The Second Marriage

“No matter how hard they try, no photographer could make you look less than beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you.” She felt shy suddenly. Ridicolo!

“I had an idea I wished to discuss with you on this cruise,” he continued, “and maybe it is as well to introduce it now, on your first night, so you have time to consider it.”

“Please do,” she said. She inhaled the exotic aroma of the brandy.

“I don’t know if you are aware of my association with His Serene Highness the Prince of Monaco.

She nodded. She knew he had a controlling interest in the Société des Bains de Mer, which managed commercial real estate there. Some said he was the true ruler of the principality.

He continued: “I have suggested to Rainier that we create an opera company in Monte Carlo and invite you to be the resident soprano. You could choose how much or how little you sang each year and have a hand in selecting the repertoire. You don’t need to make up your mind now but …”

Maria loved the idea. She missed working with a team that she knew. Perhaps she could tempt some of her favorite backstage staff from La Scala to join them. And having creative control would suit her to a tee. She interrupted him. “Yes, please. When do I start?”

He laughed. “It’s just as well you don’t negotiate your own contracts, my dear. You need to drive a much harder bargain. Hold out for an extortionate fee. A penthouse apartment overlooking the harbor. A say in the choice of orchestras and conductors …”

“You tell me that after plying me with your best brandy.” She laughed. “It’s a clever tactic. But the answer is still yes.”

Onassis called for more brandy, and they clinked glasses to seal the deal.

Chapter 15

Hyannis Port August 1959

Jackie persuaded Jack to buy a house in Hyannis Port, on a road that ran behind the main house occupied by Rose and Joe, so she wouldn’t have to stay with her in-laws anymore. Bobby and Ethel already owned a property just in front of theirs. Jackie spent the summer of 1959 there with Caroline and her nanny, and she invited Lee and her new husband, Prince Stas Radziwill, to join them straight after the birth of their son, Anthony.

The affair Lee had mentioned during their vacation in the South of France had proved irresistible, and both parties had left their spouses so they could be together. Jackie felt sorry for Michael but she warmed to Stas from the start, finding him easy company, with elegant manners. He and Lee seemed well suited, and even looked a bit alike, with their high foreheads, sharp noses, and sculpted cheekbones. It felt as if he was the husband her sister had always been meant to have and that Michael had been an aberration along the way. A baby arriving just five months after the wedding seemed proof of their compatibility, and Jackie was delighted for her sister.

Motherhood mellowed Lee: with Michael she had been carping and never satisfied, but now she had the inner glow of a woman whose emotional needs were being met. In the past, she had been loath to accept her big sister’s advice—Lee had to be the one who knew best—but now she was grateful for tips on how to settle little Anthony, or how to burp him. He was an easy baby, and a rather aristocratic-looking one, with jet-black hair and a high brow, reflecting the looks of his father’s regal family.

Lee and Stas spent a lot of time in their room and Jackie scarcely had any moments alone with her sister, but she enjoyed their company over dinner each evening. Stas told fascinating tales of the Radziwills’ lengthy history in Poland, and he was a voracious reader with a keen appreciation for literature and the arts, so Jackie was in her element; they felt more like her true family than the politics-obsessed Kennedys. Sometimes Jack would join them, sometimes not. He was more distracted than ever that summer, his head bursting with polls and campaign strategies.

“No politics at dinner,” Jackie chided. “You’ll spoil our appetites.”

Most days the weather was too windy to sit on the beach, and a pungent, glutinous mass of seaweed hugged the shoreline. You had to clamber through it to reach open water, but Jackie waded out every day for long solitary swims, floating on her back beneath scudding clouds. She also spent a lot of time with Caroline, who loved to toddle along the shore collecting “treasures” that had washed up—colored sea glass, conch shells, a dead crab. Their porch was fast filling up with souvenirs.

In August, Jack was officially on vacation, but the campaign team turned up most days to hold meetings around the kitchen table. One morning Jackie came down early to make coffee, still in her pale blue nylon negligee, and found half a dozen of them reading the morning papers, like unwelcome houseguests.

“Morning, all!” she said. “Are you waiting for Jack? He’ll be down in ten minutes.”

They coughed and scraped their chairs, embarrassed by her skimpy attire, as she breezed out again, swallowing her annoyance. Bit by bit her life was being consumed by politics, and it seemed as if the moment when it might have been possible to draw the line had long since passed.

ONE EVENING, JACKIE went to bed before Jack returned. She read for a while, then turned out the light but couldn’t sleep. Her body was tired but her brain was buzzing. The vacation was drawing to a close, and soon they’d be traveling back to Georgetown, where she would see even less of Jack than she did here. They were supposed to be trying for another baby, but she couldn’t imagine how that would happen when she was invariably asleep by the time he came to bed, and Caroline woke her early in the morning, running into their room and clambering in for a cuddle.

