Remembrance

by Danielle Steel

  “There's nothing to be afraid of, Serena.” He said it gently as he pulled her off the couch and prepared to take her to the blue room, where his mother had said they would be staying, and as Teddy followed them upstairs he was praying that his brother was right.

  21

  As it turned out, Brad was still in the tub at the hour of Serena's appointed meeting with his mother. And the butler led the way downstairs, down a hall with walls covered with small exquisite paintings, three tiny Corots, a small Cézanne, a Pissarro, two Renoir sketches, a Cassatt. The paintings were beautifully framed and hung as though in an art gallery, with excellent lighting, against wonderfully draped taupe velvet walls. The carpeting beneath her feet was thick and of the same pale mocha color, it was in sharp contrast to the marble floors she was so used to in Rome and Venice and Paris. The softness of the carpeting beneath her feet in the Fullertons' apartment felt as though she were walking on clouds. The furniture was all handsome and quiet, there was a great deal of Queen Anne, some Chippendale, some Hepplewhite, and a few quiet Louis XV pieces, but everywhere were rich woods and subdued colors. There was none of the gilt and marble of the richer Louis XV pieces or the Grecian-inspired Louis XVI. The Fullerton apartment was done in excellent taste, with the best of everything in evidence in rich abundance, but none of it was showy. Even the colors Margaret had chosen for her home were soft beiges, warm browns, ivory shades, and here and there a deep green or a restful blue. There were no peaches or rubies or brilliant greens. It was a whole other look than the Renaissance splendors of the palazzi Serena had known, which she had to admit that she still liked better. Yet this had a certain warmth to it, and it was all as elegant and restrained as Margaret Fullerton herself.

  When the butler stopped at her boudoir door, he stepped aside for Serena to knock, and then bowed rapidly and disappeared as Serena entered. She found her mother-in-law sitting in a small room at a beautiful little oval table, a butler's tray from the era of George III, with a drink in her hand, and a heavily carved crystal decanter and another glass on a silver tray, waiting for Serena's arrival. There was a large portrait over the small ivory couch on which she sat, and the man in it wore a huge mustache and pince-nez, over dark turn-of-the-century clothes, and his eyes seemed to leap out of the portrait and ask a thousand questions.

  “My husband's grandfather,” she explained as Serena felt his eyes on her and glanced toward the painting. “He is responsible for almost everything that your husband has.” She spoke pointedly, as though Serena would understand her, and to the young Italian girl standing before her, it seemed a very odd thing to say. “Please sit down.” Serena did as she was told, and sat very primly on the edge of a small Queen Anne chair, in the black velvet dress she had chosen for dinner. It had a low square neckline and broad straps, a slim skirt, and over it she wore a short white satin jacket. It was a suit that Brad had bought her just before they left Paris, and Serena knew that she wouldn't be able to wear it for much longer. Her ever growing waistline would soon refuse to be restricted by the small waist of the dress. But for tonight it was perfect, and she wore it with pearl earrings and her pearl necklace, and she looked very grown-up and very pretty as Margaret Fullerton looked her over again. Even she had to admit that the girl was pretty, but that wasn't the point. The fact was that if she didn't go back to Europe she was going to destroy Brad's life. “Would you care for a drink?” Serena shook her head quickly. The baby had made it impossible, in recent weeks, to even so much as sniff wine.

  While Margaret poured herself a drink, Serena studied her. She was an amazingly distinguished-looking woman, and tonight she wore a rich sapphire-colored silk dress, set off by a handsome necklace of sapphires and diamonds, which her husband had bought her at Cartier's in Paris after the first world war. Serena's eyes were held for a long moment by the necklace, and then her glance shifted to the enormous sapphire earrings, and the matching bracelet on her arm. With an assumption of understanding, Margaret Fullerton nodded and decided that it was time to make her move. “Serena, I'm going to be very candid with you. I don't think that there's any reason for us to mince words. I understand from—from friends”—Margaret Fullerton hesitated for only a moment—”that you met Brad while you were working for him in Rome. Am I correct?”

