If only I hadn't sent Charlotte-Anne to Europe, she might still be alive.
If only I'd spent less time with the hotels and more time being a mother.
If only I'd kept a tighter rein on her.
There were so many 'ifs.'
And so many startling truths which only now came into focus. Charlotte-Anne had been headstrong and rebellious, so very determined to get her way. And that, Elizabeth-Anne knew, was one characteristic which had been inherited from her. She and Charlotte-Anne had much more in common than either of them had ever wanted to admit. But unlike herself, Charlotte-Anne threw caution to the winds. She never gave any thought to the potential consequences of her actions.
Oh, if only I'd prodded her in the right direction. That was all Charlotte-Anne had needed. Why hadn't I noticed that? Why had I been so blind?
But it was too late to dissect the past, to dream of doing things differently. Charlotte-Anne had been tragically killed. She was gone forever, and what Elizabeth-Anne had to do was keep alive the good memories.
Eventually, she knew she would come to terms with Charlotte-Anne's death. But she also knew she would never understand what the di Fontanesis had done. Nor would she find it in her heart to forgive them.
How could they have given the child away? And for food? Did they think they were the only ones on the point of starvation? Only the arrival of the Allies, and their generous dispensing of rations, had kept all of Italy from starvation. But it was love which, despite the scarcity of sustenance and the preponderance of disease, had sustained families and held them together. Perhaps . . . she dared think . . . perhaps Anna was best off without such loveless people as the Principessa Marcella and her husband.
Still, she would never be able to come to terms with the fact that Anna was missing. Death was final. Sooner or later, everyone had to die. A grave, at least, was tangible. But a disappearance? No, that was one thing which was truly unacceptable. Not knowing what had happened to Anna would forever gnaw at her. But, for now, she had to accept defeat, accept the fact that, no matter how much effort and money she continued to expend, the child would never be found. She could only pray that, whoever had gotten her would lavish all the love in the world upon her.
Yes, it was indeed time they all went back home and picked up the shattered pieces of their lives. Janet and Zaccheus's son, Henry, was in the States with the governess, waiting for their return. It was time to concentrate on the here and now, on the living. It was time to take stock and count their blessings.
Wordlessly, Elizabeth-Anne moved over beside Janet and picked up a blouse. She folded it carefully, the tears sparkling in her eyes.
The war was over, but the suffering would continue for a long time. And eventually, it would become diluted, more bearable, leaving only memories and sharp little jabs of pain in its wake.
Life had to go on. But that didn't mean that the good memories had to be stifled. She had to open her mind to them, welcome them to fill her, and permit herself to have a good cry.
Despite the tragedies which had occurred, the love for her dead daughter and missing granddaughter did not have to die. In her, the love could thrive as potently as if she were still with them.
And that, she thought, was the key to survival.
But still, she knew there would be those countless days when the nagging thought would creep into her consciousness and wedge there, refusing to budge:
What on earth had happened to her Anna?
GENERATIONS
THREE
Anna
Rome, Italy
May 22, 1964
1
It was forty minutes past ten by the time the all-too-familiar bus crossed the Cestio Bridge to the far bank of the Tiber. The Roman sky was a sea of calm blue, with a regatta of fleeting, gold-tipped clouds sailing across it. But Anna Vigano felt anything but calm.
Of all days to be late! she moaned to herself. Of all days for her brand new Vespa one cylinder scooter to break down! She had saved so long, hoarding money she could Ill- afford to put aside, hoping the scooter would be a way to avoid the infuriating, snail paced morning rush hour traffic. And for a while it had. But then, today, the most important day of her life, it had suddenly and mysteriously died. She had tried to get the scooter fixed, but after waiting for the mechanic for an hour, he had pronounced the problem hopeless.
And now she might miss the opportunity she had waited so long for. Her chance to be the one hand-picked employee of the Hale Roma who would be sent to the company's Management Training School in New York, and thereby become an Assistant Manager. It was the opportunity of a lifetime.
