Her face was suddenly very sober as they halted outside the theater. The driver turned in his seat to look at her.
Mrs. Walker mentioned something about my going in to see if the movie has already started.
He left her in the limousine and went to see if all was ready.
She felt her heart begin to race a little, as it had at her wedding when, in a cloud of white lace and veiling, she had been Amadeo's bride. But it was foolish to feel like that now. She was only going to a movie. And this time she was wearing black. And she was no longer Amadeo's bride, but his widow. It was too late to hesitate though. The chauffeur had already returned to help her from her car.
In the darkened theater Natasha was frantic. A party of seven had taken over the first seven seats along the aisle, and all her excuses I'm sorry, would you mind terribly? My cousin ' she has a terrible cold ' here in a minute ' coming late ' may not feel well and have to go ' were useless. No one heard her, the group was too unwieldy and too large. A fat man from Texas in oil, darlin' in a dinner jacket and a Stetson had had too much to drink. Bad kidneys, darlin', you know. It had been impossible to move him from his seat on the aisle. Beside him were his white-brocaded wife, their hosts, and next to them the financial editor of The Times of London, yet another very social couple, and at last Natasha with her spare seat. She wanted to Kill Isabella. The plan had been lunacy from the start. Isabella would have to climb over everyone; it was going to be impossible to keep her from being seen. She sat glowering, waiting for the film to start, hoping Isabella would develop small pox or at least typhoid, maybe even malaria, on her way to the car.
You look happy tonight, Natasha. What happened to you, they cancel your new book?
I should be so lucky. She glanced across the empty seat at Corbett Ewing.
You look mad as hell. He glanced with amusement at the man in the white dress Stetson in the aisle seat. Problems with Texas? Corbett Ewing looked at her with dancing blue eyes and a broad grin.
I was trying to save the seat for a friend.
Aha! So you're in love again. Goddamn it, every time I go out of town, I seem to miss my chance.
Natasha smiled. But he suddenly realized that she was concerned. And as he watched her he understood who the friend had to be. As he thought of her he felt his heart race.
Where've you been? Natasha tried to make idle chitchat but the worry was still in her eyes.
Tokyo mostly. Then Paris, London. And last week Morocco. God, that's a beautiful place.
So I hear. How's business? With Corbett that was like asking the White House chef, How was lunch? Corbett was constantly brewing some of business and industry's major deals.
All right. How's your book?
Finished, finally. I've decided that I'm not really a writer. Just a rewriter. I spend six weeks cooking them up and six months boiling them down.
Actually, that's about how it works with me. They both fell silent for a time, watching the crowds.
And then, without any notice, Corbett moved into the empty seat. Natasha looked at him, startled, and gestured to him to move back.
I can't see there. He looked at her sweetly.
Corbett ' will you please move! Her voice was urgent, but his smile only widened as he shook his head.
No, I won't.
Corbett! But at that moment the lights suddenly dimmed. Natasha went on urging him in the darkness, and behind them a row of dowagers complained.
Ssshhh!
At precisely that moment the usher's flashlight appeared at the end of the aisle. Natasha looked up, startled. At least Isabella was right on time. She was standing in momentary confusion, staring down at the man in the white hat.
Hi, darling, you must be Natasha's cousin. Now isn't that a nice coat. It was spoken in a loud stage whisper as the dowagers came alive again, and the Texan introduced Isabella to his wife. Isabella murmured pleasantly and glanced down the row of seats. Natasha signaled to her, and Isabella nodded, progressing slowly over seven pairs of feet and knees.
