Thunderstruck - Erik Larson [84]
For Paul, the trip had been exhausting. He did not look well. As always, there were no servants, so Clara took off her own coat and hat and took them to a spare bedroom. Belle went down to the kitchen on the basement level and continued preparing dinner. She called up to Crippen to take care of the Martinettis. Paul had two whiskeys.
At length, dinner was ready, and Crippen and the Martinettis descended to the breakfast room, where for these casual suppers the couples always converged. Belle greeted them by first showing off a new addition to the family, “a funny little bull terrier,” Clara recalled, “and she tried to show us how funny he was.” Belle clearly was delighted with the dog but complained about his lack of cleanliness, though she just as quickly excused his condition on grounds he was after all only a puppy.
Dinner consisted of several salads and “a joint” of roast beef. Crippen carved.
It was about eleven o’clock when Belle brought out dessert—two or three sweets, what E. M. Forster called “the little deadlies”—and served them with liqueurs and coffee. Real coffee, at eleven at night. Belle offered cigarettes, but only Paul accepted, then began to smoke. He and Crippen went upstairs to the first-floor parlor, while Belle and Clara stayed behind to clean up. Belle told Clara to remove only the “necessary” things from the table; she and Crippen would finish in the morning.
They chose partners for whist, Belle with Paul, Crippen with Clara. As the game progressed, the room grew warm and soon was stifling. Crippen left the table and turned down the gas. Paul became quiet. “I had got a chill while playing cards and was not feeling well,” he said.
One day soon, great importance would be assigned to every detail of what happened next. At the time, however, it all seemed utterly without significance.
PAUL EXCUSED HIMSELF and left the room, heading for the bathroom. “Mr. Martinetti wanted to go upstairs,” Crippen said later, “and, as I thought he knew the house perfectly well, having been there many times during eighteen months, I thought it was quite all right that he should go up himself.”
When Paul came back, he looked worse than ever. “He returned looking white,” his wife said. He took his place at the card table, but his hands were cold and he began to tremble.
Belle poured him a brandy, but Clara protested. “Oh no, Belle, that is too much,” she said. “I don’t think he ought to have brandy after the whiskey he had.”
Belle insisted. “Let him have it.”
Clara: “No, Belle, I rather not, you know I have to take Paul home.”
“You let him drink it, I take the responsibility.”
They struck a compromise. “Give him some pure whiskey,” Clara said. “I really don’t care for him to mix his drinks.”
Belle poured him a whiskey, straight, then commanded Crippen to find a taxi. He put on his coat and left. He found nothing, no two-wheeled hansom, no four-wheeled growler, none of the new motorized taximeter cabs. Repeatedly Belle glanced out the front window to look for Crippen. “It seemed to us,” said Clara, “that he would never return.”
At last he did come back, but without a cab. Belle sent him out again. This time he returned within a few moments with a growler.
Crippen helped Paul down the front steps and into the cab. Belle and Clara kissed, and Belle too started down the steps, but without a coat. Clara stopped her. “Don’t come down, Belle, you’ll catch a cold.”
The cab rumbled off into the night. Later Clara would recall that Crippen and Belle “were certainly on affectionate terms” and that apart from Paul’s discomfort the evening had been a pleasure. Belle as always