Thurston House

by Danielle Steel

  “Camille, behave yourself!” Jeremiah urged her in a whisper, as Amelia left the room for a moment to see about selecting another bottle of champagne for them after dinner. “What’s wrong with you tonight, aren’t you well?”

  “She’s a whore!” she hurled at Jeremiah in a stage whisper. “And she’s after you, and you’re blind if you don’t see it!” Her Southern accent seemed thicker than ever, and he would have been touched by her attack of possessive devotion if she hadn’t been so rude to his friend, but she was truly unbearable as the evening wore on, making rude remarks in response to almost everything Amelia said. And still Amelia treated her with the determined calm of an extremely able mother, accustomed to handling difficult children. But Camille was no longer a child, and Jeremiah was furious with her as they rode back to the Cambridge.

  “How could you behave like that? It was a disgrace. I was mortified!” He chided her as he would have an errant child, and he wanted to shake her as she stormed out of the carriage into the hotel, and slammed the door of their suite hard enough to wake all the guests. “What’s gotten into you, Camille?” She was like a madwoman tonight, and she had been rude to various people for days. He had never seen her behave that way before, but he had never seen a great deal of her anyway. He wondered if this was some aspect of her behavior he had overlooked, but if so he was going to correct it.

  “I’ll behave any way I damn please, Jeremiah!” She was shouting at him now and he was shocked.

  “You most certainly will not. And you will apologize to my friend Mrs. Goodheart. You will write her a letter tonight, which I will have delivered in the morning. Do you understand?”

  “I understand that you’re crazy, Jeremiah Thurston! I’ll do no such a thing.” He startled her then by grabbing her arm and forcing her into a chair with one quick, sharp gesture.

  “I’m not sure you understand me, Camille. I expect you to write a letter of apology to Amelia.”

  “Why? Is she your mistress?”

  “What?” He looked at her as though she were crazy. Amelia was far too respectable to be anyone’s mistress. And he had almost asked her to marry him once. He almost told Camille as much, but decided that that would only make matters worse. “Camille, you’ve been rude, and you are my wife now. You are not some spoiled child who does as she pleases. Is that clear?”

  She stood to her full height then and stared at her husband. “I am Mrs. Jeremiah Thurston of San Francisco and my husband is one of the richest men in the state of California, hell … in the country …” She looked at him with an expression that horrified him, “and I can do anything I damn please. Is that clear?” It was like watching a transformation take place before his eyes, and Jeremiah was determined to stop her.

  “That kind of behavior, Camille, will win you the utmost contempt and hatred everywhere you go. And may I suggest to you now that you become extremely humble before you reach California. I live in a simple house in the Napa Valley, I grow grapes, and I am a miner. That is all I am. And you are my wife. And if you feel that that is reason to be rude to our friends, or our neighbors, or the people who work for us, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

  She suddenly laughed and grabbed a handful of her sables. She had what she wanted now. She loved him, but she also loved what he had and what he represented. And now she represented it too. And no one was going to look down on her for what her daddy was anymore. If her aristocratic mother hadn’t been enough to cancel out her father’s humble beginnings, then she had done them all one better. She had married right out of their leagues, and married the richest man in the state of California. And no one was going to look down on her again. Now she had the position to go with the money, and more money than she’d ever had before, or even dreamed of in Atlanta. She heard the people whispering everywhere they went, she knew what they said. Her daddy had told her. Jeremiah was one of the most powerful, most important men in the country. “Don’t tell me you’re ‘just a miner,’ Jeremiah Thurston. That’s garbage and you and I both know it. You’re a lot more than that, and so am I.” It was hard to believe she was just eighteen. She seemed a great deal older as she stood there.

  “And what happens if we lose it, if the mines fail, if I lose it all, Camille? What happens then? Who are you if you’ve hitched all your importance to all that? You’re no one.”

  “You’re not going to lose a damn thing.”

