Thurston House Read online

  12

  When Jeremiah left for Atlanta on the second of December, work on the house on Nob Hill had gone at a pace even he could scarcely believe. He was due back in San Francisco around January fifteenth, and he had no doubt in his mind that the house would be complete by then. They had already put up a small brass plaque in the outer wall with THURSTON HOUSE cut in it in carefully engraved letters. Thurston House, and Camille knew almost nothing about it. He had kept it a carefully guarded secret, but there was no doubt in his mind that she would love it. The turrets were in place now. The trees and gardens were planted. The exquisite wood paneling and chandeliers were already done, and a marble floor had been designed from marble shipped down specially from Colorado. There would be every modern convenience ever made and the woods and the fabrics and the crystal were the best anyone could buy. The place was almost a museum before anyone had ever lived in it, and he laughed to himself as he took a last look around before catching the train to Atlanta. It was going to take a lot of children to fill it.

  The trip to Atlanta seemed interminable this time, he was so excited to arrive, and he was bringing with him the most beautiful pearl necklace they had ever seen at Tiffany’s in New York, with pearl and diamond earrings to match, and a very handsome bracelet too. They had sent him drawings of the pieces and they had arrived just in time for him to take them to Atlanta. There was also a very pretty ruby pin for Mrs. Beauchamp, and a spectacular sapphire ring he was going to give Camille when they got to New York for their honeymoon. And he had written to Amelia, hoping to see her, and to introduce her to Camille when they were in New York. She had finally begun to write to him and he enjoyed the correspondence with her, almost as much as he had enjoyed the hours they had shared on the train. He had taken Amelia’s advice after all, and he was so proud of his bride, he could hardly wait to show her off to everyone he knew.

  He thought of Amelia now, on the trip east, it had been less than a year since they met, and since he saw her last, and he still remembered the striking, elegant beauty. It struck him again that she looked vaguely like Camille, but it was Camille who was foremost in his mind now, the graceful arms, the tiny face, the long fingers, the delicate ankles, the shining hair, he could hardly wait to hold her again, and kiss her lips, and listen to her laughter as he held her in his arms.

  She was waiting for him at the train station in Atlanta this time, complaining because the train was four hours late, but it didn’t seem to dampen her spirits and she flung herself into his arms with a squeal of glee, and a kiss and a burst of laughter. She was wearing a deep green velvet cape with a matching hood and a muff, all of it lined in ermine, and beneath it a green taffeta dress, which she had meant to save for her trousseau, but didn’t because she wanted to wear it to meet him at the station. He could hardly keep from squeezing her too hard as they rode to the Beauchamp home, where he greeted the entire family and drank champagne before going to the hotel and settling in, for the two weeks before their wedding.

  And the next two weeks were a ceaseless, breathless round of parties, with balls and dinners and lunches and every possible kind of feast and celebration. The Beauchamps gave a large dinner themselves the day before the wedding, for Camille’s closest friends, as a sort of good-bye, before she left Atlanta. And there were tearful greetings and tearful good-byes, and Jeremiah thought he had never seen so many pretty young women in one room, but the prettiest by far was his fiancée. She swirled around the dance floor in his arms, and danced until dawn every evening, never seeming to tire, and always alive and excited again by the next morning.

  Jeremiah laughed to his future father-in-law one day, “I’m beginning to worry about keeping up with her. I’d forgotten that that was what youth meant.”

  “It’ll keep you young, Thurston.”

