White Moon Black Sea (8 page)

At the end of the last movement the music brightened with energy, then faded, as did the spotlight on the tiny Oriental figure at it center. Simultaneously, another light was trained on the president’s box: It slowly grew brighter and larger.

In their box framed with garlands of blue, white, and red flowers, the women glittered in jewels of breathtaking opulence. The audience feted the young musician before slowly turning their gaze to the other spotlight and the official guests rising from their seats to applaud the violinist. That brought up the house lights of the Opéra. The soloist bowed quickly, impersonally, and made his exit.

Applause from an audience of exquisite and bejeweled
Parisians enveloped the honored guests. Wagging tongues made a hum of gossip about a beautiful young Arabian queen and her distinguished companions.

The lights dimmed, the audience grew silent as the curtain went up on
The Loves of the Indies
. The machinery of the media whirred approval of opera and audience alike, seeking substance for tomorrow’s headlines on how the young queen had won their hearts with her youth, elegance, simplicity, and beauty.

The young queen of Arabia was Adam Corey’s daughter Zhara. The cameras lingered on her dress of pure white crêpe de chine, her tiara, and her necklace of diamonds and spectacularly huge emeralds. All of the deep green gems were the size of a gull’s egg and had been sculpted and cut in the shapes of different birds. They were suspended by tiny diamond chains in open circles of larger diamonds. Every time Zhara spoke, moved her head, made a gesture, the birds moved and played in the light of their imaginary diamond cages. At the center of a sunburst of diamonds in a brooch pinned to a royal-blue silk sash of honor lying diagonally across the bodice of her dress was a single forty-carat diamond.

The president’s wife was chic in ice-gray taffeta by Balmain, her hair encircled by a slim diamond tiara, set off with an opal and diamond necklace and matching earrings.

The guests in the box were seated in a semicircle. At either end were the Guy de Rothschilds and the Adam Coreys. The Rothschilds’ jewels were extravagant and beautiful but no more so than Mirella Wingfield Corey’s.

As one of the French newspapers wrote the next day, “
The Loves of the Indies
by Rameau was performed last night to an exquisite perfection in honor of the official state visit of Arabian royalty. The gala evening matched the onstage spectacle of Rameau’s opera. The audience, supremely elegant in themselves, were dazzled by the guests in the president’s box. The real eye-catcher of the evening was the beautiful new monarch with her parents — internationally famous, recluses more often than not, the fascinating Adam Corey and his wife.”

The article detailed the family background on both
Mirella’s and Adam’s sides. Then it continued, “Rarely has the public had a chance to view such an array of beauty in women and jewels as it did last night.

“The young queen’s tiara is said to have been in her stepmother’s Turkish family for the last four hundred years. Madame Corey herself was no less spectacular than her jewels. A woman of great beauty, her raven-black silken hair was crowned with a tiara of cushion-cut diamonds set in graduated oval shapes, the center of which contained rare cabochon pigeon-blood rubies, the largest the size of a small hen’s egg; the smallest that of a robin’s eggs.

“Her dress of flame-red crêpe de chine was designed especially for the evening by Saint Laurent and set off her necklaces and her choker of diamonds. The crimson dress, cut on the bias and of an Empire style, flowing down from the narrow waistband, hung to the ankle in the front and draped into a short train at the back. It was simplicity itself, cut by a master for a great beauty and a unique occasion.”

The article enumerated the other guests in the box, who included “the handsome, dashing, jet-set bachelor Rashid Lala Mustapha, who, it appears, as a close friend of the Coreys, is included in the unusual extended family they surround themselves with.”

The article made much of the supper served at the Elysée Palace, and how Parisian society was captivated by the young king and his queen that night. It gave Mirella high marks not only for her beauty and her jewels, but also for her accomplishments at the U.N. and what she was doing with her Cinderella inheritance in Turkey. It noted she was at the same time adjusting to her latest role as wife to the megarich international businessman and adventurer, Adam Corey. It emphasized that she was a woman of tact and discretion, remarking how the dazzling beauty had taken a position always behind not just her stepdaughter, but the president’s wife and Madame de Rothschild as well.