Jackie got up and walked to the window. The shutters were flung wide; she hated a stuffy bedroom, and the regular shushing of waves in the distance was soothing at night. She heard the strike of a cigarette lighter and, looking out, saw Lee sitting in a deck chair on the lawn. The orange tip of her cigarette floated like a firefly. Jackie was about to call to her when she noticed that Jack’s Cadillac was in the drive; she hadn’t heard him return.

As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she realized he was sitting on the grass by Lee’s chair and they were talking in low voices. Jackie strained to hear but could only make out snatches.

“Great guy … good one this time.” She guessed Jack was saying that he approved of Stas.

Lee replied, her voice harder to follow, but Jackie caught the word annulment drifting on the night air. She knew Lee wanted to apply to have her first marriage annulled so that she and Stas could marry in the Catholic Church. Perhaps she was asking Jack’s advice on how to go about it.

“Shame we won’t be able to have a repeat of our tryst,” Jack said—or at least she thought he did. Jackie froze. What did he mean? What tryst?

Lee reached out and touched his shoulder. Jackie felt a stabbing pain in her chest as she tried to make sense of it. Was tryst the word he had used? Did it mean that her sister and her husband had slept together? They wouldn’t, would they?

Lee had always been crazy about Jack, and made no secret of it. She openly embraced him in front of Jackie, and cocked her head to one side in her irritating manner, asking his opinion and giggling disproportionately at his witticisms. That was fine. She was like that with any handsome man. But why was her hand still resting on his shoulder? Had they really betrayed her? The two people she was closest to in the world? She clutched her stomach, sick at the thought.

As she watched, Jack stood and said, “Good night.” He didn’t stoop to kiss Lee, but strode across the grass toward the front door. Jackie shrank behind the shutter so he wouldn’t catch her spying, then scuttled to bed, deciding she would pretend to be asleep when he came in. She needed to think.

Her heart was banging in her chest. Was this about Lee’s jealousy of her? What a bitch! She’d been annoyed that Jackie had married a richer, more ambitious husband. Perhaps that’s why she swapped Michael for a Polish prince, albeit one in exile; she was sure to drop her new title into conversation at any opportunity. Princess Lee. Had she flirted her way into Jack’s bed? It was possible, but Jackie couldn’t think of when it might have happened.

What about her husband? Would he do that? She could accept that he was unfaithful with faceless, nameless blondes; them she could ignore. But her own sister? Would he be so disloyal? Her throat felt raw at the thought.

Perhaps she had misheard and it was all a mistake. Maybe “tryst” had referred to something else entirely—but she couldn’t think what. She heard his feet on the stairs and wondered whether to admit she had overheard the conversation and ask him what it meant. That’s what a normal wife would do.

But they didn’t have a normal marriage. They had a marriage full of secrets, in which each lived separate lives that overlapped from time to time. He had the Scandinavian blonde in the hot-pink bikini, and all the other women whom he thought she didn’t know about, while she held that knowledge hidden in her breast pocket, like a dagger.

“Are you awake, honey?” he whispered as he tiptoed into the bedroom.

She lay very still, slowing her breathing, as she listened to him remove his clothes and fling them on the chair. His belt buckle clattered to the floor; then she heard him curse as he unfastened his fiddly back brace.

The mattress dipped as he sat on his side of the bed to remove his socks, and Jackie pretended to stir.

“Are you alright?” she asked, in a drowsy voice.

“Yeah, we had a good meeting. I’ll tell you in the morning. You go back to sleep.”

When he climbed under the covers, she rolled toward him for a hug, trying to ignore the fury and hurt that she knew would make her implode if she ever let them.

Chapter 16

The Mediterranean August 1959

The cruise took them around the boot of Italy and across the Aegean to Piraeus and the Greek islands. Onassis—Ari, as Maria now called him—said he wanted to show his guests the places he loved best.

Maria slept more soundly than she had in years, lulled by the gentle motion of the yacht and drowsy from the expensive brandy she drank with Ari late every evening. On the second night at sea, they began to talk about the war years, and Maria told him she had lived in occupied Athens.

“Mother never thought the war would reach us, and when it did, we were too late to board any ships leaving town,” she told him. “I was training at the Conservatoire by day, then in the evenings Mother forced me to date German soldiers and beg them for food and money. It was humiliating. Horrible.”

Ari was aghast. “How could she? You were only a teenager. Anything could have happened.”

Maria grimaced, remembering one soldier who’d wrestled her to the ground and tried to rape her. She had fought tooth and nail, scratching and biting, until at last he gave up. “A big girl like you should be grateful,” he’d said. “No one else will want you.” And when she got home, her skirt torn and knees bleeding, her mother assumed she had been raped. There was no maternal sympathy, no words of comfort, just the cold demand: “How much did you get?”

