Florentyna steeled herself to raise her eyes and look again at the man she loved.
‘Can we operate, Mrs. Kane?’
‘Yes,’ said a faint voice that only an hour before had brought thousands of people to their feet. She was led into a corridor and sat alone. A nurse came up: they needed a signature; she scribbled her name. How many times had she done that today?
She sat alone in the corridor, a strange figure in an elegant dress, hunched up on the little wooden chair. She remembered how she had met Richard in Bloomingdale’s when she thought he had fallen for Maisie; how they first made love only moments after their first row and how they had run away and with the help of Bella and Claude she had become Mrs. Kane; the births of William and Annabel; that twenty-dollar bill that fixed the meeting in San Francisco with Gianni; returning to New York as partners to run the Baron and then Lester’s; how he had then made Washington possible; how she had smiled when he played the cello for her; how he laughed when she beat him at golf. She had always wanted to achieve so much for him and he had always been selfless in his love for her. He must live so that she could devote herself to making him well again.
In times of helplessness one suddenly believes in God. Florentyna fell on her knees and begged for her husband’s life.
Hours passed before Dr. Eyre returned to her side. Florentyna looked up hopefully.
‘Your husband died a few minutes ago, Mrs. Kane’ was all the surgeon said.
‘Did he say anything to you before he died?’ Florentyna asked.
The chief of surgery looked embarrassed.
‘Whatever it was my husband said, I should like to know, Dr. Eyre.’
The surgeon hesitated. ‘All he said, Mrs. Kane, was “Tell Jessie I love her.” ’
Florentyna bowed her head. The widow knelt alone and prayed.
It was the second funeral of a Kane in Trinity Church in six months. William stood between two Mrs. Kanes dressed in black as the bishop reminded them that in death there is life.
Florentyna sat alone in her room that night and cared no longer for this life. In the hall lay a package marked: ‘Fragile, Sotheby Parke Bernet, contents one cello, Stradivarius.’
William accompanied his mother back to Washington on Monday. The news magazines at the stand at Logan Airport were ablaze with cover headlines from Florentyna’s speech. She didn’t even notice.
William remained at the Baron with his mother for three days until she sent him back to his wife. For hours Florentyna would sit alone in a room full of Richard’s past. His cello, his photographs, even the last unfinished game of backgammon.
Florentyna began to arrive at the Senate in midmorning. Janet couldn’t get her to answer her mail except for the hundreds of letters and telegrams expressing sorrow at Richard’s death. She failed to show up at committee meetings and forgot appointments with people who had traveled great distances to see her. On one occasion she missed presiding over the Senate — a chore senators took in turn when the Vice President was absent — for a defense debate. Even her most ardent admirers doubted if she would ever fully regain her impetuous enthusiasm for politics.
As the weeks turned into months, Florentyna began to lose her best staffers, who feared she no longer had the ambition for herself that they had once had for her. Complaints from her constituents, low-key for the first few months after Richard’s death, now turned to an angry rumble, but still Florentyna went aimlessly about her daily routine. Senator Brooks quite openly suggested an early retirement for the good of the party, and continued to voice this opinion in the smoke-filled rooms of Illinois’s political headquarters. Florentyna’s name began to disappear from the White House guest lists and she was no longer at the cocktail parties held by Mrs. John Sherman Cooper, Mrs. Lloyd Kreegar or Mrs. George Renchard.
Both William and Edward traveled regularly to Washington in an effort to stop her from thinking about Richard and bring her back to taking an interest in her work. Neither of them succeeded.
Florentyna spent a quiet Christmas at the Red House in Boston. William and Joanna found it difficult to adapt to the change that had taken place in so short a time. The once elegant and incisive lady had become listless and dull. It was an unhappy Christmas for everyone except that the ten-month-old Richard was learning to pull himself up. When Florentyna returned to Washington in the New Year, matters did not improve, and even Edward began to despair.
Janet Brown waited nearly a year before she told Florentyna that she had been offered the job of administrative assistant in Senator Hart’s office.
‘You must accept the offer, my dear. There is nothing left for you here. I shall serve out my term and then retire.’
Janet too pleaded with Florentyna, but it had no effect.
Florentyna glanced through her mail, barely noticing a letter from Bella chiding her about not turning up for their daughter’s wedding, and signed some more letters that she hadn’t written or even bothered to read. When she checked her watch, it was six o’clock. An invitation from Senator Pryor to a small reception lay on the desk in front of her. Florentyna dropped the smartly embossed card into the wastepaper basket, picked up a copy of the Washington Post and decided to walk home alone. She had never once felt alone when Richard had been alive.
She came out of the Russell Building, crossed Delaware Avenue and cut over the grass of Union Station Plaza. Soon Washington would be a blaze of colors. The fountain splashed as she came to the paved walkway. She reached the steps leading down to New Jersey Avenue and decided to rest for a moment on the park bench. There was nothing to rush home for. She began to remember the look on Richard’s face as Jake Thomas welcomed him as chairman of Lester’s. He did look a fool standing there with a large red London bus under his arm. Reminiscing about such incidents in their life together brought her as near to happiness now as she ever expected to achieve.
‘You’re on my bench.’
Florentyna blinked and looked to her side. A man wearing dirty jeans and an open brown shirt with holes in the sleeves sat on the other end of the bench staring at her suspiciously. He had not shaved for several days, which made it hard for Florentyna to determine his age.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was your bench.’
‘Been my bench, Danny’s bench, these last thirteen years,’ said the grimy face. ‘Before that it was Ted’s and when I go Matt inherits it.’
‘Matt?’ repeated Florentyna uncomprehendingly.
‘Yeah, Matt the Grain. He’s asleep behind parking lot sixteen waiting for me to die.’ The tramp chuckled. ‘But I tell you the way he goes through that grain alcohol, Matt will never take over this bench. You not thinking of staying long, are you, lady?’
‘No, I hadn’t planned to,’ said Florentyna.
‘Good,’ said Danny.
‘What do you do during the day?’
‘Oh, this and that. Always know where we can get soup from church kitchens, and some of that stuff they throw out from the swanky restaurants can keep me going for days. I had the best part of a steak at the Monocle yesterday. I think I’ll try the Baron tonight.’
Florentyna tried not to show her feelings. ‘You don’t work?’
‘Who’d give Danny work? I haven’t had a job in fifteen years — since I left the Army back in ’seventy. Nobody wanted this old vet. Should have died for my country in Nam — would have made things easier for everyone.’
‘How many are there like you?’