She was afraid. It was as though by telling him she would be confirming her condition to herself. She knew that the longer she waited, the more irreversible the situation became. But what would it matter? It was irreversible as it was.
Already her mother had noticed that she was putting on weight. Amedeo had, too. Twice, he'd jokingly called it her 'baby fat.'
Poor Amedeo, she thought. And poor mother. If they only knew the truth. She realized that sooner or later she would have to tell them both, and the very idea of it filled her with terror. She would have preferred to hole up somewhere and die.
On the fateful afternoon when she'd finally broken the news to him, they had made love as usual. Afterwards, when they lay in silence in the dim room, she had stared up at the ceiling with blind eyes. 'Amedeo,' she had finally said in a soft, frightened whisper.
'Yes?'
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. 'I'm pregnant.'
The announcement had all the impact of an explosion. He sat up as though he'd gotten a sizzling jolt of electricity. 'What?' He stared at her.
She nodded and bit down on her lip. 'Don't be angry,' she pleaded huskily, turning to him. 'Please. I'm scared.' She reached out to hold his hand, but he was poking around on the nightstand for a cigarette. She watched tensely as he fumbled with a match and lit the cigarette with trembling fingers. He let the smoke out of his mouth and inhaled it into his nose. 'How long?' he asked at last.
'I think . . . three months.'
He groaned and let himself fall back down on the bed with such force that the box spring shook under the impact. He lay there and smoked on in silence. Finally he stubbed out the cigarette and sighed deeply. 'Of course, you'll have to get rid of it.'
She froze then, and her whisper sounded strangled. 'I-I don't understand.'
His laugh was unexpected and bitter. 'You don't understand?' He turned to her, his eyes cold. 'Do I have to spell it out for you? An abortion.'' His eyes turned into hers. 'Now do you understand?'
She struggled to sit up. With one hand she clutched the rumpled sheet against her naked breasts. She began crying softly. 'But. . . it's illegal.'
'That doesn't mean it can't be done,' he said matter-of- factly. 'I know plenty of girls who've gotten abortions.'
'Plenty of. . . girls.' Her voice trailed off. She wondered how many others there had been before her. She had never given that any thought. She was amazed at her own naïveté. Of course she wasn't the first.
Nor would she be the last.
'Sure.' He shrugged casually. 'They say it doesn't hurt half as much as having a tooth pulled. It's nothing, really.'
'Nothing?' She stared at him. 'It's killing. It's wrong.'
'Having an Illegitimate kid isn't wrong?'
'But it doesn't have to be illegitimate,' she said. 'We could get married.'
'Married?' he asked in amused disbelief. 'You and me? You're joking.'
She shook her head wordlessly and turned away.
'Oh, no. I'm not about to marry anybody. I like things just the way they are. And don't try to argue. I'm not going to change my mind.'
Her voice was tiny. 'I thought you loved me.'
He was silent.
'But you told me you did.'
'People always say things they don't mean in bed,' he said irritably. 'I like you. In fact, I like you a lot. You're a lot of fun.'
'Fun?' She stared at him. 'That's all I am to you? Fun?'
He scowled suddenly. 'That's the trouble with women. Sooner or later all of you start nagging.' He sat up, swung his legs out over the bed, and reached for his jacket. He dug into the pocket for his wallet, then handed her a sheaf of lire notes. 'The last time, it cost me twenty thousand. Here it is. This should take care of it.'
She made no move to take it, and he threw the money at her. It fluttered all around her like confetti. 'Arrange to get rid of it,' he said grimly. 'I don't want to hear another word about it.'
'But. . . where do I go?'
'How should I know? I'm not a woman. Ask around.'
'Amedeo,' she whispered 'I want to have your baby.'
'Well, I don't want you to,' he snapped. He started getting dressed.
'Amedeo. Please. Don't be angry.'
He ignored her. 'Why didn't you tell me before? Why did you have to wait three months?'
'Because,' she replied truthfully, 'I was afraid that when I told you, you wouldn't want me anymore.'
His face was cold and expressionless as he buckled his belt.
