Julia Page 4

  Chapter 3 - 1940

  The Broadway Limited streamlined steel car pulled into track 17 in Pennsylvania Station. Porter Malcolm West pulled down the pieces of luggage and backed out the door of the drawing room. When he had left, Hugh Stuart moved out to the passageway, followed by his wife, Julia, and Elizabeth, their two-year-old daughter. Down on the platform, Hugh gave Malcolm a tip. “Our automobile will be waiting out on 8th Avenue as usual.”

  The porter thanked him, smiled, and moved the luggage cart out to the station.

  Julia Stuart held her daughter tight as they walked through the sprawling Beaux Arts concourse. Elizabeth strained her neck to look up at the gray light from the glass-and-wrought-iron ceiling.

  A man’s voice droned on in tired monotony out over the concourse. “The Pathfinder, bound for Pittsburgh, Chicago, and St. Louis, leaving at two o’clock-”.

  Elizabeth, puzzled, searched for the source of the voice . “Our train, Mommy?”

  “No, Darling, it’s a different train.”

  “Where’s our train?”

  Julia looked down at her little girl and smiled in enjoyment. “Our train just waits on the track for more people tomorrow, Sweetheart.”

  “Oh. Look. Can I have candy?”

  “Lizzie, you just had dinner.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  She let her mother’s hand go and ran over to Hugh. “Daddy, I want a candy bar.”

  He looked over to Julia with a smug grin, then smiled down at Elizabeth. “Hm. Sure, why not?”

  She pulled her dad over to the newsstand, jumping up and down while he paid for the candy.

  “But, you can’t eat it till we’re home, okay?”

  “Okay.” Elizabeth looked stealthily at her mother, but held on to his hand while they went up the grand staircase to the 8th Avenue exit.

  Hugh opened the door to the street for his wife and daughter to pass through. He took Elizabeth’s hand again and pointed her to the long black Cadillac Fleetwood limousine at the curb where the porter had just closed the trunk and was walking back inside.

  Grace Stuart, Hugh’s mother, white-haired, square-jawed, severe, looked out the rear passenger window, holding her black hat against the wind. She waved at them. “Come, Elizabeth, come sit next to me.”

  Elizabeth looked up at her father, who nodded. She ran over to the car, where Timothy Gibbons in his dark brown chauffeur uniform tipped his hat and opened the door for her. She scampered in.

  Hugh turned to Julia, who had moved back to the station door. She was talking to a middle-aged Mediterranean-looking man carrying a battered suitcase with several large tourist stickers on it. He smiled at Julia and patted her affectionately on the arm before disappearing behind the doors. Hugh’s face turned rigid.

  Julia continued looking inside for a moment, then turned back and walked toward the car, her eyes down in some private thought. When she approached Hugh, she looked up and smiled, took his arm and said in a normal, pleasant voice, “Let’s go home.”

  As Gibbons held the door open for them, Julia saw Grace looking at Hugh, the straight line of her lips and the coldness of her eyes a mark of hauteur and disapproval.

  Elizabeth sat between Grace and Hugh, while Julia sat on the jump chair that folded out from the back of the front seat.

  Grace looked at Elizabeth. “My dear, be careful with your hands, they are dirty from the train and you do not wish to soil your nice dress.”

  Elizabeth looked up at her father and then her mother. “I'm sorry, Grandmother.”

  “You needn't be sorry, just be careful.” Grace gave the child a smile of approval and then looked out the window in a distracted manner.

  When they arrived at their townhouse on Park Avenue, and Gibbons opened the door, Elizabeth quickly stepped out to the street.

  “Oh no, be careful,” said Grace, looking out the door after the little girl.

  Gibbons ran over, put his arm on Elizabeth's shoulder, and waited for the others to get out.

  Hugh opened the front door to the house for them all while Gibbons went back to the car. As soon as they were inside, Mrs. Willow, in a black dress with white lace, came scurrying out of the side door to take coats and hats with a little curtsy.

  Mary, the household maid, stood at the top of the staircase, her hand held out. Elizabeth ran up the marble staircase and took the hand. The two of them turned right, facing the hallway toward her room.

  “I’ll be right there, Darling. Just wait for me.” Julia took a quick step up.

  Elizabeth stopped and looked down at the adults walking up the stairs. “I want to play music.”

  “Lizzie, you’re not old enough to do that.”

  “Mary will help me.” She disappeared with the maid.

  “Quietly!” Julia called after her.

