6
When Henry, Anna and Elizabeth-Anne stepped out of the cool, dark house, they were blinded by the glaring sunshine. Squinting, they made their way down the front steps and skirted the antique yellow-and-black Rolls-Royce which was being buffed by the chauffeur. As they headed across the manicured lawn, Anna fell behind, letting Elizabeth-Anne and Henry talk. They were walking slowly, their heads bent forward, and Henry had his arm around his grandmother's waist.
Anna dug her hands into the pockets of her plaid wool skirt, stopped walking, and breathed deeply. How different from the city it was here, how much cleaner and fresher! She could hardly believe this magnificent estate was merely forty-five minutes from midtown Manhattan. Here, only the trills of the birds and rustle of leaves broke the silence. The air smelled richly of freshly mowed grass.
Turning, she admired the house again. An elegant Colonial, it stood three stories tall on the crest of a high hill above the blue waters of the Hudson.
She heard the fading murmur of Elizabeth-Anne and Henry's voices, and hurried down the gently sloping hill after them. When she rejoined them, they were still deep in conversation.
'I know it's big,'' Elizabeth-Anne said, 'but you need a large house. After all, Henry, you and Anna have your social positions to think of.'
'But, grandmother, this is the last thing on earth we expected for a wedding present.'
'I should hope so. I'm not in the habit of giving away houses. Anyway, I know the present was a long time in coming. It took me quite a while to find it. Estates like this one don't come on the market every day.'
'It must have cost a fortune.'
Elizabeth-Anne turned to him and laughed. 'It didn't cost you a penny, so you can stop worrying about it. And you know I can well afford it. It's a drop in the bucket for me, if that much. All you need are a few people to help . . . ' She waved her hand casually around the grounds.
'A few! We'll need an army of servants just to keep this place up. Several gardeners - '
'So you hire an army,' Elizabeth-Anne said flatly, refusing to let him persuade her. Then she laughed and tugged at his sleeve with mock resignation. 'Don't be so impossibly conservative all the time, Henry. For God's sake, if we were financially-strapped I could understand your hesitancy. But we're not.'
'If we're careful,' he said stiffly, 'we need never be.'
'You sound just like a banker,' she said irritably. 'Still, you must agree that there are some investments it doesn't hurt to spend money on. Real estate is one of them.' She paused, looked over her shoulder to see if Anna was within earshot, then dropped her voice to a whisper. 'And clothes are another. Anna could use a new wardrobe, you know.'
'Why? She's happy with what she has. When she needs something she goes out and buys it.'
'When she needs something,' Elizabeth-Anne corrected him, 'she waits and goes to Gimbel's or Alexander's when there's a sale. Really, Henry, don't you think you could take her to Sak's or Bergdorfs? I mean, she doesn't need Paris couture. She's very attractive and she can get away with wearing anything. But something nice, eh?'
'She has this thing,' he said slowly. 'She's been poor all her life, and now she's afraid to waste money.'
'No, she's afraid to spend it. There's a difference.' Elizabeth-Anne couldn't help the faintly ironic smile which hovered on her lips. When she had first learned about Anna, she had been afraid she was a gold digger after the Hale fortune. Now, looking back, she saw how wrong she had been. If Henry was ultra conservative, then Anna was downright frugal. Idly, she wondered if she saved plastic bags and glass jars and reused them. 'Haven't you told her we're rich?' she asked Henry.
'She knows that.'
'But have you told her just how rich?'
'I have.'
'And?'
'She doesn't believe it. She says there can't be that much money in the world.'
'Sometimes,' Elizabeth-Anne said, thinking aloud, 'even I still can't believe it. Two hundred and fifty million dollars!' She shook her head and laughed again. 'Anyway, let's all go back to the house. You're stuck with it. You can't go and exchange it like a table setting from Tiffany's, you know. It's been paid for, and it would be very bad manners to refuse it. It was a present, and it's up to you to accept it graciously.'
'You are a dear, grandmother. But an impossible one.'
'You and Anna are my grandchildren. Let me indulge you every once in a while,' she growled.
'Then we thank you.'
