Illusions of Love (23 page)

When Martin lifted her veil to kiss her he couldn’t believe how beautiful she looked. In that moment he adored her without reservation.

Bess had not cried during the ceremony, afraid if she allowed herself to miss Julian for a moment she would never be able to stop sobbing, but Sylvia’s mother had wept joyously.

As the two families stood in the great hall greeting their guests, Bess was again overcome with Sylvia’s poise. She began to enjoy herself, although her eyes darted about making sure the champagne was correctly served in the fluted glasses and the trays of canapes were circulated quickly.

When everyone had toasted the newlyweds, Bess began urging people into the ballroom. The bride, groom, and members of their immediate families were seated at a long table in the front while their other guests were placed at round tables for ten. Bess looked about her and smiled.

The white damask cloths gleamed with silver and crystal. Tall epergnes filled with white gladioli, roses and stock filled the air with a delicious scent.

Seeing the room in all its glory, Bess laughed, remembering her sleepless nights and frantic debates with Mr. Maiard, the caterer. They had finally agreed to skip any shellfish even though none of the guests were kosher and settled on a pate en croute, soupe aux cerises, and pheasant with wild rice and artichoke hearts.

Just before the wedding cake was served, the waiters came out with a parade of ices carved in the forms of hearts. Then the six-layer cake was wheeled out and Martin and Sylvia cut the first slice. After several more toasts the band struck up for the dancing.

When Sylvia and Martin walked onto the floor the guests began to clap.

Few had seen a more handsome couple, nor one that seemed to have such a bright future. Later, Dominic claimed Sylvia, saying, “You could almost talk me into marriage, Sylvia. You’re my idea of a perfect lady, and I think that Martin is one lucky dog. Would it be out of order to give you a word of advice?”

“Please do,” said Sylvia, hoping he wouldn’t speak of Jenny McCoy.

“Be patient.”

Sylvia wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but she said, “I will … and thank you for being a good friend. To both of us.”

Suddenly it was midnight. Sylvia and Martin were spending their wedding night in the suite Bess had moved out of after Julian’s death, redecorating it for Martin and Sylvia as soon as her son had agreed to live at the Woodside estate.

To avoid wedding night pranks Martin and Sylvia pretended they were going East that night to start their month’s honeymoon. Instead, after leaving under a shower of rice, they carefully circled the estate and then, turning off the car’s lights, came down the driveway leading to the garages. Giggling like mischievous conspirators, they tiptoed through the servants’ hall and up the back stairs.

Martin opened the door and carried Sylvia over the threshold. When he put her down, she looked at the old four-poster bed. On either side the burgundy draperies had been tied back with silken cords. A small fire glowed, warming the cool June night. The maids had left a bucket of champagne by the bed and turned down the spread, revealing the white satin comforter.

For a moment each was haunted by unwanted memories. Champagne had always been Jenny’s drink their drink and her face suddenly seemed to float before Martin. As if she could read his mind, Sylvia found herself wishing that she had been her husband’s first real love.

Martin popped the cork on the champagne and poured Sylvia a glass.

“To you, my dearest. May our life together always be as happy as it is for me tonight.” And as he spoke Martin honestly believed his words were the truth.

“I hope so, Martin,” she said, touching his glass with hers.

They sipped the wine in front of the fire in silence. When they finished, Martin went into the dressing room that had been his father’s while Sylvia put on her nightgown in Bess’s old dressing room.

She was so nervous as she lay in the huge bed waiting that she felt as if Martin were a stranger and she herself a virgin. Perhaps it was because she’d only had that one, brief encounter with him before the war. She started as Martin came towards her and turned off the lights.

Only the fire illuminated his face as he bent over her and gently kissed her lips. She took his face in her hands and forgot her fear, embracing him without restraint. To his surprise he found himself overwhelmed by her touch and soon all restraints vanished as the two of them became one. For the rest of the night their joy was un shadowed either by memories of the past or fears for the future.

Martin awoke early the next morning and lay watching his bride sleep.

