The Last Princess

by Cynthia Freeman

  “I told you I’m engaged. To Roger Humphreys.”

  “But you’re not in love with him,” he said, challenging her.

  “Of course I am!”

  “If that’s true, then why did you only mention your fiancé at the end of the evening?”

  She lowered her eyes.

  “And why didn’t you wear the ring I see you have on your finger now?”

  Lily finally found her voice. “I don’t owe you any explanations, Mr. Kohle. And I don’t want you to ever try to see me again. Not ever!”

  Harry’s voice was very calm as he replied. “I don’t give up that easily.”

  “If you have any decency, you will leave now.” She went to the door, held it open, and waited. She refused to look up. All she remembered was that as the door closed behind him, she leaned against it and sobbed.

  Harry gunned the motor as he drove away. He hadn’t expected Lily to greet him with open arms, but neither had he expected total rejection. He decided he would test the strength of his own feelings by seeing if he could forget her. For the next few weeks, he did everything in his power to erase her image. He spent his evenings carousing, starting in the fanciest restaurants or hottest new Broadway shows and ending at the speakeasies up in Harlem, drinking more than was good for him. He was the life of every party—and only the most perceptive observer would have noted that his eyes were curiously lifeless, his smiles forced and mechanical.

  If only he had known Lily’s own troubled thoughts stirred by his unexpected visit. Little could he suspect how greatly his very presence had affected her.

  Lily’s cold reception had been the result of an intense battle between her heart and her head. She must at all costs protect the bulwark which blinded her to all the things that were wrong in her impending marriage—and Harry Kohle threatened to breach that defense. The ironic result of his visit was to intensify her determination to reaffirm her relationship with Roger. So while Harry painted the town, Lily clung to Roger’s arm, gave him loving smiles, and laughed at his jokes.

  The weekend they were houseguests at Jill Robinson’s country estate Lily determined to force Roger to try to make love to her. On Saturday night, Lily floated downstairs in white chiffon and sparkled like the ring on her finger. She drank a good deal of wine at dinner and was gay and talkative. Later, when Roger was dancing with Jill, as befitted his obligation to his hostess, Lily cut in and led him into the library. Turning down the lights, Lily caught her breath, overcome with a sense of her own sexuality. Whether it was stimulated by Roger or her own sense of need, Lily knew only that she wanted Roger to sweep her off her feet. Deliberately, she lifted her lips to his, winding her arms around his neck.

  “I love you, Roger. I love you,” she whispered fervently.

  “I love you, too,” he said, and in that moment he almost believed it.

  Slowly they sank onto the brown velvet sofa, intertwined….

  But then suddenly there was a knock on the door. Roger leapt up, looking disheveled and feeling ridiculous.

  “Oh, my God,” he muttered. “What are we doing?”

  “Out the French doors,” she said, trying not to giggle. “I don’t want you compromised.”

  As he stepped into the garden, Lily opened the door.

  “I hope I haven’t disturbed you,” said Bert Hamilton. “I just wanted something to read before I go to bed.” He walked over to the first case, took down a book at random, and fled with an apologetic smile.

  Lily checked her hair in the mirror, then went back out to the drawing room.

  “What have you been up to?” asked Jill. “You and Roger were certainly gone a long time together.”

  Lily flushed guiltily. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh Lily, don’t pretend! You two are engaged, after all.”

  “Nothing happened,” Lily said. She saw the look of pity in her friend’s eyes. Oblivious to the fact that most of her crowd considered Roger a cold fish, Lily felt the moment in the study confirmed his passion. Her doubts had been quieted and she could look forward to her wedding day with no further qualms.

  In Manhattan, Harry Kohle had also made up his mind. His attempts to drown Lily’s image in an orgy of other beds had failed dismally. As he walked down Madison Avenue all he saw in the huge plate-glass windows was Lily’s face—that magnificent, beautiful face. In that moment, he made up his mind. She was mistaken if she thought he was going to give up this easily.

