Crowned Heads (34 page)

“Not—Ireland?” Robin nodded. Kitty had relented, and was allowing Bobby to pay his first visit to America, and the children would have a “foine toime” with him. Nellie and the girls were delighted; and there was the solution to the question of Lady Ransome’s letter: Bobby was coming.

“But don’t think
that’s
the
surprise,
” he called, which left them as mystified as ever.

Nellie waited the next morning for the mail to be sent up, but when it came there was no letter from Lady Ransome, or indeed any letters at all. Since Robin was busy, she and the girls were kept in continuing suspense, until he dropped by for The Belle Telephone Hour. Ah, he said, what a wonderful brood of kids; he had loved being with them. Nellie marveled at his way with them, so easy and natural, and he began making plans for what they would do when little Bobby arrived. Then an inadvertent remark from Robin caused the girls more surprise than ever.

“Everything, of course,” he’d said, “will have to be seen to and done quickly, for soon we’ll be leavin’.”

Leaving? Who would be leaving? Aw, he said, there it was, he’d gone and spoiled it all. Spoiled what? The surprise. It all came out in such a rush of excitement that the girls could only sit there, stunned and staring at one another. Long dresses—for the Galway Ball! Lady Ransome was inviting them all to fly over for race week, they would be guests at Castle Baughclammain and stay for the gala.

That is—if they cared to come, Robin added shyly. Cared to
come
? They sat up practically all night talking about it. He left them in a dither and in a dither they stayed. Lady Ransome’s letter arrived, with the embossed crest and the family coat of arms, penned in a neat script, formally extending the invitation to Nellie and the girls. Its arrival was followed by a flurry of activity. They had to see about their passports and pictures were taken for this purpose, arrangements had to be made regarding the farming out or boarding of pets. Clothes had to be seen to; the ones they had were sent to the cleaners, and new ones bought. They spent all their time shopping, and the choice of the long dresses was a difficult one. It became a whirl of excitement and planning, of telephone calls and letters. Robin, too, was writing letters. He’d brought over a box of his personally engraved stationary and a leather writing case, from which he dispatched notes, seemingly to all parts of the world. Everybody, simply everybody, was coming. When he wasn’t writing letters he was back on the phone, not that the calls went any less distance than the correspondence; his telephone bill must be enormous, Nellie realized.

Among the girls there was much discussion as to the proper way to compose the acceptances and when these were finished Nellie collected them—nobody had any stamps—and she and Robin took them to the post office, where he waited in line to buy postage, then mailed them off. He popped in and out of all their apartments, checking various details with them, from Hilda to Phyllis to Naomi and back to Nellie again, and the excitement mounted—Nellie found she was having difficulty sleeping—until suddenly it was time for Bobbitt’s visit.

Nellie had seen little of Robin during the preceding week. He was having meetings with the producers, lunches with his lawyer, Arnold Weissberger, who was seeing to the contract details, and in between times he was making last-minute plans for young Bobbitt’s arrival the following Monday. That was fine with Nellie, for she was making some plans herself. During their usual poker session, the girls hatched a plot, which they hoped would meet with Robin’s approval: a surprise welcoming party. Robin was not to know of it until the last minute. The girls worked the menu out in minute detail, then shared in its execution, each one cooking part of the dinner, while it fell to Nellie herself to take care of the cake and decorations. She made numerous trips about town assembling the necessary items—balloons and streamers and special place cards and little paper baskets to hold jelly beans. At F. A. O. Schwarz she bought the biggest teddy bear she could find, a reminder of Bobbitt’s own bear, with a blue bow around its neck, and the girls each went in turn and bought their own welcome presents. The cake was enormous, decorated with a structure somewhat resembling the 747 plane Bobbitt would be arriving on. “Welcome Bobbitt,” read pink frosted letters, and below, “Really Truly True.” There were yellow rosettes and scallops around the edge, the candles would be white, and Nellie was going to put on the entire two dozen in the package; they would make a lovely light.

The day before Bobbitt’s arrival, when Robin called, as a way of ensuring that the surprise would come off she suggested they all go to the airport and meet the plane; no, he said, he didn’t want her to go to that trouble. Then she suggested that as soon as they got in and settled, Robin must bring Bobbitt straight to her house. Well, he said, the child would be tired after his trip, and he didn’t want him overtaxed. Nellie saw what he meant; there was no help for it, she had to confess the welcome party they had planned. Robin said that was a kind thing for her to want to do, but wasn’t really necessary. Oh, she said, everything was arranged; the food was cooked, the cake baked, the presents were bought—what was to be done?

