sip. When she thought of the effort she had put into entertaining Lee and Stas on the Christina, she was infuriated by Lee’s betrayal. Did she hope to lure him away? What did Stas think of it all? But most of all, how could Ari do that? She couldn’t bear to think of him touching that bony body, so tiny and birdlike compared to hers.
And then she realized that she had betrayed Tina in the same way. Even though Ari’s first marriage had grown cold, she should never have slept with him while they were both married to other people. It had been wrong of her.
He was in the wrong too—of course he was—but she had no choice but to forgive him. He was her entire life. She couldn’t imagine being without him. So she would forgive—but she would never forget. And she would never leave him alone with Lee again. Not ever.
Chapter 33
Squaw Island, Massachusetts
Early August 1963
Jackie lay on a lounge chair outside the weatherboard house they had rented on Squaw Island, so heavily pregnant that she had trouble hauling herself to her feet when she needed to go to the bathroom—as she often did. She’d been staying there with the children right through June and July—swimming, catching up on the latest novels, painting watercolors, and thinking. Jack had gone on an official trip to Europe—back to his family’s roots in Ireland, then via London to the divided city of Berlin—and Lee was accompanying him.
It had been his suggestion. Drew Pearson, a Washington Post journalist, had hinted that Lee might be having an affair with Aristotle Onassis, and Jack wanted to find out if it was true. If so, it could be hugely embarrassing for him politically. Jackie had gone to great lengths to persuade the Vatican to annul Lee’s first marriage so that she could marry Stas in the Catholic Church. If they now divorced, it would make them both look bad—and, in the worst-case scenario, Jack could end up being brother-in-law to the controversial Greek tycoon.
“I don’t believe it,” Jackie said straightaway. “She’s happy with Stas! Onassis is short and hairy and not at all her type.”
“Don’t forget how much Lee likes money,” Jack reminded her. “It’s the great aphrodisiac.”
“Stas is an old friend of Onassis,” Jackie said firmly. “If she was going to stray, she wouldn’t do it with his friend.”
“I called Drew Pearson and he says they were all over each other at the opening-night party for the Hilton Hotel in Athens.”
Jackie’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?” She considered it, then screwed up her nose. “I’m sure he’s got it wrong. Lee was probably just flirting. But go ahead and ask her yourself.”
She didn’t feel remotely worried about Jack and Lee traveling together. If there had ever been a moment of indiscretion between her husband and her sister, a so-called tryst, it was ancient history now.
THE CHILDREN WERE adorable that summer, just perfect. At five years old, Caroline was a strong swimmer and a keen horseback rider, who reminded Jackie of herself at that age. John was two and a chatterbox, who liked to entertain the crowd. A neighbor had some puppies, and they loved rolling around on the grass with them, squealing with laughter at their antics.
As she watched, Jackie stroked her swollen belly and wondered what this baby would be. Boy or girl? Calm and thoughtful like Caroline, or the life and soul of the party like John? Three was a lucky number. She felt very blessed with her family.
After he returned from Europe, Jack came to Squaw Island on the weekends, but every Sunday night his presidential limo swept him back to Washington, where the Oval Office awaited. His European tour had been a great success, he said. Ireland had claimed him as one of her own, with huge crowds lining the streets to watch the motorcade pass, and the speech he delivered while overlooking the Berlin Wall was hailed by the press as the strongest anti-Communist statement yet and a watershed in the Cold War between East and West.
Jack said that Lee had performed her social duties admirably, but, when asked, she had denied any affair with Onassis.
“See? I told you so,” Jackie replied, and Jack grunted, unconvinced.
On Wednesday, August 7, she took the children pony riding and watched their excitement as they trotted around the paddock. She was determined that they grow up to share her love of horses. Suddenly she felt a sharp cramp in her womb and turned to grab the hand of Mrs. Shaw.
“I think that might have been a contraction. But it’s six weeks early. That’s too soon.” She told herself that she mustn’t panic. John had been early, and he’d turned out just fine. But fear consumed her as she remembered that Arabella hadn’t been fine. She didn’t know how she could stand it if she lost this child.
Mrs. Shaw got her to sit down on a grassy bank, just as another contraction came. Then another. They were only a couple of minutes apart.
“Call Dr. Walsh,” Jackie said, extracting a card with his telephone number from her purse. “Ask him what I should do.”
Mrs. Shaw ran to the farmhouse to borrow their phone, and Jackie sat, clutching her belly, waving as the children rode past, teeth gritted against the next contraction.
The nanny returned five minutes later. “He wants us to go straight to Otis Air Force Base,” she said. “He’ll meet us there.”
Jackie shivered, cold despite the heat of the day.
THERE WAS A hospital on the base. Dr. Walsh was already there when they drove up, and he examined her straightaway.
“Are they false contractions?” she asked.
“No. You’re in labor, as you thought, so I’m going to operate without delay.”
“Please get Jack. I need him.” She felt shaky and tearful, and desperately in need of Jack’s reassuring solidity.
“I’ll send word,” the doctor promised.
Mrs. Shaw said she would take the children home. Jackie overheard her promising them a trip to the beach later, and some chocolate-chip cookies after their swim. She lay back, trying to breathe calmly. Dr. Walsh had delivered John. He knew what he was doing.
WHEN JACKIE CAME to after the operation, Jack was at her side.
“Where’s the baby?” she asked, noticing straightaway that he wasn’t smiling.
“It’s a boy,” he said, his voice serious. “He’s beautiful, but he’s having trouble breathing, so they’re helping him out.”
“How much trouble?” She bit her lip.
Jack hesitated a moment too long. “They want to transfer him to Boston Children’s Hospital. I asked them to fetch a chaplain first so we can christen him. Is that okay?”
“Patrick Bouvier,” Jackie w
hispered. Names from both sides of the family. They’d already agreed.
The christening took place as Patrick lay in an incubator at her bedside. Her arms ached to hold him, to kiss that little face, but all she could do was stretch a hand inside to stroke his fluffy brown hair and slip her finger into his palm. He didn’t open his eyes, although she sensed he was awake. He looked very sick.
“You go to Boston with him,” Jackie instructed. “Patrick needs you more than I do.” She knew she had to be strong and that she had to let Jack go.
Jack looked so upset when he left that she wondered if the doctors had told him more than they were telling her. But then, he had always been the more openly emotional of the two of them. He got tears in his eyes at the sight of little John throwing a baseball or when Caroline first read a sentence to him from her schoolbook. Jackie couldn’t remember when she had last cried, even in private. She kept a tight rein on her emotions. She had to.
JACK CALLED AFTER they arrived in Boston to say that the specialist had put Patrick in something called a hyperbaric chamber filled with oxygen, where he lay sound asleep, with drips feeding into his arms.
“He looks like a little peanut surrounded by all those machines,” he told her. “Now it’s just a question of keeping him stable and hoping his lungs start working by themselves.”
Jackie gripped the phone. “Do they think they will? Don’t leave him, Jack. I don’t want him to be alone.”
“There’s not a lot I can do, but he’s in the best of hands. The specialist is world renowned.”
All the following day, Jackie lay in bed, chewed up with anxiety, waiting for Jack’s calls. In the morning, he reported they were pleased with Patrick’s heart function and blood pressure, but by the afternoon he said they’d had to insert a breathing tube to force air in and out of his lungs. She thought of that rosebud mouth with a rubber tube strapped into it and covered her face with her hands. Poor little mite.
