Secrets From the Past (28 page)

‘He’s a lucky guy to have a woman like Jessica – she’s terrific. Dare I ask about Cara? I suppose Geoff is still in the picture?’

He said this in such a droll way I couldn’t help laughing. ‘Sure he’s in the picture, and Jessica and I are very happy about that. Cara seems to have really taken to Geoff, and we want her to have a life, Zac. Her sadness these last two years has been awful; her depression about Jules’s death unbearable to witness. She deserves a good man by her side.’

‘So do you, Pidge, and I’m right here – yours forever, if you’ll have me … and if you think I’m a good man.’

‘I do, and you are. And I feel the same way,’ I murmured, studying Zac again, thinking that the change in him was not only in his physical wellbeing, but there was something else about him that was different. I tried to put my finger on it, but did not succeed.

Zac frowned. ‘What’s wrong? You’re staring at me.’

‘I was just thinking how great you look. You’ve put on a bit more weight, which suits you. You’re relaxed. Actually, you seem to be your old self right down to having your self-confidence back.’ I settled in the corner of the sofa, then finished, ‘Something’s happened to you while you’ve been back in New York.’

‘Only you would spot it, Serena, because you know me so well, and because I was such a wreck when you came to look after me in Venice. What with my exhaustion, my flashes of PTSD, and all that rotten stuff you had to cope with.’

‘I was glad to help, you know that. So what happened?’

‘I grew up.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I suddenly understood that I had to become genuinely responsible, that I had to take charge of everything, handle the situation.’

‘But what about your father? And Danny and Stella?’

‘When I went out to Long Island I realized immediately that there really was only me to deal with Mom and the situation. Danny was on the Coast on business. Stella was a wreck – had been thrown for a loop by Mom’s stroke. As for Dad, he was like a lost soul. He’s always been so strong. I used to tell him he was as tough as an old boot. But he just fell apart when Mom was taken to hospital. He simply couldn’t cope. He wanted to help but he didn’t know what to do. It was then I realized how much he had always relied on her, and what a strong woman she was.’

‘I’ve always known that about your mother, Zac.’

‘I suppose I had too. I’d just forgotten about it, being away so much. Anyway, I took charge. What was it that your mother used to call Tommy when he took over? Bossed everyone around?’

‘Bismarck,’ I answered. ‘Sometimes the General. She used to say that going on vacation with him was like carrying out German war manoeuvres, because he had so many instructions about everything.’

‘However did she know about German war manoeuvres?’ he asked, and grinned. ‘The point is,
I
had to become Bismarck in order to get everything on the right track. With Mom’s doctors, the hospital, everything. And so I finally had to grow up.’

‘I must say your grown-upness is very impressive,’ I said. I finished my glass of wine and stood up.

Zac followed me, remarking, ‘My mother sends her love to you, Pidge. She hopes you can go out and see her this weekend. You will come with me, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will. Now let’s go and have something to eat. I’m starving.’

‘So am I,’ he said. ‘And in more ways than one.’

We enjoyed our Chinese food and after dinner took our mugs of jasmine tea back to what Zac always insisted on calling Mom’s little sitting room, and sat watching the news for a while. But eventually he turned it off and, moving closer, he said, ‘My mother asked me if we’re finally getting married, and I told her yes.’

I simply stared at him.

Zac said, ‘Well, we are, aren’t we?’

‘Of course. Don’t be so silly.’

‘I let you escape once. I’m not going to allow that to happen a second time.’

‘I guess both of our families have marriage on their minds … for us, I mean. Jessica asked me the same question the other day, and I said we were. Next year.’

‘When next year?’ His eyes didn’t leave my face.

‘What about the spring?’ I asked. ‘In Nice, at Jardin des Fleurs. That is all right, isn’t it? You know it’s tradition for the bride to get married from her home, and I think of that particular house as home.’

‘I’ll get married wherever you want,’ he replied, and put his mug and mine on the coffee table. Wrapping his arms around me he held me close to him, telling me how much he loved me, how much he had missed me. Then he began to kiss me, and we were soon overwhelmed by our passion for each other, as we always were. Zac pulled off his sweater and I took off my tunic, and within seconds we were undressed and stretched out on the sofa, our bodies entwined.

At one moment, Zac pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down into my face. ‘There’s only ever been you for me, Serena. I’ve never felt this about anyone else, or wanted a woman so completely, with such longing.’

‘I know,’ I whispered, touching his face. ‘It’s the same for me.’

He brought his face to mine and found my mouth, and we kissed tenderly at first, and then passion took hold once more and we were lost in each other. We touched and stroked each other, and kissed again, and there was great intimacy, a familiarity between us that transported us to a special place all our own.

‘I can’t wait, I want you now, Serena,’ Zac suddenly said against my neck, his voice unexpectedly hoarse.

‘You don’t have to wait,’ I murmured. We drew even closer on the sofa, consumed by longing, and we became one, moving to our own rhythm, cresting together on waves of pleasure.

