The funeral rites were ending. Someone took Jill’s arm, and she allowed herself to be led to the limousine. When she reached the car, David was standing there, a look of adoration on his face. Jill smiled at him. David took her hands in his and they exchanged a few words. A press photographer snapped a picture of them.
Jill and David decided to wait five months before they got married, so that the public’s sense of propriety would be satisfied. David spent a great part of that time out of the country, but they talked to each other every day. Four months after Toby’s funeral, David telephoned Jill and said, “I had a brainstorm. Let’s not wait any longer. I have to go to Europe next week for a conference. Let’s sail to France on the Bretagne. The captain can marry us. We’ll honeymoon in Paris and from there we’ll go anywhere you like for as long as you like. What do you say?”
“Oh, yes, David, yes!”
She took a long last look around the house, thinking of all that had happened here. Remembering her first dinner party there and all the wonderful parties later and then Toby’s sickness and her fight to bring him back to health. And then…there were too many memories.
She was glad to be leaving.
37
David’s private jet plane flew Jill to New York, where a limousine was waiting to drive her to the Regency Hotel on Park Avenue. The manager himself ushered Jill to an enormous penthouse suite.
“The hotel is completely at your service, Mrs. Temple,” he said. “Mr. Kenyon instructed us to see that you have everything you need.”
Ten minutes after Jill checked in, David telephoned from Texas. “Comfortable?” he asked.
“It’s a little crowded.” Jill laughed. “It has five bedrooms, David. What am I going to do with them all?”
“If I were there, I’d show you,” he said.
“Promises, promises,” she teased. “When am I going to see you?”
“The Bretagne sails at noon tomorrow. I have some business to wind up here. I’ll meet you aboard the ship. I’ve reserved the honeymoon suite. Happy, darling?”
“I’ve never been happier,” Jill said. And it was true. Everything that had gone before, all the pain and the agony, it had all been worth it. It seemed remote and dim, now, like a half-forgotten dream.
“A car will pick you up in the morning. The driver will have your boat ticket.”
“I’ll be ready,” Jill said.
Tomorrow.
It could have started with the photograph of Jill and David Kenyon that had been taken at Toby’s funeral and sold to a newspaper chain. It could have been a careless remark dropped by an employee of the hotel where Jill was staying or by a member of the crew of the Bretagne. In any case, there was no way that the wedding plans of someone as famous as Jill Temple could have been kept secret. The first item about her impending marriage appeared in an Associated Press bulletin. After that, it was a front-page story in newspapers across the country and in Europe.
The story was also carried in the Hollywood Reporter and Daily Variety.
The limousine arrived at the hotel precisely on the dot of ten o’clock. A doorman and three bellboys loaded Jill’s luggage into the car. The morning traffic was light and the drive to Pier 90 took less than half an hour.
A senior ship’s officer was waiting for Jill at the gangplank. “We’re honored to have you aboard, Mrs. Temple,” he said. “Everything’s ready for you. If you would come this way, please.”
He escorted Jill to the Promenade Deck and ushered her into a large, airy suite with its own private terrace. The rooms were filled with fresh flowers.
“The captain asked me to give you his compliments. He will see you at dinner this evening. He said to tell you how much he’s looking forward to performing the wedding ceremony.”
“Thank you,” Jill said. “Do you know whether Mr. Kenyon is on board yet?”
“We just received a telephone message. He’s on his way from the airport. His luggage is already here. If there is anything you need, please let me know.”