  “I hope so.” But he wasn’t really worried. He had never been happier than he was now, and he was looking forward to their trip to New York, and their return to San Francisco, when he would show her the house he had built for her. He had to assume that all was going well in his absence, and even if some of the finishing touches had to be completed later on, the overall effect was already spectacular. He had told Orville about it when he arrived, and Camille’s father looked well pleased by what Jeremiah had done for her. It was quite a tribute to his daughter, who was already enjoying her fiancé’s lavish gifts, as was Mrs. Beauchamp … “So much the gentleman … so very kind.…” She looked ever more the relic of the old South, unlike her daughter, who brazenly proclaimed how much she enjoyed Jeremiah’s extravagant gifts, and showed them off to all her friends, “twelve carats,” she said again and again of the diamond ring, and now she was showing everyone the Oriental pearl necklace, which was indeed a remarkable piece of jewelry, with pearls of up to twenty-eight millimeters in diameter. “They cost him a fortune, I’m sure,” she added once, and was instantly scolded by her mother, but her father was only amused, and Jeremiah said nothing. He was growing used to the Beauchamps’ ways, and knew that inwardly Camille was different from her father.

  The wedding was held at six o’clock in the evening on Christmas Eve in St. Luke’s Cathedral on the corner of North Pryor and Houston streets. The wedding was performed by the Reverend Charles Beckwith, a cousin of the bishop, and there were several hundred friends present to watch the couple exchange their vows and several hundred more who had been invited to the reception at the hotel where Jeremiah was staying. It made it easy to slip away at last, and bring her to the suite where her bags were already waiting. They would spend the night here, and then lunch with her parents the next day before catching the train to New York early that evening. And by the time Camille and Jeremiah reached his room, they were both exhausted. It had been a long, long day for them both, a longer two weeks, filled with excitement and parties, and even an early Christmas party that day at lunch. Jeremiah felt as though he had never in his life been to so many parties. And now he looked at his tiny bride, sprawled across the room’s pink velvet settee, her magnificent ivory lace wedding dress spread around her like a collapsed tent, and as he looked at her, he thought again how much she meant to him. He had waited more than half a lifetime for her, and he had no regrets now. She had been worth waiting for, worth the heartbreaks that had come before, the disappointments, the lonely years … in the end, she was even worth causing Mary Ellen pain. Not for anything in this life would he have given up marrying Camille. He adored her in every possible way, and knew that she would be the perfect wife for him, with all her brilliance and her fire and her outrageous flirtatious ways, and her passion. But she didn’t look particularly passionate now, as she lay sprawled out in her wedding dress, her eyes suddenly glazed with exhaustion. It had been an endless two weeks of constant celebration and he had worried more than once that the festivities would prove to be too much and she might fall ill. But she didn’t look ill now, only childlike and terribly tired.

  “Are you all right, my love?” He knelt at her side and took her hand and kissed her palm as she smiled at him.

  “I don’t think I can move, I’m so tired.”

  “I’m not surprised. Shall I call for the maid?”

  Her eyes held his, and he liked what he saw there. Lately, she had often said the wrong thing, talking of some expensive dress her father had bought her for her wedding clothes, or the enormous diamond that had been Jeremiah’s engagement gift to her. But what he saw in her eyes now pleased him to his very core; he saw love and joy and trust. It was only her upbringing at her father’s hands that had made her so aware of the money people spent. But after a month or two in the Napa Valley, he knew that her mind would be filled with simpler pleasures, the grapes from his vineyard, the flowers in the garden Hannah was planting for her, the babies they would have … and even though the house in the city was a veritable palace, the most valuable thing about it was the love with which it had been built for her. It was a monument to their love, which was precisely what Jeremiah was going to tell her when she f
irst saw it. For the first time in his life, he felt totally fulfilled, and now as he looked at his exquisite little bride, lying so quietly in her wedding dress, he felt as though his heart would burst from the sheer happiness of it.

