That evening, Lela Clegg, Timmy’s new nurse, arrived. A charming, sensible, and happy Mary Poppins–type, she immediately won Timmy’s heart. She had been with Bob Hope’s children for years. Though she was meant to be temporary, Bob Cummings’s family sent an SOS for Lindy to return to California to care for their new infant son, Tony, so Lela stayed on with us.
Exactly two weeks later, I received this letter from Paul on his “first trip to Europe in eleven years” (unencumbered by wife and child).
The Dorchester Hotel
London
June 2, 1949
Dearest Teddy,
I just wrote Tom approving of the guardians purchase of a Buick for Timmy and maintaining it.
I had a rough trip on the Mauretania.
England is beautiful this time of year. London seems unchanged, no signs of war damage, except around St. Paul’s, and there it is for the better. I had dinner with Kathleen and Chatin here last night. They are almost unchanged, and asked a great deal about you and Timmy. It makes me feel old to think it has been 11 years this month since I was here. 11 years!
It seems strange that you are not here studying with Mme. Marchesi.
I think it is a lot nicer in Santa Monica. England has lost some of its charm for me—I expect to see the Shell Co. here and meet George later.
I saw Ware and Henry in New York—they are well.
Wish you were here.
Love,
Paul
On June 14, 1949, I wrote in my diary:
Supremely happy day. Timmy’s third birthday. A fun party for Timmy and all his little friends, plus a telephone call from his Daddy—“all the way from London”—wishing Timmy a happy birthday and to “watch out for a birthday package and a letter to your Mom, which I have just mailed today.”
A few days later, while lunching out on the lanai with Mother and my lawyer, Ludwig Gerber, the following letter arrived. I begged their indulgence and read avidly.
The Dorchester Hotel
London
June 14, 1949
Teddy Boo!
Today our darling Timmy is 3 years old! Kathleen and I shopped for a McPherson plaid coat for him, and it should be on its way to you.
I spent all day talking oil business with the Anglo Arabian and the Kuwait Oil Co’s. They are our neighbors in Arabia. It certainly looks like a big depression in the U.S. and business is bad here too. I hate to owe so much money in hard times and expect to spend the rest of my life paying off my debts. Cheerful!
Thanks for the lovely photos and the sweet inscription.
Love, Paul
Mother asked, “How is Paul, and where is he, Teddy?”
“Still in London, Mom, but he is so funny. Listen to what he says: ‘I hate to owe so much money in hard times and expect to spend the rest of my life paying off my debts.’ What a cheerful thought! Honestly, from this letter you’d think he was the only one in the whole wide world who owed any money. Everyone does.”
“Well, Teddy,” Ludwig remarked, “that’s what makes him the stupendous, unique businessman he is, for he’s conscientious not only about every single aspect of his business—large or small—but also about his debts.”
“Would that others were like him,” Mother interjected.
“Ludwig,” I said, “isn’t my mom the most beautiful mother?”
He smiled and said, “She’s very beautiful. And what’s more, she looks young enough to be your sister. You know, Louise, I’ve always said you and your three daughters are quite special. And as for your husband, Teddy, what he has accomplished this past year is quite unparalleled in the history of the oil business.”
Mother asked, “What do you mean, Ludwig?”
“Well, I understand that while the other American oil giant Aminoil were debating whether to make an offer to the Saudi Arabians, and if they did, what amount to offer, Paul just walked right in, fearlessly on his own. With the courage to use only his own capital and the same daring he has always used in the past to challenge the seeming unobtainable, he plunged into this hazardous venture before others dared. And so, he victoriously came out with the prize. In brief, he not only had the ambition, the drive, the courage, and the willingness to gamble his fortune, but he had perception of the ultimate accomplishment.”
I shouted, “Ludwig, that’s the word! Perception. That’s exactly what Paul has. Do you know, Ware told me that over a year ago Paul came to see him in New York and asked if he would order a complete language course on records in the Arabic language from one of Ware’s clients, the Linguaphone Company. So you see, even then he was planning to learn the language, so that he could speak with the Saudi Arabians in their own tongue—actually speak their language and not be at the mercy of interpreters. And that’s why he succeeded. Isn’t he terrific? But . . . I still wish we could be together more. It’s lonely being married to an ‘explorer who now is almost always on safari.’ And what hurts me more is that he doesn’t need me when he’s away—in Paris, London, or Rome. In fact, that’s what he said right before he left. And he added he ‘needs me here.’ So, I’m localized. I’m here, always waiting for him to return. I’m not even a part of this new part of his world. Oh, please understand—I’m proud and happy for him, and I thoroughly realize that Paul is now in the international arena; but his dreams—his ambitions—are world-projected. And mine? Well, Paul is my world.
