Wiping his cheeks with her fingertips, Stevie said, “Yes, Mummy will always love Daddy.” She stopped, unable to continue, so choked was she. Taking the small tea napkin the housekeeper had given her, she wiped his face and then Natalie’s.
Taking a deep breath, Stevie went on, “You must be brave and strong for Daddy. Mummy would want that, and she would want you to look after him.”
There was a slight noise. Stevie glanced toward the arched entranceway of the living room in Nigel’s Kensington flat. She saw her son standing there watching them, his face shattered, the pain in his eyes unbearable.
“Nigel!” Stevie exclaimed, trying to sound cheerful. “There you are, darling.”
When they saw their father, the children pulled away from Stevie, ran across the floor to him, and flung themselves against his legs.
Nigel hunkered down next to them, put his arms around the two of them. “Hello, Pumpkins,” he said, forcing a smile onto his ravaged face. “I hope you’ve been good for Gran.”
“Yes. Gran says Mummy’s making angels’ wings in heaven, Daddy,” Arnaud confided. “Angels can fly, Daddy.”
“Oh, really, I never knew that,” Nigel murmured, trying to hold his emotions in check. He looked over their blond heads at Stevie, and she gave him a faint smile.
Straightening, Nigel walked into the living room, holding each child by the hand.
Stevie rose to greet him, and he kissed her on the cheek, glanced at her skirt, and said, “A little person’s ruined that.”
“It doesn’t matter. There are more important things in this world than a skirt. Do you want a cup of tea?” she asked as she sat down again.
“A nice cup of tea,” Natalie said, mimicking Melanie, the housekeeper.
“I’ll go and ask Mel to make me one. Is Agnes back from the dentist?”
“She returned about five minutes ago,” Stevie said.
He nodded and disappeared into the foyer, heading in the direction of the kitchen.
Agnes appeared a moment later. “Come on, children, let’s go back to the nursery. Kiss Grandma good-bye.”
“Can we watch The Lion King?” Arnaud asked.
“And why not,” Agnes responded. She smiled across at Stevie. “Thanks for being here, for babysitting this afternoon, Mrs. Jardine.”
“Anytime, Agnes.”
Natalie ran and climbed onto Stevie’s knee and put her small plump arms around her neck. She gave her grandmother a large, noisy kiss and whispered in her ear, “Gran stay. No go to heaven.”
“Yes, Gran will stay with Natalie and Arnaud, darling. Don’t worry.”
The little girl scrambled off her knee; Arnaud came up to her, leaned against her knees, and kissed her cheek as Stevie bent forward. “Can I have a dog, Gran?”
“If it’s all right with Daddy, yes. I’ll get you a lovely little bichon frise puppy.”
“What’s that?”
“Like Lenore’s two little dogs, Chammi and Beaji.”
“Funny names. I’ll call my dog Angel,” he announced. “And Mummy will make it wings.”
Stevie smiled but her heart was aching. She didn’t answer her grandson. She couldn’t find the right words.
After they had gone off to the nursery with Agnes, Stevie got up and put another log on the fire. Although it was the middle of May, it was a damp afternoon. The big living room seemed awfully cold to her, and dismal.
A few minutes later Nigel came back into the living room, carrying a cup of tea. “Mel wants to know if you would like another one, Mother.”
“No thanks. I’m surprised I haven’t floated away, all the tea I’ve drunk these last few weeks.”
Stevie walked over to the sofa and seated herself on it. Staring at Nigel, she couldn’t help thinking how ill he looked. He had lost weight, his clothes hung on him loosely, and his face was gaunt, drawn. His vivid blue eyes, always one of his best features, were pale today, and bloodshot. There was a cloak of sorrow and despair about him, and Stevie’s heart went out to her son. Tamara had been dead and buried for just over six weeks, and it was obvious to Stevie—and everyone else—that Nigel was falling apart.
“You don’t look at all well,” Stevie began slowly, groping her way, wondering how to skillfully bring the conversation around to what she really wanted to say.