'You already did, over and over.' She stopped walking and looked around. 'Just think of the advantages of this place. Even commuting to the city is easy. If you like, you can avoid the traffic altogether.'
'How?' he asked, mystified.
'By buying a boat. The real estate agent told me that the last owner commuted to the city in his speedboat. I guess he got the idea from the millionaires who lived up here before the Depression.'
He smiled. 'We'll see.'
'Have we lost Anna?' Elizabeth-Anne asked, twisting her head around. 'Oh, you're right behind us.' She held out her free arm so that Anna could hook hers through it, and together the three of them began walking the perimeter of the property. 'I can't wait till you see the orchard. It's too far to walk today. Altogether, this place is made up of forty-three acres. But they're necessary, and so are the extra bedrooms in the house. A growing family needs space. You are planning to give me plenty of great-grandchildren, aren't you?'
Elizabeth-Anne smiled disarmingly at Anna, whose face went pale.
'Is something wrong?' Elizabeth-Anne asked with concern.
Anna smiled, but not before Elizabeth-Anne caught the most implacable, inconsolable look of sadness deep in Anna's blue-blue eyes.
'No, no,' Anna assured her hastily. 'I was just thinking about something, that's all.'
Anna sat on the bench in Central Park, stonily watching the parade of Fifth Avenue nannies pushing expensive, imported baby carriages. It was late morning of a perfect, blustery day, and the sun was out in full force. So were her depressed spirits. She couldn't remember ever having felt so miserable.
Until now she had never really taken a moment to stop and think, to sort out her own life and Henry's. Now, the prospect overwhelmed her.
Henry. How she loved him! If she had ever been certain of anything in her life, it was that. From the very first, they had been so sure of each other. Neither had felt the need to hesitate or analyze their feelings. How precious little she had known about him then. And how little she still knew. Which was part of the excitement of their love, the joy of discovering each other day by day.
But all that was over.
Oh God, she thought, her eyes glazing over as she felt the familiar , dull ache in the pit of her belly. She had had that ache on and off for days, and knew it would soon culminate in nausea. That was where her pain and misery lived, deep inside her stomach. Whenever she felt depressed, the physical manifestation would show itself there.
Why, oh why, she asked, hugging herself, why hadn't she told him about Amedeo?
But, in truth, she knew she had taken advantage of the fact that she had never been pressed to tell him. From that first time, Henry had known she wasn't a virgin. It hadn't seemed to make any difference to him.
But she knew she owed him an explanation. Because Henry had a right to know that when she had fallen down the Spanish Steps and lost Amedeo's child, she had lost their children, too.
Why hadn't she come out and told Henry about that before she married him?
But she had been too happy then. After they had met and made love, she had been selfish and self-centered. She had wanted him all to herself, and the thought of children had been as far from her mind. Only now did she realize the magnitude of her mistake. Henry was a Hale, the heir to an empire and, as such, he of course needed an heir of his own. A man in Henry's position wasn't free to just fall in love.
She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Her mind felt numb with her guilt and regret. She slowly got to her feet and walked fr
om the bench. She passed a nanny and pink- faced baby playing a game of peek-a-boo. The woman hid her face with both hands and cried, 'Where is Rhea?' before parting her fingers and cooing, ' There she is.'
Even as she continued to walk on, Anna could hear the woman and child's laughter. Their happiness seemed to mock her, and she shut her eyes with a heavy sigh. Ever since that day in Tarrytown, when Elizabeth-Anne had given them the house, Anna felt she saw children, especially infants, everywhere, reminding her of what her own damaged body could not produce.
She sighed deeply once again, then shook herself. Checking her watch, she saw she only had fifteen minutes to meet Henry at 21 and would have to hurry to get there on time. Squaring her shoulders, she briskly made her way out of the park. No matter what, she promised herself, she mustn't let Henry know how worried she was, or why. It was a problem she had created, and she must find the way out of it. She couldn't burden him with her troubles, not until she decided what to do. She loved him too much for that. He was everything to her. She loved him enough to . . .