  “Oh my, that child has so much energy.” Grace patted her hair. “She needs to be controlled or she will just run wild on you both. I know she will end up destroying that beautiful record player. It shouldn’t be in her room.”

  “It's wonderful that she has so much energy,” said Julia, and after a quick look back at her husband continued, “and Hugh bought her the machine, remember?” She knew that when it came to their daughter Grace accepted whatever Hugh did without argument.

  The three of them went on in silence up the marble staircase. At the top, Grace turned left to her room. Hugh and Julia went into the library.

  Julia sat on the green brocade sofa, her hands folded on her lap, her eyes fixed on Hugh. He walked to the library table, picked up the Wall Street Journal and opened it wide. She cleared her throat. He paid no attention. She cleared her throat again, louder. He folded the paper and looked at her, irritated, and raised his eyebrows.

  “Hugh, who do you think is Lizzie’s mother, Grace or me?”

  “I think that’s a silly question. Don’t you?” He looked down at her with a frown and his chin lowered.

  “Silly? No I don’t think it’s silly. I think it’s important.”

  “Julia, you’re making too much of this. What’s got into you anyway?” He opened up the newspaper again and turned away from her.

  Julia stood, walked to Hugh, and pulled the newspaper out of his hand. She threw it on the carpet.

  He turned to her and angrily demanded, “What’s got into you?”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re not listening to me. It's not about me, it's about your mother.”

  “Keep her out of this.”

  Julia put her hands behind her and focused on his eyes. “I want you to take me seriously, Hugh. I am Lizzie's mother. I saw today in the train station when I said she couldn’t have any candy, she went right to you to get what she wanted. And then all the way home her grandmother acted like she was in charge of our daughter.”

  Hugh put both hands down on the table and leaned on it, turning to Julia. “What do you want me to do about it? If you controlled Elizabeth yourself, then my mother wouldn't be getting in the middle.” He stepped back, put his hands in his pockets, and leaned to her. “Have you thought of that?”

  Julia raised her arms up, let them fall down at her sides, and gave a sigh of helplessness. “If your mother would stay out of the way I could control my daughter.”

  Hugh sighed and walked over to the fireplace. He put his hand on the mantle and tapped his toe up and down. Then he turned around and faced Julia. “All my mother did was try to keep Elizabeth clean and safe. That's hardly controlling her.”

  “Oh, if that's all there was to it.” Julia walked out of the room.

  Hugh picked up the intercom phone. “Have Gibbons bring the car out front. I'm going to my office.” He left the library and walked to his mother's room. He knocked on the door and heard her voice beckoning him in.

  She was sitting in the chaise longue, dressed in her green satin robe, her head back on the pillow, her hand on a small book open on her lap. “Hugh, Darling, I heard you and Julia in the library. I don't know wha
t you were saying, but I'm afraid it had something to do with me.”

  “Now Mother, a man and his wife are allowed to have a conversation. It doesn't have to be about you.” He smiled at her.

  “Don't patronize me, Hugh. You chose her as your wife against my wishes, indeed against the wishes of all the family, including your sister Beatrice. You both got married too soon.”

  Hugh sat down at her dressing table and moved her mother of pearl hairbrush out of the way to make room for his hand. “You can leave Beatrice out of this. You weren't happy with her husband either.”

  “Well you can hardly blame me can you? This man takes her off to Canada and they go traipsing around the Yukon. Who knows what kind of danger they'll be in. I might never see her again.”

  He put his hand on top of hers and waited a moment before speaking. “Mother, they settled in Montreal. Give Beatrice a little room to get on with her life.”

  “But she’s in another country, for God’s sake. And don’t they speak French there?”

  “You’ve been up there yourself on the Montreal Limited. It’s just a day’s ride with a great Pullman lounge. So stop worrying.” Hugh stood up and gave his mother a kiss on the forehead. “I have to go.”

  He left the room hearing his mother’s long sigh and walked around the banister to his office. Inside, he looked at the ticker tape, which had curled up in a long paper snake on the floor, a day’s ticking. He picked up the tape closest to the machine, now silent, and began reading. He pursed his lips as he drew the paper through his fingers. The paper swished to the floor when he let it drop. He moved to the gold ticker and held up its short tape, looked at it, then tore both tapes out in disgust, dropping them in the mahogany bin in the corner. He picked up the intercom phone and cancelled the car. Then he called to his office on Wall Street.

  “Stuart Financial. How may I direct your call?”

  “Hanna, put me through to Luther Bollinger.”

