to Love Again (1981)

by Steel, Danielle

  But not forever, cara. Do you understand that?

  She looked pained as their eyes met. What do you mean?

  Just what I said, that I can't go on like this forever. I had to tell you because I can't live with the secret of my feelings any longer, and there's no reason to. Amadeo is gone, Isabella, whether you recognize it or not. He's gone, and I love you. Those are two facts. But to go on forever, if you don't love me in quite that way, to go on working for you, because in truth I do work for you and not with you, especially now, to go on playing second fiddle forever, Isabella ' I can't One day I want to share your life with you, not exist on the fringe of it. I want to give you what there is of my life. I want to make you better and happier and stronger. I want to hear you laugh again. I want to share the victory of our collections and fabulous deals. I want to stand beside you as Alessandro grows up.

  You will anyway.

  Yes. He nodded simply. I will. As your husband or as your friend. But not as your employee.

  I see. Then what you're saying is that either I marry you or you quit?

  Eventually. But it could take a very long time ' if ' I thought there were hope. And then after a long pause, Is there?

  But she was equally long to answer. I don't know. I have always loved you. But not in that way. I had Amadeo.

  I understand. I always did. They sat in silence for a long time, watching the fire, each lost in thought, and gently once again he took her hand. He opened it, looked into the delicate, finely lined palm, and kissed it. She did not withdraw her hand, but with sad eyes she only watched him. He was special to her, and she loved him, but he wasn't Amadeo. He never would be ' never ' and as they sat there they both knew. He looked at her long and hard as he took his hand from hers. I was serious before. Would you like me to quit?

  Because of tonight? She sounded tired and sad. It hadn't been a betrayal but it had been a loss. In a way she felt that she had just lost him as her friend. He wanted to be her lover. And there was no opening for the job.

  Yes. Because of tonight. If I've made it impossible for you to exist with me at the office now, I'll go. Immediately if you like.

  I don't like. That would be even more impossible, Nardo. I'd go under in a week.

  You'd surprise yourself. You wouldn't. But is it what you'd prefer?

  She shook her head honestly. No. But I don't know what to say to you about all this.

  Then say nothing. And one day, if the time is ever right, a long time from now, I'll say it again. But please don't torment yourself or feel that this is hanging over your head. I won't leap out of doorways and take you in my arms. We've been friends for a long time. I don't want to lose that either. Suddenly she felt relieved. Perhaps she hadn't lost everything after all.

  I'm glad, Nardo. I can't deal with an either-or situation at this point. I'm not ready. Maybe I never will be.

  Yes, you will. But maybe never for me. I understand that too.

  She looked at him with a tender smile and leaned slowly toward him to kiss his cheek. And when did you get so smart, Mister Franco?

  I always was; you just never noticed.

  Is that so? He was smiling and she was laughing, the whole atmosphere of the room had changed again.

  Yes, that's so. I happen to be the genius around the office these days, or hadn't you noticed?

  Not at all. And every morning when I look in the mirror and say, Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the genius of them all ' ?' But they were both laughing now and suddenly their faces were closer again and he could feel her soft breath on his cheek, and all he wanted to do was kiss her again, and he could see her mouth waiting for his, but this time he didn't do it, the moment passed, and in embarrassment Isabella laughed oddly, stood up, and walked away. No, it was not going to be easy at the office. They both knew that now.

  Look what Luisa baked for Santa! On his soft sleeper-clad feet, he had approached unheard. But they looked up now to see Alessandro carrying two plates covered with gingerbread that he deposited carefully on a little stool he placed next to the fire. He looked at them soberly and then picked up one large warm piece of the gingerbread, which he rapidly ate. And then he disappeared again, having broken the painful spell.

  Isabella' . He looked at her and smiled. Don't worry. She only patted his arm, and they exchanged a smile as Alessandro returned, uneasily carrying two mugs of milk.

  Are you having a party or feeding Santa? Bernardo grinned at him and sat down again.