“I feel much worse than I look, Mother.” He coughed behind his hand and turned away. When he suddenly brought his gaze to hers, he asked in a tight voice, “How did you manage to go on after my father died?”
“I don’t really know, Nigel. I found the strength somewhere. But it was so hard. Extremely difficult. But I had you and the twins, my mother and Derek, and I just knew I had to find the will to continue living somehow. When I look back now, I honestly don’t know how I did it, I really don’t. I operated strictly by rote, like an automaton, for a very long time. I just got through the days.”
Nigel nodded. “I know what you mean—” He paused and shook his head, his face crumpling up with emotion. “I loved her so much, Mam.” Finally, his voice broke, but he recovered himself and went on. “Tam was so special, there was just no one like her. She was so sweet, so humorous, and she was such a loving human being.”
“She was all these things, Nigel; everyone adored Tamara.”
“I heard what you were saying to the children when I came in. Thanks for that.”
“I didn’t know what to say…they’re so young. And children can ask the most terrible questions. It’s hard for them to understand.” Stevie let out a long sigh, wishing she knew of a way to help her son. But he could only help himself. That was the problem with grief; it was a heavy burden to carry, and also a lonely burden, in a sense. They were all grieving for Tam; obviously they would recover sooner than Nigel would. She must try to console him, give him what comfort she could.
Stevie spoke softly. “You know, Nigel, it does get a little easier as time goes by. I know that’s cold comfort right now, just words, and words don’t necessarily help when you’re longing for the loved one you’ve lost. They seem so empty.”
He stared at her, said nothing.
“I didn’t believe it either, Nigel. But it’s the truth. And then there’s work. That helped me. Once your grandfather had agreed to let me work at Jardine’s, my whole life changed. For the better. I found it took my mind off my pain and my longing for your father.”
Without thinking twice, or weighing the odds, and speaking from the heart, Stevie went on. “And that’s exactly what you need, Nigel. Work. There’s not much to your life these days, hanging around the flat, seeing the odd friend for lunch. I think you’d better go back to Jardine’s tomorrow.”
Astonishment crossed his face, displacing the grief. For a second he was not sure he had heard her correctly. He frowned, his brows knitting together in the same way his little son’s did. He was at a loss, hardly knew what to say. And so he said nothing.
It was Stevie who spoke again. “You need something to keep you occupied, busy. Work took my mind off my sorrow and the loss I felt. It will do the same for you. Do as I say. Go back to Jardine’s tomorrow, Nigel.”
“You’re giving me my old job back, Mother?” he asked, his voice echoing with disbelief and surprise.
“Yes, I am.”
“You would do that, after the way I behaved?”
“Of course I would, Nigel. I fired you for your insubordination, not because you were incapable of doing your job. As a matter of fact, you’re wonderful at your job. Brilliant. And I’ve always said so. Anyway, the company’s yours actually. When I step down in a couple of years, which I now plan to do, you’ll be running Jardine’s on both sides of the Atlantic. I just want you to get a bit more experience under your belt before I retire.”
“I’m flabbergasted, I really am,” Nigel murmured, looking at her intently. “Very few people would do that, take me back into the business.”
“I’m not people, Nigel darling, I’m your mother. You’re my eldest son, my firstborn c
hild, and I love you very much. I’ve never stopped loving you, even when I thought you were working against me.”
“Some people would hold a grudge.”
“I hope I’m far too big a woman to do that. Grudges are petty. They’re the tools of the weak and the small-minded in this world. But speaking of grudges, your Jardine grandmother had a grudge against me when she was alive. And lately I’ve been wondering if she implanted seeds of doubt and hatred of me in your head when you were much younger.”
Nigel sat back on the love seat and closed his eyes. Finally, when he opened them, he said, “Grandmother Alfreda was…she was an old bitch, Mother. But I didn’t know it then, when I was a teenager. And yes, you’re right, she talked a lot about you…brainwashed me actually, now that I look back. Her poisonous stories about you, her innuendos and her accusations were all meant to kill my love for you.”
