“What papers? What have I done?”
“You’ve been with that scheming cow Callas, that bovine bitch.”
“Jackie, Jackie, do not insult yourself by this. Yes, I saw her, across a crowded room. We were in the same restaurant, at the same party.”
“Oh, come on! It says here that you left with her—”
“I haven’t seen it,” he lied. “It’s a rag, made-up rubbish. I am sure
if you read it closely it does not say that I am with her. I may have walked out at the same time, but that was the extent of it. Why would I be with her when I love you?”
Refusing to be sidetracked, Jackie shouted, “Swear you weren’t with her. Swear it.”
“Why would I want anyone else but you? Come to Paris, come now. I can’t wait to have you in my arms. Come now and you will be here by lunchtime. I will make love to you all afternoon and then we can go to Maxim’s.”
“I can’t take this again. You must not do this to me,” she wailed.
“I would never do anything to hurt you. Come here and I will persuade you of how much I love you, how much I want you.”
She threw the phone down, unconvinced. It was useless. She had everything but a faithful partner. She would see him and have it out with him once and for all. She was not going to put up with this. She was not going to be fooled anymore.
Meanwhile the same newspaper article was being discussed at KGB headquarters in Moscow. Addressing the chairman of the small group whose special area of influence was the Mediterranean, Vladimir Zerev, distinguished-looking Muscovite, was on his feet.
“Remember, Alexander, all those years ago when I suspected Mrs. Kennedy of working for the CIA in Geneva and everybody laughed at me? Now I think they will not be so amused.
“In this folder I have a selection of photographs, all taken by Greeks loyal to our cause, of the many, many people who are coming and going to Skorpios.”
Vladimir prised them out, one by one.
“Look at him. He is supposed to be an interior designer. Looks far too big and bulky, more like a boxer. Look at those shoulders, look at those hands. I am suspicious. What about this one? He was supposed to be a sous-chef cooking American specialties. Apparently on his first day in the kitchen he was regarded as so useless
Madame had to intercede and say it was her mistake. And was he sent back? No, he was given a job in the garden.
“And this one and this one.” A shoal of slightly out-of-focus photographs of various men, most in caps, hats, sunglasses, and spectacles that helped hide their faces, were laid out.
“And this one, this is my favorite. Simon Brunton, recently arrived from Cairo, hidden to look like a beekeeper. Unfortunately, however keen he is that Mrs. Onassis gets her honey, the beekeeper’s hat is so uncomfortable it has to come off sometime, to reveal, lo and behold, our CIA friend. The man has been a thorough nuisance to us wherever he has worked. What is he doing there?
“Let us look at the evidence. Onassis has been married for less than two years to the so-called most glamorous woman in the world, but he does what he likes and is still sleeping with Callas. Jackie puts up with it. Clearly the situation is what she is used to.” A titter went round the table. “But why?
“Yes, she comes and goes when she wants and spends his money, but more and more of it is lavished on his tiny island, which she clings to far more ferociously than him. Why? Perhaps after the assassination of her husband and her brother-in-law she feels safer there. But she and her husband are so rarely together, we have to ask, why did they marry?”
“Meanwhile we are nowhere nearer overthrowing the Greek Colonels, we may have lost another submarine in this area, and now we have at least one known CIA man, and a senior one at that, working in disguise on Skorpios.”
“I have never believed she was a spy.” The sonorous voice of the chairman interrupted.
“I am convinced of it,” said Vladimir.
“I haven’t finished,” the chairman droned on. “What I do think is that the Americans have bribed her to use her as an umbrella, to let her be a cover for their people to use the island.
“We need to discover exactly what they are doing. Vladimir, you are convinced of Mrs. Kennedy’s—Mrs. Onassis’s—guilt already.
You will work hardest to prove it. Talk to special operations and come up with a plan. I shall make sure you get all the help you need. I suggest the only way to find out is to get yourself out there, fast.”