  No. Nothing's for me.

  All of that is for Santa? Bernardo watched him with a broad grin, but the boy's face grew slowly serious, and he shook his head. Is it for me? The head shook soberly again.

  It's for Papa. In case ' the angels let him come home ' just for tonight. He looked again at the two places he had set near the fireplace and then kissed his mother and Bernardo good night. And five minutes later Bernardo left and Isabella went quietly to her room. It had been a very long night.

  Chapter SEVEN

  How's the carousel holding up? Bernardo stretched his legs in front of him as he and Isabella ended a private conference at the end of a long day. It was three weeks after Christmas, and they had been doing nothing but work. But at last things seemed to be settling into a routine again. It had even been almost ten days since they'd had a good fight. And he hadn't mentioned his Christmas confession again. Isabella was relieved.

  I think he likes it almost as much as your bike.

  Has he broken any of the furniture with it yet?

  No, but he's certainly trying. Yesterday he set himself a race course in the dining room and only knocked over five chairs. They laughed for a moment, and Isabella stood up and stretched. She was relieved that the holidays were over and she was pleased with the work they had done. With some effort they had both returned to their old relationship, and even Bernardo could see that she was in a peaceful mood. And then he saw her stiffen as she heard Amadeo's phone. Why are they ringing that office?

  Maybe they couldn't get through to yours. He tried to underplay it, although for a moment it had startled him too. But they both knew that the men who cleared her phone calls sometimes tied up all the lines. Do you want me to get it?

  No. It's all right. She walked quickly into Amadeo's office and was gone for only two minutes when Bernardo heard a scream. He ran in to find her white-faced and hysterical, with both hands to her mouth, staring at the phone.

  What is it? But she didn't answer, and when she tried, all that came from her was a croak and then another scream. Isabella, tell me! He was holding her by both shoulders and shaking her as desperately he searched her eyes. What did they say? Was it something to do with Amadeo? Was it the same man? Isabella' . He was seriously considering slapping her as the guard who haunted her outer office rushed inside. Isabella!

  Alessandro! ' They ' said ' they ' have him! ' She fell, sobbing, into Bernardo's arms as the guard ran frantically for the phone, dialing her home number, but he couldn't get through.

  Call the police! Bernardo shouted over his shoulder as he grabbed her coat and her handbag and rushed her through her own office and out the door. We're going to the house. And then, stopping for a moment in the doorway, he looked hard at Isabella and held her by both arms. It's probably only cranks again. You know that, don't you? He's probably all right But all she could do was stare at him and shake her head frantically from side to side.

  Was it the same voice, the same man? he asked.

  She shook her head again. Bernardo motioned to the guard to follow him, and the three of them ran down all three flights of stairs and outside. They collected another guard on the way. Isabella's car was already waiting for her as it did at the end of every day. Enzo stared at them in confusion as the four of them hurtled into the car, one of the guards shoving Enzo aside as he slid over, taking command of the wheel.

  Ma, che.' Enzo began, but one look at Isabella told him what he didn't want to know. Cosa c'e? What is it? Il bambino?

  No one
answered him. Isabella continued to clutch Bernardo, and they roared toward the villa on Via Appia Antica.

  The driver barely waited for the electric gates to slide open. One of the guards was already out of the car before they came to a stop. He ran into the house, followed an instant later by Isabella, Bernardo, Enzo, and the last guard, all of them pounding frantically through the house. The first person Isabella saw was Luisa.

  Alessandro? Where is he? She could speak now and she had grabbed the frightened servant roughly with both hands.

  I ' signora ' he' .

  Tell me!