She stopped cold, her heart pounding excitedly. Was it true? The realization, the solution to all her problems, had come so suddenly it almost overwhelmed her. She took a deep breath to calm herself and reconsider. But there was nothing to think about; this decision was as immediate, as instinctual as her love for him had been. Because it was born of her love for him.
She loved Henry enough to try to give him a child.
She felt suddenly omnipotent with the joy of that knowledge. The weight of her depression slipped away - she felt all powerful, free and so lucky to have found such love.
But, even in her joy, she knew Henry must never know the extent of the gift she would give him. He must never know the risk she would knowingly take, never know that by giving life to their child she was very likely sacrificing her own. Only she could decide to take the chance; he would never allow her to if he knew. But giving life to their love was the only thing that had meaning for her now. Her decision was clear. So she would keep it from him at all costs.
She immediately realized how difficult that would be. There were so many things to consider. Both the family doctor and her gynecologist were the finest in the city, but they were also Elizabeth-Anne's personal physicians. And Anna knew Elizabeth-Anne was on friendly terms with both of them.
Well, she would simply have to find new doctors. That shouldn't prove too difficult. New York City was, after all, not Italy. It was the heart of the most advanced country in the world, a wonderland of physicians and specialists and hospitals. People came here from all corners of the world with their assorted disorders and diseases. Surely it was possible that with such expert medical care she would not only succeed - but survive. It was a dream worth pursuing, an irresistible possibility. Yes, with the power of a love such as hers, anything was possible.
She reached Fifth Avenue and began to rush down the sidewalk in her excitement. Her eyes shone, and every breath she took seemed effervescent. She felt delirious with joy. She practically danced down Fifth Avenue, smiling at everyone she passed - especially the children, the infants!
Yes, now that she had decided she felt herself tingling with the love coursing through her, she felt irresistibly and completely alive.
7
Henry and Elizabeth-Anne were in Greece negotiating construction contracts for the Ierapetra Village resort when the call came through. Sotirios Kyrkos, Hale Hotel's Greek resident executive officer, answered the phone in the Pericles Suite of the Athens Hale.
'It is for you, Mr. Hale,' he told Henry, covering the mouthpiece with his hand. 'It is the New York office.'
'I'll take it, thank you.' Henry got up from the white cotton couch and crossed the polished marble floor to the telephone table. Elizabeth-Anne remained seated, studying the art boards spread out in front of her. They portrayed the Ierapetra Village, her idea for an exclusive Aegean resort modeled after an idyllic fishing village, right down to the waterfront tavernas and windmills. The instant she caught the sudden change in Henry's tone of voice, she looked up and listened intently.
When Henry finally replaced the receiver, he stared across the room at her, his face white. 'That was Dr. Dadourian,' he said thickly. 'Anna's been hospitalized.'
'What?' Elizabeth-Anne jumped to her feet and crossed over to him. 'Did he say what was wrong?'
He shook his head. 'Only that she stands to lose the baby.'
'Oh, Henry!'
He turned away, stepping out onto the sun-drenched terrace. He stared blankly out across the city toward the distant Acropolis, his hands thrust deeply into his trouser pockets. Elizabeth-Anne followed him outside and squinted in the glare of the Greek sun. She placed a hand on his arm.
'She also stands to lose her own life,' he said tightly.
Elizabeth-Anne felt the words plunge into her like a knife. No, it couldn't be.
But when Henry turned to her and she saw the cold fear in his eyes, she knew it was. Then it was as if the naked desperation she saw in his face galvanized her. Now was not the time to indulge her own fear, she told herself. No matter how worried she felt, she had to be strong. Henry needed her.
'You stay put, dear,' she said firmly. Then she hurried back inside, to confer with Sotirios Kyrkos. 'Mr. Kyrkos, could you please make travel arrangements for us? We must leave for New York immediately.'
Kyrkos didn't know what news the Hales had gotten, but their distress was obvious. 'I am so sorry, Mrs. Hale, but there is no afternoon or evening flight. I'm afraid you will have to wait until tomorrow morning.'
'Tomorrow morning is too late.' She paused briefly to consider the alternatives. 'Our only choice is to charter a jet. Could you arrange it for us? I'll take anything as long as it has transatlantic range. Nor do I care what it costs.'