  Impulsively, he stopped in front of Ratto’s Florist and went inside.

  Chapter 8

  AT THE FRENCH DESK in her bedroom, Lily was writing a letter to her parents. She was about to say, Roger and I are so happy these days … when there was a light knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Lily called.

  Her maid, Marie, entered, almost hidden by the most enormous basket of flowers Lily had ever seen. Lily of the valley, white orchids, and palest pink rubrum lilies. She was overwhelmed. She couldn’t believe Roger had done something so romantic. But when she opened the little envelope, the bold black scrawl read, “To the most beautiful woman in the world. With all my love—Harry.”

  Heart pounding, she threw the card into the wastebasket. How could he do this to her? Just when she had begun to feel a sense of peace. Harry Kohle was callously upsetting her again.

  “Where do you want the flowers, ma’am?” said Marie for the second time.

  “I don’t want them. Throw them away.”

  After the door closed behind Marie, Lily burst into tears. She wept for a long time, only gradually beginning to recover her composure. There was only one thing to do, she determined. And that was to pretend Harry Kohle never existed.

  But if Lily thought that strategy would work, she was entirely mistaken. Harry Kohle was only beginning to make himself known to her. That same afternoon, the phone calls began. Then came the boxes of candy and then more flowers.

  Lily refused to take the calls, gave the candy to the servants, threw the flowers away, but as the bombardment continued, she grew increasingly frantic. What would happen if Roger learned about this—or, worse yet, her parents? She was at her wits’ end. She first thought of calling Randolph, then decided her best chance was to confront Harry himself. She had no trouble finding his number, but her bravado faded rapidly as she waited for the ring.

  “Mr. Kohle?” she said when he answered. “I’m calling to ask you to stop your nonsense and leave me alone.”

  “Did you get my flowers today?” he asked pleasantly.

  At his bland response, her calm shattered. Almost in tears, she asked, “Why? Why are you harassing me?”

  “I love you, Lily,” he answered with sudden intensity. “This is the only way I know to get your attention. I honestly believe your engagement is a horrible mistake. You don’t love Roger.”

  “What makes you so damned smart, Harry Kohle? Why do you think you know everything?” she cried, her voice trembling.

  “Not everything, Lily—just you. If you were really in love with this Humphreys, you wouldn’t have acted the way you did with me. And you would not have been so angry when I came to see you. For some reason, you’re trying to convince yourself to go through with the wedding, but you’re not doing a very good job of it. Why don’t you admit it?”

  “Stop, stop! I don’t want to listen.” She put down the receiver with shaking fingers. Oh God, she thought, Harry was right. Every word he said seemed to come from her own heart. She didn’t love Roger. The marriage would never work. Sinking onto the couch, she buried her face in her hands and wept. How could she go back to Roger, feeling this way? But she must. Harry presented no alternative. And in any case, it was impossible to break her engagement. She was bound now by her words and deeds as well as by her parents’ wishes. There was no turning back now.

  After a sleepless night, Lily arose wearily, refused breakfast, and went out to the rose garden. She began pulling weeds and cultivating around the bases of the luxuriant bushes, soothed by the r
hythmic, repetitive motions. The sun rose higher and higher while she knelt trying to think only of the soil beneath her palms.

  It was well into the afternoon when Harry turned into the drive and stopped in front of the house. About to ascend the broad stone steps, he suddenly noticed Lily’s figure in the garden. To his worshipful eyes, she looked as exquisite in a simple cotton smock and a straw hat as she had that night at the opera. He stood for a long time, his heart beating irregularly. Then he quietly made his way up the path. It wasn’t until his shadow fell over her that she looked up, startled.

  Gently, he reached down and helped her to her feet. She tried to pull away from his hands, but somehow found it impossible. When they stood face to face, she whispered, “I wish you hadn’t come.”

  “I had to. Do you think I could just let you go?”

  “It would have been better because nothing has changed.”

  “That’s not true. Everything has changed.”

  “I’m still going to marry Roger.”

