by Gary Dickson
Catching Desirée out of the side of his eye, Scott realized that she was closely monitoring his attention. Did he harbor any anger? Did he resent her in any way? Was there any hesitancy in his affection? She’d use this as a barometer for his affection, and Scott became determined that his actions would match the love he felt for her.
In bed, he pulled her close, enveloping her with his body. He caressed her, teasing her about the changes in her body to come. Their lovemaking was slow and tender, but there were passionate murmurs of approval. With the last sighs and release came the feeling that, once again, they were together.
DESIRÉE AND HER MOTHER SAT IN THE BREAKFAST ROOM adjacent to the kitchen, the beautiful view from the bay window of the lake and Alps beyond the backdrop to their domestic tableau. As Scott joined them, he noticed with pleasure they were discussing the wedding. He greeted Madame, embraced Desirée, and informed Helena of his request for breakfast.
“My dear, I think it should be a wedding with family and close friends. Not too grand, mind you, but not too small, either,” Madame continued.
“Yes, Maman, I agree,” Desirée said. “If small, the wedding must appear intentionally private.”
Over breakfast, they solidified the essential details: Scott and Desirée would be married at St. Pierre de Chaillot, near the apartment on Avenue Foch, in six weeks, on a Friday, at noon. The reception would be held at Le Pré Catalan in the Bois de Boulogne. Desirée would be eleven or twelve weeks into her pregnancy; with the right dress, all should be concealed. (It would not be the first time, Madame de Bellecourt remarked conspiratorially, that Givenchy camouflaged an early start.)
Scott had news to share. “I heard from Father Kohler,” he said.
“It is good news, I hope?” Desirée said, a worried look on her face.
“Provisionally good news. Within two weeks, you and I must appear in Rome for an interview. Monsignor de Pita will accompany us.” At Desirée’s excited reaction, Scott had to caution, “But there is a complication.”
“A complication?” Madame inquired.
“Yes; I must bring a certificate to prove I was baptized in my church. My mother surely has my baptism certificate, and she’ll want to know why I need it. The only recourse is to tell her about our impending marriage.” Scott managed to look embarrassed under Madame de Bellecourt’s incredulous stare. “I haven’t told them. My parents haven’t the slightest idea I proposed.”
“Then you must tell them at once,” Madame said. She stood, placed the phone receiver in Scott’s hand, and left the room.
He looked at Desirée. “It’s only ten o’clock in the morning. I’ll call them around one o’clock, before my father goes to work.”
As he replaced the phone, Desirée asked softly, “Are you going to tell them I’m pregnant?”
“I think it is preferable. I don’t want to deceive them anymore. In the end, they’ll know; they can count, you know.”
“Will they be angry?” Desirée said.
Scott knew it would be a difficult conversation. “They’ll be shocked first, perhaps angry second.”
forty-one
ONCE AGAIN, SCOTT WAS DREADING A PHONE CALL TO Charleston. He walked in the garden to clear his mind; when one o’clock came, he steeled himself and reached for the phone. He could see his hand shaking, and his breath was short. Steady now, he thought.
His mother answered. “Good morning, Mother,” he said.
“Hello, dear. It’s nice to hear from you.” She sounded so pleased, and Scott immediately felt guilt. “Let me call your father—Edward! It’s Scott!” She asked for him to wait a moment until he came to the phone. Thank God Father is home, Scott thought.
“Is anything wrong?” she asked, just as he heard the click of the line. “Hello, Son,” his father said.
Scott collected himself. “No, Mother, nothing is wrong; I’m fine. But I have news. I know it will come as a shock, but Desirée and I have decided to get married in Paris, six weeks from now, and I hope you will come. You will love her, I’m sure. She’s very special, and she means more to me than anything.” There—he’d had his say. It was out. Now it was their turn.
There was a long, shocked silence. Would there be an explosion, a hang-up, or a harangue? Anything was possible.
It was his mother who spoke next. “Is she . . . is she . . . pregnant?” his mother asked haltingly. Scott closed his eyes; he knew how hard it was for her to ask. “Yes,” he said. Another stretch of nothingness, which was eventually punctuated by an audible sigh.
In a barely restrained shout, his mother let loose. “Scott, this is not the way we raised you! You’ve acted in a most irresponsible way, and now your entire future is at risk. How are you going to live? Is your father to support you both—the three of you—while you continue school? Did you ever stop to think how this could possibly work?” She gathered her breath, and Scott knew better than to interrupt. Silently, he waited. “No, you don’t need to answer that. It’s obvious you didn’t. If you had, we wouldn’t find ourselves in this position. It’s so embarrassing.”
At this point, his father interrupted. “Mother, it’s spilt milk; he’s got to marry her.”
“It’s not like that,” Scott said. “I want to marry her. I’d proposed before we knew.” He heard his mother’s gasp. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. Might as well come clean all around. He plunged ahead. “We were going to marry anyway. This just pushed it forward a little.”
“How does her family feel about it?” his father asked.
“At first, her mother was angry and reacted as you have, Mother, but now she has adjusted to the idea; she and Desirée are planning the wedding. Sadly, Desirée’s father passed away several years ago.”
