The Dark Lady (29 page)

Ivy leaned over the desk and began now to rummage desperately with paper clips, with pencils, with anything. "I hear you," she said hoarsely.

But Elesina was inexorable. "Is it entirely clear?"

"Haven't you made it so?"

"Very well. And I warn you, Ivy, if you fail me, I shall replace you in the campaign."

"Elesina!"

"I mean it. I am determined to do things my own way. The fact that in the past I have used methods that I now dislike does not mean I must always do so."

"Oh, darling, don't turn Christer on me."

"One can change, Ivy, without being a Christer. And now, if you will forgive me, I want to write my speech for the Veterans on Saturday night."

"I've already written it!"

"Save it for the League of Women Voters. I am going to write this one myself."

"May I see it before you deliver it?"

"No, Ivy, you may not."

In the town hall of Chester, four days later, Elesina rose to address an audience of five hundred veterans and their wives. Never had she more looked forward to a speech. But as she had listened to the colonel who was introducing her, she had had a shock. "Why do you think you're enjoying yourself?" an inner voice, like Ivy's, had sneered. "Do you imagine you are brave? Do you have the effrontery to surmise that you have more guts than all the poor slandered fools who tremble before Joe McCarthy and his ilk? Don't you know it's just because you have nothing to lose, nothing, that is, that you really care about? Can McCarthy touch your money? Hell, no! So go ahead, be Hedda Gabler, be Portia! Have the time of your life, kid!"

Elesina found that she was shaking her head angrily. Quickly she stopped and rose to bow to the applause. She looked out over the upturned faces and smiled as radiantly as she knew how.

"My opponent has thrown the name of David Stein into the campaign. I am not sorry that he has done so, because it gives me the chance to talk about David, and that is something I am always eager to do.

"David, I am afraid, was a hero. But he was the kind of hero you would all have liked. He was a friendly, modest, companionable hero. He was a hero for weekdays—not just for Sunday wear. David was a young man who had everything to live for. He had a charming personality, a first-class mind, exuberant health, good looks, lots of friends, a loving family and—wealth! What more could a young man ask on this beleaguered planet? He was indeed among the blessed.

"But a wicked fairy godmother had tossed a rather horrid little bundle on the glittering pile of his christening gifts. She gave David a conscience. Oh, yes, my friends, David Stein never faced the world with the freedom of Julius Schell! David cared about the poor. He cared about the sick. He cared about the oppressed. And more than anything else he cared about the victims of the Nazi terror.

"You all remember how many there were in our community back in nineteen thirty-eight and nineteen thirty-nine who cried out shrilly that Germany was not our problem, that we had no duty but to ourselves. David did not seek to answer them. He did not raise his voice. He did not criticize others for turning their backs on the problem any more than he praised himself for facing it. He believed that each man must make up his own mind for himself and act accordingly. One day those who loved him, of whom I was one, found that he had quietly departed. He knew what he had to do, and he did it. He reached for his gun and was gone. A year later he was dead.

"Eliot Clarkson, his dearest friend and cousin, went with him. Eliot Clarkson survived. My opponent says that Eliot Clarkson was a communist. I know nothing about that. I do not even know Eliot Clarkson, despite what Mr. Schell alleges. But what I do know is this. When it comes to presumptions, mine are for the brave men who crossed the sea to fight the bloody tyrant and against the spoiled darlings like Julius Schell, who stayed at home to wave the Stars and Stripes.

"But let me state the case even more broadly. I think the time has come in the history of our great nation when we should cease to tremble before every communist bogy. We have now reached the sorry point where the greatest of our national names, that of General George Marshall himself, can be dragged in the mire by any Tom, Dick or Harry who has the impudence to allege a Red affiliation. Why do we put up with it? My friends, we are still free! We
can
choose our associates. And I choose to be associated with a hero like David Stein who gave all that he had gladly for a great cause rather than with Julius Schell, the unctuous squid who hides behind his own black cloud of venom and falsehood!"