  The elderly cook began to cry, confused. I don't know. Mamma Teresa took him out an hour ago, I thought' . What is wrong? Then, seeing Isabella hysterical before her, she knew. Oh, God, no. Oh, God! ' The air was filled with her long sorrowful scream. The sound cut into Isabella like a blade. All she could think to do was to stop it, cut it off. Unthinking, she reached back and slapped Luisa before Enzo could take the cook away. A moment later Bernardo's arm was around her waist and he was half steering, half dragging Isabella across the hall to her room. Just as they reached the door there was a commotion at the other end of the house. The sound of feet. The guards thundering through the house. And then, like music, the voice of Alessandro, and that of Mamma Teresa, as usual, unruffled, as she came in with the child. Isabella stared at Bernardo, wild-eyed, and ran into the hall.

  Mamma! Alessandro began, then stopped. She hadn't looked like that since they had told him four months before that she had the flu, and that had been when' . Looking at her, frightened, reminded, he ran toward her and began to cry.

  Clutching him warmly against her, her voice wracked by sobs, she looked at Mamma Teresa. Where were you?

  We went for a ride. The elderly nurse was beginning to understand what must have happened as she looked at Isabella and the phalanx of guards. I thought a change would do the boy good.

  Nothing happened? Mamma Teresa shook her head as Isabella looked back at Bernardo. Then it was only ' another one of those calls, she said. But she had believed them. It had been so like those others, those horrible threatening voices. And how had they gotten through? She felt herself swaying and was dimly aware of someone removing the child from her arms.

  Five minutes later she came to in her room with Bernardo and one of the maids standing over her, staring anxiously as she returned from unconsciousness.

  Grazie. Bernardo nodded dismissal to the maid, handed Isabella a glass of water, and sat down at the edge of the bed. He looked almost as pale as Isabella. She sipped the water silently from a glass held in a trembling hand.

  Do you want me to call the doctor?

  She shook her head, and they sat for a moment, shaken, silent, stunned by what they had thought.

  How did they get through? Isabella said finally.

  One of the guards says there is something wrong with the lines today. The intercept system on the phones at the office must have gone out for a few minutes. Or maybe they just missed the call. It could have rang in Amadeo's office for any reason. Even a crossed wire.

  But why would they do that to me? Oh, God, Bernardo' . She closed her eyes and leaned her head back on her pillows for a moment And poor Luisa.

  Never mind Luisa.

  I'll go to see her in a few minutes. I just thought

  So did I. I thought this was for real, Isabella. And what if one day it is? What if someone takes him too? He stared at her mercilessly as she closed her eyes and shook her head.

  Don't say that.

  What will you do? Add another dozen guards to the retinue? Build a fortress just for you and the boy? Have a heart attack the next time you get a crank call?

  I'm not old enough to have a heart attack. She looked at him bleakly with an attempt at a smile, but Bernardo did not return it.

  You can't live like this any longer. And don't make me speeches about what you're doing for Amadeo, about taking his place. If he knew what you were doing, how you were living, locked in, here, in the office, keeping the child locked up. If he knew the risks you're taking with that boy just by continuing to live in Rome, he would kill you, Isabella. You know it yourself. Don't you dare ever try to justify this by telling me that you're doing it all for him. Amadeo would never forgive you. And maybe one day neither will Alessandro. You are giving him a childhood of terror, not to mention what you're doing to yourself. How dare you! How dare you! Bernardo's voice had risen steadily as he spoke. He stalked around the room, turning to glare at her, waving his hands. He ran one hand through his hair and then sat down again, regretting his own outburst, prepared for Isabella's wrath. But as he looked at her he was stunned to realize that this time Isabella hadn't told him to go to hell. She hadn't invoked the sacred name of Amadeo, hadn't told him that she knew she was right.

  What do you think I should do? Run away? Leave Rome? Hide for the rest of my life? she said. But there was no sarcasm this time. Only the shadow of the terror she had just felt again.

  You don't need to hide for the rest of your life. But maybe you have to do something like that for a while.

  And then what? Bernardo, how can I? She sounded like a frightened, tired, little girl. Gently Bernardo reached for her hand.