  “All right, you’re going to marry him. But if you’re so certain of your future, you shouldn’t be afraid of spending an evening with me. Let me take you to dinner just once—tonight?”

  “No!”

  “I promise that you’ll have nothing to fear; I know a little place where no one will see us.”

  If only he knew that she was more frightened of herself than she was of him.

  “I just can’t! It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Lily, you’ll have a lifetime with Roger. Can’t you just give me a few hours?”

  Nervously pulling a rose from the bush at her side, Lily rubbed the petals until they shredded between her fingertips. “If I spend the evening with you, will you promise to go away afterward and leave me in peace?”

  “I promise,” he lied, knowing he would never leave her in peace.

  Without another word exchanged, they turned and walked to the terrace and through the French doors to the library. Leaving him there, Lily went upstairs, slipped into a silk blouse and a tweed skirt and jacket. She twisted her luxuriant hair into a severe knot at the nape of her neck, added a dab of lipstick, and descended to the library again.

  They drove in silence up the coast. Lily sat with her hands folded in her lap, feeling as though she were being hurtled into the unknown. She could have said no to Harry, but from the moment she had first seen him at the opera, her life had been out of control.

  After an hour and a half, Harry turned off onto a winding dirt road and came to a halt in front of an old inn. It was a beautiful setting. The light of the setting sun filtered down through the sycamores, casting a lacy shadow upon the ground, while nearby a small brook cascaded over the boulders. The water was so crystal clear, Lily could see the flash of fish gliding by with balletic grace.

  Even in the chill air, Lily felt an inner glow at the sight of the old-fashioned structure. The sign overhead read “Creekside Inn—Est. 1839.” The patina on the clapboard siding was silvery with age. Smoke puffed gently from the stone chimney, only to dissipate in the treetops.

  After they were seated in the pine-paneled dining room, Lily did her best to pretend that this was just a casual dinner with a friend, but she was uncontrollably aware of Harry’s disturbing good looks and the current of electricity that seemed to spark between them. Lily suddenly felt ill at ease. This was not right, her being there. It wasn’t a question of propriety or convention, it was her own sense of honor Lily felt she was violating. She had been trying to fight his mysterious attraction ever since the night they met. She wasn’t sure it was love, but whatever it might be, it frightened her.

  “Do you come here often?” she asked, to break the awkward silence.

  “As often as possible. I love this place.”

  Lily wondered if he had brought his other women to the inn and felt a pang of jealousy at the thought he might have spent the night.

  The waiter provided a welcome interruption as he came up and asked, “Are you ready to order, sir?”

  “Lily, have you looked at the menu?”

  She hesitated. “What do you recommend?”

  “They do wonderful game here—especially the quail.”

  “Is that what you’re having?”

  At his nod, she said, “I’ll have that, too.”

  Although she had expected to be too nervous even to swallow, she finished every bite of the wild mushroom soup, caille en croûte, and flaming cherries jubilee, all accompanied by a wonderful Château La Rose served to Lily’s amusement in heavy china coffee cups. Perhaps it was the effect of the full-bodied wine or the seductive smell of herbs and wildflowers, but as had happened the evening of the opera, she was filled with romantic yearning.

  As they lingered over their coffee, Harry said, “They have the most fascinating wine cellar here—pre-Prohibition, of course. Would you care to see it?”

  As they descended the wooden staircase to the cellar, the smell of old oak casks brought from Spain a hundred years before assailed them. Harry held the candle as they walked up and down the dark aisles. As they moved farther back into the cavernous room, Lily shrank closer to him. The dark pools of shadow were forbidding and she had to suppress a desire to reach out for Harry’s hand. At the end of one of the rows, he lifted the candle to read a label, but as he turned, the flame lit up Lily’s face and he stopped, mesmerized by her incredible beauty. Their eyes met and locked.

  Gently, he took her in his arms. The touch of his lips on hers brought her as close to heaven as she would ever be on this earth.

  “Lily, darling, I love you. You know that this is only the beginning.”