Glancing out the window, she saw the bus was finally nearing her destination and pulled the cable to request a stop. As she went to the front of the bus, she snapped at a man who got in her way. How unlike her! She must get control of her nerves. Usually, she was the very picture of politeness. Her job required it. It was up to her to smooth over rough edges, to wipe away any irritants in the hotel guests' lives. And she was certainly used to the hustle and bustle of Roman crowds. Having lived here for all but three years of her life, she had had plenty of time to develop patience.
Apologizing to the man with a pleasant smile, Anna got off the bus and hurried down the sidewalk. Time was of the essence. The manager would have a fit if he saw her come in at this hour. Even if someone had tried to cover for her, he had surely found out that she hadn't been in yet by now.
She cringed, just thinking of him. He was a pompous martinet who moved with the speed of lightning and the stealth of a spider. He seemed to be everywhere at once. Nobody had the keen ears and reptilian eyes of Romeo Corvi. Although he was leaving his late forties behind, he certainly didn't show it. All sleekly groomed, with a slightly disdainful, but not so slightly unctuous air, he acted as though he should be behind the counter of Van Cleef or Cartier. She shuddered, thinking of his thick black hair combed straight back and his irritating habit of cocking one dark eyebrow to immense heights while he surveyed one with a look of total disdain. After all she'd been through that morning, having a confrontation with Corvi was something she did not relish.
With that thought, she hurried toward the huge, square- block building with its pedimented windows set behind classical, colonnaded balconies. On the sloping roof facing her were large gold letters facing outward, announcing her destination:
HALE ROMA
Even before she reached the hotel she saw the long line of taxis queued up, waiting for the day's before-noon check outs. As she went by, she pointedly kept her gaze fixed on the pavement directly in front of her, to avoid the cabbies' glances. Nevertheless, she heard an appreciative wolf whistle, which only made her speed up, her heels clickety- clacking a swift staccato rhythm on the pavement.
She fairly flew past the main entrance with its wide, red- carpeted steps and gleaming glass and brass doors, her destination the employees' entrance around the corner in the cobble-stoned side alley.
As she neared it, she had no choice but to slow down because of the uneven cobblestones. Her mind only half on the treacherous alley, she lectured herself silently.
Whatever happened today, no matter what, she mustn't put her job in jeopardy.
If Romeo Corvi raised a stink about her coming in so late, then she must take his tongue-lashing in silence, be very humble, and above all, not talk back.
She mustn't do what she had been tempted to do on a thousand other occasions and what every employee in his secret fantasies dreamed of doing, too: she could not put her hands around that haughty thin neck of his and squeeze the last bit of breath out of him.
Today, of all days, she had to tread carefully. Not only because of the chance of being picked to attend the Management Training School; even without that, this job was too important to her. Getting it in the first place had been a miracle. It had taken considerable connections. When the Hale Roma had opened a year and a half previously, jobs there had been at a premium. The salaries were high in c
omparison with those of the other hotels, and advancement opportunities were said to be excellent, because everyone had to start from the ground up. Thousands had applied for the jobs, and thousands had been turned away. Only two hundred lucky Romans found employment, and she had been one of them.
Her influential Cousin Fabio, who had his fingers in many pies, had been responsible for getting her the initial job interview. But all even he had been able to do was open the door. The rest had been up to her. She'd landed the job, and then sailed on with flying colors. In the year and a half she'd been at the hotel, she'd proved her worth time and again, swiftly getting promoted from monotonous hours spent typing in one of the tiny cubicles on the second floor to helping all around: manning the reception desk when things got particularly hectic, filling in for the public relations manager when she had come down with appendicitis, soothing an hysterical guest and aiding to track down a lost earring, guiding women to boutiques where silk scarves were to be had at bargain prices or cobblers' custom-made shoes in three days, finding a suitable baby-sitter for a couple who wanted to leave their child behind while enjoying a night on the town, and searching the city for the one Drogheria which could fill a guest's rare and necessary medical prescription. And throughout it all, she was always friendly, polite, eager, and patient. She bedazzled all with her ever-present smile, was dependable and went out of her way to be helpful. She made herself indispensable by creating a job for herself where none had existed before; she was an unofficial jack of all trades, summoned whenever there was a need, and she was well-liked and respected by everyone, staff and guests alike.