None of that was very difficult for Mirella. Being in the spotlight had no appeal for her. But neither would she actively shun attention shown her. Mirella had always
simply gone along with the flow of her life. If she found herself upon a wave, she rode the wave. There was an appealing feature for her in this particular article. Typically of the French and their love of intellectual chic, it celebrated at length her father, Maxim Wingfield, elevating him to the ranks as one of the greatest American philosophers of the twentieth century.

In fact, Mirella herself felt the excitement of the gala that night in honor of Adam’s eldest daughter and the king. She was so proud to have Zhara for a stepdaughter. Her sweetness, beauty, and natural charm, her quiet intelligence for one so young, had made it easy for Mirella to love her as if she were her own child. The way Zhara was handling her love for the king and her position as ruler did credit to Adam and the way he had brought her up — and to Mirella, who had advised her through her romance with the young monarch. Mirella looked on as her stepdaughter enchanted Paris, which was no easy feat. She remembered how Zhara had made a statement to the world press at the time of her wedding: No, she was not afraid of the responsibilities of her new position — after all, with her father and her stepmother as examples to her, what had she to feel insecure about? Mirella had never imagined a child’s admiration and respect could stir such emotion in her.

At three in the morning Mirella and Adam sought out Zhara, who was dancing with her brother Joshua. They kissed Adam’s children on the cheek. “Darlings, we are going to slip away now. Zhara, you are the most beautiful woman in France tonight, and the loveliest queen in the world. And I am very proud of you.” Adam’s fatherly smile made Zhara feel that his last phrase contained the real compliment to her.

Mirella listened to Adam’s words and yet again she was overwhelmed with love and admiration for her husband. How did he do it? Manage to love on so many different levels, in so many different ways, and to generate so much love for himself from others. Never asking, never taking, never demanding, but possessing them all, his common-law wives: Marlo Channing, and their child, Alice. Giuliana and their daughter, Alamya. Aysha and their son,
Memett. Joshua, the oldest, and Zhara, his sister, whose mother had died long ago. And now Mirella, his legal wife, and the child she carried were part of Adam’s clan that the international press presented as an unorthodox family on the brink of becoming one of America’s more interesting dynasties.

When Zhara put her arm around Mirella and said, “Oh, Mummy, I am so happy and so pleased you came into our lives. Thank you for being so special and wonderful,” Mirella wanted to weep. But the world and the president of France were watching her, so they kissed each other warmly and parted.

The Coreys said good-bye to their host and hostess and insisted they should not leave the ball to see the Coreys to their car. Then Adam waltzed Mirella toward the exit and whispered in her ear, “This night has given me some of the proudest moments in my life. You were dazzling. You conquered the Opéra like a true prima donna. Every male present wanted to be your leading man. You are the most ravishing woman in the world. And the only woman I want.”

They stopped dancing and slipped out of the room as unobtrusively as possible. Turhan, Adam’s faithful manservant, had been waiting for them at the foot of the staircase which swept down to the main entrance of the Elysée Palace. He helped Mirella on with her red silk chiffon cape, trimmed in a double row of Russian white fox pelts dyed the color of her dress. Adam took her hand in his and kissed it. Together they hurried from the palace, followed by Turhan down the stairs, and into the courtyard to their waiting Rolls.

From the shadows of the balcony above the entrance, Rashid watched them leave. She had been magnificent. Their day together had been even more then that. Rashid could not remember a time when he had loved her more, when their mutual lust for each other had soared unabated as it had, every minute of the day. He hadn’t told her what he had come to tell her. He had tried several times, but feeling such love for her had left him no space to confess
his crime. It was almost as if she knew and didn’t want to talk about it.

He saw the summer breeze ripple through the red chiffon and furs swathing her as she had turned to take one last look at the Elysée. She was the picture of elegance standing by the Rolls in the empty courtyard, lit by footmen with flaming torches, backed by security guards dressed in full regalia including silver helmets and breastplates. And then she was gone.

