The Jane Austen Marriage Manual (17 page)

Before my seventh birthday, Ann and I were told that we were moving with my grandmother into a house to live with her and this stranger so that my mother could have more time to herself to get over my father. The stranger turned out to be our grandfather. Apparently, though it made no sense to me, after the divorce was final, he called my grandmother. Turns out he was still in love with her. Always had been. He’d made mistakes, or so he said, and he wanted to make it up to her. They got back together. And we went with them.

My grandfather, Edward Shaw, was a short and stocky man with a potbelly that hung over his belt. He had thinning gray hair and green eyes; his nose was crooked as if it had been broken and not set properly. But what I remember most were his hands. He had giant hands that looked like they were several sizes too big for him and that could rip apart an apple and yet be delicate enough to tie a necktie. He wore a suit and a hat every day and was the sort of gentleman people called dapper.

He drove a big car; a baby blue Cadillac convertible with white leather seats and a giant steering wheel to match. Whenever we drove home at night with the top down I would lie across the backseat and stare up at the stars, an eight-track of Frank Sinatra, “Old Blue Eyes,” Grandpa would call him, playing on the stereo.

Edward ran a business importing televisions, stereos, and eventually VCRs. He was a successful man by all accounts; the Cadillac, the house, and car he bought for my grandmother stood as testaments to his business acumen. When I was nine I had my own color television in my bedroom, much to the envy of my friends and the dismay of my other relatives. I adapted quickly to this new world order. Edward was especially pleased the first time I reached out to take his hand, my tiny paw swallowed whole by his giant palm.

But as I got older I noticed things. Like that Edward and my grandmother had separate bedrooms. And they argued. The arguments sometimes were so loud, and they were so mean to each other, that I would walk outside and sit on the curb of our driveway until they were finished. I barely remember what they fought over except once, on their anniversary. Edward had sent my grandmother a dozen long-stem roses. I’ll never forget the excitement when she received the long pink cardboard box from the deliveryman. She cut open the ribbon and dove fists first into the pink tissue. But her expression changed from excited anticipation to shock, her face flushed. Inside the box were a dozen silk red roses. Artificial flowers weren’t what my grandmother had expected. She seemed embarrassed. My grandfather thought it was a good thing; they’d last forever. My grandmother didn’t think it was so good; fake flowers were an insult.

“Gee, thanks,” she’d said, her voice shaking with hurt and disappointment.

“I thought you’d like them, Alice,” Edward said, equally offended that his artificial roses hadn’t been a hit. Then he took her out to dinner in a very fancy restaurant.

The fancy dinner lightened the mood that night but the fights continued and worsened, year after year, right up until two weeks before my fifteenth birthday when my grandfather had a heart attack and died. He was seventy-two.

It was a month or so after the funeral when she told me, although I’m not sure she would have if I hadn’t asked one simple question.

“Do you miss him?”

She paused a long while before answering me. “I miss him,” she said at last, “but not as much as I should.”

Her words struck me as cruel. He had taken good care of us and he loved her and I told her as much.

“I didn’t get back together with Edward because of love,” she admitted, not caring or even noticing my reaction. “I never had much money in my life. I was tired of just getting by. You don’t know how tough it was to raise Iris alone. We never had money for anything. So when Edward called after the divorce and told me how well he’d done with his business, I thought I deserved a piece of it. After all, we had been married. Your grandfather was a success. He could buy us a house, a car, which he did, and his money could make sure you and Ann got an education. I was determined things would be different for you.”

We were silent for a time. I didn’t know what to say, I loved my grandfather, but Nana’s confession made it seem that our life with him was a lie.

“So, you were with him just for the money?” I said, as though I needed to confirm what was glaringly obvious.

“You could say that, but it sounds so awful when you do,” she said, softening. “Of course I cared for him, too. But he was also a pain in the ass.” She smiled, hoping I’d understand. I didn’t. “He was my last chance to have some security.”

We never spoke of it again and I never told Iris or Ann what Nana
had said. But my grandmother’s plan hadn’t worked out as she’d hoped. In the end there was no great inheritance, Edward’s business was heavily in debt, and after the company was sold off and bills were paid my grandmother had a few thousand plus the house and her car, which we hid in a neighbor’s garage to avoid the debt collectors seeing it. As it was, they later confiscated his baby blue Cadillac. They towed it away one morning as I left for school; it was hooked up to the tow truck before I had a chance to take out the Sinatra tape. I cried all the way to class.