“And how long has her mother, Madame de—de—, oh bother, whatever her name—how long has she known?” his mother asked. “Are we the last to find out?”
“Madame de Bellecourt has only know for a day or two,” Scott said gently. “Desirée herself hasn’t known much longer. I found out just yesterday.”
His father, the more practical of the two, wanted nothing more than to put this situation to rest. He said, “So Scott, what do you want from us?”
In the past, Scott had thought his father’s rather Spartan ways cruel and uncaring, but in this instance, he welcomed that unvarnished directness. With one question, Edward Stoddard had changed the focus from what and how it had all happened to making plans for the future.
“Mother, I know this will come as a shock, but Desirée is Catholic.” His parents were reeling from the pregnancy, he knew, and the Stoddards had viewed Catholics with distrust. But what could they do? Deeply rooted in their upbringing was a sense of responsibility. Their son had gotten this woman in trouble, and they would see to it that he did the right and honorable thing. With that in mind, Scott secured his mother’s promise to send his baptism certificate that very day.
As the shock wore off, his mother began to pepper him with more questions. “Desirée lives in Geneva, doesn’t she?” his mother asked. “In your letter, you said she was Swiss and French. And she’s a fund-raiser. What else should we know?”
“She was married for a short time—there were no children—and the marriage was annulled four years ago. Desirée has homes in Geneva and Paris.”
“Houses in Geneva and Paris?” Scott’s father chimed in. “She must be rich.”
“She is well off financially,” Scott said.
Mr. Stoddard cut to the chase. “Is she going to support you?” he asked.
“Is that what the two of you have planned?” his mother asked. “What about all your future, your studies? A law degree?”
“We’ve talked about several possibilities,” he said. “One of which is that I continue my studies. Another is to change direction toward a more professional degree. We’re considering a few other options as well.” Scott did not mention that he had been attending precious few classes at the university.
“This i
s not at all what we agreed on,” his mother said. “You’re throwing your education away, Scott.”
“I’m sorry, but when our romance began, everything seemed so improbable. Then it all happened in a rush.”
“Son,” his father said patiently, “are you sure she loves you? I mean, she is more experienced—”
“Dad, I’m sure of Desirée’s feelings.”
Naturally, the Stoddards wanted to ask more questions and get more answers from Scott. His parents would need some time to get over the unexpected reversal of their dreams, and, with their background, some revision of their prejudices to accommodate Scott’s intended. That Desirée was Catholic and the child would be raised—indoctrinated was the term his mother used—in that faith was a bitter pill to swallow. Scott had heard his parents make innuendos about Catholics since he was a child.
Though the Stoddards hadn’t learned half of what they wanted to know, Scott was able to get off the phone with a promise to call again within the next few days. In the meantime, they would plan to be in Paris the third week in July. Their goodbyes were not happy, but Scott reflected that the discussion could have been worse. He had presented them with a fait accompli. Desirée’s pregnancy had the unexpected (but welcomed) consequence of silencing criticism of and protest about their marriage from all parental parties.
THE LUNCH TABLE WAS SET WITH THE FINEST SILVER AND Bernardaud china and Baccarat crystal glasses. Madame de Bellecourt and Desirée watched Scott as he approached, looking for a sign of victory or defeat and satisfaction or misery—any hint as to how the conversation with his parents had gone. Toying with them, he purposely kept an impassive stare.
“Oh, my darling,” Desirée said breathlessly. “How did it go?”
“As well as could be expected under the circumstances. And I didn’t have to tell them. My mother guessed immediately.”
“Ah—we know where you get your intelligence, Monsieur Stoddard,” Madame said dryly.
forty-two
DESIRÉE DECIDED IT WOULD BE BETTER IF HER mother returned to Paris, where she could handle any number of wedding details better: invitations engraved and posted, priest and church engaged, date reserved, menu and wines selected, flowers ordered, wardrobes selected, hotel for Scott’s parents reserved, and chauffeur and car hired for their use. The list went on and on. Meanwhile, Desirée and Scott would wait on the baptism certificate to arrive and then proceed to Rome for the interview.
With wardrobes in mind, Madame de Bellecourt wanted Desirée to return to Paris with her, but she refused to leave Scott again, and he liked that. Desirée decided she would begin the fittings for her wedding gown and trousseau at the Geneva outposts of her favorite designers.
And they reminded Scott he needed two witnesses. He should give some thought as to whom he might choose. Designating two best men was easy, Scott said; that is, if they would accept. “I would like for Jean and Albert to stand up for me.”
“I think both would be perfect,” Desirée said. “Celine will be so pleased.”
“Could you broach the subject with Celine, so Albert will not be completely surprised when I ask?” Desirée gave Scott a quick kiss to say yes.