It was still warm when Aristotle Onassis left the Paris office so he decided to stroll to his apartment on the Avenue Foch. As he walked, his chauffeured car following behind him, he couldn’t believe his good fortune. He was on the brink of concluding one of the biggest deals of his life and it had come out of nowhere. He had been approached by a Swiss group that had won several new contracts with countries in Africa and the Far East. They needed to buy and rent container ships and oil tankers. Their urgency was reflected in some of the higher prices they were prepared to pay. Their chairman had been insistent: “We are keen to negotiate for as long as it takes to reach a suitable agreement.”
Ari had picked up hints that the Swiss had been involved in negotiations with some of his rivals, but the Onassis organization seemed to be the favorite to win the order.
As he grew older, the Greek had become more cautious in his business life. He knew many Swiss bankers, but the men involved with this outstanding offer were strangers to him. In the normal way, he requested his offices in London, New York, and Greece to investigate both the background of the company and its chairman and senior board members.
Everything seemed to be in order. He made a few judicious calls himself and discovered the business was fairly new but no one had a bad word to say about them.
Their paperwork came up trumps every time.
He was still not convinced. For the second night in a row he had decided not to see Callas. She was furious with him. Last week Jackie had come to town and now he was wrapped up in business affairs. He would send his mistress something to placate her.
To night, like last night, he would have dinner à deux, with the Swiss chairman, Pierre Harnier. Last night had proved inconclusive.
The restaurant the man had selected was so crowded Ari had not felt comfortable asking the questions he still had about the Swiss company’s finances and budgetary constraints.
To night he had organized dinner in a private dining room he occasionally used at the Hôtel Georges V. Before he got into bed with this man he wanted to put him under a microscope.
When Jackie woke on Friday in her bedroom in Skorpios an exquisitely wrapped gift lay on the breakfast tray, next to her plate of sliced grapefruit. The double bow and shiny purple box had the expensive sheen of Paris about it. Of course it was from Ari; he’d been very attentive over the last week or so, since her quick trip to Paris. As she tugged at the lilac grosgrain ribbon, she fondly thought that underneath his bluster and bravado her husband was quite insecure. No one would guess that his usual gambit of sending a present a few hours before his arrival was done to bolster his confidence. It was a charming habit though she knew he did it as much for himself as for her. It was his fail-safe method to ensure that not only would he be in the good graces of the grateful recipient, it would also enhance the excitement of his visit.
As she uncovered a Fabergé picture frame enameled in translucent apple green and gold, nestling inside its matching case, she breathed out loud, “What a gift.” It must have cost a fortune. She examined it, back and front. It was extraordinarily perfect. Without bothering to look at the outside of the miniature envelope, she fished the small card out. As she read the short but loving message she realized with horror that it was addressed to another woman, Maria Callas.
Appalled and hurt, Jackie did not know what to do. Her instinctive reaction was to bury the present and the note in one of her drawers and run off to the ocean.
As she ran she felt her chest and lungs ache with suppressed tears.
How
dare
he? How long had this been going on?
All the newspaper stories, all his denials. Every time she had asked him if there was still something between him and his old flame, he had sworn there was nothing.
When they had argued about Callas in Paris he had admitted there was only one connection between them: occasionally her accountant asked him to look over some of her financial papers.
Obviously he was lying.
A terrible thought occurred to her. Had he and Callas been lovers throughout their marriage?
How could this be happening to her again? What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she keep a man happy?
As she walked from the beach into the sea she hurled herself into the waves, her salty tears mixing with them.
Suppose this got out? How could she face the world if they knew that her second husband had gone looking for happiness in another woman’s bed?
Was this Ari’s fiendishly weird way of telling her that despite his protestations of love, she was second-best? If so, what did he expect her to do? Did he want a showdown to night when he returned from Paris? Surely not in front of their house guests; it would be too embarrassing.
She stopped her backstroke for a minute.