Everyone except Romeo Corvi.
Just thinking of him was enough to bring her blood to a boil. He looked for fault with everything she did, and she had finally discovered why. She was too naive to have realized it herself, but after someone else had mentioned it, she realized the problem. She was altogether too efficient, and in too many areas. He was afraid that she was ultimately more qualified for his job than he was.
But just as she knew she wasn't out to steal his job, she also recognized there was no way to convince him of that. Confronting him on the issue would only confirm his worst paranoia. It was a no-win situation.
Office politics. How she haled them.
Two weeks ago, her troubles with Romeo Corvi had come to an explosive head. The New York headquarters of Hale Hotels had just sent word that the Roma Hale was to submit a list of their ten brightest employees. Each was to be interviewed by an executive officer from New York for a future opening as assistant manager, either in Rome or at the Milano Hale, now under construction. Besides earning regular pay, the chosen candidate would receive an all expenses paid trip to New York in order to take part in the Hale Hotels Management Training Course.
Anna knew that it was the opportunity of a lifetime. Money had always been a problem, and she was determined to overcome it by working her way up through the complicated hierarchy of a major business. She was sure sheer hard work and dedication would take her where she wanted to go. From the beginning, she had faced her qualifications with brutal candor. She had taken stock of her advantages and disadvantages, and knew she had more things going against her than for her. Her education was adequate, but she had only attended public schools. She was young, a woman, and, worst of all, far too attractive for her own good.
At almost twenty, her beauty was pronounced and startling. She stood nearly six feet tall in her stockinged feet. Her wheat gold hair was straight, cut to shoulder length in an attractive but no-nonsense style that bounced with her free stride. Her skin was smooth, pale butterscotch in color, and her eyes were arrestingly blue, too deep for aquamarine, and too light for sea blue. She had a small waist, generous hips, and long, powerful legs. She exuded the very picture of health. She strode swiftly, with an economy of movement, as though there was a purpose to her every step. She was a woman in the midst of a man's world, and she was determined to prove her worth. The chance to attend the Management Training Course was manna from heaven.
She'd expected her name to head the list of candidates. In all fairness, it should have. Everyone agreed that she knew the overall workings of the Roma Hale better even than the current assistant manager.
That she had managed to look over the list of candidates had been a total fluke. As luck would have it, Corvi's personal secretary, Gabriella Di Donato, had been out sick. The girl who filled in for her was new, and didn't know how to operate the telex machine. She'd asked Anna for help.
'Don't worry about it,' Anna had offered. 'I'll send it.'
She sat down in front of the machine with the typewritten message. The moment she saw that it was the list of candidates, her heart seemed to stop dead.
Her name was not even on it.
Romeo Corvi had seen to that.
She'd been on the verge of tears when the idea occurred to her. Since she was sending the telex, she would simply include herself on the list. The only problem was, New York had specifically asked for a list of ten names. Not eleven. And there were already ten names listed.
She sat for a moment, deep in thought, having pangs of conscience about who to scratch. Then she noticed the seventh name, and she breathed a lot easier. Maurizio Corvi was Romeo's younger brother who, thanks to family nepotism, had been given his job over many more qualified applicants only weeks earlier.
It was no contest. She struck Maurizio from the list and put herself on it instead. After she sent the telex, she filed the copy and waited for Corvi's explosion. Sooner or later it was bound to come as it was only a matter of time before he would find out what she had done. Her only satisfaction was that it was a fait accompli. He would be able to do nothing to change things. Except fire her. If he threatened that, she'd have to be slippery as an eel and wiggle out of it somehow.