I'm sorry ' oh ' sorry ' terribly sorry. She had reached Natasha, who only pointed silently to the empty seat ' Isabella nodded, glanced at Corbett, climbed over both of them, settled her coat around her and sat down. The movie was just beginning and the theater was very dark, but as she sat there she turned to Corbett, and they exchanged a smile. At first she was too excited to watch the movie; instead she found herself staring up and down the long dark aisles. What did they look like, who were they, what were they wearing, and could they possibly understand how good it felt to be out? She was smiling to herself in the darkness, staring happily at the back of elaborate hairdos and well-barbered heads. At last she let her eyes be drawn by the movie and sat happily, almost childlike, enjoying what was happening on the screen. How long had it been since she'd even been to a movie? She thought for a moment. Early September, with Amadeo. Seven months ' she heard herself utter a small happy groan. The film itself was delightful, and she was enchanted by its beauty and the humor of the two stars. She watched, engrossed, until the curtain went down slowly and the houselights began to come up.
Is it over? Isabella glanced at Corbett in confusion, not satisfied that the story had been resolved. But he was smiling at her, amused, and pointed at the words on the screen almost hidden by the gold tassels of the heavy curtain still swinging closed.
It's only intermission. And the smile deepened. It's nice to see you, Isabella. Let's go to the lobby for a drink.
But as Isabella nodded, Natasha's hand was instantly on her arm, and her eyes held Corbett's with a dark frown.
I think she should stay here.
He paused for an instant, looking with interest at Isabella and then with concern at his old friend. He wanted to tell her to relax a bit, that he was neither a masher nor a rapist, but this wasn't the place nor the time. He turned again to Isabella. Would you like me to bring something back? But Isabella only shook her head, smiling politely, and sat down again in her seat. As soon as he had left, Natasha moved closer, wishing once again that she hadn't agreed to let Isabella come.
Isabella only smiled at her and patted her hand. Don't look so worried, Natasha. Everything is fine. She was getting the chance she had so desperately wanted. To watch the people, to look at the gowns, to hear the laughter, to be there. And suddenly Natasha saw her standing, looking slowly around.
She hissed at her fiercely. Sit down.
But Isabella was Isabella, and before Natasha could stop her, she had begun to slide slowly in the opposite direction, toward the other aisle. Isab ' goddamn' . She whispered to herself through clenched teeth, standing up quickly, apologizing, avoiding toes in elegant slippers, and trying to stay close to Isabella. But the instant they had joined the throng in the aisle, Isabella seemed to be swept from her on a current of people who swirled between them, laughed gaily, tried not to spill drinks, and tugged at Natasha's long sleeves.
Natasha! Darling! I missed you at
She muttered quickly, Later, and pressed on. But she was a good distance behind Isabella now, cascading into the lobby with the others, where a crowd pressed around the makeshift bar.
Changed your mind? It was Corbett Ewing, suddenly towering above Isabella as she looked up at him with a smile.
Yes, thank you.
Would you like a drink?
No, I Far behind her Natasha was suddenly staring, a look of panic in her eyes. She waved frantically to Corbett, who only waved back.
Natasha did not return the smile but gazed frantically at Isabella. She had to get to her. She motioned to her to turn around. Isabella did so, puzzled, wondering if there was something special she should see. It was Natasha who saw the danger approaching, in the form of two reporters, one from Women's Wear Daily and the other from the People section of Time. The woman from WWD, spiderlike in a black jersey dress, had stared at Isabella for a moment, knit her brows, and then was attempting to move closer, having whispered something to the man she had in tow. Meanwhile Isabella was smiling at
Corbett and casting Natasha an embarrassed look.
Natasha was still not able to get near her. She wanted to kick them, bite them, shove them aside. She had to get to Isabella, before the two reporters, before '
It was too late. A double flash exploded in Isabella's eyes. She wheeled suddenly, frightened, briefly blinded by the lights. She grabbed at Corbett's arm just as Natasha reached her and pulled her to her side.
Corbett was still standing there, startled, his drink in his hand, his powerful body blocking the reporters who had momentarily been shoved aside. Natasha grabbed his arm then, shouting above the din.