“You’re a darlin’ dear, Nell,” Robin said, after consideration, and of course they would come. The Aer Lingus flight from Shannon would arrive at Kennedy Airport at five-thirty, and allowing for traffic, he and Bobbitt ought to be at Nellie’s apartment by seven. Dinner would be promptly at eight, and right afterward Robin could take the child home and put him to bed.

This was how matters were arranged, and the next day Nellie went to Mr. Kenneth’s. Under the dryer, she had an odd feeling. Was everything all right? Had she forgotten something? When she got home, the girls were already at work blowing up balloons and hanging them in clusters, and twisting and draping the paper streamers, then setting the presents out on the sideboard, while the cake was kept hidden in the kitchen. When all was in readiness, they dispersed to dress, while Nellie saw to the finishing touches. Robin called from the airport, saying the flight would be delayed half an hour, and not to worry. She thanked him, then rechecked everything, wondering what she might have forgotten. Then it struck her: champagne. She called the liquor store and ordered six bottles of the Taittinger that Robin liked; after all, it was to be a celebration. Then the girls arrived, and they waited, chatting as the time drew nearer. Then the time for the arrival had passed, and the missing guests were late; Nellie glanced more frequently at the clock as Robin grew tardier and tardier. Then she became worried. It wasn’t like him to be late, or not to have called back. She was certain now that her feelings at the beauty parlor were not merely whimsical or capricious; something had happened. She called the airline, and was told that the flight had arrived, but they were unable to give her any information regarding its passengers. Finally it was well past nine, and deciding she must feed her guests, Nellie went into the kitchen and put on her apron. They were halfway through the soup course when the downstairs buzzer rang; the doorman announced Mr. Ransome. Nellie waited anxiously for the elevator, holding the apartment door ajar, alternately peering nervously down the hall and over her shoulder to the others at the table. At last the elevator door opened and Robin came out alone. He halted briefly when he saw her, then approached.

Nellie hurried to meet him. “What’s happened?” she asked. “Where’s Bobby?”

He shook his head in bewilderment. “I don’t know. He didn’t come.” He entered, said hello to the girls, and flung himself into a chair. “I don’t understand it. He just wasn’t on the plane. I called Galway, but there’s no answer at the house. None of the servants—nobody. They showed me the passenger list; he was supposed to be on the flight. It came in, but he wasn’t there.” He rose and began striding rapidly about the room. “Something’s happened; I know it. Something’s happened.” He sat down again at the desk in the corner by the birdcage.

It had. Nellie knew it, too; the funny feeling she’d had at the beauty parlor. The girls remained at the table, watching but saying nothing. Nellie brought a cup of coffee and set it at Robin’s elbow on the desk, while he dialed Long Distance, gave his credit card number, and placed the call. Nellie withdrew to the dining room and sat with the girls; they sent a chain of worried expressions around the table.

“Hello … hello … ?” Robin had got through, but the connection appeared to be a bad one. “Pat … is that you? Where is everybody?”

Nellie waited while Pat talked on the other end of the line. She watched Robin, half turned away, looking out across the window ledge to Lincoln Center. Some fearful thing was stalking him, waiting to clutch, to pull him down. She leaned her elbows on the cloth, clasping her fingers till her rings hurt her fingers.

“How did it happen, Pat?” Robin was asking quietly. He listened for the answer. Then, “All right, I’m leaving right away. I’ll cable the flight.” He hung up, put his card away, and sat at the desk chair, leaning toward the window. “No,” he was saying. “It must be some mistake.” He turned, looked across the room to the table, tried to speak, couldn’t, then managed a hoarse “I’m sorry.” He was seized by a paroxysm of trembling, his shoulders heaved and shuddered; he sat bent forward in the chair, holding his head in his hands.

“Oh, my dear.” Nellie went and knelt beside him and put her arms around him. “What is it? What’s happened?”

He took his hands away and looked at her. The tears coursed down his cheeks and he wiped them away at his chin. He shook his head, looking wildly at her, then at the others, who sat frozen in their places.

“Oh, dearest, tell me,” Nellie pleaded, putting her hand to his cheek. He pressed it there with his own and murmured into it.

“It’s Bobby—and Kitty….” His voice broke again, and he fumbled for his handkerchief; she gave him one of her own.

She waited until he had blown his nose, then asked again. “Robin, what’s happened?”

