years ago before approaching David for Lisbon; that would mean he could
reasonably avoid any
178
lengthy discussions about his work.
And Aaron might be able to help him, should he need the old man’s
particular kind of assistance. Mandel’s New York contacts were damn near
inexhaustible. David would know more after he reached Bernardsville; and it
would be less awkward to have made his duty call to Aaron before asking
favors.
At first Spaulding thought the old man would have a coronary over the
telephone. Aaron’s voice choked, conveying his shock, his concern … and
his love. The questions came faster than David could answer them; his
mother, his father, his own wellbeing.
Mandel did not ask him about his work, but neither would he be satisfied
that David was as healthy as he claimed. Aaron insisted on a meeting, if
not this evening then certainly tomorrow.
David agreed. In the morning, late morning. They would have a drink
together, perhaps a light lunch; welcome the New Year together.
‘God be praised. You are well. You’ll come around tomorrowT
11 promise,’ David said.
‘And you’ve never broken a promise to me.’
‘I won’t. Tomorrow. And Aaron . .
‘Yes?’
‘It’s possible I may need to find someone tonight. I’m not sure where to
look but probably among the Social Register crowd. How are your Park Avenue
connectionsT
The old man chuckled in the quiet, good-humored, slightly arrogant way
David remembered so well. ‘I’m the only Jew with a Torah stand in St. John
the Divine. Everybody wants an artist – for nothing, of course. Red Cross,
green cross; debutantes for war bandages, dances for fancy-sounding French
medal winners. You name it, Mandel’s on the hook for it. I got three
coloraturas, two pianists and five Broadway baritones making appearances
for “our boys” tonight. All on the Upper East Side.’
‘I may call you in a little while. Will you still be at the office?’
‘Where else? For soldiers and concert managers, when are the holidaysT
‘You haven’t changed.’
‘The main thing is that you’re well. . .
No sooner had David hung up the phone than it rang.
‘I have the telephone number and the address of your party in
Bernardsville, Mr. Spaulding.’
179
‘May I have them, please?’
The operator gave him the information and he wrote it down on the
ever-present stationery next to the phone.
‘Shall I put the call through, sir?’
David hesitated, then said, ‘Yes, please. I’ll stay on the line. Ask for a
Mrs. Hawkwood, please.’
.Mrs. Hawkwood. Very well, sir. But I can call you back when I have the
party.’
‘I’d rather stay on an open circuit. . . .’ David caught himself, but not
in time. The blunder was minor but confirmed by the operator. She replied
in a knowing voice.
‘Of course, Mr. Spaulding. I assume if someone other than Mrs. Hawkwood
answers, you’ll wish to terminate the call?’
‘I’ll let you know.’
The operator, now part of some sexual conspiracy, acted her role with firm
efficiency. She dialed the outsideoperator and in moments a phone could be
heard ringing in Bernardsville, New Jersey. A woman answered; it was not
Leslie.
‘Mrs. Hawkwood, please.’
‘Mrs …. ‘ The voice on the Bernardsville line seemed hesitant.
‘Mrs. Hawkwood, please. Long distance cafling,9 said the Montgomery
operator, as if she were from the telephone company, expediting a
person-to-person call.
‘Mrs. Hawkwood isn’t here, operator.’
‘Can you tell me what time she’s expected, please?’
‘What time? Good heavens, she’s not expected. At least, I didn’t think she
was. . . .’
Not fazed, the Montgomery employee continued, interrupting politely. ‘Do
you have a number where Mrs. Hawkwood can be reached, please?’
‘Well . . .’ The voice in Bernardsville was now bewildered. ‘I suppose in
California. . . .’
David knew it was time to intercede. ‘I’ll speak to the party on the line~
operator.’
‘Very well, sir.’ There was a ther-ump sound indicating the switchboard’s
disengagement from the circuit.
‘Mrs. Jenner?’
‘Yes, this is Mrs. Jenner,’ answered Bernardsville, obviously relieved with
the more familiar name.
‘My name is David Spaulding, I’m a friend of Leslie’s and
.’ Jesus! He’d forgotten the husband’s first name. Captain
180
Hawkwood’s. I was given this number. . . .’
‘Well, David Spaulding! How are you, dear? This is Madge Jenner, you silly
boy! Good heavens, it must be eight, ten years ago. How’s your father and
mother? I hear they’re living in London. So very brave!’