Get her out of here for God's sake! Now. She grabbed his drink from him, and both his arms were around Isabella like a fortress as another flash of light went off in her face. Before she knew what had happened, he had propelled her halfway across the room. Dimly Isabella heard the murmur that had gone up in the lobby. Corbett held her arm tightly, and they ran out of the lobby to his Rolls-Royce. Isabella had not said a word, but as she ran with him something told him that this was not new to her. They barreled into the car. As the door was still closing Corbett was shouting, Get us the hell out of here. It was only then that the reporters came hurtling after them through the door. Corbett grinned. Football in college still paid off now and then. And he had to admire Isabella. She had come the distance with him, without ladylike pretensions about high heels or falling or what she might be doing to her dress. She sat on the seat now, without speaking, trying to gather her wits and catch her breath. They had already turned the corner, and the reporters were left gaping at the curb.
Are you all right? Corbett turned to her now, opening a compartment and pulling out a brandy decanter and one glass.
How convenient. And then, smiling faintly, Yes. I'm fine.
Does this happen to you often? He handed her the glass, and she took it.
Not in a while.
He looked at Isabella and noticed the hand that trembled as she held her glass. At least she was human, despite the composure. She was no longer even out of breath. Natasha didn't tell me where I should take you. Do you want to go home? Or would it be safer at my place?
No, our place will be fine. And I apologize for for the ugly scene.
Not at all. My life is extremely dull by comparison. He gave the address to the chauffeur. But he was suddenly unnerved by what he had seen of Isabella. Despite the composure, there was a look of despair on her face. I don't mean to make light of it. It must be very unnerving. Is that why you left Italy? Or is this something that only happens to you here? His voice was gentle as he settled back next to her on the seat.
No. This ' it happened at home too. I I'm sorry but I can't explain. It's very awkward. I'm only very sorry to have spoiled your evening. You can just drop me off and go back.
But that was not at all what Corbett Ewing had in mind. There was something rare and strange about this woman that touched his heart Something hidden, something remarkable and oblique. She had regal bearing, beauty, he could see in her eyes that there was humor and wit, but there was also something else, something buried, something more. Pain, sorrow, loneliness, he had seen it now, with her dark, smoldering look. He sat very quietly for a moment, then as they turned into the park he spoke easily again.
How's my friend Alessandro? They exchanged a smile, and Corbett was pleased to note that the mention of the boy seemed to unbend her.
He's very well.
And what about you? Bored yet? He knew that she rarely left the apartment, except for brief walks with Natasha. He didn't understand it, but it seemed to be all she did. But now she shook her head vehemently with a smile.
Oh, no, not bored! I've been so busy!
Have you? He looked intrigued. Doing what?
Working.
Really? Did you bring your work with you? She nodded. In what line?
For an instant she was stumped. But she came up with an answer quickly. With my family. In ' art.
Interesting. I'm afraid I can't claim anything as noble as my line of work.
What do you do? Obviously something very successfully, she thought, as her eyes gently wandered over the wooden-and-leather interior of the new Rolls.
A number of things, but mostly textiles. At least that's what I prefer. The rest I leave to the people I work with. My family began with textiles a long time ago and that's what I've always liked best.
That's interesting. For a moment there was a light in Isabella's eyes. Are you particularly involved in any one kind? She was dying to know if she bought from him but she didn't dare ask. Perhaps she could glean the information from something he said.
Wools, linens, silks, cottons. We have a line of velvets that upholsters most of this country, and of course man-made fibers, synthetics, and some new things we're developing now.
I see, but not dress fabrics then. She looked disappointed. Upholstery wasn't her bag.
Yes, of course. We do garment fabrics too. Garment. She cringed at the hideous word. Garment. Her dresses weren't garments. That was Seventh Avenue. What she did was haute couture. He couldn't decipher the look in her eyes but he was amused just the same. We probably even made the fabric for the dress you have on. He allowed a rare burst of pride to show in his voice, but she looked at him then, haughty, the princess from Rome.
This fabric is French.
In that case I apologize. Amused, he backed down. Which brings to mind something far more important. You never told me your last name.
She hesitated only for an instant. Isabella.
That's all? He smiled at her. Just Isabella, the Italian friend?