  You have to, Isabella. You have no choice. They'll drive you mad if you stay here. Go away. For six months, a year. We'll work it out. We can communicate. You can give me orders, instructions, ulcers, anything, but don't stay here. For God's sake, don't stay here. I couldn't bear it if' . He shocked them both by dropping his head into his hands. He was crying. ' if something happened to Alessandro or to you. He looked up at her then, the tears still flowing from his blue eyes. You're like my sister. Amadeo was my best friend. For God's sake. Go away.

  Where?

  You could go to Paris.

  There's nothing there for me anymore. Everyone's gone. My grandfather, my parents. And if these people can do this to me here, they'll do it to me just as easily in France. Why can't I just find a secluded place in the country here, maybe not that far from Rome? If no one knows where I am, it would be the same thing.

  But Bernardo looked at her angrily now. Don't start playing games. Get out, dammit! Now! Go somewhere. Anywhere. Not ten minutes out of Rome, not in Milano, in Florence. Get the hell out!

  What are you suggesting? New York? She had said it sarcastically, but the moment she had said it, she knew, and so did he. She paused for a long moment, thinking, as he watched her, hoping, praying. Silently she nodded yes. She looked at him soberly, thinking it all out, and then slowly she got up from her bed and walked to the phone.

  What are you doing?

  The look in her eyes said that she wasn't beaten, that she hadn't given up. That there was still hope. She wouldn't stay away for a year. She wouldn't let them drive her away from her home, from her work, from where she belonged. But she would go. For a while. If it could be arranged. There was fire in her eyes again as she picked up the phone.

  Chapter EIGHT

  A long, lanky blonde, with her hair falling over one eye, sat in a tiny bright yellow room pounding away at a typewriter. At her feet a small brown cocker spaniel slept, and spread around the room were books, plants, and mountains of papers. Seven or eight coffee cups lay empty and overturned, having been checked out by the dog, and tacked over the window was a poster of San Francisco. She called it her view. It was clearly the den of a writer. And the framed covers of her last five books hung crookedly on the far wall, scattered among equally askew photographs of a yacht moored in Monte Carlo, two children on a beach in Honolulu, a president, a prince, and a baby. All of it related somehow to publishing, lovers, or friends, except for the baby, which was hers. The date on the photograph went back five years.

  The spaniel stirred lazily in the winter heat of the New York apartment, and the woman at the typewriter stretched her bare feet and reached down absentmindedly to stroke the dog.

  Hang in, Ashley. I'm almost through. She grabbed a black pen and made a few hasty correc
tions with a long slender hand, bare of rings. The voice in which she had spoken to the dog was decidedly southern. Savannah. It was a voice reminiscent of plantations and parties, elegant drawing rooms of the Deep South. It was the voice of gentility. A lady. Goddamn! She grabbed at the pen again, crossed out half a page and scrambled frantically on the floor for two pages she hadn't seen in an hour. They were there somewhere. Reworked, taped, patched. And, of course, essential. She was rewriting a book.

  At thirty she still had the same shape she'd had when she'd come to New York at nineteen to model, despite her family's violent protests. She'd hung in for a year, hating it, but admitting it to no one, except her beloved roommate from Rome, who had come to the States for a year to study American design. Like Natasha, Isabella had come to New York for a year. But Natasha had taken a year off from college to try and make it on her own. It was not what her parents had had in mind for her. Rich in aristocratic southern ancestry and poor in cold cash, they wanted her to finish school and marry a nice southern boy, which was not what Natasha had in mind.

  At nineteen all she had wanted was to get out of the South, get to New York, make money, and be free. And she had. She'd made money as a model and then as a free-lance writer. She'd even been free, for a while. Until she met and married John Walker, theater critic. A year later they had had a child and a year after that, they'd had a divorce. All she had left was a great body, a sensational face, a talent for writing, and a fifteen-month-old child. And five years later she had written five novels and two movies, and in the literary world she was a star.