Christl thought Spaulding, it never occurred to him that Leslie’s mother
would remember two East Hampton months almost a decade ago. ‘Oh, Mrs.
Jenner…. They’re fine. I’m sorry to disturb you. . . .’
‘You could never disturb us, you dear boy. We’re just, a couple of old
stablehands out here. James has doubled our colors; no one wants to keep
horses anymore…. You thought Leslie was hereT
‘Yes, that’s what I was told.’
‘I’m sorry to say she’s not. To be quite frank, we rarely hear from her.
She moved to California, you know.’
‘Yes, with her aunt.’
‘Only half-aunt, dear. My stepsister; we’ve not gotten along too well, I’m
afraid. She married a Jew. He calls himself Goldsmith – hardly a disguise
for Goldberg or Goldstein, is it? We’re convinced he’s in the black market
and all that profiteering, if you know what I mean.’
‘Oh? Yes, I see…. Then Leslie didn’t come East to visit you for
ChristmasT
‘Good heavens, no I She barely managed to send us a card . . .
He was tempted to call Ed Pace in Fairfax; inform the Intelligence head
that California G-2 had come up with a Bernardsville zero. But there was no
point. Leslie Jenner Hawkwood was in New York.
He had to find out why.
He called Mandel back and gave him two names: Leslie’s and Cindy Tottle
Bonner, widow of Paul Bonner, hero. Without saying so, David indicated that
his curiosity might well be more professional than personal. Mandel did not
question; he went to work.
Spaulding realized that he could easily phone Cindy Bonner, apologize and
ask to see her. But he couldn’t risk her turning him down; which she
probably would do in light of the crude telephone call he had placed two
nights ago. There simply wasn’t the time. He’d have to see her, trust the
personal contact.
181
And even then she might not be able to tell him anything. Yet there were
certain instincts one developed and came to recognize. Inverted,
convoluted, irrational…. Atavistic.
Twenty minutes passed; it was quarter to three. His telephone rang.
‘David?’
‘Aaron.’
‘This Hawkwood lady, there’s absolutely nothing. Everyone says she moved to
California and nobody’s heard a word…. Mrs. Paul Bonner: there’s a
private party tonight, on Sixtysecond Street, name of Warfield. Number
212.’
:Thanks. I’ll wait outside and crash it with my best manners.’
No need for that. You have an invitation. Personal from the lady of the
house. Her name’s Andrea and she’s delighted to entertain the soldier son
of the famous you-know-who. She also wants a soprano in February, but
that’s my problem.’
182
19
DECEMBER 31, 1943 NEW YORK CITY
The dinner clientele from the Gallery could have moved intact to the
Warfield brownstone on Sixty-second Street. David mixed easily. The little
gold emblem in his lapel served its purpose; he was accepted more readily,
he was also more available. The drinks and buffet were generous, the small
Negro jazz combo better than good.
And he found Cindy Bonner in a comer, waiting for her escortan army
lieutenant -to come back from the bar. She was petite, with reddish hair
and very light, almost pale skin. Her, posture was Vogue, her body slender,
supporting very expensive, very subdued clothes. There was a pensive look
about her; not sad, however. Not the vision of a hero’s widow, not heroic
at all. A rich little girl.
‘I have a sincere apology to make,’ he told her. ‘I hope you’ll accept it.’
‘I can’t imagine what for. I don’t think we’ve met.’ She smiled but not
completely, as if his presence triggered a memory she could not define.
Spaulding saw the look and understood. It was his voice. The voice that
once had made him a good deal of money.
‘My name is Spaulding. David . .
‘You telephoned the other night,’ interrupted the girl, her eyes angry.
‘Tbe Christmas gifts for Paul. Leslie . . .’
‘Thafs why I’m apologizing. It was all a terrible misunder-
183
standing. Please forgive me. It’s not the sort of joke I’d enter into
willingly; I was as angry as you were.’ He spoke calmly, holding her eyes
with his own. It was sufficient; she blinked, trying to understand, her
anger fading. She looked briefly at the tiny brass eagle in his lapel, the
small insignia that could mean just about anything.
‘I think I believe you.’
‘You should. It was sick; I’m not sick.’
The army lieutenant returned carrying two glasses. He was drunk and