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small piece of white chocolate wrapped in silver paper. While contemplating the empty space Mirella’s exit left in the courtyard, he unwrapped and ate it. He felt a moment of instant pleasure, familiar and reassuring to him.

There had been something different, some subtle change in her behavior, the uncharacteristic outburst which had not been mentioned by either of them. Nothing seemed visibly wrong. Different, maybe. But what had triggered this difference in Mirella? Did she, after all, know about his victory over her? Well, if she didn’t, she was going to find out the hard way, with no cushioning explanation from him, because he had every intention of making capital out of her losses.

The dark blue Rolls made its way through the checkered light of early-morning Paris. It glided past the magnificent buildings, circled the Place Vendôme, then went on slowly to the rue de Rivoli. As they turned onto it, up ahead they could see the arch and the breathtaking space of the Place de la Concorde.

Mirella snuggled up close to Adam and, dropping her head onto his shoulder, said, “What a night! I feel as though I have all of Paris and France coursing through my blood. Paris, the whipped cream on the cupcake? That deflates it nicely. It’s been too much! It’s the
crême fraiche
on the
fraise de bois
. The tiara of cities. Oh Lord, I could coin banalities forever about this night, and still it would overwhelm me.” She laughed at herself, and the sound was full of charm.

They drove along the Tuileries and to the Jeu de Paume.
The car stopped, and Adam turned and asked, “I hope you are not too tired for this?”

“Tired? Drunk with excitement is more like it. But half of one eye is still open. Now what have you got to show me?”

The chauffeur opened the rear door. Adam hopped out, turned, and, taking her by the hand, helped Mirella out of the car. They stood at a side entrance, the kind of door that is noticed by no one and rarely opened. Turhan knocked on the door. It was immediately opened by one of the board of directors of the museum. With him was the curator of the Jeu de Paume. The two men were dressed in tails. They too had been to the gala at the Opéra. Mirella and Adam stepped into the building and the door closed quickly behind them. The curator kissed Mirella’s hand and exclaimed, “What a joy to do this for you, Madame.”

The director also kissed her hand and said, “Madame, you were the finest jewel at the gala.”

Adam appeared to be bemused and Mirella actually was. They chatted in French as the four walked down a long, narrow, dingy back corridor of the building. The stale air and musty smell and weak light filtering through naked bulbs on the end of black electric wires prompted Mirella to draw her cape close around her. A hundred yards along they came to a door. The curator opened it and they stepped into the grand, open space of the main gallery. Several guards were roused into standing up to greet the select party, then dispersed themselves through the gallery. Lights snapped on. The Jeu de Paume sprang to life out of the darkness.

In the early hours of the morning, while delivery vans rumbled over the cobblestones and through the narrow streets to their destinations all over Paris, the Coreys were strolling through the peace and quiet of the deserted museum looking at some of the finest paintings in the world. They were among the last ever to see the famous collection of Monets in the small and intimate Jeu de Paume, because the exhibit had officially closed the day before. The entire collection which had stirred so many hearts and minds was leaving the little museum for the
Louvre that very day. News of its closing had saddened Mirella. She had expressed to Adam that she would have liked to have shared the experience of seeing them in the Jeu de Paume with him, never dreaming that it was possible. Adam made it possible. The Monets were Mirella’s passion. She adored being surrounded by them. Just Mirella and Adam and the water lilies.

He was swept up into the power and beauty of the collection, even more so by their seeing it under these perfect circumstances, in the exquisite silence and emptiness of the gallery, and his sharing it only with the woman he loved. He felt a new kind of passion rising in him out of the sheer love of this richly various woman. He could feel his heart beat just a little faster, and a smile broke slowly across his handsome face. He walked up to her; taking her hands in his, he lifted them to his lips and kissed them tenderly.

“Oh, Adam, this is such an extraordinary end to an altogether extraordinary day!” Together then they absorbed the paintings, and for some time before Adam announced they had to leave, they lost themselves in the mind and imagination of that great painter who had left to the world his creations from which others might receive enjoyment or enrichment in their lives. The paintings were not at all lost on the Coreys. Indeed, their minds and their hearts, their very souls took flight and soared.