The Last Princess

by Cynthia Freeman

  Ellis’s mind worked furiously. He knew that Harry had broken off his affair with Valerie after Lily’s return, but he also knew, with an absolute certainty, that out there in the Middle Eastern desert, they were sleeping together again.

  It was impossible to guess why Harry had suddenly demanded that Lily come—perhaps it was a momentary attack of guilty conscience—but it didn’t alter Ellis’s deep-seated conviction.

  And at long last, his anger overcame his scruples. It overwhelmed any sense of loyalty he felt he owed Harry. The eager, sincere, passionately honest young man he had known years before had long since disappeared. He was lying to Lily, cheating on her, making a fool of her—and she deserved better.

  The passing years had been a strange torment for Ellis as he had watched Lily forgive Harry over and over again, even when she blamed him for their son’s death, and Ellis told himself that it could be only because she still loved him. Maybe Ellis could have taken advantage of the Kohles’ troubles to drive her into his arms, but he would have been haunted by the fact she still loved Harry. Or so he had thought in the past.

  But now, somehow, he felt that things were different. When people were at such constant odds with each other, what marriage could there be left to preserve? The truth was, Harry and Lily had stopped living as husband and wife long ago.

  They might have fallen in love, but even almost twenty years together and four children did not alter the fact that they were utterly unsuited for one another. Harry needed a wife content to be an adoring admirer of his every move, whereas Lily longed to be adored as only he—Ellis—could adore her.

  He didn’t pretend to be unselfishly motivated. Ellis loved and wanted Lily desperately, just as he always had.

  He drained his glass and set it down on the coffee table and then said abruptly, “Lily, I’ve got a suggestion. Obviously you want to see Harry. Why don’t you fly over now, just for the weekend? Surprise him. The committee can spare you from the preparations for a day or two.”

  “But Ellis, that’s a terribly long trip, just for a few days, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll tell you how to do it: fly from here to London, stay overnight, and then go on to Tel Aviv. It’s only five hours from there and you won’t be so tired when you arrive.”

  Lily started to demur. “Oh, it sounds too complicated.”

  But Ellis went on. “I’ll reserve a room for you at Claridge’s, and I’ll also call Harry’s publisher there. He’s a very pleasant man—you can have dinner with him.”

  “That would be lovely, but—”

  “No buts. Just do it and don’t think about it.”

  “Shouldn’t I even call Harry?”

  “Oh no. It will be a fabulous surprise for him. You’ll see—he’ll be thrilled.”

  Impulsively, she threw her arms around Ellis and hugged him tightly. “Oh, Ellis, what would I do without you? I knew that you’d have the answer!”

  In spite of all his rationalizing, now that he had cast the fatal die, Ellis felt intensely guilty, knowing that he had deliberately urged Lily on a route that might lead to disaster.

  The next day Lily was up bright and early. Forgotten were her uneasy parting from Harry and their awkward phone conversations. She bid Ellis good-bye at the airport and promised to call him from London.

  At the airport she was met by Harry’s British publisher, who drove her to Claridge’s. Later, they went to Simpson’s in the Strand for the famous roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, but Lily was too excited to notice what she ate.

  The knowledge that by this time tomorrow she would be reunited with her husband had put her in a daze. But that night in London, for however distracted she seemed, Lily was the Lily of her Paris youth; she was spontaneous and sparkling, and Harry’s publisher, a stout little man in a bowler hat, was plainly entranced by her. As he saw her onto the El Al plane the next morning, he assured her that she must visit again, with or without Harry.

  Lily smiled, but her thoughts had already turned to Harry. She barely heard what the kind publisher said.

  But in Rome, where the flight had been scheduled for a twenty-minute stopover, the passengers were forced to disembark and wait for over three hours. Apparently there had been another terrorist scare and the aircraft had to be searched thoroughly before they could take off.

  Wearily, Lily sat alone in the bare waiting room, her spirits sagging as the hands on her watch circled slowly once, twice, three times. It would be so late by the time she got into Tel Aviv.

