Isabella stood very still and spoke very softly. Maybe not.
Chapter NINETEEN
Corbett Ewing sat in his office, staring at the morning paper in despair. True to Natasha's predictions, it was all in the news. He was reading The New York Times. Isabella di San Gregorio, widow of the kidnapped and subsequently murdered couturier, Amadeo di San Gregorio' . It went on to explain once again every possible detail of the kidnapping and its eventual unhappy outcome. More interestingly it described in intricate detail how she had disappeared and it had been thought that she had taken refuge in a penthouse atop her couture house in Rome. There was a brief line, questioning if she had in fact been in the States all along, or if she had slipped away after the successful opening that week of San Gregorio's spring line. The article went on to mention that it was not known where she was staying and that discreet inquiries of prominent people in the fashion world had turned up nothing. Either they were cooperating in keeping her whereabouts secret or they didn't know. Signore Cattani, the American representative of San Gregorio in New York, said that he had heard from her more frequently than usual in recent months, but that he had no reason to believe that she was in New York and not Rome. There was also a mention of the fact that she had been seen at the film premiere escorted by a tall, white-haired man, that they had made good their escape together in a black chauffeured Rolls. But his identity had been uncertain. The reporters, interest had centered on their shock at seeing Isabella, and although one of the reporters had been under the impression that he was indeed a familiar face, no one had actually thought to check him carefully, and all they had of him in the photographs was his back as they ran.
Corbett sighed, set down the paper, sat back in his chair, and swiveled slowly around. What did she know of him? What had Natasha said? He wished that, of all the women in the world, she were anyone but who she was. He sat, looking dejected, glancing at the paper, and then at his hands. Slowly his thoughts turned from his own worries to hers. Isabella di San Gregorio. It had never dawned on him before.
Natasha's cousin from Milan! He smiled to himself at the story and then smiled more broadly as he put together the rest of the pieces and remembered the whole silly game ' he had told her he was in textiles ' she had told him her family was in art. Yet she knew something about fabrics. And the way she bridled when she had told him that the satin for her outfit was surely not his but had been bought in France! He understood everything better now: the secrecy, their flight from the benefit, and Isabella's eyes filled with fear, as though she had lived that scene only too often, as though she had been haunted by it for much too long. Poor woman. What she must have gone through. He found himself also wondering how she managed to run her business from New York.
One thing was certain: Isabella di San Gregorio was a remarkable woman, a woman with talent and beauty and soul, but he wondered now if he would ever get to know her. If he even had a chance. He realized that there was only one answer, and it had to come from her. That night he would tell her. He couldn't take a chance of her finding out later and having it taint what he felt for her, what he wanted to help her do. If she'd let him. If she'd even speak to him again.
With a long sigh of resignation Corbett Ewing stood up and left his desk. He looked far up Park Avenue to where he knew Isabella hid, in Natasha's apartment, with her child and Natasha's, and then he sat down again and picked up the phone.
Isabella was still talking to Bernardo in Rome. He had first gotten the news at noon. His secretary had brought him the afternoon paper, which he read in horror, his eyes flaming, but without saying a word. He had called Isabella at six in the morning, and at seven, and now again, just after ten.
All right, goddamn it! So what? I did it! There's no changing that now. I'll go back into hiding. No one will know if I'm still here. I can't bear it any longer. I work night and day. I eat with the children. I take short walks after dark. No people, Bernardo. No one to look at and laugh with and talk to. No one intelligent to talk business with. The only excitement in my evenings is provided by Jason's electric train. Her voice pleaded with him, but Bernardo didn't want to hear.
All right, go ahead, make a spectacle of yourself. Expose yourself. But if something happens to you or Alessandro, don't come crying to me, because it'll be your own goddamn fault And then suddenly he took a long breath and slowed down. At the other end he could hear Isabella crying softly into the phone. All right, all right, I'm sorry' . Isabella, please ' but I was so frightened for you. It was such a foolish thing to do. He lit a cigarette and then stubbed it out.
I know. She sobbed again and then tiredly wiped her eyes. I just felt I had to. I really didn't think anyone would see me or that there would be any harm.
Do you understand differently now? Do you realize how visible you are?
She nodded miserably. Yes. I used to love it Now I hate it. I'm a prisoner of my own face.
It's a beautiful face, and I love it, so stop crying. His voice was gentle.
So what do I do now? Come home?
Are you crazy? It would be worse than last night. No. You stay there. And I'll try telling them that you only left here after the collection and you're coming back to Europe. I'll hint to them something about France. That will make sense to them because of your mother's family there.
They're all dead. She sniffed loudly and blew her nose.
I know that. But it makes sense that you'd have ties there.
You think they'll believe it?
Who cares? As long as they don't see you out in public again, you're safe. No one seems to know where you're staying. Did Natasha leave the party with you? He prayed for a moment that one of them had been smarter than that.
No. A friend of hers took me home. She left separately.
Good. He paused for a moment, trying to sound offhanded. And by the way, who was the man in the photograph? That was all he needed. For her to get involved with someone over there.
He is a friend of Natasha's, Bernardo. Relax.