  “Yes, I—I got the job when I came back to Rome.”

  “That must have been a fortunate circumstance for you.”

  “At the time it was. I had no one left in Rome, except”—she struggled for a way to explain Marcella—”an old friend.”

  “I see. Then the job at the palazzo must have been a godsend.” She smiled, but her eyes were frighteningly cold.

  “It was. And so was your son.”

  Margaret Fullerton almost visibly flinched, as the young woman sat very straight in her chair, the pretty ivory face framed by the collar of the white satin jacket, her eyes bright, her hair brushed until it shone. It was difficult to find fault with Serena, but Margaret was not to be fooled by appearances. She already knew exactly what she thought of this girl. She went on now with a look of determination.

  “That was exactly the impression I had, Serena. That you needed Brad's help, and he came to your rescue, perhaps in getting you out of Italy. All of which is quite admirable of him, and perhaps even very romantic. But I think that getting married may have been carrying things more than a little bit too far, don't you?” For an instant Serena didn't know what to say, and whatever came to mind, Margaret did not give her the chance to say it. “We all know that men sometimes get involved in unusual situations during wartime, but”—her eyes blazed for a moment as she set down her glass—”it was mad of him to bring you home.”

  “I see.” Serena seemed to shrink visibly in her chair. “I thought that perhaps … when we met—”

  “What did you think? That I'd be fooled? Hardly. You're a very pretty girl, Serena. We both know that. But all that nonsense about being a princess is precisely that. You were a charwoman working for the American army, and you latched onto a good thing. The only unfortunate thing is that you weren't smart enough to know when to let go.” For an instant Serena looked as though she had been slapped. There were tears in her eyes as she sat back in her chair, and Margaret Fullerton stood up and went to her desk. She returned a moment later with a small folder, sat down again on the small couch, and looked at Serena squarely. “I'm going to be frank with you. If what you wanted was to get out of Italy, you've done that. If you want to stay in the States, I'll see to it that that is arranged. You can settle yourself anywhere in this country, except of course where Brad lives, which means neither San Francisco, nor here. If you want to go back to Europe, I will arrange for immediate passage back. In either case, after you sign these papers, annulment proceedings will be initiated by his father's law firm at once, and you will be rewarded handsomely for your trouble.” Margaret Fullerton looked matter-of-fact and not the least bit embarrassed by what she had just said to Serena.

  But Serena seemed to be sitting even straighter in her chair, and the emeralds in her eyes had suddenly caught fire. “I'll be rewarded?”

  “Yes.” Margaret looked pleased. She was obviously on the right track. “Quite handsomely. Brad's father and I discussed it again last night. Of course you must understand that once you sign these papers you will have no right whatsoever to attempt to sue for more. You'll have to take what you get, and leave it at that.”

  “Of course.” Serena's eyes blazed, but now she too sounded matter-of-fact. “And for precisely what price are you buying your son back?”

  For an instant Margaret Fullerton looked annoyed. “I don't think I like your choice of expression.”

  “But isn't that what you're doing, Mrs. Fullerton? Buying him back from an Italian whore? Isn't that how you view it?”

  “How I view it is entirely immaterial. What you have done, snagging my son as you did while he was overseas, is liable to affect his entire future, and his career. What he needs is an American wife, some
one of his own class, his own world, who can help him.”

  “And I could never do that?”

  Margaret Fullerton laughed and spread her hands in the small elegant den. “Look around you. Is this your world? The world you come from? Or is this only what you wanted? What exactly did you plan to give him, other than that pretty face and your body? Have you anything to give him? Position, connections, resources, friends? Don't you understand that he could have a career in politics? But not married to an Italian charwoman, my dear. How can you live with what you have done to his career … his life?” The tears stood out once again in Serena's eyes and her voice was husky when she answered.

  “No, I have nothing to give him, Mrs. Fullerton. Except my heart.” But she answered none of the other questions. It was none of the woman's business what she came from. In truth, she came from something far grander than this, but who could explain that now? It was all over. Gone.