'Yes, Mrs. Hale.'
'And please ask for a car to take us to the airport right away. We'll wait there until a plane is ready.'
'Yes, Mrs. Hale.' He gave a polite bow and left the room.
Elizabeth-Anne went back outside. Her face felt tight. 'We won't bother with packing,' she told Henry. 'Either the staff can pack up our things and send them, or we'll get them when we return. All we'll need is our passports. We're leaving right now.'
He turned to her slowly, his eyes filled with tears.
'I love her,' he said in a choked voice. 'God, how I love her. If anything happens to her - ' His voice broke off in a sob.
Elizabeth-Anne took Henry in her arms and held him. She shut her eyes against her own tears, unable to look him in the face and see her own sinking heart mirrored there. 'I know that, Henry,' she said softly. 'I love her, too.'
More than you'll ever know.
At half past two in the morning, they rushed into the Columbia Presbyterian. Dr. Dadourian was pacing the lobby, waiting for them. When he saw Elizabeth-Anne and Henry burst in, he hurried forward to meet them.
'How is she, doctor?' Elizabeth-Anne demanded at once, not breaking stride as all three headed toward the bank of elevators.
'Not good, I'm afraid.' He punched the button for the elevator and they began an impatient wait for it to arrive. 'For the past eight hours she's been in the operating room.'
'And the problem?' Elizabeth-Anne looked into his eyes.
The doctor sighed painfully. 'She should never have had the baby,' he said. 'She must have known from the start. I've examined her, and the problem was caused by a trauma years ago.'
Henry stared at him. 'But. . . she never said anything - '
Dr. Dadourian shook his head sadly. 'Nor did I even realize she was pregnant, not until she called today to tell me that something was terribly wrong. I hadn't seen her for over ten months. She called to tell me she had been seeing another doctor, that she was pregnant. But the other man was out of town, and she was terribly frightened.'
'She never told me,' Henry repeated dully.
'Will she pull through?' Elizabeth-Anne asked.
'I honestly don't know.'
'Who cares about the baby?' Henry suddenly asked in a sharp, hissing voice.
Elizabeth-Anne and Dr. Dadourian exchanged glances, but before they could speak the elevator finally arrived.
They rode up in silence. On the fourth floor, Dr. Dadourian led them to the nurses' station. The beige colored corridors were empty and silent, the air heavy with the sharp medicinal odor indigenous to hospitals the world over. Elizabeth-Anne found the atmosphere unspeakably oppressive, but she saw Henry was in too deep a state of shock even to notice.
Dr. Dadourian conferred with the nurse, who told them Anna was now out of surgery, but they would have to wait for the attending surgeon, Dr. Loomis, to learn more. The nurse escorted them to a glass-enclosed waiting room filled with molded plastic chairs.
'Come,' Dr. Dadourian said, bringing Elizabeth-Anne and Henry seats. 'There's nothing we can do but wait.'
Exactly twelve minutes later, Dr. Loomis joined them. He was a tall, distinguished man with silver sideburns and the hands of an artist. His face was drawn, and the green eyes behind the thick glasses were red-rimmed. He had shed his blood-soaked surgery greens; long ago he had learned that the sight of them did little to reassure his patients' loved ones.
'How is she, doctor?' Henry asked, jumping to his feet.
Dr. Loomis sighed wearily. 'The good news first. We've managed to save the child. Congratulations.' He smiled weakly. 'You have a beautiful daughter. She's in the incubator. As you know, she was premature. We had to deliver her by Caesarian section. She'll have to stay in there for a few days. You're welcome to see her whenever you like.'
'Damn it, man,' Henry growled, grabbing Loomis's sleeve. 'My wife! How's my wife!
The doctor's eyes dropped. 'Not good at all, I'm afraid. We're doing everything for her that we can.'
Henry shut his eyes. His face drained of color. He stood motionless but for a slight swaying. It was as if he had become unmoored and stood rocking in a wind. When he opened his eyes again, the effort for control he was making was obvious. 'I. . . I would like to see her.' His voice came out low, like a growl.
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