He won't tell anyone where you are?
Of course not.
You're too trusting. I'll get busy here with the press.
And Isabella, please ' for God's sake, cara, use your head and stay home.
Capisco, capisco. Don't worry. Now I understand. Even here I'm a prisoner. More so even than I was in Rome.
One day that will be over. You just have to be patient for a while. It's only been seven months since the kidnapping, you know. In a few months, in a year, it will be old news. Old news ' she was thinking that she would be old news by then too.
Yeah. Maybe. And Bernardo ' I'm sorry to give you so much trouble. She suddenly felt like a very naughty child.
Don't worry. I'm used to it. I'd be lost without it by now.
How's your ulcer? She smiled into the phone.
Doing beautifully. I think it's growing bigger and stronger every hour.
Stop that. Take it easy, please, will you?
Yeah. Sure. Now get to work on those problems with the ready-to-wear for Asia, and if you get bored, you can start on the summer line.
You're too good to me.
+ecco. I know. I'll call you later if anything else comes up. Nothing should if you keep your door closed and stay home.
Capisco. They both said ciao and hung up. At her end Isabella felt resentful. Why should she have to stay home, and what right did he have to tell her not to trust Corbett? She stepped out of her office, wandered into the kitchen, and found Natasha pouring herself a cup of coffee and looking grim.
Did you have a nice chat with Bernardo?
Yes, lovely. But do me a favor, not you too. Natasha had been quick to storm into her room at seven, with the newspaper in her hand and a look of fury still on her face. I don't think I can take any more today. I made a mistake. I was overconfident. I shouldn't have gone out last night, but I did. I had to. I couldn't stand it anymore. But I realize now that I have to stay in the background at least for a while.
What's he going to tell the press?
That I was here for a few days and that I'm going to live in France.
That ought to keep them scouting around Paris for a day or two. And you, what are you going to do?
What I have been doing. My work and not much else.
At least one nice thing happened out of all that ruckus last night. She watched Isabella intently.
What? Isabella looked blank.
You ran into Corbett again. Natasha paused, watching her face. And may I say that you made quite a hit.
With Corbett? Don't be silly. But as she turned away Natasha was sure she saw her blush.
Do you like him? There was a long silence. Well?
But slowly Isabella turned to her with a warm light in her eyes. Natasha, don't push.
She nodded. I think he might call you. Isabella nodded silently in answer, but her heart did a little leap as she went back to her office and closed the door.
Chapter TWENTY
Isabella was still in her room, dressing for dinner, when Corbett arrived. From behind her closed door, as she listened, she heard the delighted shrieks of Jason and in a moment the equally pleased giggles of her own son. She smiled to herself. It wouldn't do him any harm to see a man for a change. It had been too long since he had been around Bernardo, and unlike her own home, Natasha didn't have any men working in her household. Alessandro had contact with only females, which lately had made him miss his father all the more.
Isabella zipped up the black wool dress she was wearing, smoothed her black stockings, and slipped into black suede shoes. She put on black enamel and pearl earrings and ran a hand over her dark, severely worn hair. She grinned to herself as she flicked the light off. The swan had turned into an ugly duckling again. But it didn't matter. She wasn't trying to woo Corbett Ewing, and like Alessandro, it would do her good to have a male friend.
When she walked quietly into the living room, she found him besieged by both boys, who had just opened two large packages that had yielded identical firemen's hats equipped with flashing lights and sirens with two firemen's coats to match.
Look, we're firemen now! They donned their equipment and zoomed around the room. Alessandro was obviously delighted to see Corbett again, and the shrieking from the sirens was appalling, as Natasha winced.
Lovely gift, Corbett. Remind me to call and thank you tomorrow morning at six o'clock.
He started to answer and then saw Isabella standing across the room. He rose quickly, looked at her nervously, and walked toward her to take her hand. Hello, Isabella. How are you? But her eyes told him how she was. She was tired. Exhausted. But he found himself struck by her beauty again. She would have been surprised to hear it, but he decided that she looked even more so in the stark black wool, without the magnificence of satins and the striking white coat. You must have had quite a day. He rolled his eyes sympathetically, and she smiled as she followed him into the room and sat down on the couch.
Oh, I survived it. One always does. What about you?
For me it was easy. All they knew about me was that I had white hair. The only thing they didn't say was that I was an elderly gentleman He started to say more but the boys cut him off.
Look, look, it squirts water!
Oh, no! Jason had discovered that there was a little pipe fitted somewhere into the hat that could be filled with water and subsequently used to douse all of one's friends.
Corbett, I may never speak to you again! Natasha groaned and announced to the boys that it was time for bed.
No, Mommy ' Aunt Isabella ' no ' please! Jason looked at them pleadingly, but Alessandro simply moved in closer to Corbett's knees. He was staring at him with interest while Jason continued to play with the hat. Isabella had never seen him so quiet, and from a little distance she watched. Corbett had noticed it too and he turned to smile at him and casually put an arm around the small shoulders.
What do you think of all this, Alessandro?
