The Mediterranean
August 1963
I’m having dinner with Stas in Monte Carlo this evening,” Ari told Maria, “and he’s bringing Lee. Would you like to come?”
Maria couldn’t imagine how she would cope with seeing Lee face-to-face without clawing her eyes out. “Do you have to go?” she asked.
“I’m afraid so. He’s a director of my airline, and we have matters to discuss.”
“In that case, I’ll come.” She certainly wasn’t going to let him see Lee without her.
Maria dressed with care, in a new black-and-white asymmetric evening gown, which she accessorized with diamonds. They arrived early at the Hôtel de Paris and Ari ordered champagne for their table, which was on the top-floor roof terrace, with a view of the Mediterranean. It was a sultry evening, but large fans cooled the wealthy clientele.
When Lee and Stas arrived, Maria rose to greet them with cheek kisses, but, as soon as Lee sat down, Maria’s eye was caught by the bracelet jangling on her wrist. She was almost positive it was the Cartier bangle from Ari’s drawer. She felt sick. What had that note said? To my dearest, my sweetest love?
The men were talking about an incident on an Olympic flight that day. Lee sat back and lit a cigarette, regarding Maria’s dress with a critical expression.
“Who designed your gown?” she asked.
“Biki of Milan,” Maria replied. “She’s a friend who makes a lot of clothes for me.”
“Rah–lly,” Lee drawled, with a disparaging sniff.
Maria couldn’t let her get away with that, so she hit back. “Are you on holiday without your children again? They’re so young, they must scarcely recognize you.”
She knew from the sharp intake of breath that she had scored a bull’s-eye. The atmosphere between them was barely civil for the rest of the evening.
“You eat bread, I see,” Lee remarked. “How very brave of you not to worry about your figure.”
“I’m careful not to drink too much alcohol,” Maria replied. “There’s nothing quite so undignified as a drunk woman.” She looked meaningfully at Lee’s wineglass, which was nearly empty again, minutes after a waiter had topped it up.
Stas seemed puzzled by all the veiled barbs and hostile glances, but Ari knew what was going on. Maria suspected he was secretly enjoying it.
As soon as they got back to the Christina, she hurried down to his suite to check the drawer. The Cartier box was still there but empty. He had given the bracelet to Lee. How could he? She slammed the drawer shut. Should she confront him? Admit she’d been snooping? Jealousy was an unattractive, destructive quality. It was better to take the high road. She was the woman he chose to be with, after all.
She didn’t mention the bracelet but, from then on, insecurity raged whenever Ari made a trip ashore. She tried to sound nonchalant as she asked whom he was dining with and which friends he planned to see. If she could have had him tailed twenty-four hours a day, she would have, but that was no way to conduct a love affair.
IN MID-SEPTEMBER, ARI announced, “I’ve invited Mrs. Kennedy for a cruise to help her recover after the loss of her baby.”
Maria had felt sympathetic when she read of the death of the Kennedy baby. She knew all too well what it was like to lose a child straight after its birth, because Omero still haunted her thoughts. But she was instantly wary about the cruise.
“Who’s coming with her?” she asked, trying to keep her tone from sounding inquisitorial.
Ari listed the guests: “American congressman Franklin Roosevelt Jr. and his wife; Princess Irene Galitzine and her husband; Stas and Lee; my sister, Artemis, and her husband . . .” He’d slipped Lee’s name into the middle, as if trying to gloss over her presence.
“And what dates are they coming?”
“We sail on the fourth of October, from Athens.”
Maria tapped her fingernail on the tabletop. “I told you I have to be in Paris during the first week of October. I’m meeting Zeffirelli to discuss a production of Tosca.”
“Of course you are!” he exclaimed, clapping his forehead as if he had only just remembered. Maria was not fooled for a moment. “But perhaps it’s just as well,” he continued. “You haven’t met the First Lady and she will not be in the mood for socializing with strangers. I understand she is a very private person.”
“She hasn’t met Artemis either, has she? She’s a stranger to her.”
“Artemis will stay out of her way, as will I. I don’t plan to impose myself on the party. In fact, I offered to let them borrow the Christina and cruise without me, but Mrs. Kennedy insisted I should be there.” He shrugged, as if to say, What else could I do?
“Perhaps I will join you on the tenth,” Maria persevered. “You could send the helicopter to collect me from Athens.”
“It’s probably best not to, my love,” he said. “Give Mrs. Kennedy her privacy and I’ll fly to meet you in Paris as soon as they leave.”
“What about Princess Lee?” she asked, her tone hardening. “What if she strolls into your cabin in her skimpy bikini? Will you be able to resist this time?”
He pulled her toward him, kissing her with tenderness. “I will resist,” he said, then drew his head back so she could see the flecks of gold in his irises. “I promise I will send her packing.”
She turned away so he would not see the emotion on her face. She hated Lee now, with her affected, breathy voice and the expensive clothes draped over that bony frame. What was she good for? She didn’t have any talents, except betrayal.