CHAPTER ONE
Mathew was conceived in a Rolls Royce, and born in a Bugatti, moving fast over rough back roads in Massachusetts...according to Amanda Jane.
MONTE CARLO
He would recall many, many times … this, the saddest day of his life.
This day in his life, Mathew Vincent Titian Bennet-Towne—his folks call him Tish—is happy to be in the south of France. Tish lives in Monte Carlo. Where he will be living, say, in six months, he does not know. Maybe Paris, maybe Antibes, maybe Rome, maybe London, maybe who knows where. Wherever his folks feel like living is where. Whatever, wherever, however they choose or please.
But for now he lives on the top floor of a small, cream colored building across the road from the Larvotto beaches. His rich, rich folks have taken most of the top floor for the season. They keep saying war is coming, and how you have to do it while you can. His folks have many friends, and their friends come and stay, and go, and some even come back to stay all over again, and Tish hardly knows who is who. Except for someone called Zelda, Zelda is someone unlike anyone else.
Today he breakfasts with his governess, a sweet English governess who has the face of an angel. Then he loads up with his sand bucket, spade and fish net. He has a sun hat, and but for the hat all he has on is a pair of light blue bathing shorts. The beach, see, is only a short walk from the apartment, just over the roadway. Still, his governess has him by the hand, even if traffic is hardly any problem at all and is practically nowhere to be seen.
He will always remember this day as being a pretty wonderfully glorious morning on the Med, with no wind, only blazing sun, and a sky big and blue. Tish is glad to have his sun hat. And the sea is so clear, clear as the sky. He has with him some bread, which he rolls into little balls and throws into the water. Little fish flick their tails, and do underwater somersaults, and zip for the bread. Little, happy fish. Tish has a great time with his net, and he spends the morning up to his knees in warm and lazy blue sea, chasing quick silvery fish.
They all lunch on the beach. For him, cold chicken, fresh baked French rolls, crisp French salad and Coca Cola. The others, the grown ups, have things like caviar, smoked salmon, and champagne, and cold chicken, rare roast beef, and smoked trout. Why do grown ups drink champagne, when Coca Cola tastes so much better?
He hears grown up talk about war, And what if... It is nineteen thirty seven, and Tish is small, and Tish does not understand all that much. All he wants, he wants to get back to his fish, but his governess says No.
No with his governess really is a no, a definite don’t even try. And today his governess seems not to be in a good mood either. She looks a bit unhappy, her angel face is sad. Maybe something to do with all this talk about war coming, which seems to get on his folks’ nerves too. Tish is not sure what it’s all about, what everything means, who Hitler is. But Hitler has everybody talking. Hitler and Zelda make people talk.
In the early afternoon he watches his mom and dad paddle off in a catamaran thing. Both wear funny swim suits. And still his mom manages to look very pretty. She goes and lies on a sunbathing platform that is moored in the blue water, not far off the beach. She likes the hot Mediterranean sun on her skin, and she has often said how much she does.
His dad swims back to shore, a long and lazy arm-over-arm swim that Tish admires. And Tish sits on the beach, with its rough beach sand, using his spade and bucket. He dares not go into the water if his governess is away. He’d be smacked on his naughty little bottom say he did. Where is his governess, he asks himself? Anyway, life is pretty wonderful, even without his clever little fish.
Later, he watches his mom stand up on the platform. He waves at her, and she waves right back. His mom dives into the water, and he watches her swim over to the part of the beach where he is busy putting sand in his bucket, emptying the bucket, then doing the same things all over again. Pretty interesting stuff.
Usually, this is time for tea. But not today.
His mom reaches the shallows off the beach, and she wades out of the water. She walks to where he is sitting with his bucket and spade, and she says, ‘Come on Mattie, we’re leaving.’
He feels her take him by the hand. His hand tight in her hand they walk across the Larvotto main beach, and across the road, back to their building. His mom dresses fast, and Tish feels himself being dressed fast too. What’s going on?
They leave the apartment, and walk down the stairs, his mom saying, ‘Mattie, hurry up.’ She means what she says, because she pulls hard on his hand and almost makes him fly down the last few stairs. When they reach the roadway he finds a taxi waiting, a Citroen. The driver has a black mustache and a black Citroen, like all French taxi drivers Tish has ever met.