I think it is' . He groped for the right English, very fun. I like very much the hat. He stared up at Corbett admiringly and grinned.
I thought they were pretty good too. Would you like to come and see a real firehouse with me sometime?
For firemans? He looked at Corbett and then at his mother with awe. You go too? Isabella nodded, noticing that Alessandro now spoke in English to her too.
Of course. I meant both of you. What do you say?
Si! But that was too much for him. He spent the next five minutes rattling frantically to his mother in Italian. There were lengthy discussions about how wonderful American firemen must be, what they wore, how big their trucks were, and whether or not they really used a brass pole.
Non so ' non so ' aspetta ' wait, we'll find all that out! Isabella was laughing with him, and she watched with amusement as he shifted his seat from next to hers onto Corbett's knee.
We will go soon?
I promise!
Very good. He clapped his hands and took off in hot pursuit of Jason, and moments later they were banished to their room, despite begging, pleading, protests, and outraged comments that it was too early for firemen to go to bed. When at last they were gone, the room was strangely quiet.
Corbett watched Isabella once again. You have a lovely boy.
I'm afraid he's a little eager for male company, as you probably observed. But after what Corbett had undoubtedly read in the papers that day, there was no need to hide the truth. In Rome he had one of my business associates who is his godfather. Here he has she looked at Natasha only us. It's not quite the same thing. But you needn't feel obliged to take him to a fire-house. The gifts you brought are marvelous. You've done more than enough.
Don't be silly. I'd love it. Natasha can tell you. Jason is one of my best friends.
Fortunately, she confirmed it, since his charming father never shows up. She and Isabella had discussed that often in the past two months. But Jason seemed happy anyway, and having another child around was doing both boys a lot of good. It made up for other lacks, other losses, as neither of their mothers could.
I'll work it out for some time this week. Maybe this weekend, if you're all free. But as he said it Isabella looked at him and laughed.
Oh, yes, we're quite free.
Corbett was glad that she was laughing. After what he had read that day, he was not sure how she still could. But as he watched her he realized how very strong she was. She was bruised, she was lonely, but she was undaunted, and there was still laughter there, and fire, and a certain indestructible joy. He smiled at her openly and then raised an eyebrow.
Tell me, Isabella, he said, would you like to hear some more from me about textiles tonight? Or shall we just discuss art? He was laughing at her now too. In a moment they were all laughing, and the atmosphere in the room was easy and free.
I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. But what you told me was very interesting. Even if we do buy most of our satins in France.
That's your mistake. But the least you could have done was tell me that you were in fashion or something related to the trade.
Why? I was enjoying what you had to tell me. And you were absolutely right about everything except synthetics. I hate using them in couture.
But you do use them in ready-to-wear, don't you?
Obviously. I have to, for durability, and the price.
Then I'm not so far off. They launched into an intricate discussion of chemicals and colors. Quietly Natasha left them. When she returned, the conversation had moved on to Asia, the difficulties of doing business there, the climate, the financial arrangements, problems of exchanges, open markets, all highly specialized terms, until at last Hattie announced dinner and Natasha yawned.
I adore you both, but you're boring the hell out of me.
I'm sorry. Isabella was quick to apologize. It's just very nice to have someone to talk to about business for a change.
I'll forgive you.
Corbett smiled at his hostess.
The three of them had a
delightful evening. They made their way to lemon souffl+! and then finally espresso as Hattie passed a small silver platter covered with mints.
I shouldn't. Natasha sounded like Scarlett O'Hara as she plopped four of the tiny candies into her mouth.
Neither should I. Isabella hesitated, but then shrugged. But why not? According to Natasha and Bernardo, I'm going to be in hiding for the next ten years anyway, so I might as well get enormous and fat I can let my hair grow to my ankles, '
Natasha quickly interrupted, I didn't say ten years, I said one.
What difference does it make? One year? Ten? Now I know how people feel when they're sentenced to prison. It never seems real until you're living it, and once you are, it's difficult to believe it will ever stop. It just goes on and on and on until one day it's over, and by then it probably doesn't matter anymore. She looked serious as she stirred her coffee and Corbett watched.
I don't know how you stand it I'm not sure I could.
Apparently I don't stand it very gracefully or I'd never have indulged in that fiasco last night. Thank God for you, Corbett, or I would have been thrown to the wolves, and by now I wouldn't even be able to stay here at Natasha's. I'd have to be hiding alone with Alessandro some place else. The three of them were considerably sobered by the thought.
I'm glad I was there then.
So am I. She looked at him openly, and slowly she smiled. I'm afraid I was very foolish. But also very lucky. Thank you again. She had come to her senses, but he was shaking his head.
I didn't do anything. Except run like hell.
That was enough. For a moment their eyes met across the table, and he looked at her with a warm smile. Reluctantly they left the dining room and returned to the living room to sit by the fire. They chatted about Natasha's books, the theater, travel, and events in New York, and for a moment Natasha looked worried seeing a look of longing come into Isabella's eyes. Corbett understood quickly, and for a moment they were all quiet. And then Natasha stood up lazily and turned her back to the fire.
to Love Again (1981) Page 17