  “Well, Mrs. Thurston … how does that sound to you?” He kissed the inside of her wrist and something in her stirred as she smiled voluptuously at him. She was too tired to move, but not too tired to want him near her now. She never tired of having him close by, and just looking at him always made her ache with desire. She had never known she would feel that way about any man, and certainly not one as old as Jeremiah Thurston. She had always secretly suspected she would marry some terribly dashing young man, maybe a Frenchman from New Orleans, or the counts her father talked about from France … or a very rich banker from New York with smoky eyes … but Jeremiah was more handsome than any of the visions she had conjured up, and there was a rugged maleness about him, which she liked, and which only frightened her a little now. He was terribly appealing to her, and in spite of what her cousin had said, somehow she couldn’t bring herself to think that what he was going to do to her was disgusting. She could see it in his eyes now, the same lust he had looked at her with from the first, but she liked to tease him and bring it out in him, and she did so again now, kissing his neck, and then his ear, and at last his lips, as she could feel him strain toward her.

  And then, without saying a word, he began to undo the tiny buttons up her arms, revealing the creamy flesh underneath, and kissing her as he did so. And then, removing first the heavy ropes of pearls he had given her, he began to undo the myriad tiny satin buttons down the front of her dress, revealing the exquisite cleavage, covered by the perfectly sculpted satin slip, and finally the lacy corset. He seemed extremely adept at it all, and released her ravishing young body from the clothing that bound it, and she stood before him unafraid, and unadorned, in her very own naked splendor, with only her creamy silk stockings still on, and one by one he peeled them from her, and then he quickly cast aside his own clothing, marveling at her lack of shyness with him, her openness and her courage … covering her with his lips, with his hands, bringing her more pleasure than she had ever dared hope for … her cousin had been wrong … wrong … she thought of her only briefly as she moaned … this was precisely as she had dreamed it … and even when he laid her gently on the bed and parted her legs, entering her at first with his tongue, and then his fingers, and then finally plunging into her with his full desire unleashed within, she moaned not with pain but with pleasure.… He brought her an exquisite agony she had never even dreamed of, and she brought him to heights so pure and so lovely that he almost cried in her arms, as he lay there, spent, with his head cradled on her bosom.

  He looked at her sleepily then, and was happy to see her cooing softly beside him, almost purring with pleasure. The expected pain had been brief, and so artful was he that she had barely noticed. He whispered softly to her. “You are mine now, Camille.” And she smiled up at him, looking more like a woman than she had only an hour before, and this time she reached out for him, and when he took her again, she shouted with pleasure and almost keened as he held her, until at last, released, she fell soundly asleep in his arms, and it was only a few hours later when she woke again, begging him for more … and it was he who cried out this time, at her hands, at her mercy, totally under her spell. There was a magic to her he had never divined, and the wisdom of his choice, and the richness of his luck, occurred to him again and again as they made love that morning. He almost had to drag her out of bed to get to the luncheon on time at her parents’ the next day, and she teased and giggled and attempted to seduce him again, which she did with relish and rapture once they were on the train. And they scarcely came up for air all the way to New York after they had said farewell to her parents. They were at Grand Central Station before Jeremiah came to his senses again and he looked like a very happy man when they rode to the Cambridge Hotel where Jeremiah always stayed. There were moments when he thought he would die of pleasure in her arms, but he didn’t really care. If he was going to die, he couldn’t think of a better way to go than while making passionate love to his sweet Camille. She was truly the girl of his dreams. And his life was at long last complete now.

  13

  Jeremiah and Camille reached New York the day after Christmas and a blanket of snow covered the ground as the bride leapt from the train clapping her hands with delight. Her eyes sparkled in the cold air, and her face and hands were enveloped in the splendid sables and matching muff Jeremiah had given her for Christmas. She looked like a Russian princess as she stepped down from the train, one tiny gloved hand held in his as he looked at her with pleasure. She adored all the beautiful things he gave her, and frequently thought how lucky she was to have left Atlanta. He was almost as good as one of the princes or dukes her father had promised her for so long. And she could hardly wait to see his home in the Napa Valley, which she assumed was even grander than a plantation.

  They drove to the Cambridge Hotel on Thirty-third Street. There was no lobby, and Walmsby, the desk clerk, was diligent about keeping the press away, and Jeremiah had always liked that about the place. He liked the privacy he always had there, the exquisite suites, and Walmsby was always full of amusing stories. Camille strode into the suite ahead of Jeremiah as though she had been checking into hotels with him for years, which made him laugh as he swept her off her feet and threw her on the bed with all her finery and sables.