Ari was listening with a compassionate expression. “I don’t understand how she could put you in such danger.”

Maria shrugged. “I drew the short straw when mothers were handed out. Mine never warmed to me. She had been hoping for a boy and was so disappointed when I emerged from the womb that she couldn’t bear to look at me for four days. My sister was the pretty, charming one, and I was a huge disappointment.” She smiled as if to brush it off, although it still hurt to say the words.

“But she must be proud of you now? How could any mother not be?”

Maria shook her head. “When my talent was discovered I became her cash cow.” She used the phrase in English, unable to think of a Greek equivalent. “As a child I was dragged to radio-station competitions and forced to sing on command for the paltry prizes. Then she brought me to Athens for training at the Conservatoire and as soon as they started paying me a salary she commandeered it.”

“I suppose she did you a favor in getting proper voice training,” Ari said.

Maria wrinkled her nose. “Perhaps, but it was in her own interest so I would make more money. After I got married, she still demanded half my earnings and I paid up for years, like a good Greek girl. Eventually Battista put his foot down and cut back her allowance, but in retaliation she sold her story to Time magazine, telling them what an ungrateful daughter I am.”

Ari shook his head. “She sounds appalling. Are you still in touch with her?”

“God, no; not since the Time article. I have washed my hands of her at last. It was long overdue. Once in a blue moon I get a letter from my father or sister but I haven’t seen them for many years.”

“I’m amazed you succeeded despite all those odds stacked against you. I’m sure it’s not just your voice; it’s your character that got you to the top.”

Maria smiled her thanks for the compliment. “I think you and I both know it’s working harder than everyone else that counts. I believe in destiny, but you can’t relax and wait for success to happen.”

“A woman after my heart. We share the same philosophy.”

“So, tell me about you,” she said. “I read that you are a self-made man but I don’t know anything of your background.”

“In my case, my difficult relationship was with my father.” He drained his glass before continuing. “He had a tobacco-import business in Smyrna—until September 1922 when the Turkish army came to drive the Greeks out.”

Maria knew about this; it was a brutal campaign that quickly turned into a massacre.

“I lost several relatives. My uncle Alexander was hung in the public square in Kasaba.” His tone was neutral but a flicker in his eyes betrayed emotion. “My aunt Marie was burned to death with her husband and child in the church in Akhisar. Then my father was jailed and my three sisters sent to evacuation camps. I was just sixteen and entirely alone in a city where the Turks were shooting civilians on sight.”

“What about your mother?” Maria asked, aghast.

“She died when I was three. I was raised by a grandmother.”

Maria felt a surge of compassion. Ari seemed invulnerable, but his past was filled with so much pain. She’d had no idea that his seemingly charmed life had been built out of such sorrow, and it made her feel close to him. They both shared something—a tragic childhood—and had both succeeded in spite of it.

He signaled for the barman to top up their glasses, but she placed three fingers across the top of hers. She couldn’t possibly drink any more.

“I persuaded the Turkish commander who took over my family’s home that they needed me alive because I knew how everything worked in the city. I ran errands for them, found them bottles of raki and ouzo, all the while trying to get my father freed.” He paused. “Would you mind if we step out on deck so I can smoke a cigar? I don’t want to irritate your throat with my smoke.”

Maria was touched by his thoughtfulness. So often people lit their cigars or cigarettes without any thought for her voice. “Of course,” she said, standing up.

They settled on cushioned chairs in the stern, where the moon lit a path across the yacht’s wake. Two of the English guests were in the pool, shrieking as they splashed each other.

Ari continued his story: “The Turks passed a law that meant I would have been sent to a concentration camp as soon as I turned seventeen. That’s when I knew I had to flee. I escaped through the American base and snuck onto a U.S. destroyer that took me to Athens.”

Maria realized how lucky she had been to survive the wartime occupation with nothing worse than cuts and bruises from the soldier who’d tried to rape her.

He took a cigar from his breast pocket, cut off the tip, then toasted it with the flame from his lighter before putting it to his mouth to take short puffs until the tip was glowing. Maria could smell the smoke although they were outside; it was fragrant, like freshly cut grass drying in the sun.

“I borrowed money from all my father’s friends and business associates and managed to buy his freedom from jail. It seemed the only thing to do. But when he arrived in Athens, he was furious.” He was gazing at the horizon as he spoke. “He said he would have won his release anyway and I had thrown good money down the drain.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t really cross,” Maria sympathized.

“He definitely was,” Ari insisted. “Our relationship broke down. It’s then I decided to sail for Buenos Aires and make my own way in the world. I set off with just sixty dollars in my pocket, and four years later I had made my first million. So you and I both know what it is to struggle in a foreign land. One of many things we have in common.”

He reached across to squeeze her hand, just quickly. His skin was warm. She squeezed back, feeling their relationship deepen with the revelations they had shared.