Last week, a telex reply had chattered in over the wires from the New York headquarters. It gave the arrival date of the Hale Hotels representative, as well as a list confirming the names of the candidates who should be ready to be interviewed. Romeo Corvi had been apoplectic with rage. Only his brittle, self-important dignity had kept him from calling her a thousand choice epithets. He had gone so far as to threaten to fire her, but she had wisely pointed out to him that that would look awfully peculiar. After all, one didn't fire an employee who, only a week earlier, had been in such good standing as to deserve a place on the list. He'd gone purple with fury, trembling visibly while he fought to keep his anger in check. Then, after a stern warning, he had stormed off, his chest puffed out, his head held high and tilted back.
She shuddered every time she thought about how close she had come to getting fired. If she had been, there would have been nothing anyone, not even Cousin Fabio, could have done to help. Not that she would want any more of Fabio Pegrone's help. Not ever again.
Her hatred for Cousin Fabio was second only to her detestation of Romeo Corvi. Ever since she could remember, all she had ever heard was, 'We have our Cousin Fabio to thank for this,' 'We have our Cousin Fabio to thank for that.' Sometimes, Anna thought she would scream if she heard another word about having to be grateful to Cousin Fabio. Gratitude and niceness, in his case, meant letting him walk all over you.
Fabio Pegrone was a distant cousin on Anna's father's side, and the two men had never been close. Her father came from the poor branch of the Vigano family, while Fabio hailed from the rich Pegrone branch. When Anna had turned three, and the Viganos had come to Rome from Umbria, her father had sought out Cousin Fabio for help. He'd been given a job in Fabio's construction firm doing mean, manual, back-breaking labor. Her father had never been heard to utter a single complaint, not even on the day he dropped dead of a heart attack.
Nor had her mother ever complained. Not once in all these difficult years.
Ever since arriving in Rome, they had lived in one of Cousin Fabio's tenement blocks. For that, her mother always said, they'd had to be extremely grateful. Inexpensive housing was difficult to find, and if Cousin Fabio h
adn't let them have the apartment, they would have had to live on the streets.
Only when Anna was old enough to understand the difference between the tenements which Cousin Fabio owned, and the lavish penthouse duplex in the exclusive Parioli District where he and his family lived did the injustice of it all make an ugly, lasting impression. She felt ever more rankled by the lavishness of Fabio Pegrone's lifestyle, which he maintained by squeezing every last lire out of his tenants. In winter, the apartments had little or no heat. Boilers broke down constantly and were not repaired for months. Toilets got clogged and stayed that way for weeks. Rats roamed the dark hallways biting babies and spreading disease, while cockroaches skittered around the floors and inside the walls. Anna grew to hate the ever- present smells of cooking intermingling with the stench of garbage, the lack of fresh air and light, the squalling of babies, and the huge families crammed into one or two miniscule rooms. When she was seven, and first learned to read, one of the first things she deciphered was the graffiti scratched deep into the walls and doors of Fabio Pegrone's tenements: Pegrone the pig.
She was ashamed to be related to him. And even more ashamed to let anyone know where she lived.
What pained her the most was that, when her father died just after she had turned eight years old, her mother had had to take in the Pegrones' laundry in order to make ends meet. The little Adriana Vigano earned seemed to jump right back into Cousin Fabio's pockets. It was a vicious cycle, and there was no avenue of escape. Dario was too young to get anything but erratic, low paying jobs so it was the laundry that kept the family going. Over and over, her mother reiterated that they had to be grateful to Cousin Fabio for letting her do it. Otherwise, they would starve.
Money - or rather the lack of it - was the specter which haunted them ceaselessly. How often had she wondered, if she had a lire for every single rat, mouse or cockroach she saw, how rich they would be? But that was an idle dream conjured up by anger and helplessness, emotions fed by the continuing injustices she saw as she grew up. The rent for the tenement was often raised without warning from month to month. Behind their mother's back, Anna and Dario often went to see Cousin Fabio about it, but all the pleading in the world never did them a bit of good. He sent them to his manager, who insisted they were entitled to no favors just because they were distant relatives of Signor Pegrone.
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