Leon Uris (29 page)

Despite her advice, George Barjac could smell his goal. With
his daughter Lilly ensconced in Paris, she and Felix could establish him as a lion of society. For the moment George Barjac was blind to the rest.

He was euphoric when his daughter was married at the Cathedral of Notre Dame in a show of raw plenty, a throwback that made the old aristocracy nostalgic. Barjac was a full member, albeit a Yankee member, of the cream of the fantasy players.

After Lilly and Felix wed and drifted off on a royal barge down the Loire River, George turned his attention to Countess Josephine Bayard. Fact is, Fifi had taken George’s just measure from the first moment he had arrived in Paris.

Fifi became the wife of a Maryland planter of renown, calved two children of her own with him, and established a small bastion of art, music, and literature on the lowly and removed Eastern Shore.

They were a splendid couple, and she kept splendid control of a menagerie without having recourse to internecine warfare.

And what of Lilly?

Lilly and Felix journeyed on a well-known road of marriage that settled somewhere between the tepid and the occasionally simmering.

Lilly lived in the magnificent Château Villiard in the country, and in a breathtaking Paris residence near the Bois de Boulogne.

She traveled with Felix to Egypt on her first and only archaeological dig, discovering that a barge on the Nile was not a barge on the Loire. Egyptology was not her game, but despite prior warnings, she had chosen a man afflicted with it and she dared not protest his long absences.

By the time she reached nineteen, Lilly was the mother of twins, Chantel and Maurice. The molding of Baroness Lilly was right on course.

For several years she summered in Newport with the twins while her
mari
plundered tombs and vanished into the seedy mysteries of Cairo.

George Barjac grew remorseful about having fed his daughter
to a dilettante. His own marriage to Fifi had set off chimes of happiness. The blandness and lack of fire of his daughter’s marriage and the questionable motives of his son-in-law in entering into it soon tinged him with guilt.

George built Lilly a lovely private summer villa a bit removed on the Onde la Mer estate, as a second home.

There was a saving grace. The flaws in the Villiard marriage were numerous, but it developed a central theme, vital to both husband and wife. Together Felix and Lilly had power.

Power as a couple was understood by them, and a well-worked- out series of compromises ensued. In Paris, they moved well together, and from time to time pleasured each other. In Paris, they did not tempt scandal.

. . . but Cairo was another thing.

. . . and so was Newport. The twins were immersed in activities with their cousins, and with impeccable cleverness, Lilly was able to have summer dalliances. She chose men who were visiting Newport as artists or writers, and she crafted short affairs beyond the reach of scandal.

Lilly’s sisters and brothers and sisters-in-law and brothers-in-law were strongly in sympathy and put up a “blue” wall of silence.

And Lilly always went home to Paris at season’s end.

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Every day at dawn, the major and the lieutenant did a drill of stretches and pull-ups and ran several laps around Coaster’s. Soon the water would be warm enough for Zach to add in a half-mile swim. Fortunately, Ben could skip that exercise, having learned that swimming with one arm was a losing proposition.

Zach reached the giant eucalyptus tree first and jogged in place until Ben caught up.

“Enough for me,” Ben panted.

“I want to do another round,” Zach said, and sprinted off.

Ben plopped, took a swig from his canteen, and viewed the small-boat marina bobbing about as he lit up.

Ben was worried, for sure. His command consisted of but one man, but that one man, Zach, was tidying up his dreams and visions.

An envelope was on Ben’s desk. Amanda Kerr had reached Tobermory. The contents of that envelope could blow everything up in his face.

Three days earlier, he had given Zach permission to construct a scale model. Zach worked the clock out and set up the Battle of Trafalgar, after which Ben gave a discourse. How quickly O’Hara absorbed Horatio Nelson’s crossing the T and smashing the enemy fleets.

“Sort of like a naval version of hit the beach running,” Zach commented.

Zach was so filled with energy that Ben wondered if he would go into orbit. Was that girl going to derail him? If the news was good or bad, should he let Zach free-float into a mess in Newport or should he cook a little
Semper Fidelis
pressure under him?

Another swig and a three-minute sitting nap.

“You here already?”

Zach came alongside and cooled down.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Thought I’d work,” Zach answered.

“It’s Sunday. George Barjac has twice invited me to bring you. You come with me.”

The request had the ping of a command.

“Sure, what’s the dress code?”

“Informal, mess jacket.”

“Are you sure you need me, Ben?”

“I do not want George Washington Barjac to be insulted. He’s my buddy-buddy from before you were born. You know how important the man is to the Corps.”

“I guess I have become a little antisocial,” Zach said. “What’s the event?”

“Sunday picnic, lawn games, three-hour lunch, mobs of kids and grandchildren, first family, second family. You’ll like them. And, by God, they’re Catholics.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”

Zach helped the major to his feet. They double-timed it back, but Ben did not turn off to his cottage.

“Come up to the office for a few minutes.”

