LILY THREW HERSELF INTO her job as chairman to the exclusion of all else. She wanted this Spring Ball to be even better than the one she had chaired before. Soon everyone was marveling at the miracles she began to accomplish. The champagne was to be the finest, and the door prizes were being donated from establishments including Tiffany, Cartier, and Maximilian Furs.
But the real coup was snagging Frank Sinatra as the star entertainer. The skinny singer had engineered one of the most spectacular comebacks in show business history through his performance in From Here to Eternity, and even now no one could have been a hotter draw. It didn’t hurt that his tempestuous relationship with Ava Gardner was still making headlines. When it was announced that he would be the headliner, tickets began to sell at an unprecedented rate.
As further icing on the cake, Skitch Henderson’s band was to perform, and Robert Merrill agreed to sing an aria from Rigoletto. When he suggested that he and Sinatra sing “Some Enchanted Evening” as a duet, Lily thought she would faint.
She had arranged for hundreds of potted palms, anthuriums, and hibiscus to be flown in from Hawaii. Set designers were busy at work on a Tahitian theme. In the sketches, the colors were magnificent. The entire ballroom would be transformed into a scene by Gauguin.
It seemed that the Spring Ball might prove to be the event of the year, if not the decade.
As the date grew nearer, Lily became increasingly obsessed with the plans. She drove herself relentlessly. Late into the night she sat up checking her lists and organizational charts. Even after finally turning in, she would often switch on the light and hop out of bed because she had remembered something else.
She seemed to exist on no sleep at all, dropping off at one only to rise at five. By seven in the morning, she was already on the phone, attending to the myriad details.
The Spring Ball was a tremendous responsibility, yet she found herself thriving on it all. She loved the feeling of being needed, of being involved. And finally, after all the hours of work, the headaches, the skipped meals, and the agonizing, it was the day of the ball.
The weather could not have been better. The sky was blue and cloudless, the flowers were in bloom. Lily felt newly born. Ellis had been so right. She was a fool not to have come down to the city sooner. Finally it was just a matter of checking last-minute details. Her sandwich sat untouched as she remembered “just one more thing” a hundred times.
At two o’clock in the afternoon she gave up. Whatever was done was done. She slipped into a pair of trousers, a silk shirt, and a sweater and left Mary to answer the phone.
Once outside, she hailed a cab.
“Elizabeth Arden, please,” she told the driver. Two hours later, Lily was a new woman. She emerged from the salon feeling radiantly alive. She had been coiffed and made up and manicured and now there was nothing to do but look forward to the wonderful evening ahead. She almost skipped as she walked up Fifth Avenue to Fifty-eighth, crossed the street and entered Bergdorf’s to pick up her gown in the Fine Dress Salon.
Back at the apartment, she went to her dressing room, ripped off the tissue paper, and exclaimed with delight. Monsieur Givenchy had certainly outdone himself. This was indubitably the most glorious dress ever to come from his magic hands.
A seeming cloud of white chiffon billowed out from the tiny waist. The bodice was encrusted with pearls and crystal beads that shimmered in the light.
Lily laughed out loud; she was as excited as a young girl going to her first party.
She shed her street clothes and picked up the white satin chemise from the chaise, admiring its thick border of Alençon lace. It felt satiny against her skin as she slipped it on. She shivered slightly, feeling as radiant as she looked. She pulled up sheer silk stockings and slipped into a pair of dainty silver evening pumps. Then she put on the gown.
Standing in front of the three-way mirror, she gave herself the onceover. Even under her own unforgiving scrutiny, she had to admit, she almost looked twenty-one again, standing in the hall the night of her engagement to Roger Humphreys.
Funny, she hadn’t thought of him in a million years. Poor Roger. His had been a strange and tragic story, which his family had tried to suppress. But inevitably it had leaked out. He had moved to Paris shortly after their broken engagement. The word had been that he was pursuing an artistic career. But the truth was that he had moved there with his lover, the former chauffeur on his father’s estate. Apparently, the two of them had found happiness together for a time, for Paris was tolerant of such relationships.
