"Darling, you're too famous to ever browse. I think the Queen of England would have a better chance. Tomorrow your picture will be on every front page in London. But I'll take you to Thea's."
Nita stood up. "I imagine Agnes has you im-packed by now. Let's go up so we can really talk."
"Nothing is really wrong, is it?"
"The children are well. Nelson is between loves. I am not on Demerol... I was for three days but I've come out of it now. I'm fine. As they say in the States, I've got my head together . . . and we must talk."
Dolores gasped as she entered the bedroom. It had been redone since she had last seen it. The canopied bed . . . the fireplace . . . the silver service .. . tea and sandwiches were laid out on the coffee table . . . Agnes, at attention, waiting to serve.
"I've unpacked everything. Ma'am . . . and the bell on your night table will summon me if there's anything you wish. I took the liberty of
taking most of your clothes to be pressed. Theyll be ready before you awaken."
"Agnes is a genius with the iron," Nita said.
"Oh, but if you forgive me, my lady . . . Madame traveled very very light. Only two bags and a case."
"Mrs. Ryan purposely traveled light," Nita said to the maid. "One of the main reasons she came to London is to shop here and in Paris and perhaps Rome. Now you can leave, Agnes ... Til pour."
"Yes, my lady . . . and Myrtle wants to know if there's anything special youll be wanting."
"No, tell Myrtle to go to bed."
Agnes actually bowed out. "Myrtle's mine," Nita said with an attempt at a smile. "Want some tea?"
"Of course," Dolores said. "And I see you've got those marvelous cucimiber sandwiches. I'm starving."
"Didn't you eat on the plane?"
"Yes, but that was hours ago. Don't forget— it's not even eight p.m. my time."
"Dolo, you could lose some weight."
Dolores bit into the sandwich and leaned back. "And you could gain some." There was a slight tap on the door. The butler entered with a cable on a tray. He handed it to Dolores. When he left, Dolores said, "This reminds me of my days
at the White House. Everything came on a tray. In the beginning I used to feel as if I should tip them/' "Aren't you going to open your cable?" "It's probably from Bridget telling me the children are fine." Dolores ripped it open, came back
FOR TWO DAYS. LEARNED YOU WERE GONE. GOING BACK TO PALM BEACH. MISS YOU VERY VERY MUCH. LOVE. B.
She wanted to hold it close. . . . Barry had missed her enough to send this cable. Suddenly she was sorry she had come. To have missed two whole days with him. She could have found a pretext to come up from Virginia ... a toothache . . . a loose inlay . . . Bridget was easy to fool. She knew Nita was watching her. She smiled.
"It's from Barclay Houseman . . . he's that Junior Senator who's been calling me. He came in from Washington and foimd I was gone. He's a bore." She crumpled up the telegram and left it on the coffee table.
Nita picked it up. "He sounds smitten. Why does he sign it B.? And not his name?"
"Probably to protect me from gossip on the chance that one of your staff might open it. Really, he's only thirty-two . . . and dreary. Those are the kind I get . . . those are the ones who send me cables. No one dashing like Robert Redford or George C. Scott."
"Do you fancy George C. Scott?" Nita asked.
"I don't fancy anyone/' Dolores answered. "I just admire their talent."
"George C. Scott is not elegant-looking/' Nita said.
"No, he isn't. I doubt whether anyone who has had his nose broken several times can look elegant."
"How do you know that?"
"Oh, I read it somewhere. I read a lot, Nita."
"I don't think Erick is any more gross-looking than George C. Scott."
"Nita, let's drop poor Mr. Scott. Right now he's probably in the arms of his beautiful young wife. Why are we talking about him?"
"Because I want to talk about Erick."
Dolores lit a cigarette. "That goes without saying . .. I'm waiting."
"But you think Erick is gross."
"What does it matter what I think of Erick?"
"Because he wants to marry you."
The Answer
Dolores dropped her cigarette. She hastily picked it up and rubbed the spot on the rug. "It's terrible the way I can't smoke in public/' she said. "The image I'm supposed to uphold . . ." She knew she was speaking gibberish but she couldn't meet the steely gaze of Nita. "Jimmy once told me I shouldn't be seen smoking in public and—"
"Shut up!" Nita hissed. "I said he wants to marry you."
"But I don't want to marry him. I don't like him."
"How can you say that? You don't really know him."
"I've met him . . . maybe three times. That was enough."
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"I want you to marry him, Dolores/' "But why? I thought you loved him." "I do. But I can never have him. I know that now. He doesn't know what love means. Maybe he's got something for Ludmilla . . . they've been together so long . . . she's like an old shoe. We had an evening together . . . that bastard. He allowed me to tell him I couldn't live without him. He even accepted the platinimi cigarette case I gave him. Then he patted my head and said, 'Little girl, you don't love me. It's my power and my money you love. But you do have something I want.' Dolo ... I leaned forward . . . willing to settle on any terms . . . then he said, 'I want to marry your sister.' I actually burst into tears. But he calmed me down and he said, 'I know money is not an urgency to you, because your husband has money. He has exactly six hxmdred thousand pounds plus his estates. But you do not love him and you must stay with him when he wishes and appear when he sununons and close your eyes to his blatant affairs, because you yourself have no money. But I will give you five million dollars if you get your sister to marry me.'"