They headed into the building and up the stairs in silence. No need to ask what this was about.

The envelope lay on Ben’s desk.

“This came this morning. I’ll wait downstairs.”

“Why don’t you stay.”

“Sure.”

Dear Zachary,

I have been remiss in failing to contact you sooner. Immediately after the Constitution Ball, I went away to Virginia on a personal matter, and by the time I returned to Inverness, you were gone.

Let me congratulate you on your commission and your new assignment.

A few nights before the Constitution, at the wedding of Beth and Casper, I was swept up in the sentiment of the moment and told you I still loved you.

This passage of time has allowed me to clear my mind and gain a fuller understanding of what my future course need be.

I do not believe you were sent to Newport as an act of a merciful God, but because of keen judgment on Major Boone’s part. If anything, it will test our resolve to go our proper ways.

That day at the glen, I epitomized the selfish side of my character and tried to lure you into a battle in which we both would have been slain. You had an honest grasp of what was, and is, a hopeless situation. I totally agree with you now, that to carry our friendship further would be to court disaster.

Falling out of love has not been my easiest task, but it has given me the maturity to be able to transform my thinking. I know what must be done.

Glen Constable and I have set out with the idea of a future permanent relationship. He can afford me a steady life and companionship. I must tend to my roots and the meaning of my family.

I have undertaken to play big sister this summer to his young daughter, Dixie Jane, who is a lovely child but sorely undereducated and unprepared to live a life of important
intent. Dixie Jane and I were together at the Constable farm near Richmond and have developed a deep affection for each other.

I do not foresee a formal announcement concerning Glen and myself until after the coming winter season. The courtship came on quite suddenly and we should allow for a proper time to pass. Yet it seems a natural conclusion.

I won’t pretend this is any easier for you to read than it is for me to write, but what was between us is being tucked away, forever.

I know that Newport has greeted you with open arms and hope you are already back in the chase. I will not see you formally or entertain any pleadings, and I know you will respect these wishes.

For certain we will run into each other by chance during the season and I trust we will greet each other, at such times, in a civilized manner.

Good luck, dear Zachary.

With kindest regards,

Amanda

Zach handed the letter to Ben.

“I don’t have to read it,” Ben said.

“Yes, please,” Zach answered.

Ben read it sadly, and was sad for the young lieutenant.

“I don’t want to lose you, Zach.”

“I dug my own hole. I’ll cause you no grief. I want to stay.”

“You going to be able to make it?”

Zach nodded.

“And you feel alone, hung out to dry, and wish to hell that someone understood how much it hurts, don’t you?”

“It hurts in a way I can’t even start to explain.”

“I’m sure it does.”

“How can you know how I feel?”

“I suppose I can’t. You must be the first Marine in a hundred and twenty-two years who has felt the pain of a love lost.”

Zach was jolted.

“You join the Corps because you’re lonely and you’ve made yourself believe you can live without a woman’s love. Then you try love and get divided in half and . . . she’s gone,” Ben said.

“I’m sorry, Ben, I didn’t know.”

“Sure. So, go drink your pain under, then go into Newport and get yourself into a little trouble.”

“What happened, Ben?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“What happened?” Zach repeated.

Ben rocked his chair. Its familiar squeal helped his thoughts.

“I’m going to give it to you in one long sentence. Don’t mention it again, ever. It’s off-limits.”

The major opened his vault.

“After the Civil War, I commanded the Marine detail at the Boston Naval Yard.”

On first try, her name did not come out. “Yolanda,” he said at last. “Yolanda came from a Portogee fishing family out of Gloucester. We had a contract with one of their fishing co-ops. We bought large quantities for ships heading out on long cruises. She ran that show as our buyer . . .”

Ben looked out the window to the sea, as he always did, for solace.

“If she stood alongside Amanda Kerr, you couldn’t tell who would be the more beautiful. A Portogee and a one-armed hillbilly, but could we make music. I was a first luey and the Corps didn’t know quite what to do with me when that horse ate my arm. Anyhow, I was well respected for my service to Winfield Scott. The Corps was so small they couldn’t afford to lose me, so I was pegged and branded to remain a staff officer.”

Ben silenced his chair.

“The commandant, the one long before Ballard, refused us permission to marry. She had Negro blood in her and her skin was too dark. Some of the boys were permitted to marry Asian women; there was no way I could be stationed between Quantico and the
capital. Officers’ wives, particularly navy wives, would make life unbearable.”

“What the hell are we?” Zach said. “The French Foreign Legion?”

“Corps was only half of the problem. She was a Portuguese Catholic. Fucking Portogees are like super-Spaniards, super-Sicilians with their blood feuds and blood libels and lust for vengeance. She fled to me and that had to be avenged. We were able to set up a cottage away from the base. The Corps looked the other way.”

And now, quiet.

“We had over two years together before her father and brothers found her and waited till I was gone . . . then took her life.”

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