  After a few seconds, a high-pitched man’s voice came on the phone. “Yes, Hugh. I hope you had a pleasant holiday.”

  “Luther, did you see the gold ticker today?”

  “Yes, it went down a couple of pennies.”

  “Well, buy some more.”

  “But-Hugh-is that wise?”

  “Wise? What do you think? You’re so-cautious. You’re too cautious, Luther.”

  “Sir, I am neither cautious nor foolhardy. I buy and sell on instruction.”

  “I instruct you to buy five million dollars of gold. Today. Now.”

  In a voice that was practically shivering, Luther answered, “Sir, if that is your instruction I will carry it out. Will you be available to sign a check today?”

  “Of course I will. When we’re finished, I will call Accounting and make sure they do their part.”

  “I remind you again, Mr. Stuart, that the price of gold is declining.”

  “It is indeed, Luther. For now. There’s going to be a war. England has transferred millions of pounds of gold to Canada. Gold will be the most precious commodity on this earth and I plan on owning as much of it as I can. I’m just getting started.”

  “Sir, a war would be calamitous.”

  “Luther, I am not discussing politics with you. You are valued for your ability to make trades. That is all I require of you.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir. You brought up the subject of war.”

  Hugh hesitated. “Hmm. So I did. Now, make the trade and get me a check to pay for it.”

  “Yes. Right away, Sir. I did not mean to offend you.”

  “You did not offend me, Luther. You merely irritated me with your caution. Now, transfer me back to Hanna.”

  “One more thing, Sir, if you please.”

  “All right. What is it, Luther?”

  “It’s too late to make the trades today, Mr. Stuart. I’ll have to make them first thing in the morning.”

  Hugh held the handset tight in his grip and let out a frustrated breath. “Of course, that’s right. But first thing in the morning. As soon as you’ve made the trades, you call me, you hear?”

  “Yes, Sir. First thing.”

  “Now get me back to Hanna.”

  The phone went blank and Hanna was back on the line. “Yes, Mr. Stuart.”

  “Hanna, put me through to Kurt Walther.”

  After a click, another voice. “Mr. Stuart, this is Kurt.”

  “Kurt, first thing tomorrow morning, Luther will be coming down to see you with a request for a check for five million dollars. Do you understand me, five million?”

  Silence on the line, then, “May I ask for whom, Sir?”

  “Dammit, I don’t know, Kurt. It will be for the purchase of gold. Perhaps he will require checks to several different traders. And it might not be exact. That’s beside the point. When he brings the request to you, I want you to get me those checks to sign as quick as you can. Understand?”

  “Yes, I do, Mr. Stuart. But it will have to be Sachs. Only the Swiss have gold for transactions now. You know they won’t move it out of the country. It will have to stay in Swiss vaults. I will bring the checks up to you myself.”

  “I’ll be waiting for them.” Hugh put the handset down. He swiveled around to face the window, leaned back with his hand behind his head, smiling to himself and watching the trees sway back and forth down 85th Street.

  His phone rang. He picked it up impatiently, sure that someone downtown had failed to do his job. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Stuart, this is Elmer Griesbeck in the real estate office. Do you have a moment?”

  “I do. But it’s late in the day, Elmer. As they keep telling me.”

  “Then just let me fill you in, and you can decide how you want to proceed. It’s about the apartment building on the Lower East Side. I think you ought to go see it.”

  “Elmer. What do I pay you for?”

  “You pay me for management, Sir. And I do it. But I think this building could end up causing you a lot of problems. See, there was a fire, some people got hurt, and-”

  Hugh snorted and looked at the handset, then said, “There are some important trades I have to make in the morning. Before I do anything else. Perhaps by that time you’ll be able to figure out a way to do your job. Is that understood?”

  “Thank you, Sir. I understand, Sir. I will inform you tomorrow of how the situation develops.”

  “No. Do not inform me tomorrow. You take care of this.”

  Hugh hung up the phone and slammed his palms down on the desk. He stood and put his hands in his pockets and looked out the window again, at the traffic moving and stopping along Park Avenue. His mother, his wife, his daughter, his staff, and now his damn tenants pressing down on him. The day trip had been a waste of time.

  He went back to the library and found Julia lying down on the sofa, reading The American Weekly. He gestured at the cover. “Look at that rot. She’s practically naked. Why are you reading that?”

  Julia closed the magazine and looked at the cover. “Why, I didn’t pay any attention to the cover. It’s just Henry Clive. It was just here, and I felt like something relaxing. I think we both need something relaxing.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled his tie off. Then he took the carnation off his lapel and threw it in the wastebasket. “I hope you don’t plan on painting lurid images like that. It’s hard to know what you think you are doing with your art.”