  When they were finally cleared for takeoff, she had worked herself into a frenzy of anxiety over what awaited her in Tel Aviv. Suppose the driver Ellis had arranged for her had not waited? She would have to take a taxi to a hotel in the city, then try to make arrangements to get to Safed the next day.

  But miraculously, even though it was ten at night, a young Israeli approached her as soon as she came through Customs. “Mrs. Harry Kohle? I am David. Let me take your bags.”

  “How do you do? I’m sorry to be so late—the plane was delayed.”

  “Don’t apologize, Mrs. Kohle. We live in a country where war and the threat of it delays many things.” He shrugged. “It is part of the life here.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to do at this point. I’m supposed to go to Safed, but now perhaps I should just try to get a hotel room here and go on tomorrow.”

  David shrugged. “If you like, but I am happy to drive you there now. Safed is not so very far.”

  “Really? What time would we arrive?”

  “Twelve-thirty, perhaps.”

  Lily thought for a moment. Harry was a night owl, and she didn’t want to have to search for a hotel and unpack and waste more precious time; she had only two days.

  “You really wouldn’t mind?”

  “My pleasure.”

  Some fifteen minutes later, they were speeding through the warm Israeli night.

  Tel Aviv was nearly dark as they passed by; only a few lights were burning. Lily was overwhelmed by the millions of stars shining more beautifully than she’d ever seen. Moonlight lapped gently over the Mediterranean.

  They followed the coastal road north as far as Haifa, taking the same route Harry had several days before. Lily debated on whether to stop to call Harry and let him know she was coming, but then it would be such fun to surprise him. And after all, she was almost there. If she had to wake him, what did it matter? They hadn’t seen each other for over two months. And especially in light of their last conversation, he’d be delighted by the surprise.

  They wound through the hills of Safed, and then finally David announced, “It’s right along here … a mile past town, on the left.”

  A minute later, they pulled to a halt in front of the sprawling stone villa. Moonlight illuminated the roses of Sharon clinging to the walls. The aroma was intoxicating. Lily thrilled at the romantic charm this place held.

  The villa itself lay in darkness; plainly its occupants had gone to bed. Lily checked her watch: one o’clock. Asking David to wait with her bags, she mounted the broad stone steps and peered through the filigree of the front door. Then, with a start, she made out the form of an Arab houseboy lying on the floor in front of the door, in the manner of Oriental servants. Softly, she tapped, and a moment later a dark face peered from the door.

  “Yes?”

  “I am Mrs. Kohle. Could you please tell me where Mr. Kohle’s bedroom is?”

  The servant stared at her so blankly, Lily thought that he must not understand English. Slowly and clearly, she enunciated, “Master Kohle—your master? Where is his room?”

  The boy shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of incomprehension. Lily was sure he couldn’t speak English. She pushed the door open in exasperation and began walking toward the back of the house saying, “Master Kohle?”

  Shrugging his shoulders again, the houseboy wordlessly pointed toward the staircase leading downward.

  At the bottom of the flight of stairs she found the door. Ever so gently, she pushed
it open, then stopped short. The room lay in shadows, but there was the silver of moonlight pouring through the French doors. It fell in a lacy pattern on the naked flesh of two bodies lying tangled among the sheets.

  For a moment Lily thought that she must have the wrong room. She stepped back, about to close the door. Then she saw one of the bodies stir slightly, and the face turned just enough for her to recognize her husband. Then she saw the luxuriant chestnut hair and knew that the woman next to him was Valerie. Valerie!

  A wave of nausea overwhelmed her. She turned and ran up the stairs, passing the gawking houseboy, and stumbled out into the warm Israeli night. There she became violently ill, retching until there was nothing more to come out of her save her own soul. She slumped to her knees as the tears came flooding and sobs of anguish racked her body. How long she remained that way, she didn’t know, but gradually she grew calm again. She had to get away. Immediately. She had to escape from this terrible place where her husband had become a man she didn’t know.