But when Hitler’s troops had rolled in, they were rounded up along with numerous other homosexuals and taken to concentration camps; Hitler’s mania for extermination had extended to homosexuals as well as Jews. Roger had not survived the camps. His bones were presumed buried somewhere in Poland, along with those of his lover. Lily shuddered at the thought. She almost wished that Randolph had not told her.
Next her thoughts turned to Harry. It was still strange not to have him in his own dressing room, struggling into his tails and asking for help with his cuff links. Old habits died hard, she told herself. But different though it was, she found herself thrilled to hear the doorbell ring and then Ellis’s deep voice in the foyer saying, “I’ll show myself in. Please tell Mrs. Kohle that I’m here.” Maybe the best way to break old ways was to develop new ones.
Tonight, for the first time, it felt as if she and Ellis were truly going out as a couple. The thought made her stomach go to butterflies.
She resolved not to dwell on the notion. Time to put on the last touches of makeup—a dab more rouge, a bit more lipstick. Then, after clipping on her emerald-and-diamond earrings, she drew the matching necklace about her throat. As she was fumbling with the clasp, the phone rang.
“Mary, will you get it?” she called.
But it rang and rang again. In exasperation, Lily dropped the necklace and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
There was a burst of static on the line, and then a foreign voice said, “Allo?”
Puzzled, Lily said, “Hello? Who is this?”
“Allo, allo,” the male voice repeated, amid another crackle of static.
“I can’t hear you,” Lily said again.
She heard the voice say, “Je voudrais parler avec la mère de Mademoiselle Melissa Kohle, s’il vous plait.”
Anxiously Lily cried, “C’est moi. Je suis sa mère. Qu’est-que c’est?”
Suddenly the line cleared and the voice on the other end began speaking, now in heavily accented English.
“This is the American Hospital at Neuilly. Your daughter was admitted here this morning. She has given birth to an infant and she is gravely ill. We found this number in her handbag; there appears to be no one else to call.”
Melissa? Given birth to a baby? But that was impossible! Melissa wasn’t even married! She was modeling, and her last letter had said that she was getting lots of assignments. How could she be pregnant?
But the voice on the other end had a ring of certainty to it. And how else would they have gotten Melissa’s name, and her number?
Feebly she cried, “Melissa Kohle? A short, dark-haired girl?”
“Oui, madame. There is no mistake.”
Lily’s knees almost buckled under her. She sank dizzily into her dressing-table chair. Somehow she managed to speak. “Thank you so much for calling me. I will be there as soon as I can get on a plane.”
As soon as she hung up, she picked up the phone and dialed Harry’s number with a trembling hand. Harry’s butler answered. “Mr. Kohle’s residence.”
“This is Mrs. Kohle,” she cried. “Where is Mr. Kohle?”
“Mr. Kohle is in Palm Beach, madam. He doesn’t wish the number given to anyone.”
“Now you listen to me!” Lily almost screamed into the receiver. “This is an emergency, concerning our daughter, who is deathly ill! I’m telling you that you’re going to give me that number this minute!” The butler instantly acquiesced. “I beg your pardon, madam. I will find the number for you.”
As Lily waited for the call to be put through to Palm Beach, she couldn’t keep from shaking. Ever since that terrible day when the call had come about Jeremy, she had feared that another day would come when something would threaten another of her children. Now her worst nightmare had come true.
For a moment Lily was afraid that Harry wouldn’t be there. It would be so typical, she thought angrily. Harry was never there when the children needed him most. But suddenly she heard the crackle as the operator said, “Go ahead, please.”
“Harry?” she cried.
“No, madam,” came another voice. It must be Harry’s valet, Lily thought.
Trying to speak calmly, she asked, “This is Mrs. Kohle. Is Mr. Kohle there?”