“Accusations?” Stevie shook her head, looking puzzled for a moment.
“She said it was your fault that Dad died.”
Stevie was taken aback. This was the last thing she had expected. “What next? But that’s not true. And you know better than that. Your father died of peritonitis. A bungled operation by an incompetent doctor. Of her choosing, I might add. If anyone was responsible for your father’s death, it was Alfreda, his own mother.”
“She really chose the doctor?”
“Yes. He was the son of a friend.”
“I didn’t know.”
“And what else did she say?”
“She questioned your morals…especially when you got pregnant with Chloe.”
“That’s typical of her.” Stevie got up, went and sat on the love seat next to him. “Did she kill your love for me, Nigel?”
“Not entirely, no, Mother. But she did damage it, I’ve got to admit that. You see, she made me believe you wanted the business for yourself, for your own devious ends. She said that you’d kick me out one day. Take Jardine’s away from me.”
“And you believed her?”
“I was very young, just a kid.”
“I know you were. And impressionable. She was wicked, Nigel, a really wicked woman.”
“I’m so sorry, Mother.”
“I know. And remember, my love for you has never changed, or altered in any way. I hope you realize that, realize how much I do love you, Nigel.”
“I’m beginning to understand, Mam.”
Stevie smiled hugely, and it was her first real smile in weeks.
“What is it?’ he asked, frowning again.
“You probably don’t realize it, but you keep calling me Mam, as you used to when you were a little boy.”
He did not respond. Unexpectedly, he reached out for her, took hold of her, held her tightly in his arms.
“How will you ever be able to forgive me for what I did to you?” he asked against her hair.
“Oh, I already have, Nigel. Weeks ago.”
“How can I make it up to you?”
“By going back to Jardine’s tomorrow.”
“I don’t know how to redeem myself in your eyes,” he said, drawing away, searching her face.
“By doing a good job at the store. By looking after your children and loving them well. By loving your brothers and sister. By loving Derek, Blair, and Bruce. By standing tall, Nigel, and being the man I know you can be.”
“I will try. No, I will do it. I will.”
She smiled at him, her gray-green eyes spilling her love for her eldest son. She touched his cheek gently. “Love is so important in all of our lives…and I mean all kinds of love, Nigel, not just the romantic kind. Love has such tremendous healing powers.”
“Yes, I know it does. I’ve witnessed it with you and Chloe. What progress she’s made, and it’s all because of you.”
“And the rehabilitation hospital. And Bruce and Derek and Blair. And Miles and Gideon and Lenore. And you too, Nigel, and the children. The entire family has been part of her healing, as they will also be part of yours.”
29
ON WEDNESDAY MORNING OF THE FOLLOWING week, Stevie drove to Heathrow and took a plane to Italy. The flight was relatively short, only an hour and forty minutes from London to Milan.
Now, as the British Airways jet approached the Linate Airport runway, Stevie moved her watch one hour ahead, in order to conform with European time. It was exactly ten-forty.
After leaving the plane, everything went very quickly; within twenty minutes she was sitting in the limousine she had picked up at the airport, heading into Milan.
She leaned back against the car seat, feeling relaxed, and much calmer than she had been for some time. Since the shooting, in fact.
Nigel had gone back to Jardine’s the day after she had had her heart-to-heart talk with him, almost a week ago now, and already he seemed much better in spirits. Work had been important to him all his life, and just as she had predicted, being at the store again was helping him to adjust to the tragedy that had befallen him. It would take him a long time to recover from Tamara’s death, but she knew now that he had a good chance of getting back on his feet. Work was a great antidote to sorrow; she had discovered that for herself. And he had his children. They, too, would help to sustain him, and, because of their need for him, give meaning to his existence, a reason to live.
As for Chloe, she was improving daily, growing stronger and healthier after her five-week stay at Northwick Park Hospital. The therapy had been necessary, had helped to bring her back to normal, and Valentin Longdon was pleased with her progress. He had seen Chloe only last week and pronounced her fit and well, but he had recommended to Stevie that they stay in England for another month. After that, he had said, they could travel back to the States. Or anywhere else they wanted.