'Amedeo - ' She tried to catch his arm, but he was already on his way to the door.
When he reached it, he turned around. 'Get rid of it,' he repeated bitterly. 'None of you ever learn, do you? You all think that by becoming pregnant, I'll marry you.' Then he left, slamming the door behind him. Even across the room, she could feel the powerful gust of wind it created.
She sat hunched over, her body and soul aching. She knew she, would never see him again. Strangely enough, she no longer felt frightened. It was as though a load had been taken off her shoulders.
She stared down at the lire notes. In a sudden rage she began throwing them off the bed. She didn't want his money. She didn't want anything of his any more.
After a while, she dried her eyes and got dressed. She looked in the mirror, hardly recognizing the pale, tear- streaked countenance which stared disconsolately back at her. Slowly she tied her scarf around her head.
Once she got outside, she didn't bother waiting for the rain to subside. As though sleepwalking, she trudged over to the front of Trinita dei Monti, the church with its twin bell spires which stood at the top of the Spanish Steps. They were deserted. The rain had chased the hordes of tourists indoors.
She smoothed her belly with her palms, then again wiped the tears from her eyes as she descended the steps. She was moving quickly, starting to feel she wanted to flee, get as far away from Amedeo and all that had happened as quickly as she could. Almost blinded by her tears and the heavy rain, she half ran down the steps, then suddenly felt her heel slip on the rain-slicked surface.
She screamed as she fell heavily, then somersaulted down the first flight. The sharp concrete tore at her skin, battered her bones and scored her face with its sharp edges. When she finally tumbled onto the landing, she lay deathly still. Then she was seized with a bolt of white-hot pain in her uterus, and with a scream she curled up and clutched her belly.
In the hospital, the doctor told her she was lucky to be alive, but had unfortunately lost the baby. In addition, he explained it would now be dangerous for her to ever carry another child. Too much within her uterus had been damaged by the fall. She would probably not survive another pregnancy.
She had closed her eyes, covered her face with her hands, and wept.
She had given Amedeo everything, and he no longer wanted her. She had offered up all of her love with her virginity. Because of him, she would never be able to have a baby. If she did, she would die.
She shut her eyes and sobbed. Even when Adriana came to comfort her, soothing her and telling her that there was no shame, none at all, Anna barely listened. The hatred for him burned terribly within her.
Amedeo.
How she despised him.
3
During the morning shift, Mirella Brino was in charge of the reception desk.
The moment she saw Anna hurrying purposefully through the cool, cavernous marble lobby with its wall-to- wall cabbage rose carpeting, she left her post and cut her off halfway. 'Careful,' Mirella murmured under her breath as she glanced around. 'Corvi's on the warpath. We tried to cover for you, but . . . ' She shrugged her shoulders expressively without finishing the sentence.
Anna smiled. 'Thanks anyway,' she said, giving Mirella's arm a squeeze.
Mirella nodded. 'By the way, the Hale representative is here for the Management Training Course interviews. They're being held upstairs in the Amalfi Suite.'
'What time's mine?'
Mirella tightened her
lips across her teeth. 'It was the first one scheduled for this morning. When Corvi found out you hadn't come in on time, he juggled the schedule just to make sure you'd miss yours. The bastard.'
Anna's heart sank as though weighted suddenly with lead. 'Well I might as well go upstairs and see what I can do. Maybe I can get interviewed later.'
'Maybe.'
There was something in Mirella's tone that set off the warning bells in Anna's mind. 'Why 'maybe'?'
Mirella shook her head woefully. 'How come it's always up to me to tell you these things?'
'Mirella, what is it?'
'Corvi took the opportunity of substituting his brother in your place.'
'Maurizio?' Anna stared at her. 'You've got to be kidding!'
'I only wish I were.'
'Well, it's worth a try, anyway.' Anna squared her shoulders.
'By the way, guess who they sent over to do the interviews?' Mirella's eyes gleamed with secret knowledge.
'Who?'