“He can’t come to the phone, I’m afraid. He’s taking a nap.”
“Wake him up,” Lily said, nearly hysterical. “Wake him up, this minute. This is an emergency!”
Harry was surprised when the man timidly came out onto the terrace. He had left strict instructions not to be disturbed. He had heard the phone ring, but no one he knew had this number. He hadn’t even told Ellis or his publisher that he was coming down.
The truth was that for the past several months he had been plagued by a nasty cough and had finally decided to go to a warmer climate to see if the sea air would do some good.
But once here, his bronchitis had turned into pneumonia. His had been a long, slow recovery. If only he could lay off those damned cigarettes! But his three-pack-a-day habit was a hard one to break, and he was sick of all those doctors drawing a long face over him.
After all, he was only forty-seven. As soon as he shook off this illness, he’d be good for another twenty years at least. And if he wasn’t, who cared? Life didn’t seem to hold as much as he had once thought, after all.
And there was certainly no one he cared to speak to. But before he could snap at Jenkins, he saw the worried expression on the man’s face.
“It’s Mrs. Kohle, sir. She says it’s about your daughter—an emergency.”
Those words struck him like a death knell. He, too, remembered the day of that terrible phone call from the dean. Harry threw off his blanket and shakily tried to rise from his chair, but Jenkins stopped him. “I’ll bring a phone to you out here, sir.”
“Lily?” he cried hoarsely into the receiver as soon as Jenkins brought it. “What’s the matter?”
“Melissa is desperately ill in Paris. She’s just given birth. She’s in the American Hospital at Neuilly. I’m flying there tonight and I thought you’d want to also.”
Harry listened with horror. “Oh God, Lily! How sick is she?”
“I don’t know exactly; they wouldn’t tell me over the phone. But the doctor said for us to come immediately.”
Harry knew that he wasn’t fit to travel. The doctor had told him that to strain his lungs at this point might be fatal. That didn’t weigh in the balance if Melissa was gravely ill, but could he even get himself to the airport and onto a plane? He was using a humidifier round the clock.
He shook his head in frustration. “God, Lily—I don’t know what to say. I’ve been sick—”
“Sick? Even if you’re dying, I don’t know how you can even think of not coming! Melissa needs us! And—and there’s also a baby—our grandchild. Well, if you want to or not, it’s up to you. Good-bye.” The line went dead, leaving Harry looking at a silent receiver.
Lily, for her part, wanted to scream. Sick? She didn’t believe that for a moment. Then, suddenly, she remembered that Ellis was in the living room. She ran to him and cried, “Oh God, Ellis—it’s Melissa!”
“Not—”
“No, not dead, but almost as bad.”
Between sobs, she choked out the story.
Instantly Ellis took command. “Now don’t go to pieces, Lily. Of course it’s bad news, but Melissa is young and healthy. I have a feeling that she will pull through this just fine. But you have to be strong now, for her sake. You get your things ready while I call the airport. We’ll charter a plane if necessary. We’ll be with Melissa before you know it.”
The contrast between his reaction and Harry’s was so stunning, she almost couldn’t take it in. “You mean, you’ll go with me?”
“Go with you?” he repeated blankly. “For God’s sake, Lily, you don’t think that I would consider letting you go through this alone, do you?”
Tears brimming in her eyes, she said chokingly, “Oh, Ellis. I love you so much. I just don’t know what I’d do without you!”
“Okay, now go and change and throw a few things in a bag. I’ll get Mary to help you.”
Mary packed a suitcase while Lily slipped into a simple dress and coat. Ellis took her bag and ushered her to the elevators. As they waited for the car to come, he held her in a tender embrace.
“Don’t worry, Lily, dear,” he whispered softly. “Melissa is going to be all right.”
Somehow, with Ellis next to her, Lily was able to keep going. She could keep at bay the terrifying visions of what might be happening to her daughter.