ONCE MADAME DE BELLECOURT LEFT FOR PARIS, SCOTT AND Desirée were glad to be alone again. The weather in Switzerland can be glorious in June and July, and they took well-worn paths crisscrossing the countryside. Wildflowers of every possible species colored the meadows, popping up among the clumps of luscious green grass in random bouquets as only nature can arrange. They used these carefree days to fall in love all over again. Desirée’s pregnancy brought a new level of trust to their relationship. The gravity of their situation was not lost on the couple; Scott and Desirée had matriculated from lovers to fiancés to expectant parents within a two-week period. Scott detected slight changes in Desirée’s appearance already; even without makeup, her cheeks were rosier, more peaches and cream. When he looked into her aquamarine eyes, it felt as though he could see forever. Desirée had never seemed so attentive or as tender as these days before their trip to Rome. Neither of them anticipated the petition might be refused—to the contrary, they were proceeding as if it were already a fact. To add to Scott’s bliss, the school year had just ended; with no more pressure to study, his conscience could take a rest, and he resolved that after the honeymoon, he would make an appointment with the dean to propose a new arrangement—that is, if the school administration would agree.
At last it came. Scott’s certificate of baptism was delivered by registered mail to Desirée’s house in Geneva. So much hinged on this single sheet of paper! Though not an impressive document, it was, more importantly, authentic; slightly tattered, blurred by a water stain, the important parts of the text—Scott’s full name, the date of baptism, church and officiating pastor, and two signatories—were fully legible.
Before they called to set up the meeting in Rome with Monsignor de Pita, Scott said, “Darling, we should invite Father Kohler to assist in the ceremony in Paris.” Desirée was two steps ahead; she and her mother had already discussed the trusted priest’s role in their wedding.
When Desirée phoned Father Kohler, they first addressed details pertaining to the Rome meeting. Then, she announced that, if all went well, she and Scott intended to be married in Paris in mid-July. Scott couldn’t help but eavesdrop; he gleaned that Father Kohler expressed congratulations and wished them well; then, Desirée asked if he would do them the honor of officiating at the marriage mass. From her happy responses, Scott could tell the priest was deeply touched and had accepted without hesitation. But then, Scott could see Desirée shifting uncomfortably, and there was a decided pause in the conversation. In her most confidential tone, he heard her say, “Father, the seeming speed with which we have decided to move forward is in deference to my mother. As you know, she is very devout and traditional. She persuaded us that, if we love each other, it would be imminently preferable to marry sooner rather than continuing to live together and break the sacraments.” He noticed she gave the priest no mention of the coming baby. Scott guessed she felt the omission was a necessary fib.
forty-three
THEY WERE SIX IN ALL: CARDINAL EDUARDO MASSELA, two assisting monsignors, and Desirée and Scott, who were represented by Monsignor de Pita. Dressed in a Chanel suit of navy blue and white in a raw silk with large, dark blue buttons, a small pillbox hat with subtle veil, and a silk white scarf encircling her neck, Desirée presented a picture of demure grace. Scott properly looked the part of her fiancé in an elegant Lanvin navy blue gabardine suit, Charvet white shirt, and blue Hermes tie with a periwinkle flower pattern. All were seated in high-backed chairs surrounding a conference table in an old palace on a side street steps away from St. Peter’s Basilica.
The second-story room overlooked a small courtyard piazza where a fountain burbled, surrounded by terra cotta pots of pink geraniums; sounds of laughter and screams from a group of young school children as they played football during recess floated through the open windows. A mural of angels and clouds had been painted on the domed ceiling.
They were now subject to the determination of the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments. Cardinal Massela was a portly man in his late sixties, balding, with hooded eyes and soft hands that had never experienced manual labor. He wore the formal purple vestments; the two monsignors were dressed in the somber, traditional black with white collar. Scott and Desirée let Monsignor de Pita do the talking. Since the discussion was entirely in Italian, Scott hoped that Desirée understood what was being said, as he could only grasp a few words.
Scott and Desirée had arrived the day before and booked rooms at the Excelsior hotel on the Via Veneto, next to the American Embassy and one of the most fashionable shopping and dining street of Rome. The monsignor joined them that afternoon; he wanted to prepare them for the interview: how to conduct themselves and answer certain questions that might be posed. He reiterated—the decision had previously been made—yet o
nly last week, he had amended the petition to allow for the new July date. The normal pace would have put the marriage off for six months to a year to provide suitable instruction time for a non-Catholic. Monsignor de Pita noted that the cardinal had been a bit grumpy when this unexpected amendment was sprung, but in the end, the monsignor had persuaded the cardinal by informing him that the bride-to-be’s mother had pushed for the new date. Cardinal Massela was in accord with her reasoning and applauded the devout lady’s influence. And lastly, Monsignor de Pita gently reminded Scott and Desirée several times that one completely unacceptable answer to any of the interview questions could derail their granted dispensation.
While Cardinal Massela spoke at length to Monsignor de Pita, he would from time to time nod this way and that to Desirée; occasionally, he would gesture toward Scott as well. Then, he began to address them directly, the tone of his voice shifting from that of an official to a kindly priest. In French and English, he asked Desirée and Scott if they loved each other. Did they understand the sanctity of marriage? Were they prepared to follow the sacraments regarding the union of two people in matrimony? There was a list of psychological questions, background review, inquiries as to their promise to raise any children as Catholic. When it seemed he must have reached the end and exhausted all possible questions, Cardinal Massela asked one more.