"But why? I mecin . .. we've rarely talked .. !' Nita shook her head. "I don't know. But don't dismiss the idea, Dolo. After all, what kind of a life do you lead in New York ... or anywhere? You sit alone night after night, go for long walks with the kids, limch with Bridget, make the Best
Dressed List with my hand-me-downs. You go to maybe six functions a year with Michael or that Judge. Then there're those glorious holidays at the farm . . . summers in Newport . . /'
''But I couldn't allow him to touch me. I can't stand him." Dolores actually shivered.
"Dolo, he is a great lover . . . gentle . . . considerate . . . and at sixty-two, he has more virility than any man alive. We had one last night of sex together .. . before he made this little proposition. Dolo . . . think . . . think what a marvelous life it would be for you. You'd have all the money you could ever spend . . . that ocean liner would be yours . . . you'd have your own plane ... it would be like life at the White House . . . only greater . . . because he wouldn't be nagging at you on what you spent. He told me . . . he'd give you the world . .. plus an enormous marriage contract."
"Marriage contract?"
"He has four sons. If he left a great mass of money to you in a will, they might sue to break it. You'd spend years in litigation. He said he would settle five million on you, tax-free, when you married. And in the event you divorce him, and it's agreeable to him, you'd keep the five million, plus get an additional five million as the divorce settlement. The worst that could happen would be if you married him . . . and eventually agreed on an amicable divorce, you'd be worth ten million, plus
all the jewels. And if you stayed together, you'd have yotir own five million, plus a life style beyond anything you could imagine. Dolo, you'd have everything . . . anything you ever wanted."
"Except love."
"You haven't had love for years. In fact, I don't think you've ever had love. Jimmy cheated on you all the time. Not only did the Secret Service turn their faces the other way when his friends smuggled obliging quickies into his hotel suites on all those trips he made, but they were also slipping hookers through the back door at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. You never real
ly loved him. And Dolo ... I'd have five million and I could walk out on that sonofabitch I'm married to. And maybe I'd find someone else. A woman with five million dollars can find plenty of divine lovers."
Dolores shook her head. She refrained from looking at the crumpled cable. "I'm sorry, Nita. The answer is No!"
Furs
She remained throughout the Easter holidays. Nita kept at her, but she remained adamant. Sometimes Nita pleaded, other times she threatened. "111 never send you another outfit again or lend you money when you run short." Dolores merely remained stoically silent.
There were the parties, climaxed by the huge ball Nita and Lord Bramley gave for her. The Baron arrived without Ludmilla. He dcinced with Dolores several times. He was tall, well-built, but he looked sixty-two—and she was thirty-nine and insanely in love with Barry. She noticed he smelled of clean soap and there was an overpowering masculinity about him. As a friend she might like him. As an escort he would be wonderful. But as a hus-
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band . . . she looked at his large hands . . . even to think of them touching her body made her shudder.
It was after the third dance that he looked down at her with a smile and said, "You reject my offer, I hear."
"I'm not in the habit of getting marriage proposals without love. And also through another person."
"Odd to me that you are not a good business person. I always thought that Americans had the big talent to make money."
"That's usually separated from marriage in America. At least we choose to think that love and marriage are part of the American Dream." Then she laughed lightly. "Of course if there happens to be sufficient money, then that's all the better."
"And you . . . what about your money?"
"Sufficient."
"I know otherwise. Not only from your sister, but from many sources whom I had investigate you. How can a beautiful woman, with three children, live on thirty thousand a year? I would give you more than that in one day to spend on furs."
"When and how did you fall in love with me?"
"Who said anything about love?" She stood off a bit as they danced and studied him. "Then why do you want to marry me?"
"I have my reasons . . . just as I felt you might have your reasons for marrying me/'
"My reasons woiild be the imlimited money you'd give me?" He nodded and she went on. "But why would you choose me?"
"I want to be President of France one day."
She gasped. The way he had stated it . . . cold and businesslike. Not even an attempt to say she attracted him. She knew people were watching them so she managed a smile. "And by marrying me, you think you could achieve this?"
"I have been married once. Divorced once. Married again. Then my wife died. But for years I have had a mistress. It has been a highly publicized affair because my mistress has great beauty and talent. But marriage to you would give me a new image. The beloved widow of the most popular American President, marrying Baron Erick de Savonne—it would electrify the world. The public has you on a pedestal. They think of me as machismo, a man with many women passing through his life and one tempestuous mistress. But all the women would be wiped from the public's eye if I married the most important, most respected woman in the world."
She managed a light laugh. "I realize being President of France is an ultimate aim for yoiL But I've been a President's wife before."