  She put the magazine down and walked to him, putting her hands on his chest, looking up into his eyes.

  He backed away.

  She put her arms out, making a point of still looking into his eyes. “Hugh, Darling, anytime you want to know what I am doing with my art, I would love to tell you. You just never seem to find the time. I’m all on my own, I’m afraid.”

  “What do you mean, alone? You have Elizabeth. And you have Mother, too. And there is this whole household to run. Why, I should think you have no time to yourself at all. Didn’t you enjoy today?”

  She sighed and ba
cked away. “Enjoy? A trip to North Philadelphia to see your cousin? The highlight of my day was getting a facial massage in the salon car coming back.”

  “Elizabeth had a very good time.”

  “Lizzie was bored the whole time, Hugh. She’s too young for a day trip like that.”

  “I see. Then why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

  “Why? It seems to me I didn’t have any choice in the matter. Your mother arranged the whole trip without any advance word to me.”

  Hugh sucked his lips in and moved his head up and down. “Mother. Oh, yes, Mother. She took time to make arrangements, Julia, and you should be appreciative instead of complaining. And we had a wonderful meal in the dining car just before arriving. They have quite excellent cuisine.”

  “Yes, I know. Cuisine for you, cousins for your mother. When are you and I going to have some time just for ourselves, Hugh? Just you and me.”

  He sat down in the red wing-back chair and put one leg nonchalantly over the other. “Perhaps we would have more time together, if you would spend less time at that art league of yours.” He put both legs on the floor and turned toward her. “And by the way, who was that man at the train station? He seemed to be awfully familiar with you.”

  “That? That was Carlo De Luca. He’s a painter, and a rather famous one at that. He has a painting in the Metropolitan museum. Which your mother contributes to. Which you would know if you took your nose out of finances long enough to pay attention to art.”

  Hugh stood, obviously not accepting the idea that bringing Grace in would solve the problem. “Fine. So he’s a famous painter. What’s that got to do with you, Julia?”

  She went to him again and took his arm and spoke in a soothing voice. “Absolutely nothing, Darling. Nothing at all, personally. He was at the Art Student League last week and did a master class.”

  “Oh, a master class. I suppose there was a nude at the center of it all?”

  Julia laughed, cupping her hands over her face. “No, I’m sorry, Darling, nothing so lurid as that.” She smiled and still laughed. “There were twenty people there. He looked at one of my portraits, and was rather complimentary if I do say so myself.”

  “And that gives him the right to put his hands all over you?”

  Julia recognized she was having no success with him. The humor left her face. “It’s not right to put it that way. Not everyone is as reserved as you.”

  He stood straight and bent back. “Yes, well, I may be reserved, but I wouldn’t think of touching another woman, Julia.” He looked at her intently. “Does that make any sense to you?”

  “It does. You’re reserved, he’s not. He wasn’t touching me, not the way you make it sound.” She put her arms across her chest. “And why don’t you come to the Art League? Why don’t you come and see what’s going on? See for yourself.”

  He looked at the paintings on the walls. “Look, Julia. Look what Mother and Father have collected. Beautiful, all of them. Impressionists, Post-Impressionists, Renaissance, Old Masters. Look at Cross’s La Terrasse Fleurie. Isn’t it beautiful, those flowers. I mean absolutely stunning, don’t you think? And there, that little thing is a genuine Signac. It’s the Grand Canal in Venice, for God’s sake. See,” he said, pointing, “there’s San Giorgio. Now what’s wrong with that?”

  Julia looked at Hugh, then at the painting, confused. “Why should there be something wrong with that?”

  “Don’t you think-it’s not-modern- is it? It’s impressionist, Julia, it’s modern-yes, in the timeline, but you can actually make out what it is. That’s what art is, not that awful contemporary chicken scratching.”

  “Oh, Hugh. Is that what you think art is about? Is that why you won’t come, because you think all we are doing is awful chicken scratching? Have you seen my chicken scratching?”

  He looked at her. Now he was clearly confused. “Chicken scratching? You? My God, I should hope not. Well, at least you have kept that from me, and it’s just as well. Your portraits are nice. Yes, they are. I’ve seen your portrait of Elizabeth, and one of Grace. And then there’s-well-okay-that’s what I’ve seen. And I like them very much. They look quite good there on the wall in Elizabeth’s room.”