  Tears filled her eyes.

  It wasn’t until several hours later as they drove through the gates of the Long Island estate that Lily came back down to earth. Harry kissed her over and over before letting her out of the car.

  “This has been the most wonderful evening of my life, Lily,” he said. “Will you come to Manhattan next weekend?”

  Lily knew in that moment that she was in love with Harry, but almost instantly came the harsh realization there was nothing she could do about it. How could she disrupt her parents’ hopes and plans—not to mention Roger’s? In her world, people honored their pledges and Lily knew that she could not bear the guilt and shame.

  “Lily, will you come down to Manhattan next weekend?”

  Lily was silent for a long moment, so Harry added, “Please?”

  “I can’t, Harry—I really can’t.”

  “Why, darling?”

  “Because I can’t just walk away from my engagement to Roger. Can’t you see that?”

  “Lily, I believe in loyalty and duty as much as you, but it’s also dishonorable to marry a man you don’t love.”

  Lily pulled away from him and got out of the car. “You know I’m right,” he said, following her.

  “Harry, I just can’t think when you’re around. I’m frightened of you and your effect on me!”

  “It’s not me you’re frightened of, Lily, it’s yourself. Come to the city next weekend, just for two days. Afterward, if you still want to marry Roger, I swear to you, by all that I hold holy, I will never try to see you again.”

  “I can’t give you an answer now,” she said. “Let me think about it.”

  Standing in the moonlight, Harry longed to kiss Lily again, plead with her once more, but he walked away, without a backward glance. Lily had to come to him of her own free will. He had begged her for the last time.

  Lily did not sleep all night, but by morning she admitted that nothing could keep her from going to Manhattan. Her decision had been made weeks ago, the first night she had met Harry Kohle. She would not break her engagement or disappoint her parents, but she could not turn her back on one last magical weekend. She knew that Roger would never take her to the heights of joy Harry could. She had known it all along. So for once in her life, she wanted to be completely fulfilled as a woman—to be loved as only Harry Kohle could love her. It would be a gold
en memory to treasure in the long arid years to come.

  The one thing Lily could not come to terms with was the deception she was about to perpetrate on Roger. As the week wore on, she found herself increasingly uncomfortable in his presence.

  Fortunately Roger had another sailing race that weekend, so Lily was not forced to lie to him. She was just vague, saying she would visit friends in New York, and then she called Jill Robinson to ask if she could stay for the weekend. Jill was delighted. Then, nervously, she placed the call to Harry.

  When he heard the ring, Harry lunged for the phone. For the last week he had remained by it longingly, wondering when—and if—she would call. Breathlessly he said, “Hello?”

  “Harry, this is Lily. I’m coming to New York.”

  Harry’s eyes filled with tears at the news. In that moment he realized that this was the first time in his life he had gotten something that he had wanted with all his heart and soul.

  “When will you be here?” he asked urgently.

  “Tomorrow. I’ll be on the five-o’clock train.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Chapter 9

  THE NEXT DAY LILY packed her bags. Before she could give way to indecision, she hurried downstairs to be driven to the train. It was five forty-five when she arrived at Pennsylvania Station. Harry met her on the platform. They did not embrace, but when Lily smiled up at him Harry felt as though his heart would burst.

  “Lily, I’m so glad you’re here.” He picked up her suitcase and escorted her outside. As he helped her into his car, he asked, “Where are you staying?”

  “With a friend of mine, Jill Robinson. It’s on the East Side.”

  Unspoken was the question of whether she would come to his apartment. They said little as Harry maneuvered the Stutz through the heavy traffic to the Robinson brownstone in the East Sixties.

  “Is seven too early, Lily?”

  “No, I’ll be ready.”

  She watched as Harry’s car disappeared from view, and a moment later she was hugging Jill, who quickly took her by the hand and led her up to a guest bedroom. After closing the door, Jill perched on a slipper chair and said, “So do tell! You sounded so mysterious on the phone, my dear.”