In Paris he had been so genuinely upset on her behalf, so warm and romantic. He had sounded so loving on the phone yesterday and the day before, and the day before. What could have possessed him to cause a riot right now?
It seemed so incongruous, so ironic that she, hailed as the world’s most glamorous woman, whose picture alone had sold millions of magazines and newspapers, could not keep a man interested enough to stay faithful.
How they would laugh at her, the critics who had ridiculed her wedding.
Jackie knew that anything by Fabergé had to be very expensive. If Ari had sent it to Maria, it was much more than a birthday or
saint’s day gift. It could only be a thank-you for services rendered and she was in no doubt about what those services were.
For an hour she swam and swam.
Soon the children would be off to visit her mother in Newport. Ideally she could wait. Ultraprotective as a sole parent, she did not want them to see her upset or quarreling with their stepfather. A further complication was Rose Kennedy’s imminent arrival. The woman, whom she still thought of as her mother-in-law, had finally agreed to come to stay. Ari had decreed they should have a huge party for her.
Jackie decided that she could not postpone the matriarch’s visit. For now she would have to play the game and be the accomplished hostess.
She decided that when Ari arrived she would flaunt the gift to gauge his reaction. If he wanted to raise the subject, she was ready. She dried herself, rubbing the towel hard against her skin.
When she returned to the Pink House the place was in an uproar. Ari’s office had called. There was a possibility that there might be four extra guests for the party next week. Some businessmen were coming to Athens to complete a deal. If he deemed it necessary, Ari might invite them and their wives to the island.
Jackie could see the maids opening up the cottages. At least two of them would be dusty as they were normally left undisturbed in case the Onassis children deigned to put in an appearance. One in a dark blue ripe fig shade was designated for Alexander, the melon-colored one for Christina. If four more guests came these would be needed.
She saw Caroline and John happily running in and out of them, taking advantage of exploring these miniature homes. Next week some of their cousins would be joining them.
When Ari appeared he was in the very best of moods. He was sure this Swiss deal was going well. His mistress had telephoned to forgive him for deserting her. She would be even more well disposed toward him when she received the gift by Fabergé he had
arranged to be delivered to her this morning. One that was equally as valuable as the one that he believed he had given his wife.
Callas meant more and more to him. Approaching his seventies, Ari was thrilled that her eroticism made him feel so sexy, so alive. She had ensured that there was no weakness in that area. She had done him a service. He was as vibrant and sexually powerful as any man half his age.
Jackie too was working out well. Luckily this in dependence of hers that Nikos so complained of suited him well. How dull it would be to come home to the old-style wife who had done nothing exciting while you were away and had simply been staying at home, guarding her virtue. With Jackie he always knew that she would have uncovered some interesting information in a book, invited guests who would be entertaining, and doubtless had prepared an enthralling list of new projects to improve the island. She wasn’t cheap but she wasn’t boring!
As his glorious yacht swooped upon the Ionian Sea, Ari looked forward to the weekend. Two days of relaxation and then next week both the chairman and the managing director in the Swiss business were coming to Athens to continue their talks.
She avoided being alone with him when the
Christina
first docked, and at the beginning of dinner she could hardly bring herself to look at him, but when she produced the expensive gift she noted that he seemed perfectly at ease.
Aware of every nuance at the table, Jackie realized that it was not Ari but Nikos who was the jumpy one to night. He had noisily examined the frame several times, frequently asking Ari if this was one of the better Fabergé frames and where and when had he found it? Were there many of them and how did they compare?
He was not a very subtle man so when he started to shadow her every move, Jackie began to wonder why. They had never got on. Their endless arguments about money had made it obvious that he was irritated by her presence as Ari’s wife. Like many of Ari’s cronies, he clearly preferred the opera singer. Callas was of Greek extraction and probably conformed more to his taste. She began to
wonder if he had, in some way, been responsible for this morning’s shock.