  Mercifully, the car was still there. Seeing her stricken face, David refrained from questioning her. When she said, “I want to go back to Tel Aviv,” he merely nodded, saying quietly, “Tel Aviv it is.”

  For the entire drive, Lily sat numbly. David found her a hotel room and Lily passively allowed herself to be checked in. David phoned El Al and booked her a direct flight home at noon, then said he would pick her up at nine.

  Lily smiled wanly in thanks. Then, as the door closed behind him, she sank onto the bed, burying her face in her hands. After one brief glimpse in that darkened bedroom her whole world lay shattered.

  Why, Harry? Why, why, why?

  He always claimed he loved her. If that were true, how could he do this to her? Maybe their sexual relationship had not been steady since Jeremy’s death, but was that fact alone enough to justify this?

  Marriages went through their bad periods—surely Harry understood that—and the time surrounding Jeremy’s death had been one of those periods. Whatever their problems, she had always trusted Harry. The only time she had ever doubted him was that one time when she had seen it in print. But then, after their wonderful “honeymoon” in New York, she had been completely reassured. It had all been malicious gossip. He would never be unfaithful to her. She was his wife, and he was a man of honor.

  But nothing seemed as sure and steady as it once had. Not her marriage, not Harry, not Valerie, not even her. Suddenly it seemed her whole life had been built on fantasy. Well, she would be deluded no more. Perhaps there had been something in the Jennifer Quinn episode. Perhaps there had been others as well, over the years. A man capable of having an affair with a woman who was practically part of their household—a woman who was his own wife’s best friend—was a man without scruples. He was capable of anything.

  Lily chided herself. How naive she had been! How trusting! How stupid! And what a fool Harry had made of her! Humiliation seared through her whole being, and once again she had to choke down nausea.

  Lying down sleepless, fully clothed, she couldn’t bring herself to prepare for bed although she was bone-tired. It was almost four in the morning, and the hours stretched endlessly before her. It would be a long night before David would collect her to send her home.

  Now, she wanted nothing more than to leave Israel as quickly as possible, to exorcise the very thought of this land from her mind forever. To her this would always be a cursed place. New York was her haven, her refuge. If only she could be there in an instant. Right now!

  As she lay there, filled with desperate yearning, the image of Ellis flashed through her mind. She wanted nothing more than to hear his deep, calming voice. He was the rock she needed to cling to after this night of hideous revelation.

  She sat up abruptly, turned on the bedside lamp, and took the telephone into her lap. A half-hour later, the operator rang her back. “You have a line open?” Lily nearly shouted. “Oh, thank you!”

  It seemed like a miracle when, after two rings, Ellis’s familiar voice came over the line.

  “Lily? My dear, where are you?”

  “I’m in Tel Aviv, Ellis, but I’m coming back to New York today. I mean, tomorrow. As soon as possible.”

  Her voice quavered slightly. Ellis had mixed feelings at hearing her so upset. Clearly she had discovered the truth about Harry and Valerie.

  “When will you arrive? I’ll meet your plane.”

  There was a long pause as Lily resisted the urge to tell him everything. If she could confide to anyone in the world, it was Ellis, and she wanted so much to talk to someone, to share the awful truth.

  Still, something stopped her. Was it the old habit of loyalty to Harry? Or was it her own pride? She was so confused she didn’t know the answer. But she would be seeing Ellis in person in twenty-four hours. That would be soon enough.

  She wasn’t sure of her arrival time, but she knew the flight number. “El Al number 343, Ellis. You’ll have to check about the time.”

  He could hear the agony she felt, no matter how she tried to hide it. There was no doubt about it, she was devastated. Perhaps as desperate as when she’d learned about Jeremy. Ellis cursed himself for ever sending her on such a damnable mission. He would do his best to make it up to her in the future. For now he just said, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Oh, Ellis,” Lily couldn’t help but add, “I wish I were there now.”

  After she hung up, she wondered what to do next. The sun was coming up outside her window, but its beauty was lost on her. She called room service to order black coffee, then paced the small room restlessly until it arrived.