  “Camille, when I was a little boy in New York we barely had enough to eat, and then my Papa struck gold in California. It was everyone’s dream back then, still is, I suppose. And I was lucky too. But that’s all it is. Luck. Good fortune. Some hard work. But it can go just as easily as it comes, and you have to stay who you are no matter what happens. I married a wonderful little girl from Atlanta, and I love you … now don’t suddenly turn into someone else because you married me. That’s not fair. Most of all it’s not fair to yourself. You don’t need to do that.”

  “Why not? People have been doing it to me for long enough. Even my Mama did it.” There were suddenly tears in her eyes as she said it, and she sounded like a defiant child as she told him. “She always acted as though I wasn’t good enough, because I was part of my Daddy … as though he was trash … well, she married him, and even if he was trash, he made good, and he was good enough for her, and rich enough for her, after her father shot himself. But people have been looking down at me and Hubert all our lives. Hubert doesn’t give a damn, but I do, and I’m not going to take it anymore, Jeremiah. And Amelia was just like the rest of them, so damned aristocratic and fancy. I know them. I’ve seen that type all over the South, they’re charming as hell and then they let you have it.”

  He looked shocked. What an undeserved attack on Amelia, and yet he suddenly understood some of Camille’s pain. He had never been aware of it before, and yet now he knew, and he felt for the many slights she must have suffered as she grew up. Now he understood what Orville had meant, when he said he wanted to get her out of the South. It mattered to her a great deal, and it mattered to Orville. “But Amelia didn’t say anything to you, darling.”

  “She would have!” There were tears running down Camille’s cheeks now, and Jeremiah came and took her in his arms.

  “I would never, ever let anyone do that to you, my love. No one will ever slight you like that.” He was suddenly glad he had built the house for her in San Francisco. Perhaps it would give her the self-confidence she apparently needed. “I promise you, no one is going to treat you badly in California. And I know Amelia wouldn’t have either. You should have given her a chance.” He held her close as he would a frightened child. “Perhaps next time.” He took her to bed then, and held her tight as though to console her, and when morning came, she didn’t write the letter that he wanted, and he didn’t want to upset her by insisting. Instead he sent Amelia an enormous arrangement of white lilac, almost unheard of in the dead of winter, and he knew that she would love it, and understand.

  And Jeremiah and Camille spent the rest of their stay shopping and buying pretty baubles for Camille, paintings for their new house, a rope of black pearls, a diamond and emerald necklace that she insisted she couldn’t live without, and trunks and trunks and trunks of fabrics and feathers and laces, “in case I can’t find what I like in California.”

  “It’s not Africa, for heaven’s sake. It’s California.” But he was amused by what she bought and let her buy it all, and when they entered their private railroad car to return to California, it was more than half filled with Camille’s trunks and boxes with all her treasures. “Do you suppose we bought enough, my love?” He looked amused as he lit a cigar and they rolled out of Grand Central Station. He had managed to speak to Amelia once before they left, and she insisted that he shouldn’t be upset by Camille’s behavior. “She’s young, give her a chance to adjust to being your wife, Jeremiah.” And he had every intention of doing just that. They spent most of their time making love on the trip to California. And for a girl with what he assumed was a v
ery straitlaced Southern upbringing, she had a wonderful sort of abandon about her when they made love. He had never been happier in his life, and she was growing rapidly adept at the ways that pleased him most. She was an extraordinarily exotic young lover.

  And at last when they arrived, Jeremiah could barely contain his excitement anymore. He was dying to show her the house … their house … Thurston House … in all its splendor, and he was still playing it down for her. “No, it’s not terribly big, but it’ll do for us, and the first baby.” The first ten babies, he laughed to himself … wait till she saw it! He helped her down from the car they’d ridden in for seven days, and guided her toward the carriage that had come to meet them. It was brand-new, brown with black trim, drawn by four perfectly matched jet black horses. It was a pretty little setup and he had bought it especially for Camille just before he went to Atlanta for their wedding.

  “What a pretty rig, Jeremiah!” She seemed impressed as she laughed and clapped her hands, and she looked down at him adoringly as he lifted her inside. There was a second coach for their trunks, and both carriages bore a scrollwork with his initials. JAT. Jeremiah Arbuckle Thurston. “Is the house far from here?” She looked around the station with a faint degree of concern, and Jeremiah laughed.