That's right, Mister Ewing. That's all. She looked at him long and hard, and he nodded slowly.
I understand. After what he had glimpsed at the theater, he knew she had been through enough. Something very difficult had happened to this woman, and he wasn't going to pry. He didn't want to frighten her away from him.
They pulled up at that moment in front of Natasha's door, and with a small sigh Isabella turned to him and proffered her right hand. Thank you very much. And I'm terribly sorry to have spoiled your evening.
You didn't. I was just as happy to get out of there. I always find benefits a bore.
Do you? She looked at him with interest. Why is that?
Too many people, too much small talk. Everyone is there for the wrong reasons, to see their cronies and not to benefit whatever cause. I prefer seeing my friends in small gatherings where we can hear each other talk.
She nodded. In some ways she agreed with him. But in other ways evenings like that one were in her blood.
May I see you inside, just to make sure no one is lurking in the halls?
She laughed at the suspicion, but gratefully inclined her head.
Thank you. But I'm quite sure I'm safe here.
As she said it something told him that that was why she had come to America. To be safe.
Let's just make sure. He walked her to the elevator and then inside. I'll just take you up.
Isabella said nothing until the elevator stopped, and then suddenly she felt awkward; he had been so incredibly nice.
Would you like to come in for a moment? You know, you could wait for Natasha until she comes home.
Thank you, I'd like that. They closed the door. Why didn't she come back with us, by the way, instead of staying to play Meet the Press? That had puzzled him as he had run with Isabella, thinking of what Natasha had just said.
Isabella sighed as she looked at him. She could at least tell him that much. I think she felt it would be wiser if no one knew I was with her.
That's why you came in late? She nodded, and he said, You lead a very mysterious life, Isabella. He smiled, not asking further questions, as they sat down on the long white couch.
The rest of the evening passed quickly. They chatted about Italy, about textiles, about his home. He had a plantation he had bought in South Carolina, a farm in Virginia, and a house in New York.
Do you keep hor
ses in Virginia?
Yes, I do. Do you ride?
She grinned at him over their brandies. I used to. But it's been a long time.
You and Natasha will have to bring the boys down there sometime. Would you have time for that before you go back?
I might. But as they began to speak of it Natasha marched through the door. She looked wilted and exhausted and she looked Isabella straight in the eye.
I told you you were crazy to try it. Do you have any idea what you've done? Corbett was startled for a moment at the look on her face and the vehemence of her tone. But Isabella did not appear to be ruffled. She motioned to Natasha to sit down.
Don't get so excited. It was nothing. They took some pictures. So what? She tried to conceal her own worry and held out a warm hand.
But Natasha knew better. She turned her back in fury, and then stared at Corbett and then Isabella, as she pulled up the satin tunic and sat down.
Do you have any idea who they were? Women's Wear, Time magazine. The third one was the Associated Press. And I think I might even have caught a glimpse of the society editor from Vogue. But the fact is, you asshole, that it wouldn't have mattered if it was a twelve-year-old boy with a Brownie. Your game is up.
What game? What was happening? Corbett was intrigued. He looked at both women and was quick to speak.
Should I go?
Natasha answered him before Isabella could. It doesn't matter, Corbett. I trust you. And by tomorrow morning the whole world will know.
But Isabella was angry now. She stood up and walked around the room. That's absurd.
Is it, Isabella? You don't think anyone remembers you? You think in two months everyone has forgotten you? Do you really feel that safe? Because if you do, you're a fool.
Corbett said nothing. He only watched Isabella's face. She was frightened, but determined, and she had the look of someone who had taken her chances, lost the first hand, and was not going to give in or quit. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her he'd protect her, to tell Natasha to settle down. His voice was deep and gentle when at last he spoke.
Maybe nothing will come of it.
Natasha only glared at him furiously, as though he had been part of the original plot. You're wrong, Corbett. You don't know how wrong you are. By tomorrow it will be in all of the papers. She looked unhappily at Isabella. I'm right, you know.
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