  But gradually, as she sat sipping her cup on the tiny balcony overlooking the sea, one thing became clear: She had to confront Harry. But how? A phone call? She could not make such an accusation over the telephone. A letter? Again, it seemed ludicrous. Dear Harry, When I saw you and Valerie together … But the more she thought about it, the more she realized she couldn’t simply slip away. If only to redeem her self-esteem, she was going to face the issue here and now. Lily had always shied away from unpleasant situations, but this was one time she could not let herself dodge. Harry was not going to get off so easily.

  She picked up the phone and gave the operator the number of the house at Safed. She was strangely calm when Harry’s voice came over the phone. “Harry? It’s Lily. I’m here in Tel Aviv…. Yes, quite a surprise, I know…. You can be here in two hours? Fine, I’ll be waiting.”

  With the same strange calm, she canceled her airplane reservation, then placed a second call to Ellis in New York. She was somewhat relieved that he wasn’t home. He must have thought she sounded so strange. She left a message with his housekeeper about her change in plans. At least Ellis wouldn’t have to wait for her in vain.

  Lily began pacing again but coached herself with every step. I must be calm when Harry gets here. Calm enough to tell him what I think of him and how much I loathe him. She began to take deep breaths.

  Chapter 36

  IT WAS JUST OVER two hours later when the knock sounded on the door. Lily’s heart began to beat faster. “Come in,” she called. Harry entered. The sight of him was as good as a physical blow. All she could think of was seeing his naked body entwined with Valerie’s.

  She steeled herself as best she could as she examined him in the light of day. He was tanned and fit. The days of hiking and digging in the Israeli sun seemed to have made him more attractive. But however appealing his appearance, Lily couldn’t get beyond the treachery concealed in the blue eyes she’d always thought seemed so clear and candid.

  “Lily, darling, what a wonderful surprise!” he said warmly as he put his arms around her. During the drive down from Safed, he’d not thought once how he was going from his mistress’s bed to meet his wife. All he knew was his sense of joy and relief: Lily had given up her ball for him after all. He did love her so. And he felt deeply touched that she had flown in as a surprise.

  But just as he tried to embrace her, she pushed hi
m away. “Don’t touch me!” she shouted.

  Harry stared at her in genuine disbelief. For a moment he thought he hadn’t heard correctly. Recovering his self-possession, he dug his hands into his pockets, leaned back against the door frame, and asked in a cool, ironic voice, “What, may I ask, is the problem?”

  Lily thought she might scream. Her anger was too great to be suppressed. “The problem? I’ll tell you, Harry. I didn’t just get here. I arrived last night around ten o’clock and drove up to Safed.” She took a deep breath, trying to maintain a civil tone. “I went into the house, to your bedroom, in fact.” Lily looked at him coolly. “It seems I wasn’t the first to get there.”

  Harry tried to speak but Lily could contain herself no longer. “Do you have any idea how I felt, seeing you lying there with your arms around her? God, Harry—Valerie! My best friend!”

  “Lily, it’s not what you think—”

  “What was it, then? What else could it possibly be?” The tears began streaming down her cheeks. “My God, Harry, how could you do this? I thought you loved me!”

  His philandering finally had caught up with him. This affair—so meaningless, so stupid—had suddenly assumed unthinkable proportions. There was no way he could justify himself to Lily. Seeing her cry so hopelessly was even worse than her recriminations.

  Awkwardly, he put his hand on her shoulder. “Please, Lily, don’t cry.”

  But Lily shook off his hand and eyed him sternly through tear-filled eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Harry. How long has this been going on?”

  Harry knew that he couldn’t admit that he had slept with Valerie while Lily was up at the farm still mourning Jeremy’s death. Yet, in all conscience, he could not pretend that last night had been the first time. At first, he tried to evade the issue of time.

  “What’s the difference, Lily? The point is, she doesn’t mean a damn to me.”

  “But last night was not the first time?”

  “No, it wasn’t.” He could not lie.

  In her heart of hearts, Lily had hoped that last night had been the first time he had ever succumbed to temptation.