The taxi drives along the beach road and turns right, up the hill toward the Grand Casino and the Hotel de Paris, but they don’t go into the Square. No, the taxi travels along the side of the Casino gardens, turns left, then turns right, further up the hill, then makes a left again, as if they are going to the railroad station, and back to America―or as if they are going to meet somebody, some crazy friend of his folks. Maybe even Zelda.
Yes, the taxi heads for the station. So this is the big idea, after all?
Yes, into the Monaco-Monte Carlo railway station drives the taxi. So here they are, at the railway station... But what are they doing here?
His mom pays the taxi driver, not bothering about any change like always, says something in French, and Tish hears her even laugh a little about what she has said. Some little jokey French thing, but what?
He has his hand tight in her hand again, and they walk into the little railway station. As his mom steps briskly by carriages of the train to Nice, he has some trouble keeping up. Then they stop outside a First Class one, and Tish goes inside with her. He has himself yanked up a big step on the carriage, making his shoulder hurt.
His mom opens the door to one of the compartments, and he follows her in. Tish is surprised, and, yes, pleased, to see his dad. His dad also seems surprised, as does his English governess. So this is where his governess went, to see his dad off.
Then, next thing this day, his mother kills his father.
Takes a pistol from her handbag. Aims at his dad. Fires.
The pistol makes three or four big bangs inside the compartment.
The white of his dad’s shirt suddenly bursts very red, like Tish has seen blotting paper do, once when his mom spilled a lot of red ink on it.
And dad falls down dead on the carriage floor.
His governess is screaming, and his mom is weeping, and saying, Oh, Tish, oh Tish. And she kisses him on his lips. He tastes the salt of his mom’s fresh tears.
Then his mother kills herself too. Takes the barrel of the pistol, and he thinks that she is trying to swallow it.
But another big bang, and his mom blows part of the top of her skull off her head. He sees some of it fly up and stick to the compartment’s white ceiling. Watches a drop of blood kind of get fat, fall off the small little bone, and drop onto the carpet. And make a small stain.
His governess, still screaming, takes hold of him, lifts him off the compartment floor. In her big hurry, she bumps his head against the compartment door, which makes him cry, and gives him a bad headache. Then she falls with him on the platform outside the carriage, and hurts him all over again.
Mathew was conceived in a Rolls Royce, and born in a Bugatti, moving fast over rough back roads in Massachusetts...according to Amanda Jane.
MONTE CARLO
He would recall many, many times … this, the saddest day of his life.
This day in his life, Mathew Vincent Titian Bennet-Towne—his folks call him Tish—is happy to be in the south of France. Tish lives in Monte Carlo. Where he will be living, say, in six months, he does not know. Maybe Paris, maybe Antibes, maybe Rome, maybe London, maybe who knows where. Wherever his folks feel like living is where. Whatever, wherever, however they choose or please.
But for now he lives on the top floor of a small, cream colored building across the road from the Larvotto beaches. His rich, rich folks have taken most of the top floor for the season. They keep saying war is coming, and how you have to do it while you can. His folks have many friends, and their friends come and stay, and go, and some even come back to stay all over again, and Tish hardly knows who is who. Except for someone called Zelda, Zelda is someone unlike anyone else.
Today he breakfasts with his governess, a sweet English governess who has the face of an angel. Then he loads up with his sand bucket, spade and fish net. He has a sun hat, and but for the hat all he has on is a pair of light blue bathing shorts. The beach, see, is only a short walk from the apartment, just over the roadway. Still, his governess has him by the hand, even if traffic is hardly any problem at all and is practically nowhere to be seen.
He will always remember this day as being a pretty wonderfully glorious morning on the Med, with no wind, only blazing sun, and a sky big and blue. Tish is glad to have his sun hat. And the sea is so clear, clear as the sky. He has with him some bread, which he rolls into little balls and throws into the water. Little fish flick their tails, and do underwater somersaults, and zip for the bread. Little, happy fish. Tish has a great time with his net, and he spends the morning up to his knees in warm and lazy blue sea, chasing quick silvery fish.
They all lunch on the beach. For him, cold chicken, fresh baked French rolls, crisp French salad and Coca Cola. The others, the grown ups, have things like caviar, smoked salmon, and champagne, and cold chicken, rare roast beef, and smoked trout. Why do grown ups drink champagne, when Coca Cola tastes so much better?