EVERY MORNING, THE Christina was moored in a deserted cove and the younger guests leapt into the water to swim. Ari’s son, Alexander, who was eleven, and his daughter, Christina, aged eight, got the lion’s share of his attention. Although they were the only children on the cruise, no one seemed to mind their antics. Tina, Ari, and his sister, Artemis, who had joined the cruise party, doted on those youngsters. Maria stayed in bed till noon most days but she heard Ari shouting encouragement as he drove a launch so Alexander could water-ski or lifted Christina in the air and tossed her into the water.

“Throw me higher!” she shrieked. “Do it again!”

In the afternoons Maria sunbathed on deck, watching the pride in Ari’s eyes as his son executed a perfect dive or Christina did a silly dance in her pink mermaid swimsuit with its frilled skirt. He clearly adored his children, but she never saw him spend time with Tina. Maria saw no intimate conversations or hugs, no eye contact between them.

Surreptitiously she checked out Ari’s figure and saw that he was fit and well muscled. His skin was very tan but it appeared soft, not at all leathery. His chest was covered with a mane of soft, fine hair, and his waist was trim. She realized how strong he must be when Alexander cut his leg during a trip ashore and Ari carried him on his back for the rest of the afternoon, making it look effortless.

Privately, Maria found the children a little spoiled; they ran around on deck, splashing water on the fully clothed elderly guests, but she never heard Tina or Ari chastise them. They beamed with pride at each minor achievement and ignored misdemeanors. Maria envied those children; she had never experienced love like that from a parent.

AS THE FIRST week came to an end, Maria began to relax more fully. She had daily massages in the yacht’s beauty salon, she read books and swam; then in the late afternoons she and Tina often went ashore to explore tiny Greek villages and buy souvenirs, along with some of the English women. Only one thing niggled at her: Battista. He wandered around on his own unless either she or one of the Onassises was available to converse with him in Italian. It irked Maria that he had never taken the trouble to learn another language. He was clever enough; it was sheer laziness that had stopped him.

There was more. She felt embarrassed when he left his shirt hanging open, because his belly was as round as if he were six months pregnant. She cringed at his manners when he reached across his neighbor at dinner to grab the bread basket. These were all minor complaints, but soon he began to get on her nerves no matter what he did. When they were alone in their cabin, she snapped at him for no reason, then felt bad afterward. It had been he who had wanted to come on this cruise, but, as it turned out, he was a fish out of water, while she was in her element.

Every evening when Battista went to bed, Maria would wander along the deck to Ari’s Bar. Although Tina retired early, Maria was never entirely alone with Ari, because a few younger members of the English crowd stayed up till the early hours. Ari and Maria usually chatted to each other in Greek, and as the evenings passed they shared more confidences.

One evening he surprised her with a personal question: “Is everything alright with you and Battista? It’s just that—forgive me—I thought I sensed tension earlier.”

Maria paused, aware she was about to cross a line. “You’re right. He drives me crazy sometimes.” She tried to make light of it, but her tone was harsher than she had intended.

“I love him, of course,” she added, unconvincingly.

Ari nodded and waited for her to continue.

“Marriage is difficult, isn’t it?” She felt tears prick her eyes and blinked them away. “I feel very underappreciated. Because Battista is my manager, our conversations tend to be about contracts and money and I feel as if …” She hesitated, took a sip of brandy, then continued. “I feel as if I am the goose that lays the golden eggs, while he just lives off me. He distributes my money to his family as well. It’s like my mother all over again—although, of course, he is much kinder.”

She bit her lip, feeling that she had gone too far. She should be loyal. He was her husband, after all.

Ari nodded, his expression concerned. “He doesn’t earn his own money?”

“He used to when we were first married. He had a brick factory. But he sold it to manage my career. I should be grateful, really.” Maria turned her head away. Money wasn’t the root of the problem; not really. “I am a firm believer that marriage is for life. I’m sure you are too. It’s just that sometimes it feels like a life sentence instead of a love affair.”

She shouldn’t have drunk so much. The brandy had loosened her tongue. She should stop now.

“Is he unfaithful?” Ari asked quietly.

She shook her head. “No, he’s not. But at the same time I don’t think he truly loves me anymore.” She felt like crying now the words were out there. She had never said this to anyone else.

Ari’s next words surprised her. “Tina is unfaithful to me. Three years ago she had an affair. It got serious and she asked for a divorce but I refused. Same reason as you: because I think marriage should be for life.”

Maria wasn’t surprised. It explained her earlier observations that Tina never seemed interested in what Ari had to say; there was little communication between them. Instinctively, she reached over and touched his arm in sympathy. He took her hand and squeezed her fingertips.

“If only we had met first,” he said, his voice so low she could barely hear it.

Tears sprang to her eyes again. If only.

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