  “You’re a brazen little thing, you are, Camille Thurston.” The name still sounded funny to them both, but she did not deny the accusation. And he did not tell her that he’d been startled by her chill manner to his old friend the desk clerk. She had been playing grand lady, and poor Walmsby looked crushed when he proferred a hand and she ignored it.

  “How rude,” she said loudly as she walked past him. “Who does he think he is?”

  “My friend,” Jeremiah had whispered softly. But once alone in the suite with him, she kissed him so hungrily that he forgot all about Walmsby, and as they were dressing for dinner, he smiled to himself thinking of the house he had built her in San Francisco. He could hardly wait until she saw it. He had hardly mentioned it to her since he’d first arrived in Atlanta, and whenever she inquired about their home, he just brushed her off and told her it was decent, and she might like to make a few changes when she arrived.

  But for the moment, she was far more interested in what they were going to do in New York. They went to the theater several times, the opera once, and dinner at Delmonico’s on their first night, and The Brunswick on their second, where Jeremiah had ordered a dinner of duck and game hens. The “horsey set” ate there a lot, and many of the patrons were British. And on the third night, Jeremiah had accepted an invitation from Amelia. He had done so with a feeling of excitement. He was so anxious to introduce Camille to her, and happy to see Amelia again too. The correspondence they’d struck up had totally turned his infatuation to friendship. And Amelia’s invitation had been so warm that he had accepted with delight, but on the way to her home with his bride, he began to have misgivings. Camille was being pettish and spoiled, and she had been rude to the maid at the hotel while she was dressing, and it was beginning to annoy him.

  They were on their way to Amelia’s house on Fifth Avenue in a carriage and Camille was wearing a black velvet cloak and her profusion of sables. The huge diamond ring glittered on her left hand, and the sapphire he had just given her sparkled on her right, and beneath the velvet mantle from Paris she wore a white velvet dress, with little ermine loops at the shoulders and all around the hem. It was an exquisite creation and had cost her father a king’s ransom, as he had been only too happy to inform Jeremiah before they left Atlanta.

  “You look like a little queen,” he had said to her before they left the hotel, and he took her little kid-gloved hand in his own now, as he attempted to describe Amelia to her. “She’s a very special woman … intelligent … dignified … beautiful.…”
He thought of their harmless flirtation on the train to Atlanta and felt a warm glow as he thought of her. She was a lovely woman and he knew she would be gracious to Camille when she met her.

  But Camille was difficult from the moment they entered Amelia’s house. It was as though she resented Amelia’s obvious breeding, her good taste, her exquisite clothes, even her genteel manner, and it instantly brought out the worst in Camille, much to Jeremiah’s embarrassment.

  Amelia had a rare grace and gentle charm that made everyone who saw her want to embrace her. And Jeremiah himself had forgotten how really lovely she was, with the translucence and sparkling clarity of a very fine diamond, her brilliant eyes, her delicately carved features, the way she moved, the discreet elegance of her very fine jewelry, the ravishing gowns made in Paris. He had never seen her really at her best, but only on the train to Atlanta, and yet this friendship had been born there, a friendship he knew he would never relinquish, as he watched her seem to float through the halls of the splendid house Bernard Goodheart had left her. There were liveried footmen everywhere, and the candlelight danced in the most beautiful chandeliers Jeremiah had ever seen, over intricately laid marble floors, patterned in the shapes of flowers scattered from one end of the hall to the other. The decor of each room was unmistakably French, except for the dining room and main library, which were impeccably English, and the entire house had the beauty of a museum, and within it danced this gem of a woman. And now, it was obvious that Camille was devoured by jealousy as she observed Amelia’s gracious manner. It was as though she couldn’t bear anything the older woman did. She resented her every word, every smile, every movement.