  “Far enough, little one. Were you worried that I’d set up house for you down here?” She laughed at herself, and he hopped in beside her for the drive north across San Francisco. He pointed out landmarks to her as they went, the Palace Hotel where he had so often stayed before he built the new house, St. Patrick’s Church, Trinity Church, Union Square, the Mint, and Twin Peaks in the distance. And then as they finally began to climb Nob Hill, he showed her Mark Hopkins’ home, the Tobin residence, the Crocker house, and the Huntington Colton house, all of which they passed on the way to Thurston House. But she was particularly impressed with the Crocker and Flood houses. They were finer even than anything she had seen in Atlanta and Savannah.

  “Finer even than New York!” She clapped her hands. San Francisco wasn’t so bad after all, she hadn’t been so sure at first, and now she was even more excited to see their house, but he had warned her that it would be small, and they were driving into a little park now. They had passed through an enormous set of gates, and the horses picked up speed as they drove around a maze of trees and hedges. “Is the house in here?” She looked confused. She saw only trees and no house, but perhaps he was giving her a little tour before taking her to their house, and then she saw the largest house of all, a spectacular edifice with four turrets and a sort of cupola on top. “Whose house is this?” She was fascinated. It was the grandest house she’d ever seen. “It looks like a hotel, or a museum.”

  “It’s neither one.” Jeremiah looked very serious as the carriage stopped, and she didn’t know him well enough to read the mischief in his eyes. “It’s probably the largest house in the city. I wanted you to see it before we went home.”

  “Whose house is it, Jeremiah?” She spoke in a whisper of awe. It was larger than some of the churches they’d passed. “They must be very rich.” She said it in awed tones, and he laughed.

  “Would you like to see the inside?”

  “Do you suppose we should?” She was hesitant but curious at the same time. “I’m not really dressed to pay a call.” She was wearing a tweed suit, and a fur cape, with one of the pretty hats he’d bought her in New York.

  “You look fine to me. This is San Francisco after all, not New York. In fact, I think you look very elegant.” And then, before she could say more, he walked her right up to the front door and struck the large brass knocker, and almost instantly a liveried servant swung open the door, and stared at Jeremiah. Everyone had been warned about their arrival, and that if the master behaved strangely, they were to take no notice. He strolled right past the footman now, as Camille gasped, having explained nothing at all, and he pulled Camille in beside him. Together, they stood beneath the enormous stained-glass dome, and she gasped again. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, and she stared at it in fascination as it cast lights and patterns on the marble floor beneath.

  “Oh, Jeremiah … it’s so lovely.…” She stared up at it with her enormous eyes, and he smiled down happily at her. This was what he had wanted.

  “Do you want to see the rest?”

  “Shouldn’t you let them know we’re here?” She looked worried. People couldn’t be that informal in San Francisco. It was certainly different from the South. Her parents would have been horrified to find people wandering around their home, even friends, but on the other hand they didn’t live in a palace like this. She didn’t know anyone who did. Even Jeremiah’s woman friend in New York had a house that was less grand than this, and Camille was suddenly glad. Whoever these people were, they had outdone her. “Jeremiah …” The footmen didn’t seem to be taking any notice of him, and he pulled her slowly up the grand staircase.

  “You’ve got to see the upstairs, Camille. It’s the handsomest suite of rooms you’ve ever seen.”

  “But Jeremiah … please …” This was awful. What would the people say when they saw them? But before she could say another thing, he had pulled her right into what appeared to be the master bedroom, all done in the most extravagant poufs of pink silk she had ever seen. She had never seen so much fabric in one room, and there were two beautiful French paintings on either side of the bed, and another over the mantel across from the bed. And from here, he led her into a tiny French boudoir with hand-painted wallpaper brought directly from Paris, and a dressing room full of mirrors, and the largest pink marble bathroom she’d ever seen, and beyond it another in dark green marble, presumably for the master of the house, and a wood-paneled study, and then suddenly they were back in the master bedroom again. And however uncomfortable she was to be in someone else’s house, she was so overwhelmed by the beauty of the house that she almost didn’t mind it. It was like eating chocolates and not being able to stop until you devoured the whole box, and all before your hostess came back into the room. It was like a dream and a nightmare all at once and she stared at Jeremiah now, in absolute rapture. “Who lives here?” Not that she’d know the name, but she’d remember it now. She would never forget this house, the exquisite rooms, the rich fabrics, the treasures scattered everywhere. “Who are they? How did they make their money?” The last question was whispered so softly he could barely hear her.

