After a few days, she took him to the Only House. It had always been a creative getaway filled with unique touches of a life well lived. Now it was infused with the bliss of romance. Margaret placed wildflowers in tiny vases around the house. Pebble watched her plunge into blackberry bushes, seemingly oblivious to their scratchy threats. Her skill at subduing the vines, learned while beagling, reminded him of a pet bear he once had. Oblivious to the thorns, Margaret brought out the best berries from the depths of the bushes.
When Dot and her children came to visit, they pulled kelp from the seafloor and made grass skirts. One evening, they went on a walk in the setting sun behind her house through the woods. As they drew near to a huge circular stone at the edge of the forest, Margaret shushed the group, warning them to be quiet so they wouldn’t scare the fairy people away. They lay on their bellies in the soft moss, looking under toadstools and leaves for the little people. Laurel swore she saw a little fairy dressed in a purple chiffon dress with blue shoes. As they walked past the rock, Margaret pointed at the pools of water where rainwater collected in the depressions on the rock’s surface. Those, she explained, are where the fairies go to cool off after a night of dancing.
Alone at the Only House again, Pebble and Margaret watched dusk settle in over their little kingdom. They sat through the rising of the moon, the stars appearing in the dark, dark sky, and the noises of the night animals stirring. During the day, they rowed or sailed around the islands with a bottle of wine cooling in the waters of the sea on a rope that trailed behind them. When a storm blew up, even an expert sailor like Pebble couldn’t right her dilapidated sailboat when it was swamped by the waves. Fortunately, Margaret’s handyman happened by and brought a wet Margaret and Pebble aboard. He told Margaret that she looked better wet than she did dry. Margaret laughed and puffed on her pipe, which was still lit.
*
When they returned to New York, Margaret made preparations for France and life on a boat. She met with her publishers, picked up checks, and dropped off manuscripts. Lucille Ogle at Golden let her see Garth Williams’s art for the book that had come from watching Pebble try to save the shrimper’s sinking ship, The Sailor Dog. It was to be Margaret’s wedding present to him.
Margaret loved Garth’s illustrations but asked that the name “Kitty” etched on the boat in the story be replaced with the name of Pebble’s boat, Mandalay. Margaret also turned in a revision of a book that was to accompany a clever song by Rube Goldberg entitled Willie the Whistling Giraffe. Rosemary Clooney, a popular singer whose songs were frequently heard on radio and jukeboxes, agreed to sing Willie. Margaret had written several songs she was sure would make popular adult records if someone like Clooney were to sign on to perform them. She turned over a batch of songs to a composer she met through ASCAP, including one she was particularly fond of called “I Like People” that Golden planned to package with a book. She knew that one had jukebox potential.
At Harriet’s office, Margaret delivered signed contracts and copyright registrations for her latest songs. The will Harriet had prepared for her was ready to sign, although she had to give Margaret the disappointing news that the United States Coast Guard had turned down her request to be buried at sea. The Coast Guard had sent a mocking letter, declaring that this was the first time they received such a request, which couldn’t be granted because it was against public policy. They suggested Harriet tell her client to make other arrangements.
While in France, Margaret had plans to meet with the beloved French composer of the Babar musical, Jacques Prévert. She hoped to compare notes on writing music and get his advice on writing for the stage and screen, a new frontier for her. She had corresponded with Jacques the year before when they were part of a publishing experiment. They both wrote books based on the same photographs by Osa Johnson, a famous wildlife photographer, which had been published simultaneously in French and English, but the stories they created to go along with the photographs were completely different.
*
Margaret and Pebble planned to sail where they wished without a final destination or timetable, which made packing a challenge. She bought some clothes for France at Bloomingdale’s and ordered six months of her prescriptions from the apothecary. At last, she was ready to set sail.
Dot and her children accompanied Pebble to the dock to see Margaret and Crispian off. They boarded the ocean liner with Margaret and walked up and down the ship’s long hallways in search of Margaret’s cabin. When they finally found it, a steward explained he would take Crispian each morning and evening for a walk around the boat and then feed him on the deck. Margaret told Laurel he was a special dog. After all, he had his own book, and they had to treat him like a celebrity.
As tugs pulled her boat away from the docks she knew so well, Margaret’s friends and lover waved good-bye to her from the docks. There were tears in her eyes. Her life would never be the same. She confessed to Dot that she didn’t think she would ever return to her old life in New York. After being on Cumberland with Pebble, New York City felt like a phone booth.
*
Although some of Margaret’s friends questioned the wisdom of taking Crispian to France, Margaret knew it was the right place for him. Walter Varney, the manager of the chateau where she would stay, was the one other person in the world who loved the cantankerous Crispian as much as she did. He would take great care of her dog. He had once had his own Kerry blue, and he knew how obstinate that breed of dog could be. On the boat during the way over, Margaret trained Crispian to understand basic commands in French. She had no idea how long she would be gone on her extended honeymoon, and she wanted him to know the language.
Her hotel, Chateau Barlow, had once been a castle. It sat atop a hill in the ancient village èze and had one of the best views of the French Riviera. The owner, Samuel Barlow, was a music producer. He had visited this hillside town and had fallen in love with the crumbling old castle. He turned the ancient building into a rambling hotel that became a mecca for musicians, writers, painters, and actors—one never knew who might be dining or staying at his famous hot spot.
The twists and turns of the hallways and the multitude of windows reminded Margaret of her book The House of a Hundred Windows, which featured a cat peering out from the many different windows of a castle onto famous paintings. Margaret picnicked on the hillside, staring down at the C?te d’Azur that sparkled below. She was eager to join Pebble every time she looked at the sea. She understood why he said the sea was uncomplicated. Unlike land, you knew your adversaries, and it was always a clean fight.
*