“I remember when we first met, I said (and I’ve said it many times since), ‘He is like a comet, and I, like a stargazer, trying to follow his blazing trail across the sky through a child’s binoculars.’ I guess I should have realized right then that we perhaps were too far apart to begin with. But I loved him and still do, and because I do, I want to protect our marriage. Being separated for so long puts him in a vulnerable position, and I feel so intently the danger of women he will naturally meet, and who themselves are already a part of this new cosmopolitan world of his. Beautiful, elegant, intelligent, worldly, exciting women . . . some who love intrigue and live for it (and by it) . . . some who search out men of status and wealth . . . and some who just like to break up marriages. So, how can I combat this if I’m not there? It scares me, just like it would any woman who loves her husband.”
“My gracious, Teddy,” Mother said. “I never realized you were so concerned. But, darling, don’t anticipate the worst. You know, beautiful, educated, artistic women have always attracted men, and Paul’s no exception. Now that he has become more involved in the world of international finance, and his absorbing love of art and his collection, he’s bound to be exposed to many women from all walks of life, whether socially prominent or not, who will hold an absolute fascination for him. You know, the right ones.”
“Mom, I’m not afraid of those. It’s the others.”
“Teddy, dear”—and she spoke with great tenderness, just like a mother—“yours is certainly not the ‘usual marriage,’ for neither of you are ‘usual people.’ You both have strong, independent natures. Remember, Teddy, you let Paul come home by himself and you stayed on in Italy. But I’m sure he loves you.”
“Yes, I’m sure he does. But he loves his Ardabil carpet too . . .”
“Now, Teddy . . .”
“Now, Mother . . .”
“Girls,” Ludwig said, “I don’t know about you two, but I need a drink.”
On June 22, 1949, Paul called from Anvers. “I’ve been on the Continent for two days and have a high fever. No other symptoms so far. I don’t know what causes it. Teddy, do you know I considered taking the Dover Ostend boat, but took the Dover Calais instead? Yesterday afternoon, as I drove through Dunkerque, the boat I considered taking struck a mine two miles offshore and sank in minutes.”
“Oh, Paul, thank God you’re safe.”
“How are you and Timmy?” he asked.
“We’re fine. And I have a surprise for you. Timmy’s taking piano lessons.”
“Piano lessons? Isn’t he a bit young to learn piano?”
“Well, he’s no Mozart yet, but he’s loving it.”
Paul laughed and asked, “How about your show? Is it still running successfully?”
“Yes, darling, we’re playing to capacity audiences.”
“Teddy, you know it’s lonely here, and I dread being sick in a strange land among strangers.”
“Well, there are no strangers here, so you better come home. In the meantime, rest, and Timmy and I will pray for you. I wish you were calling me from Santa Monica right now instead of half a world away.”
“Darling Teddy, I love you, and I’ll call you soon from New York. Bye.”
“Bye, Paul. I love you, too.”
I started to hang up the phone but I heard, “Oh, Teddy, I forgot to tell you. I lunched with Harold Christie at the Ritz yesterday. Remember him? He remembered you. He said you were such a beautiful girl, and that everyone loved your singing when you were at the British Colonial Supper Room in Nassau years ago.”
“Yes. I remember him. Everyone called him ‘Mr. Nassau’ in those days.”
“Well, they still do. Teddy, you certainly must have made an impression on him. Would you believe he had the nerve to ask me for your address and telephone number? I think it came rather as a shock to him when I told him we were married. Strange, isn’t it, he didn’t know? Well, believe me, he knows it now. I stopped him cold.”
A few days later, Timmy and I were having breakfast when the telephone rang. It was Paul. He was calling from Paris to say hello and to reassure himself that we were well. “What room are you sitting in?” he asked. “Is Timmy with you? What are you two doing exactly?” Did it in some way reassure him he could call “home” and find us right where he’d left us?
Timmy excitedly begged to talk to his dad, and after a few breathless moments, during which he told his daddy how well he could swim across the pool, he relinquished the phone to me and dashed off to nursery school with Lela.
I sat there for a long time, just wondering why he’d want to know what we were doing. It was quiet in the house, only the sound of the sea, and only Robert calling to Hildy and the puppies for their breakfast broke the silence. What was it? What possible reason could it be that Paul didn’t want us with him this time in Europe? And as for not being able to afford us, or our being in the way of any business deal he wanted to make, that was absurd . . . Or was it?
Then suddenly it came to me, and I knew . . . and the knowing broke my heart.
My presence in Europe, being Paul’s wife and half Jewish, might very well have ruined any deal Paul was about to make with the Saudi Arabians. How I wish he had told me this, for it must have been the reason, and he must have been extremely upset, not wanting to hurt me . . . But more important, he didn’t want to lose the deal.