“Do you ever wonder why the women in our family are so unlucky with men?” I asked Ann as she watched me pack for Switzerland. “Our grandparents, Mom and Dad, me and you, and …”

“I ask myself the same question over and over.” She laughed. “I never have an answer.”

“At least you’ve been married,” I pointed out. “No one will ever call you a spinster.”

“People don’t use that word anymore, do they?” she asked doubtfully.

“Only to be mean,” I said. “Besides, it’s better to be alone and a spinster than in an unhappy marriage.” I thought back to how my grandmother’s master plan hadn’t brought her the windfall she’d counted on. I vowed to have more financial certainty in my choice of husband. There was no way I would make the same mistake. “In fact, there’s no reason to get married at our age except for money.”

“Money isn’t the be all, end all,” she answered flatly.

“Next thing you’ll be telling me it doesn’t buy happiness, either,” I answered, trying to make light of the situation. I had finished packing, taking cold weather clothes, boots, and scarves and, of course, my Chanel dress.

“It doesn’t,” she insisted. “You’re not happy.”

“I’m not rich,” I huffed. “Money may not buy happiness, but it buys a hell of a lot of distraction from unhappiness.”

“Money couldn’t have saved Nana,” Ann pointed out, unfairly.

“No, it couldn’t,” I said slowly, refusing to meet her gaze.

“Kate, I don’t like what’s happened to you since we lost the house,” she said earnestly. “You’re obsessed with money and finding a man who has money. Writing a story about it is one thing, but you’re trying to do it. It’s not like you.”

“Maybe I’ve been wrong all these years, trying to find love and only love,” I countered. “What do I have to show for it? Heartbreak and a deadbeat ex-boyfriend who can’t, or won’t, pay me back. No strong shoulder to cry on when I lose my job or lose my grandmother. Men and women should marry for more than love and passion; we need each other to survive in this world, just like in Austen’s. So you’re wrong, Ann. This
is
me. I’ve just woken up, is all. And I love you and I love Mom and I want to make sure none of us is ever without a home or money ever again.”

I dragged my suitcases out to the front door of her apartment where an airline limousine was idling. Ann followed me out.

“Good luck in Chicago,” I said and meant it.

“I wish you were coming with me,” Ann said flatly. I knew I’d disappointed her. But Chicago was her dream, not mine. Mine was in Switzerland, or so I hoped.

“You’ll do fine with Iris,” I said encouragingly. “Maybe this will do the trick for her, too.”

Ann nodded and forced a smile. “Did you remember to pack your pearls?”

“I did one better,” I answered and pulled the necklace out from under my turtleneck. “They’ll keep the evil spirits away.”

I had planned on taking a train from Zurich to St. Moritz but Fawn had insisted I wait for her at the airport before buying a train ticket. Her flight was delayed and I sat in the spotless airport terminal flipping through the latest issue of
Haute
. I needed a few copies to show the hotel manager in St. Moritz because she had never heard of it, but had agreed to give me three free nights in exchange for a story. I had the slight problem of not having cleared the story with Jennifer because I
knew Marianne, whose decision it ultimately was, was dead against my going. But I had a plan; I would just keep filing to Jennifer and the travel editor and tell them that Marianne had approved it. None of them would dare disturb her while she was on maternity leave, especially not to check up on her best friend’s antics. If Palm Beach was fine with Marianne, why would anyone doubt Switzerland? By the time the story got printed and Marianne saw it, well, put it this way, I hoped to no longer be in need of freelance work.

“Darling!”

I turned in the direction of the familiar voice and was immediately smothered inside a giant fur coat.

“Hi, Fawn,” I said through a mouthful of mink.

“Cute jacket,” Fawn said, giving me the once-over. I admit that I looked good. I had bought a sexy black ski outfit that was 60 percent off. The jacket had a faux-fur collar and I’d splurged on the matching hat and mittens, as well as a pair of black oversize sunglasses. The whole effect was very Audrey Hepburn in
Charade
.

