The Age of Desire (20 page)

It is the sort of day when kites might have flown in Central Park. The air is still chilly but the breeze is surprisingly warm, and, with some imagination and forced good cheer, she can conjure up the Parisian spring to come. What is Morton doing on this beautiful half-cloudy day? Strolling down the Boulevard St. Germain, keeping his eye out for her?

The restaurant in St. Cloud is the sort of place with glassed-in rooms that make you feel as though you are eating outside even when the weather is too chilly. Tables are set with pink napkins and buckets of chilled champagne. Eliot greets Edith with a “Halloo,” so she seats herself next to him and across from André Chevrillon. She directs Teddy to sit on the other side of Eliot, across from her brother.

“Good to see you, Ted,” Harry says. “What do you hear about the horses these days?”

“I don’t hear a thing. I’m in Paris and they’re over there,” Teddy says ruefully.

“You and I will have to motor out to Villemer then,” Harry says in his easy way. “A fellow’s raising some beauties out that way. I’m thinking of snatching a few up for my farm.”

Champagne is poured, and, feeling certain that Harry’s got Teddy distracted, Edith relaxes into a conversation with André about French politics. Then her heart lurches. Across the restaurant she sees a golden sight: Morton in his crisp suit, a garnet waistcoat, his top hat in hand, crossing the glassed room toward their table. When he spots her, his smile flows like light into a room after a cloud uncovers the sun.

Eliot leans toward her and, making sure his voice is too low for Teddy to hear, whispers, “Put your tongue back in your mouth, my dear.” She glances at him sharply. But even his tart comment can’t take away the pleasure she feels in Morton’s sweet presence.

“Monsieur Chevrillon, Mr. Wharton. Eliot . . . Mrs. Wharton.” He takes each of their hands with a gallantry that would be comic if it were not so graceful. “And sir, I don’t think we’ve met.”

“This is my brother,” Edith says.

“Well, what an unexpected honor!” Morton declares, then chooses the empty seat beside Edith.

“Dearest,” he whispers to her. She looks to make sure neither Eliot nor Harry is watching before she lifts her face and throws beams of kindness on him.

“I had no idea you were going to be here,” she says.

“Eliot invited me.”

“Eliot?” Edith feels a moment’s panic. Is this some sort of trap that Eliot’s concocted? Eliot was the one who told her to “be circumspect,” who said Fullerton was not to be trusted. He also said if she was drawn in by him, he would be only too happy to watch the spectacle. She shivers.

“Pigs?” she overhears Eliot saying to Teddy. “Eating them is the only thing I ever plan to do with pigs. Hideous, filthy creatures.” Edith sees that Teddy’s face is growing red.

He booms. “Not hideous. A great deal more sensitive than a jackass like you. And likely more intelligent.”

“Teddy!” Edith cautions. Why, oh, why did she bring him? She is furious at Anna for suggesting it.

“Now don’t get all het up, Ted,” Harry says. “Most people don’t realize that pigs . . . are not what they seem.”

Morton leans past Edith so he can be heard by Teddy and Eliot. “It’s ironic you should be speaking about swine. We ran an article in the
Times
just last week about how researchers have discovered that pigs are some of the most intelligent creatures on the planet.” Edith notices how Morton’s blue eyes sparkle like aquamarines. “They say they have the aptitude of dogs. They may even be smarter.”

“That’s right, Mr. Fullerton. That’s just right,” Teddy says. Edith flashes Morton a grateful smile. And when she does, she feels his smooth warm fingers interlocking with hers under the tablecloth. The sensation overtakes her, almost stings in its intensity. But at the same time, Eliot is leaning toward her with an aside.

“Your Mr. Fullerton could charm the peel off a banana,” he hisses to Edith with a snort. “And has, I’ve heard.”

“Hush,” Edith says, elbowing him. She’s aware of how ironic it is to be elbowing Eliot, the man who warned her away from Morton, while at the same time holding hands with the man in question.

She looks over at Harry, who is observing her wryly. He smiles. “This is a lovely place for a meal!” he says. Ah, the classic Jones attempt at distracting from a set-to. Surely he learned it from their father, who was often called on to defuse uncomfortable situations created by their mother but rarely did it gracefully.

“Well, why don’t we order our luncheon,” Eliot proclaims, opening his menu. “I hear the sole meunière is divine.”

“When will we have another day together?” Morton whispers to Edith.

“I might just have the boeuf,” she says. Then, shaking her head sadly, she gestures toward Teddy with her eyes.” I wish I knew,” she says so softly she can hardly hear her own voice.

The longing, the passion in his eyes jabs her. Perhaps their time apart since his visit to the Rue de Varenne has quickened his interest.

“Senlis,” Morton says to her.

“Pardon?”

“We could go to Senlis. It’s everything they say it is. And not so very far by motor.”

“Yes, Senlis is a lovely place,” Eliot says too loudly, proving it hasn’t taken much to hear their conversation. “If you’re fond of the medieval, that is. And you are, aren’t you, Edith?” Edith lets go of Morton’s hand. “You’re our own little Eleanor of Aquitaine. . . .”

“Perhaps you could come with us,” Morton says, taking the bait.

“Oh no. I’m sure you two wouldn’t appreciate extra company.”

“Your company, Eliot, is always appreciated,” Morton says with too flowery a spin. Eliot glares at him. Edith gets up.

“I’m going to go have a cigarette before the sky opens up. It’s getting dark out there.” She can’t get away from the table fast enough, desperate for the outside air, however cold it may be.