'Henry Hale. The second in command of the company, would you believe?' Her face held a dreamy expression. 'He's so handsome. And so young! They say he's a genius,' she sighed. 'I think he's just my type. And he isn't wearing a wedding band. I made sure to check.'
Despite herself, Anna had to laugh. 'You're incorrigible, Mirella! Anything in pants is your type, or haven't you noticed?'
'When you get to be thirty and you're still single, you take what comes,' Mirella said morosely. 'Anyway, watch out. He's a cold fish. When I met Signor Hale I smiled, fluttered my lashes, and laid on the charm nice and thick. But to no avail.' She sighed again. 'He's made of stone, apparently. Or maybe I'm slipping.'
Anna clapped her friend affectionately on the arm. 'Don't worry, Mirella. It won't be long before some man discovers your charms, and you'll sweep him off his feet. If it's not because of your looks, it'll be because of your cooking.'
'Sure,' Mirella said with a weary smile.
Anna took a deep breath. She glanced over her shoulder at the brass-doored elevators. 'Well, I've wasted enough time. I'd better get on upstairs. Wish me luck?'
Mirella held up both hands and crossed her fingers. Anna returned the signed. Usually it inspired confidence, but today was one day when she was afraid her luck her run out.
'Maurizio,' she swore angrily under her breath. 'If he gets sent to New York I'll break his legs first. I deserve to go, and so does nearly everyone else. But Romeo Corvi's snide little brother? He can't do anything right, but it never seems to matter.'
And with that bitter thought, she strode rapidly past the yawning elevator doors and stabbed the button marked 'ten.'
On the tenth floor, Henry Hale tried to concentrate on the matters at hand, but his mind was wandering. Luxurious though it was, the Amalfi Suite was merely an extension of his New York office. He looked puffy and tired under his clean shave, but he managed to smile reassuringly at the sixth interviewee for the Management Training Course who was being shown out. Then he told Romeo Corvi to hold off for fifteen minutes before showing in the next one.
When he was alone at long last, he got up from the gold- brocade couch and poured himself a much needed, golden jigger of Johnny Walker red. He carried the cut-crystal glass out onto the terrace and surveyed the terra cotta rooftops of the Eternal City.
He gripped the glass tightly and made a throaty sound of exasperation. He felt both worn down and aggravated. He was long since used to the psychic and physical strains of overloaded work schedules and bone-wearying globe- hopping, so that wasn't the cause of his boiling anger. As a Hale, he knew it was expected of him. Sadly, he thought of his parents, who had died in a car accident two years before. He missed them still. He had been raised by a doting mother, and much as he loved Janet Hale, he looked to his father and grandmother as his role models.
He had seen little enough of his father; while growing up Zaccheus Hale, Jr. was an enigma who seemed to be constantly swallowed up by his work, a remarkable achievement considering he was paraplegic. His father had thrown himself whole-heartedly into his short but brilliant career, perhaps to compensate for his physical disability. Maybe because he had known from the start the lifespan of paraplegics was not long. Little had he expected the sudden death that did take him.
His grandmother's obsessive dedication to the business was legendary, and looking to her and his father, Henry had set stern goals for himself as a child.
He had begun working when he was twelve, hanging around the hotel kitchens during summer vacations and doing odd jobs after school in order to acquaint himself with his legacy. For other children, their hometowns were their world; for him it was the major cities of four entire continents. He loved nothing more than to accompany his grandmother on trips around the world, looking after the sprawling, ever-growing empire. As the only Hale heir (his aunt Regina had never had children), Henry realized at an early age that he was being groomed for a lifetime of work and dedication, and it had always seemed perfectly natural. By the time he turned sixteen, he was already spending seven days a week hard at work, for either school or the business. By then it had already been many years since he had enjoyed a real vacation. He graduated from Harvard and Harvard Business School in record time, so that at twenty he was ready to step into a senior executive position.
Even now, wearing the coveted crown of being perhaps the youngest-ever vice president of a major international corporation, sixteen hour workdays were the rule rather than the exception. If anyone were to suggest he slow down, would he laugh? No, he considered, he wouldn't laugh. He would simply not understand why he should, because he took his career seriously and thought nothing of juggling a hundred duties at a time.