She could proceed no further, for the hall was filled with uproar. Some people were standing to applaud and cheer; others were booing and shouting imprecations. The room had begun to seethe with Elesina's mention of General Marshall, and the tumult exploded altogether with that of Julius Schell. Elesina remained standing, with a half smile, occasionally waving her arms for silence. When she saw that it was no use she turned to the orchestra and signaled for them to play. They struck up "God Bless America," and half the audience joined in singing while the others continued to shout and gesticulate. At the end of the stanza Elesina bowed deeply to the assembly and strode from the podium.

In the limousine going home her assistant silently handed her a cartoon depicting Julius Schell and a young man, hand in hand, walking down toward a landscape where the dome of the Capitol appeared. Elesina, overwrought, burst into tears.

At Broadlawns she went straight to Ivy's office. "They telephoned me about the commotion!" Ivy cried, jumping up in alarm as she took in the grim expression on her friend's face. "Are you all right, dear?"

"Half that commotion was applause," Elesina retorted. "But never mind that." She flung the cartoon down on Ivy's desk. "Shirley Lester said you gave her five hundred of these this afternoon."

Ivy stared glumly at the cartoon. "Somebody's got to save your bacon. You seem determined to throw away the nomination. It's not fair to the people who've worked for you, Elesina."

"I'll be the judge of that!"

"Very well, we'll do it your way." Something in Elesina's tone had cowed Ivy. "I promise, dear. In the future I'll be good."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that, Ivy. As of now you are relieved of all further duties in my campaign. You will continue, of course, as manager of Broadlawns."

Ivy said nothing. She seemed to huddle, to shrink into something even smaller than she was. There was a dull, sullen, brutish pain in her green eyes.

"I'm sorry, Ivy. I warned you!"

But Ivy remained silent, and Elesina, unable to bear the sight of her discomfort, hurried from the room. Why should Ivy always put her in the wrong? She was like a death's-head. In the library Elesina pressed her back against the door which she had slammed as if to keep her friend out. Why, if she had a vision of a new Elesina, an Elesina who had at last found the right role, the right costume and cue, should she not adapt her soul to the part? A conscience to go with a hat? Well, why
not?

The first thing that Elesina did when she arrived in her office on the morning after her speech to the Legion was telephone Sam Gorman at
Tone
and instruct him to send Giles Bennett out to Broadlawns for the rest of her campaign.

"We've cost him the favor of the great Julius," she explained, "and I want the poor boy to know that he won't be the loser."

"But he doesn't know anything about politics!"

"He can learn. Besides, that's not what I really need him for. I want a buffer between me and Ivy. I've taken her off the campaign, and things are going to be rough for a while."

"You've
what?
Oh, my God, Elesina! If Ivy gets the idea that Giles is going to replace her, she'll murder the child. She will!"

"I can take care of that."

"Remember! Ivy can be a fiend."

"Oh, shut up, Sam. You're just peeved because you know you'll have to write Giles's column. Now do as I say."

"Working for women, what a life!"

Giles, seemingly unsurprised by his promotion, came out to Rye that very afternoon and fitted himself almost at once into the Broadlawns family. In a couple of days he was on first names with everybody. Elesina, in turning the estate into an arts center, of which she was president, had retained title to the mansion in which she lived and kept her offices. The big rooms on the main floor were opened on certain days to the public, but the second story, where Elesina and Ivy had separate apartments, was always private. Ivy managed the staff and grounds; Elesina directed the artistic events. Giles established himself as the friend of both.

"Poor Ivy is absolutely shattered over the Julius episode," he told Elesina. "Can't you give her a second chance?"

"Is she using you as her advocate now?"

"Well, why not? You mustn't be hard, Elesina. Great politicians should have great hearts."

"Great politicians must also know when they're badly served. Keep out of it, Giles."

She was sure that Julius would know that Giles was at Broadlawns, and it amused her to imagine the intensity of his discomfort. It would never occur to Julius that she did not intend to make nefarious use of his relationship with a young man, now in her camp, of easily impugnable morals, and she was perfectly content to let him suppose so. After all, he deserved it. But what pleased her most about the presence of Giles at Broadlawns, even more than its effect on Julius, was the way that he filled the hole which her breach with Ivy had made. Giles was the perfect assistant, at least in her lighter tasks. He seemed to have no moods; he was always cheerful. If he knew little about politics, he knew everything about how to project her. Soon she was reciting her speeches to him in the library.