Out in the courtyard, she draws a cigarette from her purse and lights it. Her hands are shaking. It has indeed grown chillier, and that dark cloud lumbering toward them looks like snow. She leans against the pergola and closes her eyes. Come summer, this courtyard will be aflutter with flowering vines. The outdoor tables will be adorned with candles and pink napkins and zinnias, and the chairs which are now tilted forward on their front legs and resting against the tables will cradle colorful cushions to comfort lovers who’ve come for a meal away from town and a breath of cool air. How nice if she and Morton could steal away in her motor and spend a few hours in the dazzling summer sun together. But the thought evokes pain rather than joy, because come summer, they will be an ocean apart: Edith, imprisoned with Teddy at The Mount, Morton slaving for the
Times
. They have a mere three months together until they must part. How she aches thinking of it!

She finishes the cigarette and is wondering if she should smoke another when she sees Harry crossing the courtyard with a concerned expression.

“I think you’d better come back, Edith. Teddy’s making a bit of a ruckus.”

Following quickly on Harry’s heels, Edith discovers Teddy standing over Eliot Gregory, bellowing. He’s raising a butter knife in his hand as though it is dangerous. The entire restaurant is watching. His face is as red as a side of beef. His other hand is gripped into a fist. Morton is standing beside him, attempting to settle him down. But Teddy is focused on Eliot.

“How dare you say that about my wife! I tell you, a man can only take so much. You rotter! God, my head is bursting. And you bait me. You taunt me.”

“Now, Ted. I hardly said a thing. . . .” Eliot looks like a scared child. “I can’t imagine what I did to set you off.”

“Teddy!” Edith comes up to him and gently wrests the knife from his hand. “Come on, dear. I’m sure Cook would be all too happy to take us home.” Her voice is as smooth and even as she can make it. “After all, you’re not feeling well. It was selfish of me to take you out, feeling as you do. . . .”

Edith sees that Morton is watching Teddy with raised eyebrows, and then his gaze moves to Edith’s face with distress.

“Look, Edith, don’t trouble yourself,” Harry says with unexpected cheerfulness. “I’ll motor Ted back. You stay here and have luncheon with your friends.”

“Harry, I . . .”

“No, do as I say.” And then he leans toward her. “You could use a rest. Besides, Ted and I can have a nice chat. And my dyspepsia knocks out my appetite these days anyway. What do you say, Ted? You wouldn’t mind returning to Paris with an old friend, would you?”

Teddy shakes his head.

“Oh, Harry, that’s kind,” Edith says. “Really kind.”

“Nonsense. I want to talk to my brother-in-law. What better opportunity! Catch up on horse talk. Come on, old boy. I want to show you my new motor. It’s a stunner.”

Edith is relieved to see Teddy following her brother meekly. When they have left the restaurant, everyone settles back in their seats with a heaviness, and relief. For a moment, there is total silence, a group of four people gazing at their plates. And then, suddenly, like children after a playground skirmish, they simultaneously begin to giggle.

“Is he often like this?” Eliot asks. “Good God, Edith. It’s rather frightening. I’d have him committed if I were you.”

“Easy,” Morton says sternly.

“What did you do to set him off, Eliot?” Edith asks.

“Don’t blame me. Absolutely nothing. A little teasing about how successful you are. And how’s he going to have to be quite the man to hold on to a famous lady like yourself. He’s always been up for a bit of ribbing before.”

Edith gnashes her teeth. “To say that that was unwise in his present condition is an understatement.”

“Well, how was I to know he had a
condition
?”

Edith shakes her head, narrows her eyes. “I knew you liked your mischief, but I didn’t think you could be so cruel.”

“Let us set aside our differences and get down to the business of eating,” André says. “All this drama gives me an appetite. Like being at the theatre. Garçon!”

By the time they’ve completed their lunch, fat flakes of snow have covered the glass roof and coated the drive.

“How did you get here?” Edith asks Morton as they stand on the threshold of the restaurant, Edith ruing that she didn’t wear her boots.

“The omnibus.”

“The omnibus? Not even a cab?”

“I am not a rich man,” he says plainly.

“Well then, drive back with me. We’ll have a nice chat.” She says this right in front of Eliot, turning defiantly to catch his eye. She kisses André good-bye but nods coolly at Eliot. He squints at her sheepishly.

“I had no idea he’d go off like that, Edith. Honest. . . .” He holds up both hands like a bystander at a bank robbery.

“Well, perhaps you ought to have,” she says sharply, knowing full well that making Eliot Gregory an enemy is a surefire way to find oneself caricatured in his column.

Cook pulls up with the Panhard, and Edith and Morton climb in. Once the doors have closed, the snow-coated light inside is soft and gray and comforting, as though a quilt has been thrown over the entire motorcar. Through the shrouded window, she can see only the faintest outline of Eliot skulking off to his motor. She stamps the skin of snow off her shoes and it sparkles as it melts on the floor of the Panhard.

“Well then, this is much better than you waiting for an omnibus in this weather.”

Morton smiles with relief. “Far better,” he says. “Thank you, patroness.” He takes her hand, examining it for a moment then sliding his thumb over each of her fingers, twisting her rings straight. “I’m awfully worried about you,” he says, when the road noise has created enough of a buzz that Cook is unlikely to hear them. “I had no idea Teddy’s condition was so precarious. Is he always like this?”

“This is as bad as I’ve ever seen him.”

“You must feel cursed, trapped. I can’t even imagine. . . . My poor dear.”

“I’m glad you know now. That you’ve seen it firsthand and don’t just assume I’m simply carping about my husband. I feel guilty complaining about him. He’s the one who’s suffering.”

“It’s frightening to see someone change, isn’t it?” Morton gets a faraway look in his eye, as though he is drawing on a memory of his own.