“If the ski pants are as fitted, you’ll certainly grab attention. Though I know there’s only one man’s attention you want.”

“He’s still coming, isn’t he?” He’d better, I thought, having spent my last penny for a final attempt.

“He’ll be here.” Fawn grinned.

By now a porter had joined us, his trolley laden with suitcases.

“I know where we pick up the shuttle to the train station,” I offered helpfully.

Fawn laughed loudly as though I’d said the most amusing thing. “Kate, you slay me! As if you had the slightest idea to take the train!” Then she suddenly looked at me doubtfully. “Or maybe I neglected to mention?”

“Mention what?” I asked, feeling like a dope for acting anything less than a rich aristocrat, but surely some of them took trains?

“I’m keeping Mona,” she said with a sly grin and marched off at such a fast pace that the porter and I had to practically jog to keep up with her. “It’s part of my divorce settlement.”

“Is Mona a dog?” I asked, scurrying after her.

“Don’t be silly,” Fawn scolded me. “Mona is a plane.”

With that she came to an abrupt standstill outside the terminal.

“We’re taking Mona to St. Moritz,” she explained matter-of-factly, and gave me a puzzled look. “I’m surprised you don’t have a private jet.”

I was silent, unsure how to explain such a void in my life. She stood waiting for an answer and for a split second I had a suspicion that she wasn’t buying into my act.

“I’ve never felt the need,” I said quickly. “I happen to prefer trains; they’re better for the environment.”

My answer seemed to satisfy her for she nodded silently.

“Yes, that whole green movement has ruined PJs for everyone,” she scoffed. “I for one value comfort.” With that, we were bundled into the back of a limo and driven to the private airstrip.

Mona was parked on the tarmac awaiting our arrival with a super-cute young pilot standing in the doorway to greet us.

“Hello, Johann.” Fawn beamed at him, then turned to me. “Come along, Kate. Make yourself at home; it’s only a short hop, but there’s time for a cocktail or two if we drink quickly.”

I had never been inside a private plane before so I have no basis for comparison, but Mona was decked out in a level of luxury that I hadn’t imagined possible, even though I’d seen plenty of PJs in photos. The walls were polished walnut, smoothed to such a glossy shine they almost looked wet. There were leather seats and silky couches that turned into beds. A mahogany kitchen with stainless-steel appliances gleamed at the far end where a handsome steward stood awaiting Fawn’s command.

“This is beautiful,” I said, trying not to be overly gushy.

“It’s a Gulfstream Four,” Fawn stated proudly. “It seats thirteen and sleeps six. I picked out the fabric myself. It’s all fully custom.”

The handsome steward came by with a tray of four martinis. Fawn grabbed one and after I had taken mine, she gestured for the steward to place the tray on the table in front of us. Clearly, Fawn was determined to have fun and fast.

“Mona is lovely,” I said as we clinked glasses. “I should look into one of these.”

“You really should. This was a bargain at thirty-three million dollars.”

I nearly spit out my martini. “That’s a lot of money.”

Fawn shrugged. “In this economy, I’m sure you can get one for a song. Drink up. The flight is only half an hour.”

She took a big gulp of her drink and picked up a magazine.

My martini was deliciously dry; the right mix of vermouth and gin. As I sipped away I picked up a travel brochure that was lying on a side table next to me. On the cover was a photograph of an English country mansion that according to the caption was called Penwick Manor; it looked like something out of an Austen novel. Naturally, I fell in love with it.

“This house is stunning!” I gushed and showed it to Fawn. She glanced at it and sniffed.

“I picked that up at the Palm Beach polo,” she said with a bored yawn and returned to her magazine. “Some Englishman had a stack of them. He was kind of good looking in that fey British way, so I took one. Although I can’t abide a bed and breakfast! They expect you to sit at the same table and chat with the owner and other guests over your morning coffee like you were family. Hideous.”

She shuddered, but she wasn’t the only one. I stared at the photo of Penwick Manor. It couldn’t be …

“Englishman?” I asked, hoping to be proven wrong. “What did he look like?”

Fawn cast her eyes away from her magazine, straining to remember.

“Hmmm. Black hair, giant blue eyes, very skinny.” She shrugged.