"Look, dear," he would coach her, with the intimacy of a stage director, "you must never show your audience that you expect applause or laughter. Keep on going, and then, when it comes, look up with that little-girly expression of surprise that you do so well."

The fact that Giles had little or no feelings about the McCarthy issue was a balancing factor in the hectic days that followed. Letters poured into Broadlawns, abrasive, critical, threatening, praising, ecstatic, and the telephone rang without cease. Elesina varied between moods of exhilaration and moods when she felt frightened. It was a relief to let Giles read the mail and hear his little squeals of laughter at the most violent diatribes. To him it was box office, pure and simple, and Elesina was putting on a terrific show.

"Listen to this," he would exclaim. "Here's a man who thinks Broadlawns is a center for Russian propaganda. He lists five pieces by Russian composers played last summer!"

When she thought she was a heroine, Giles was there to remind her that it was all a play; when she thought she was in danger from the apes who wrote the letters, Giles was there to turn it all into a joke. And he was willing to lend a hand in anything, high or low, from writing a speech to filling in as a guide on days when the mansion was open to the public. He had his meals with Elesina in the big dining room, and sometimes, late at night, she would sit up with him alone in the library. She told him almost the whole story of her life. He told her nothing of his, but he was too young, presumably, to have much to tell.

"Don't bother about my past, Elesina," he told her. "Let's say that my life began the day I came to Broadlawns."

"Why on earth do you like it so?"

"Because it isn't real! AH these flowers and statues and paintings, all this beauty and luxury. And presided over by a fairy queen! I don't want to go back to
Tone
now. I want to stay here forever and ever."

"Well, you're certainly welcome, dear boy. You've made a place for yourself here already. I begin to wonder how we ever got on without you."

Giles was thoroughly discreet about his sex life, if indeed he had any. So far as Elesina could make out, nothing untoward occurred on the premises; presumably he took care of such matters on his weekly visits to the city. She liked the fact that he never mentioned the subject because it allowed her to fantasize that his demonstrative affection for herself was total, like a faithful dog's. Indeed, in lonely moments she caught herself treating him as a pet, chucking him under the chin and rumpling his hair.

One day, when she did this in the presence of her mother, Linda sharply reproved her.

"He's not a lap dog, Elesina!"

Elesina flushed and moved away from the unembarrassed Giles. But when she had recovered from the slight shock, she took a high tone. "Indeed he's not," she retorted coolly. "But he's the dearest of dear friends. Aren't you, Giles?"

"Yours in the ranks of death!"

Was it true? Was
this
the friend she had always wanted? But was that any stranger than finding herself on the threshold of Congress? When had her life been logical?

One morning, when she was working alone in the library, the receptionist telephoned to say that a Professor Eliot Clarkson wished to see her. A moment later he walked in, very tense, and ignored her friendly greeting. "I've been abroad," he explained abruptly. "Which is why I've only just heard about your speech to the veterans. I came right out here. Would you like a public statement that this is the first time we've met?"

"Sit down, Mr. Clarkson. I'm so happy you're here. Let's make a public statement that
at last
we've met!"

Eliot seemed taken aback. "You're very kind."

"Kind? But you were David's friend! Did you think I would deny you?"

He rubbed his temples anxiously now with the fingers of both hands. Then he sat down. "I thought you might have taken exception to my book."

"Why? It was David who said the harsh things. He had great fun imagining how I would behave if the Nazis won. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps I would have been that way."

Eliot shook his head emphatically. "No, you've proved your guts. David would have been proud of you if he'd heard that speech."

"He'd have found something else to object to soon enough. I could never have been the woman David imagined I was. He was too much of an idealist. He was always looking for beautiful damsels to rescue from dragons. He never found the damsel, but he did find the dragon. Perhaps in the long run that was just as good."