  “In mining,” he whispered back.

  “There must be a lot of good mines out here.” She whispered again and he smiled.

  “Enough.”

  “What’s their name?”

  “Thurston,” he whispered matter-of-factly, and she nodded, and then stopped and looked at him again.

  “Thurston? Are they relatives of yours?”

  “More or less.” They were still whispering. “My wife lives here.”

  “Your what?” She looked horrified. What kind of joke was this? And she would have begun to cry, but she was too frightened. Did he have another wife? Had he played a cruel joke on them all? He saw everything that was running through her mind and turned her around slowly to look in one of the long mirrors. He pointed at her reflection with a smile. “That wife, silly girl. Do you know her?”

  She spun to face him now, with a look of total amazement. “What do you mean, Jeremiah, is this your house?”

  “Our house, my darling.” He pulled her into his arms, feeling all the pleasure there was to feel in the world well up inside him at once. “I built it for you. And there are probably a few unfinished corners, but we’ll finish them together.” He held her tight and she pulled away from him after a moment and shrieked in amazement, and then she began to laugh.

  “You tricked me! Jeremiah Thurston, you tricked me! I thought you were crazy roaming around someone else’s house!”

  “But you were willing to do it!” he teased.

  “It’s the prettiest house I’ve ever seen, and I didn’t want to leave until I saw more.…”

 
“Then I’ll show you the rest, and you don’t ever have to leave, my darling, it’s yours, from top to bottom.” And now the footmen who saw them were smiling and a cluster of maids had come out to see the new mistress. They had been hired just before Jeremiah left for Atlanta, and he scarcely recognized them himself. Everything was so new here. He showed her the kitchens and the pantries, and the nursery and children’s rooms upstairs, and the view from almost every window, and the discreet plaque on the front gate that said THURSTON HOUSE. He showed her everything there was to see, and at the end of the tour she collapsed on their huge canopied bed with an equally huge grin on her face and stared at him.

  “It’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen, Jeremiah. Anywhere.”

  “And it’s all yours, my darling, enjoy it.”

  “Oh, I am!” She already had visions of the dazzling parties she was going to give, and she could hardly wait to start using the ballroom. “Wait until I write to Daddy!” That was the highest praise, Jeremiah knew. Daddy was godlike in Camille’s eyes, but Jeremiah was rapidly gaining the same importance. And now he had truly impressed her. Even the enormous diamond hadn’t impressed her this much. This really did it, and she grinned at him now. “This must have cost you a fortune, Jeremiah. You must be even richer than Daddy thought!” But the prospect of that didn’t seem to depress her.

  He was thrilled by her delight in the house, vague about her questions about how much things cost, and disappointed at her reaction when he took her to Napa. After the elegance and modern marvels of their house on Nob Hill, she was unimpressed by the house he had refurbished in St. Helena. She was disturbed at how far they were from town, how negligible a town it was, and how long it took to get to San Francisco. It was still an all-day affair by carriage and steamer, and she found the house in Napa depressing. She had heard that he had built it for a love who died, and that annoyed her too. She wanted to go back to the grandeur of Thurston House and show off her new clothes. Now! And the fact that he had lived there for the last twenty years didn’t interest her at all, the valley itself held no magic for her whatsoever, and the only things that seemed to interest her at all were the mines and how much money he made there. Every day she asked him a thousand questions, but they were so mercenary and so pointed that he was noticeably vague with his answers. It embarrassed him to discuss money to that extent, and he had too much work to do to be able to spend much time with her after his long absence. He needed a month in Napa to set things to rights, and Camille detested every moment they spent there.