“Bobby’s dead.”

He pushed past her and rose quickly, striding rapidly about the room, his head held back, and clenching the handkerchief in his fingers. He whirled, stared at her with a disbelieving expression, and repeated the words. “He’s dead.” She had risen also and he came quickly to her and threw himself against her, burrowing his head against her shoulder while the others stared in shock. She drew him onto the sofa and held him until he could tell the rest of it. Kitty and Bobby had been driven by limousine from Galway to Shannon Airport. En route they stopped for something to eat, then continued on. Evidently mistaken for a diplomat’s vehicle, the car had had a bomb planted in it. It exploded just as they arrived at Shannon. Bobby was killed, Kitty and the chauffeur were in the hospital.

“My dear,” was all that Nellie could murmur, “my dear, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s my Bobbitt, Nell, my little boy. He was coming to me. And now he’s dead.” Robin shook his head in disbelief. He blew his nose again and asked for a glass of water, which Hilda hurried to fetch, while Naomi whispered to Phyllis that they should go. Robin stared around at the decorations and their funny paper hats, and the tears came to his eyes again.

Nellie sat holding Robin’s hand; Hilda began quietly clearing the table. Naomi and Phyllis got their things and slipped tactfully away, then Hilda left, too. Nellie and Robin stayed together in the quiet room, while currents from the air conditioner wafted the streamers and balloons, and the teddy bear sat with button eyes and blue bow on the sideboard. She asked him if he wanted her to make a plane reservation for him; he shook his head. It would have to wait until morning. She went into the kitchen for more coffee. When she came out again, she glanced around; his jacket was there, but not Robin. She looked in the bathroom, and in each of the bedrooms. She became frightened, wondering what had happened to him, then was more frightened when she found him. He was beyond the raised window, sitting on the outside ledge, staring down at the sidewalk. Though she forced herself to pretend there was nothing unusual in this, she felt rushes of terror, that he might at any moment just let himself go, or even jump from the ledge. She approached the window and spoke casually, and he replied in a seemingly normal tone, but wouldn’t come in. When she brought him a cold drink, he sat out there gulping from the glass and swirling the ice cubes; still he would not come in. She could feel her hands trembling and a choking sensation.

“What are you thinking, Robin?” she asked.

When he spoke, it was quietly and quite rationally. “I was thinking about your family. Linda and Karen and Roger. Bobby really would have had fun with them, don’t you think?” Yes, she said, just as quietly, she thought he would have.

He went on, talking about children, but still he would not come in. She sat waiting, listening, growing more apprehensive, until at last she spoke sharply to him, as she might to a recalcitrant child. He came in then, drank his coffee, and asked if instead of going to Madame Potekka’s he might spend the night. He couldn’t face talking to her about it just yet. In the morning …

She put him to bed in the spare room; he lay with the pillow pulled over his face, muffling his sobs. His shoulder felt pitifully thin when she put her hand against it. She got him quieted, and when he had finally sunk into exhausted sleep, she went out and closed the door. The next morning she woke him early, as he had asked her to. He showered and dressed, ate little of the breakfast she’d made, gave her a hurried kiss, saying he would be in touch, and left.

He called the following night, having arrived at Shannon. He was going directly to the hospital to see Kitty, then to the funeral home. His mother and father were with him; he would write. Please no flowers. Three days later a letter came:

Dearest Nellie,

It is done. I have only just returned from the cemetery, and am sitting in Rose’s room, writing at her desk, looking out on the bay. Very bright, sunny. I thought it always rained for funerals and people had umbrellas. I had wanted the grave to be on the house grounds, but there is some medieval statute which prohibits this; consequently the burial was at the church of Kilaraty (a small village close by), fitting, I suppose—much greenery and flowers, but so lonely. I cannot bear to think of him under that cold, cold Irish turf. The trams run by the cemetery and there is a good deal of off-stage noise, so I wonder how the little fellow may have any rest, but there is a school nearby and the children come and play among the gravestones, so I suppose he will have company, if Eternity ever needs company. From the corner of the churchyard you can see across the vale to Baughclammain. I had forgotten to order any flowers myself, so I had nothing to leave, except I was carrying the handkerchief you loaned me and I put that on the grave, so you will know you protect him with some of your love. Kitty is still in hospital at Shannon, and I must hurry off to her. Rose is a wreck and is experiencing some problems which seem to have nothing to do with Bobby’s death.

More anon. Thinking of you,

Love,

Your Robin