He saw her as if with fresh eyes. She was, if possible, even more beautiful asleep than awake. God, how lucky I am, Martin thought. How lucky I am to have a wife such as this.

Sylvia stretched languidly and, opening her eyes to discover Martin, smiled.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, taking her in his arms.

“Like a contented kitten.”

Marriage is an extraordinary thing, Martin thought. Knowing he belonged to another human gave him a unique sense of peace. Caring for Sylvia, watching over her happiness, would give his life a new purpose.

Tightening his arms around her, he kissed her urgently and her breath quickened as she guided him again inside her.

“You’ve made me very happy, Sylvia,” he said afterwards, and he prayed that today would set the tone for the rest of their lives, while Sylvia vowed to be a good wife who would never burden her husband with self-doubts or silly jealousies.

At that moment the Sevres clock on the mantel chimed.

“Martin, darling, it’s eleven o’clock. Good grief there’s so much to do before we leave.”

When he came back from his shower she was sitting brushing her hair, which fell in loose waves over her blue satin gown.

“Let me look at you,” he said, taking her hands and turning her towards him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, ‘and I love you. “

Sylvia wanted to believe that Martin had fallen in love with her at last, but all she said was, “I hope it will get better and better and better with time.”

“I’ll settle for the way I feel now. In fact, if you don’t watch out, I’ll carry you off to bed again right now.”

Smiling, she said, “I’m afraid you’ll have to use some restraint.

Here’s the maid with breakfast. “

As they sat waiting, Sylvia said, “I don’t remember swallowing a thing last night, but God, your mother outdid herself.”

“I know. Funny thing about human nature, nobody knows what they can really do until the time comes. After my father died, I thought she’d never pull herself together,

and suddenly she has developed the strength of a lion. Some of that was your doing, Sylvia. ” He took her hand.

“You know Bess loves you better than she does me, don’t you?”

“She has every reason to,” Sylvia laughed.

“Now, darling, finish up and get ready.”

Bess and Dominic were waiting when the newlyweds came down the stairs.

Sylvia was wearing a mauve wool dress with matching shoes and bag. The sable coat, which had been a wedding present from Bess, was draped over her arm.

The first person she embraced was Bess, thanking her for the lovely wedding. Then she stood in front of Dominic. Her look said, “I will always take your advice. I’ve been patient.” Aloud she said, “Thank you for coming, Dominic. It certainly wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

Bess stood on the cobbled drive for a long time after Edward drove them out of sight. Tears streamed down her face, but when she walked back inside she was smiling.

The car took Martin and Sylvia to the airport where they were to catch a plane East to board the Andrea Doria the following day.

This time, when Martin walked across La Guardia air field, he faced no ghosts. Grasping Sylvia’s arm, he felt as if he were arriving in a strange city. The bridal suite at the Pierre was exquisite, and that night, as they walked the streets of Manhattan, Martin saw no faces from the past mournfully staring at him from the store windows.

They dined at Le Pavilion and later danced until three at the Starlight Roof to Guy Lombardo’s band and that night they made love with a wild passion Martin hadn’t suspected Sylvia possessed. He knew in those moments how much she loved him and vowed again never to hurt her.

In the morning she poked him awake, and getting out of bed without even reaching for her nightgown laughed and said, “I’ll race you to the shower!”

They reached Pier 44 just in time to hear the call, “All 172 visitors ashore.” Martin and Sylvia quickly found their assigned stateroom, where their trunks already waited, then hurried on deck where they were caught up in the excitement of departure. The giant whistles shrilled as clouds of confetti fell on the crowds from the dock. Martin and Sylvia began waving back, laughing. It was a marvelous moment.

Back in their stateroom, Sylvia said, “Oh, Martin, I’m so happy we came. Sometimes I think I’m dreaming. I adore you so … ” Well, I should hope so. Now you rest and I’ll make arrangements for the late dinner sitting. Remember now I’m your husband and if you obey me,” he said joking, ‘nothing will come between us.”

Sylvia felt an unaccountable chill as she looked at him.