  “Oh, there you go, “she said, turning around, her hands out, “on the wall in Elizabeth’s room. That’s where you think they belong, don’t you?”

  He thought for a moment, then smiled at her in an attempt to keep the emotions within control. “I thought we agreed, Darling. They are there for a reason. They are something for Elizabeth to be proud of.”

  “Right. But not something for us-for you-or your mother-to be proud of.”

  Hugh looked around the room again, with a sweeping gesture. Surely, you didn’t think it would be appropriate to put your student work up on the wall with these-” and he pointed at each as he spoke, “with-Ostade-and a drawing by-Gainsborough.” He put his hand on his chin, waiting for her.

  Julia stood still, stunned. She looked at him in amazement. “It doesn’t matter what I think, does it.” Her mouth turned down. She felt hot. She looked at the floor as she spoke. “Since you insist on the truth, no, I don’t think I’m up there with Rembrandt and Michelangelo. But I did think I was up there with you!”

  “Oh, honestly, Julia. I didn’t think you were really this petty. Up here with me? What’s that supposed to mean? I’ll tell you, actually. It sounds like you married me for money and now you’re expecting me to make sure my money guarantees you a career. That’s what this is all about.”

  Julia shook her head in disbelief. “You’ve been talking to your mother, haven’t you?”

  “Leave my mother out of this.”

  “Oh, no, your mother is very much in the middle of this, Hugh. You and her money. You and she and our daughter.”

  “This makes my point.”

  “What makes your point?”

  “My point that you are indifferent to my mother, who wants to help you in every way. And, also, in some ways, you are indifferent to me.”

  Julia’s face crumbled, her muscles pulled tight. “Indifferent? To you? Now you are becoming bizarre.”

  “Perhaps. So it would seem to you. Bizarre, I mean. You object to my mother, in whose house we live. In the very house where I was born. As a matter of fact, that’s more than indifference, Julia, it’s-it’s-well, let’s leave it at indifference. But you object to my mother who tries to help you. And you object to me because I don’t show you sufficient cultural deference.”

  “Hugh…I love you.” Her voice was pleading.

  “Love, yes, you say you love me. I hear you.”

  “Am I not good enough for you in bed, Darling?”

  “Ah. Yes. I knew you would bring that up. Love and sex. That’s just exactly what an artist would say. Love and sex. Tell me something, Julia.”

  She looked at him, her stomach turning.

  “Elizabeth is two years old. Why haven’t we had another child?”

  Her eyes opened wide. “Why? How am I supposed to know?”

  “I think maybe you do know.”

  “Hugh, you’re scaring me. Do you know something I don’t? Has Dr. Rivlin told you something?”

  “You tell me.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Me tell you? What’s there to tell?”

  Hugh hesitated, bit his lips, seemed to be thinking, then raised his voice and blurted, “Why can’t you get pregnant, Julia?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you talked with the good doctor about it?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not? Good God, Lizzie is only two years old. It wasn’t that long ago I was still breastfeeding. Why should I get pregnant?”

  “Don’t you want to get pregnant?”

  “Hugh, what’s going on here?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’ll get pregnant when I get pregnant. I’m not doing anything to keep from getting pregnant. Yes, I want another child. Yes, I ho
pe it’s a boy. There, is that what you want to hear?”

  Julia waited to hear a sigh of relief from Hugh.

  He remained silent for several seconds, as he took the time to ingest what she said. He looked at her, smiling, but he forced the smile. “Ah, you see, indifference. That’s it. You say you want a boy. But then, you haven’t been to see the doctor, have you? To see what’s wrong. Why you’re not getting pregnant.”

  She laughed, her voice full of cynicism. “Oh, I know. Pregnant, that’s what you want. That’s all that matters to you and your mother. Children. Heirs.”

  Now Hugh laughed. “Wouldn’t you like more children laughing in the house? It would make Mother so happy.”

  Julia sensed his laughter was as full of cynicism as hers. “There you go. Your mother’s house. You can’t stay away from the topic, can you. It’s always there in between you and me.” She looked up at him, begging in exasperation. “I wished we lived in our own house, Hugh. You and me and Lizzie and little Hugh as well.”

  “Little Hugh? Are you making fun of me. Because I’m not making fun. I’ve been to see Dr. Rivlin and I know there is no reason for you to not be pregnant. At least when you haven’t even been examined. You haven’t even tried to find out if there’s a medical reason.”

  She walked to the door. “At times, you really are preposterous, Hugh.”