I’ve been lucky, Stevie thought, staring out of the car window, her mind focused on her daughter. Chloe could have died, or remained in a coma, or been left totally paralyzed. God did give me an Easter miracle. For Chloe, at least, but not for Tamara. Whenever she thought of her daughter-in-law, her heart ached and she filled with sadness. She would miss Tam for as long as she lived; there would always be a hole in her heart now that her son’s wife was gone.
Within twenty minutes of leaving Linate Airport, the car was entering Milan’s Centro, the city center, where the hotel she had selected was located. As usual, the city center was busy with traffic, but within seconds the car was pulling up outside the Four Seasons on Via Gesù, near Via Montenapoleone. Once a cloister, the old monastery had been tastefully renovated, the fifteenth-century building updated to become a beautiful hotel, filled with sunlight streaming in through the large windows.
As she walked through the lobby to the registration desk, Stevie glanced around, liking the ambiance, the airiness, the sense of spaciousness that prevailed.
Once she was settled in her suite, she unpacked the suitcase she had brought and hung up her clothes. Seating herself at the desk, she called Jardine’s. After speaking to her secretary, she then talked to Nigel and Gideon respectively before phoning the flat in Eaton Square to check on Chloe, make sure she was all right.
Her phone calls finally out of the way, Stevie refreshed her makeup and changed out of the black pants suit she had traveled in. For her appointment that afternoon she chose a dark gray flannel suit and a white silk shirt. Her only jewelry was her double strand of pearls, pearl earrings, and a watch. After glancing at herself quickly in the mirror, she picked up her handbag and left the suite.
Stevie walked to the Caracelli offices located on the Via della Spiga, enjoying being outside on this lovely May afternoon. It was sunny, the sky was blue and cloudless, and the weather was balmy, a nice bonus after the dampness of London.
As she walked she did a little window shopping, looking at the beautiful clothes and accessories in the chic boutiques. Milan was the fashion center of the world, and she decided she would do some shopping later if she had time. Perhaps she would find some pretty things here for Chloe as well as for herself.
When she finally reached the large Caracelli building, Stevie looked at her watch. It was a few minutes before two; she was exactly on time for her meeting.
As she sat waiting in the elegant reception area, Stevie leafed through a couple of fashion magazines to pass the time. Eventually, a pretty young woman came to get her, made some pleasant remarks in English, and led her down a corridor. A moment later she was being shown into Signore Caracelli’s office.
He was sitting behind his desk angled across a corner, facing the door. He rose at once and came around the desk to greet her, smiling broadly.
Stevie felt her stomach tightening. The calmness of earlier, which had so bolstered her self-confidence, instantly disappeared. She was suddenly tense and nervous, shaking inside as she stood in the center of his office.
Striding across the floor, the smile intact, he came to a stop in front of her, took her hand in his, and held it for a moment. Looking down at her, he said finally, in his slightly accented English, “Stephanie. How nice to see you again. Such a pleasant surprise when you telephoned me on Monday.”
“It’s nice to see you, too,” she replied, and she was surprised that her voice sounded so normal. “I’m glad you weren’t away, that you were able to give me this appointment at such short notice.”
He nodded, and, still holding her hand, he led her over to the seating arrangement near the window. “May I offer you some refreshment? Coffee? A drink? Tea, perhaps?”
She shook her head. “Thank you, no. I’m fine.”
He smiled again, showing his perfect teeth, very white against his tanned complexion. Seating himself opposite her, he crossed his long legs and leaned back against the sofa, staring at her intently. His undisguised curiosity and interest in her was very apparent. Suddenly he made a sharp gesture with his hand, a chopping motion, and exclaimed, “Forgive me! I am being thoughtless. I should have asked you about your son. How is he?”
“He’s doing better,” Stevie responded.
“I read in the London Times that your daughter-in-law was fatally shot. Such a tragedy.”
Power of a Woman Page 26