  “Precisely.” Margaret went on. “You have nothing. And to be blunt, you are nothing. But I suspect that you want something. And I have what you want.” Do you, you bitch? Serena silently raged.… Do you have love … and patience and understanding and goodness and a lifetime to give me? Because that's what I want to give him. But she said nothing.

  Without saying another word, Margaret Fullerton opened the folder she had brought from her desk, and handed a check to Serena. It was made out in the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars. “Why don't you have a look at that?” Out of curiosity Serena took it from her, and glanced at the numbers in disbelief.

  “You would give me that to leave him?”

  “I would and I am. In fact we can have this business over with in a matter of minutes, if you will simply sign here.” She pushed a single typewritten document toward Serena, who stared at it in amazement. It said that she agreed to divorce Bradford Jarvis Fullerton III, or obtain an annulment, as soon as possible, that she would either leave the country or reside in another city, and would never, at any time, discuss any of this with the press. She would fade out of Brad's life immediately, in exchange for which she was to be paid the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars. Furthermore, the paper went on, she swore that at this moment in time she was not pregnant and would attempt to make no future claim on Brad for paternity of any child she subsequently had. When she saw that, a smile broke out on her face and a moment later she began to laugh. They had thought of everything, those bastards, but suddenly now it seemed funny.

  “Apparently you find something amusing here?”

  “I do, Mrs. Fullerton.” There was still a green blaze in Serena's eyes, but now she felt mistress of the situation at last.

  “May I ask what amused you? This document was very carefully prepared.” She looked furious at Serena's reaction, but she didn't dare let the girl know.

  “Mrs. Fullerton.” Serena smiled at her sweetly and stood up. “Brad and I are having a baby.”

  “You're what?”

  “I'm pregnant.”

  “And when did that happen?”

  “Two months ago.” Serena looked at her proudly. “The baby is due in December.”

  “That certainly adds a new dimension to your schemes, doesn't it?” The older woman was almost overwhelmed by fury.

  “You know”—Serena looked at her, with one hand on the door —”you may find it very hard to believe, but I have no schemes about Brad, and I never have, right from the first. I know that you think I am a poverty-stricken little tramp from Rome, but you're only partly right. I have no money. That is all. But my family was quite as illustrious as yours.” Her eyes strayed to the portrait on the wall. “My grandfather looked not unlike that man. Our house” —she smiled at the older woman—”was far grander than this one. In fact all three of our houses were. But the important thing, Mrs. Fullerton, is that I want nothing from your son. Except his love and our baby. The rest I don't want, not his money or your money or his father's money, or that check for twenty-five thousand dollars. I will never take anything from any of you except,” she spoke very softly, “my husband's love.” And with that, she slipped quietly out of the room and closed the door, as Margaret Fullerton stared at it with sheer fury, and an instant later anyone passing her boudoir would have heard the shattering of breaking glass. She had thrown her glass of sherry at the fireplace. But as far as she was concerned the battle wasn't over. Before Brad left New York for San Francisco, she would see to it that Serena was gone, baby or no baby. And she had two weeks in which to do it. And she knew she would.

  22

  The family dinner that night was an event of intriguing auras and currents. Margaret sat at the head of the table in her sapphire-blue silk looking beautiful and charming. There was no sign of what had come before the meal, and if she avoided any conversation with Serena throughout it went unnoticed. At the opposite end of the table sat Charles Fullerton, pleased at having all three of his sons home at once, which was a first since the war, and he toasted all three of them handsomely, as well as the two young women, who were “new additions” to the family, as he put it. Greg seemed unusually expansive at dinner. Brad realized after the first course that his brother was drunk, and he looked searchingly at Teddy, wondering why. Was it the excitement of the impending wedding? Nerves? Or was he uncomfortable around Brad, because he was marrying Partie? Pattie herself chattered incessantly and was playing her “adorable” role, flirting with her big blue eyes and managing to take in all the men in the family each time she told a story. She was nauseatingly deferential to her fiance's mother, and she managed to ignore Serena completely. Only Teddy really paid any attention to Serena. Brad was seated too far from her to be of much help. She was seated between Teddy and Charles, and his father offered little conversation throughout the meal, so it was left to Teddy to make her feel welcome, which he was glad to do. He leaned toward her and spoke to her quietly, made her laugh once or twice, but mostly he noticed that she was far more withdrawn than she had been that afternoon in his study. He wanted to ask her how the private interview had gone with his mother, but he was afraid that someone might overhear him.