As the most eligible of American bachelors, he was particularly frustrating to women. He never seemed to find the time to devote to them.
The only thing he asked from others was the same, steadfast dedication with which he threw himself into even the most minor chore. Unfortunately, he was quickly discovering that in Rome that was asking for the inconceivable.
The orange rooftops shimmered in the heat, a gently undulating sea reaching all around to the base of the Seven Hills of Rome. Though a city of stunning beauty and splendid history, Rome was not, he was realizing, a city where things got done. At times, he was amazed Rome was still standing and populated. Romans were a breed unto themselves, as different from the Northern Milanese or the Southern Sicilians as Scandinavians were from Arabs. They were immensely proud of being Romans, and did things in their own sweet time, in their own peculiar ways. There was no changing them.
He sighed wearily and pressed his lips together. Today, he decided, was just not his day. But then, yesterday hadn't been much better.
For starters, there had been the flight from New York, which at best was an uneventful and tiring proposition. However, yesterday's Boeing 707 had developed engine trouble halfway across the Atlantic and had had to hobble crippled into the Azores for an emergency landing. The landing, though hairy, had gone off without a hitch, and the relieved passengers had broken out into enthusiastic applause for their pilot. Nonetheless, it had been an emotionally grueling experience. And, a result of the unexpected, hours-long Azores layover, by the time he reached London his connecting flight to Rome had long since taken to the skies, and he'd had to kill four hours before the next flight. That didn't leave quite enough time to head into London from Heathrow, and yet it was too long to wait to sit patiently around the airport doing nothing. Time was money, and four wasted hours added up to a lot of it.
When he finally arrived in Rome, the limousine which was supposed to have met him at Leonardo da Vinci Airport was not there. When he reached the Roma Hale, Romeo Corvi greeted him effusively, practically prostrating himself as he apologized over and over for the inexcusable limousine mix-up. He had personally shown Henry up to the Portofino Suite.
On the surface, everything in the suite looked fine. Corvi had arranged for a hospitality package, containing a bottle of champagne
and a huge formal floral bouquet, as well as a fully stocked bar. Henry, however, had thrown Corvi by refusing to stay in the Portofino Suite and insisting upon the less grand Amalfi Suite instead. Elizabeth-Anne had a firm rule that when she or anyone else in the family stayed at a Hale hotel, rooms and suites were to be switched two or three times a day without advance warning. It was irksome to the staff, but a wise practice, as Henry was now finding. So far, in Rome, altogether too much had gone wrong.
When he'd taken a shower, the drain was sluggish and the tub had filled with water.
When he'd switched on one of the nightstand lights, he'd found the bulb was burned out.
He'd tried to call New York, but the switchboard operator, not yet alerted to who was in the Amalfi Suite, had been slow in placing his call.
He sent his suit down to be pressed, and it had been returned to the wrong room and then gotten lost.
All those problems in a suite for which people paid the equivalent of $ 100 per day.
Then, to top everything off, after he'd called Corvi on the carpet and told him he wanted these problems alleviated - pronto - it had still taken far too long to fix things. When he'd had to complain about the problems a second time, that slimy little bastard had had the gall to tell him that 'in Rome things are different.'
Henry's eyes had narrowed into dangerous slits, and Corvi had finally snapped to it. By 4.30 most of the problems had been smoothed over, but the misplaced suit still hadn't been found. Henry began having doubts he would ever see it again. Instead of waiting, he had changed to another suit and then went to the car dealer's to pick up a new Masseratti he had ordered, and which he planned to ship on to New York after he left Rome.
When he'd gotten back to the hotel for the interviews, that oily, unctuous, self-centered Corvi - who, as every hour passed he could bear less and less - had been constantly trying to suck up to him. For all of Corvi's efforts, even the interviews, so far, had gone far from smoothly. For some reason, the schedule had been rearranged at the last minute, causing no end of confusion. But worst of all, of the six people he'd interviewed already, there hadn't been one he'd not have doubts about recommending for the course.
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