He hears grown up talk about war, And what if... It is nineteen thirty seven, and Tish is small, and Tish does not understand all that much. All he wants, he wants to get back to his fish, but his governess says No.
No with his governess really is a no, a definite don’t even try. And today his governess seems not to be in a good mood either. She looks a bit unhappy, her angel face is sad. Maybe something to do with all this talk about war coming, which seems to get on his folks’ nerves too. Tish is not sure what it’s all about, what everything means, who Hitler is. But Hitler has everybody talking. Hitler and Zelda make people talk.
In the early afternoon he watches his mom and dad paddle off in a catamaran thing. Both wear funny swim suits. And still his mom manages to look very pretty. She goes and lies on a sunbathing platform that is moored in the blue water, not far off the beach. She likes the hot Mediterranean sun on her skin, and she has often said how much she does.
His dad swims back to shore, a long and lazy arm-over-arm swim that Tish admires. And Tish sits on the beach, with its rough beach sand, using his spade and bucket. He dares not go into the water if his governess is away. He’d be smacked on his naughty little bottom say he did. Where is his governess, he asks himself? Anyway, life is pretty wonderful, even without his clever little fish.
Later, he watches his mom stand up on the platform. He waves at her, and she waves right back. His mom dives into the water, and he watches her swim over to the part of the beach where he is busy putting sand in his bucket, emptying the bucket, then doing the same things all over again. Pretty interesting stuff.
Usually, this is time for tea. But not today.
His mom reaches the shallows off the beach, and she wades out of the water. She walks to where he is sitting with his bucket and spade, and she says, ‘Come on Mattie, we’re leaving.’
He feels her take him by the hand. His hand tight in her hand they walk across the Larvotto main beach, and across the road, back to their building. His mom dresses fast, and Tish feels himself being dressed fast too. What’s going on?
They leave the apartment, and walk down the stairs, his mom saying, ‘Mattie, hurry up.’ She means what she says, because she pulls hard on his hand and almost makes him fly down the last few stairs. When they reach the roadway he finds a taxi waiting, a Citroen. The driver has a black mustache and a black Citroen, like all French taxi drivers Tish has ever met.
The taxi drives along the beach road and turns right, up the hill toward the Grand Casino and the Hotel de Paris, but they don’t go into the Square. No, the taxi travels along the side of the Casino gardens, turns left, then turns right, further up the hill, then makes a left again, as if they are going to the railroad station, and back to America―or as if they are going to meet somebody, some crazy friend of his folks. Maybe even Zelda.
Yes, the taxi heads for the station. So this is the big idea, after all?
Yes, into the Monaco-Monte Carlo railway station drives the taxi. So here they are, at the railway station... But what are they doing here?
His mom pays the taxi driver, not bothering about any change like always, says something in French, and Tish hears her even laugh a little about what she has said. Some little jokey French thing, but what?
He has his hand tight in her hand again, and they walk into the little railway station. As his mom steps briskly by carriages of the train to Nice, he has some trouble keeping up. Then they stop outside a First Class one, and Tish goes inside with her. He has himself yanked up a big step on the carriage, making his shoulder hurt.
His mom opens the door to one of the compartments, and he follows her in. Tish is surprised, and, yes, pleased, to see his dad. His dad also seems surprised, as does his English governess. So this is where his governess went, to see his dad off.
Then, next thing this day, his mother kills his father.
Takes a pistol from her handbag. Aims at his dad. Fires.
The pistol makes three or four big bangs inside the compartment.
The white of his dad’s shirt suddenly bursts very red, like Tish has seen blotting paper do, once when his mom spilled a lot of red ink on it.
And dad falls down dead on the carriage floor.
His governess is screaming, and his mom is weeping, and saying, Oh, Tish, oh Tish. And she kisses him on his lips. He tastes the salt of his mom’s fresh tears.
Then his mother kills herself too. Takes the barrel of the pistol, and he thinks that she is trying to swallow it.
But another big bang, and his mom blows part of the top of her skull off her head. He sees some of it fly up and stick to the compartment’s white ceiling. Watches a drop of blood kind of get fat, fall off the small little bone, and drop onto the carpet. And make a small stain.
His governess, still screaming, takes hold of him, lifts him off the compartment floor. In her big hurry, she bumps his head against the compartment door, which makes him cry, and gives him a bad headache. Then she falls with him on the platform outside the carriage, and hurts him all over again.