  “Are you all right?” he finally whispered halfway through the meal. She had been staring into her wineglass and saying nothing.

  “I'm sorry.” She apologized to him for being so dreary, pleaded exhaustion from the emotions of their arrival, and managed not to convince him.

  “I think something's wrong, Brad.” Teddy looked at him with concern after dinner as they walked quietly into the library behind the rest of the family.

  “I'll say there is. Greg is plastered out of his mind, Pattie is all caught up in playing Scarlett O'Hara, you look like you've just been to a funeral, and Mother's so busy running the show that Dad can't get a word in.” Brad looked discouraged by his first night back home.

  “You mean you remembered it different?” Teddy tried to look amused. “Or were you hoping it had changed in your absence?”

  “Maybe a little of both.”

  “Don't hold your breath. It can only get worse over the years.” As he said it he glanced at Greg and Pattie. “Has she said anything to you at all?”

  “Only thank you when I congratulated her and Greg.” And then, as he knit his brows, “She didn't say a single goddamn word to Serena at dinner, and neither did Mother.”

  “I didn't expect Pattie to, but Mother …” Teddy looked troubled and then touched his brother's arm. “Brad, something was wrong with Serena at dinner. I don't know if she just wasn't feeling well because of the baby or what, but she was awfully quiet.”

  “Do you think it was Mother?” The two brothers exchanged a glance.

  “you'd better ask her. Did you see her after she was with Mother before dinner?”

  “No. I didn't see her until we were all at table.”

  Teddy nodded thoughtfully, with a worried look in his eyes. “I don't think I like it.”

  But Brad smiled at the look on his younger brother's face. “Come on, old man, you worry more than all
of us put together. Why don't you have a drink and relax for a change?”

  “Like Greg?” Teddy looked at him pointedly in annoyance.

  “How long has he been doing this number?”

  ‘Two or three years now.” Teddy spoke in an undervoice and his older brother looked shocked.

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Nope. Not a bit. He started drinking when he went in the army. Dad says it's boredom. Mother says he needs a more challenging job now, like something in politics maybe. And Pattie is pushing him to go to work for her father.”

  Brad looked chagrined, and then met his wife's eyes and forgot what his little brother was saying. “I'll be back in a minute, Ted. I want to make sure Serena is all right.” He was standing beside her a moment later, and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You feeling okay, sweetheart?”

  “Fine.” She smiled up at him, but it was not the usual dazzling smile that left him aching to kiss her and almost breathless. There was something very subdued about her tonight and he knew that his brother was right. Something was wrong with Serena. “I'm just tired.” She knew that he didn't believe her. But what could she tell him? The truth? She had promised herself that she wouldn't do that, as soon as she had left his mother's room. She wanted to forget what the woman had told her, and shown her, the check, the paper, the unkind words, the accusations, all of it. For a moment, as she had left the boudoir, she had felt like a tramp, just from the assumptions that had been made. Now she wanted to forget it and put it behind her.

  “Do you want to go upstairs?” he whispered to her, still with the same worried forwn.

  “Whenever you're ready,” she whispered back. In truth, it had been a very depressing evening. Mr. Fullerton was precisely as Brad had described. Weak—a man with no spine. She had been literally unable to look at his mother, Pattie had filled her with terror as she had chirped and flirted her way through the evening, and Serena had been frightened that she would create a scene and call her some of the things she had called her from the terrace in Rome. Greg had been pathetic, drunk before the first course, Brad had been seated too far away to be of much help, and only Teddy had helped her get through the evening. Suddenly she had to admit that she felt drained, and for a moment as she sat there in her chair in the library, looking out over the park, she felt as though she might faint, or burst into tears. She had been through too much in the past three hours and she suddenly felt it.