“I hope so, Martin,” she said, but he was already out the door.

The first night out Sylvia dressed in white chiffon and wore Bess’s pearls and the emerald ring Martin had brought from New York. Seated at the Captain’s table, Martin realized as if for the first time how openly other men stared at her. Suddenly he was filled with pride.

Sylvia was oblivious to the stir she caused. She had eyes only for Martin, her husband. To her he was the handsomest man there.

Later that night, Sylvia said tentatively, “Martin?”

“Yes?”

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“Anything.”

“Please come closer. Yes, that’s better … I have a confession to make.”

He smiled in the dark.

“Wow that does sound serious. I’ll try to be generous.”

“Martin, be serious, please.”

“Sorry, darling. Go ahead.”

She took hold of his hand.

“When we got married I wasn’t quite sure if you really loved me.”

“Well, do you have any doubts about it now?”

“I guess what I’m really asking is, you really don’t have

any regrets, do you, Martin? “

He answered quickly.

“Good God, no, Sylvia! How could you think that?

You’re the best thing that has happened to me. You must know that.

You’ve given me a whole new sense of purpose. “

Purpose, she thought a little sadly. What about the fire and passion the sorts of feelings he evoked in her? Then she remembered Dominic’s advice and was silent, letting Martin show in the best way he knew how that he deserved her.

The five days on the Andrea Doria sped by and Sylvia could hardly believe it was time to leave the ship when they docked in Southampton.

She felt that she and Martin had been living in a dream, isolated and protected from all intrusion, but Martin left her no time for regrets.

A car picked them up and drove them straight to the Connaught, plunging them into a pre-war opulence that fascinated Sylvia. Dowagers sat in the lobby chatting over tea and cucumber sandwiches.

Mustachioed, irritable ex-officers looking like Colonel Blimp filled the salon, and everywhere she turned Sylvia found someone wanting to know if there was anything Madame needed.

As they drove through the streets sightseeing, the war intruded. Even in exclusive Mayfair the perfect rows of Georgian houses were interrupted by an occasional bombed-out lot, and the new American Embassy towered over Grosvenor Square as if to shout the new balance of world power.

They saw Westminster Abbey, visited Parliament, watched the changing of the guard and marvelled over the Crown Jewels guarded by the Beefeaters in the Tower of London.

Sylvia began to tire, but Martin insisted they spend a few days in Paris before going on to Venice, where he promised they would rest.

“After all, it is a city made for romance,” he said.

As it turned out, Martin was as pleased to leave Paris as Sylvia. The Champs-Elysees, the sidewalk cafes, the Louvre were all enchanting, but the Parisians themselves seemed resentful of Americans and went out of their way to pretend to ignore their requests or to not understand even Martin’s excellent French.

Venice, however, lived up to both their dreams. It was, as Martin had promised, a city made for lovers. Sylvia felt as if she had been transported to another century where her most extravagant fantasies could come true.

The first night she stood on the balcony of their room and looked out at the Grand Canal, watching the gondolas slip past in the moonlight.

She heard the sound of the boats sliding through the water and listened as the gondolier began a song that must have been written hundreds of years before. Sylvia imagined the passengers were aristocratic Venetian ladies from the distant past, escorted by their dashing lovers to some secret rendezvous hidden in the maze of canals.

She could almost see them . the embroidered silk gowns, the flowing black or scarlet velvet cloaks the jewelled masks which stood between them and the wrath of jealous husbands.

“Sylvia?”

Martin’s voice called her back to the present.

“Yes, darling,” she answered, turning around.

“Enjoying the view?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve never been so excited in my life. I think this is going to be the best place we’ve ever been. The weather is so warm and it’s all so romantic.” She walked over and found him in the beautifully carved rococo bed. That night their passion seemed to reach new heights.

Early the next morning, Sylvia quietly slipped out of bed, dressed, and went down to breakfast alone. It was only seven o’clock, but she didn’t want to miss a moment of bella Venezia . There was no one in the dining room except the maitre d’ who was mildly startled that an American lady would be up so early for breakfast.