"But have you ever had all the money in the
world to spend? Your own personal ocean liner ... villas everywhere ... a free rein to entertain as lavishly as you wish . . . jewels that you cannot imagine . . . homes to decorate as you wish . . . galas to throw . . . European royalty as your friends? I know it is true that you met all those people as the wife of an American President, but that is gone now. For the past few years—^your most magnificent years—you have been vegetating."
She smiled. "You have forgotten one important thing."
"You are not going to speak of love again. You soimd like a schoolgirl."
"No, I'm speaking of my religion. I am Catholic. I am not the best Catholic in the world, but my religion does help me and I believe in it. I am raising my children as Catholics. Even if I wanted to marry you ... it would be impossible. You are a divorced man."
"I could have that marriage annulled."
"With four sons ..."
"I can do anything."
"Except buy me. . . . And I think I'm a bit tired now. I'd like to stop dancing."
The Happiest Woman in the World
SKe spent three lonely nights back in the States. The children were back in school, but Constance had lured Barry into a trip on a friend's yacht. He came back a week later, tanned and more handsome than ever. She could hardly keep from throwing herself in his arms, but Mary Lou and the twins were hugging him and calling him Uncle Barry.
Finally they were alone. She barely ate the dinner that the cook had prepared ... he seemed hungry . . . but when the meal was over and the house was asleep she rushed into his arms. And that night they were closer than ever. Later as they were having a cigarette, she lay back and studied his handsome profile and shuddered as she thought
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of Erick. For the first time in her life she knew what love was really about . . . she loved someone more than herself . . . she wanted to please Barry . . . she wanted to be with Barry . . . nothing else mattered.
Suddenly he got up and began dressing.
"Where are you going? It's almost midnight."
"Home."
She leaped out of bed and clxmg to him. "Barry, have I done something wrong? Have I been too demanding? It's just that we've been separated for four weeks and—"
He held her close and stroked her hair. "You've done nothing wrong. I love you. I've thought of you every second of the four weeks. I've thought of you during the endless cocktail parties with the same faces . . . the talk of back-gcimmon, tennis ... all I saw was you . . . and your children. I'll never have any children now. Constance is beginning to go through the change . . . she's not feeling too well. One day it's hot flashes . . . the next day her heart is pounding . . . the doctor told her it was just the change but she won't accept it. She refuses to believe this is happening, so she came back with me. She wants to see some specialists. That's why I have to go home. She thinks this is poker night."
"Oh, I thought she'd stay in Palm Beach through April."
Barry nodded as he dressed. "She usually
does. But this time she insists on going to her New York doctor who will tell her the same thing. And then she'll go to the hospital for a checkup. She's really playing Camille."
"Then I won't see you till— "
"Tomorrow for a drink. But Wednesday, 111 tell her it's a board meeting and a late dinner with some members of the firm."
"I love you, Barry." She slipped into a robe and walked him to the door. Suddenly she climg to him. "I feel so alone without you. I have nobody ..."
"Dolores, you have many people."
"I never really had anyone. I wasn't close to my mother, and she's gone now. I wasn't close to Nita. I thought we had grown close while she was here, but I don't like the people she goes with. I have my children, but they are like all children— to them I represent a trip to the zoo . . . help with their French lessons . . . someone to listen to their prayers . . . along with an occasional outing to the park or museums. But Mary Lou is already much more interested in her girlfriends—goes for 'sleep-overs'—and the twins are occupied with each other." She laughed lightly. "So you see, Barry— you are the only person in my life."
"You sell people too short," he said. "There's a whole world out there that would give anything to know you and love you."
She laughed aloud. "And what do I do? Go
out with a sign saying, 'good, healthy, slightly used President's widow looking for companionship'?"
He laughed, too. "You're like Greta Garbo, my love, closed in with invisible silken walls, for all the world to worship—or at least that was
the way I thought about her twenty years ago and when I met her I foimd she had a great sense of humor and was very outgoing. God, think of all the fim she missed."
"Maybe she missed nothing. She might have had a Barry Haines in her life. Right now, with you holding me, I think I'm the happiest woman in the world. I don't need anyone else."
The Yacht
Barry didn't arrive the following day for cocktails. His call came at seven. "Darling, there was no way of reaching you before this. I'm in a booth now at Doctors Hospital."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Connie's doctor checked her out and told her it was the beginning of the menopause, and she refused to accept it. She's here with three doctors, to give her every test. I suggested she go to Mayo, but she likes it here. I can come over at ten if it's not too late. They throw me out of here then."
"I'll have dinner waiting."
"No, I'll eat here. You can order room service here. See you at ten."
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They had five wonderful nights together . . . but when he arrived on the sixth day at cocktail time, she knew something was wrong the moment he walked in.
"Sit down, Barry. What is it?"
"Constance!"
"She's found out about us?"
"No, she has something wrong. The tests finally came through. High blood pressure and diabetes."
She sighed in relief. "Oh that... I mean . . . it's dreadful . . . but it can be kept imder control and she can live a long life."
"It's the needles that bug her. The doctors say that oral insulin is not for her . . . not now anyway . . . her sugar content is too high. And of course the high blood pressure bothers her. She's always played golf and been active. She thinks it will make her a semi-invalid."
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