We had fallen asleep, and I awoke shivering. It had grown dark outside. I got up and took the wool throw from the end of the sofa. I went back to curl up against Zac, pulling the throw over us both to keep us warm.

My mind was racing. We had been enemies last year at this time. Now we were friends. We were lovers. We were at peace with each other. The future was before us. We would be together, start a life. I thought of our marriage next spring. It seemed to have been decided without a lot of discussion. I was glad this reconciliation had happened.

My mother had once said we were meant to be, Zac and I, and that we were well matched. It was true. We had a compatibility, one that was rather unique, and an understanding of each other. We were comfortable, at ease.

I pressed closer to him on the sofa, put my arm across his body. He was dozing, his breath even, steady. I hadn’t slept very long because of the time change. I was thrown off balance slightly. And so here I was, suddenly wide awake. A second wind.

There was contentment in me, and a sense of belonging. He and I. Bound up for always – the prospect was pleasing.

Smiling to myself, I closed my eyes, let my thoughts drift …

I would be true, for there are those who trust me;

I would be pure, for there are those who care;

I would be strong, for there is much to suffer;

I would be brave, for there is much to dare.

Howard Arnold Walter, ‘My Creed’

I’ll not listen to reason … Reason always means what someone else has got to say.

Elizabeth Gaskell,
Cranford

I would be true, for there are those who trust me;

I would be pure, for there are those who care;

I would be strong, for there is much to suffer;

I would be brave, for there is much to dare.

Howard Arnold Walter, ‘My Creed’

I’ll not listen to reason … Reason always means what someone else has got to say.

Elizabeth Gaskell,
Cranford

L
ibya … Libya … Libya.

It was never far from my thoughts. It surrounded me. Engulfed me. Overwhelmed me. On the front pages, the radio, the television. Zac remained glued to any set wherever he was, mesmerized by the coverage, zapping from network to network, trying to ingest everything in one big gulp. Except that the gulp lasted all day and into the night. His entire being was focused on it; his mind had been captured by it.

Libya also dominated the Global offices. Harry was grappling with it on a daily basis, moving the photographers and photojournalists around Libya, in and out of Libya, in order to get the greatest and most dramatic coverage, using Global’s best.

Libya in Nice now, I thought, as I stared glumly at my BlackBerry. Cara had just texted:
Urgent. Call me. Libya looming. Cara.

I knew Geoff Barnes wasn’t going anywhere. Harry and I had already decided that days ago. Aside from the fact that he had proven to be a brilliant manager at the London bureau and we needed him in place at all times, he had a child, and we both took that into consideration.

I texted my sister:
Geoff staying put. Forget Libya. Serena.

I sighed under my breath because I was afraid
I
couldn’t forget Libya. I wasn’t allowed to, because when Zac wasn’t staring at the interminable television coverage on all the different networks, he was discussing it with me. Or with me and Harry, if we were all together at Global, or out to dinner. He had become obsessed by the events evolving in Libya.

Zac had great insight into the Middle East, and was aware of what had been happening there for a long time. He understood the politics, the different factions, the motivations and the aims. He had been following recent events ever since that troubled and desperate young man in Tunisia had set himself on fire, in protest at the terrible inequities in his country.

It hadn’t come as a surprise to Zac that the turmoil swiftly spread to Egypt, Libya, and into some of the countries surrounding them. Many had been infected by violence; some stringent and powerful dictatorships had managed to quell the uprisings, had encircled their people with iron bands of military control. But others had not, and so bloodshed was rife.

I had no idea what the outcome of the Libyan conflict would be, and neither did anyone else. I only worried, at times, that Zac would become even more involved than he was long distance. That he might get more emotionally caught up in the events in Tripoli, influenced by his fervent need to tell the world the truth.

And yet, as I worried that he might suddenly take off to cover another war, pumped up by the excitement of it all, adrenaline flowing, he seemed in fact quite content to be on the sidelines. An observer looking at it all, as if from another planet down a long telescope.

Since I had returned from Nice, Zac had been on an even keel. He had confided in me, when I first arrived, that there had been no further sign of PTSD. He had then laughed, and added, ‘Perhaps I’ve just been too busy worrying about Mom to think of my PTSD. I guess I sort of shoved myself and my problems out of the way. To concentrate on her.’

I understood what he meant, and for the past month, ever since I’d been back, there had been no blow-ups, no displays of temperament, no bad-boy behaviour.

Zac had been swiftly drawn into Dad’s book,
Courage
, had worked on it tirelessly for long hours, and completed it brilliantly, writing the captions and introductions to the sections with a flair I never knew he possessed.

Courage
was now with the publisher Harry knew, who had swiftly bought the rights to it, and it was currently in production, slated to come out next year, the spring of 2012.

The Venice picture book,
La Serenissima
, had just been snapped up by another publishing house, and it would go into production next month. That I was thrilled was the understatement of the year. So was Zac – he said he was on cloud nine and that we’d done Tommy proud.

Zac was living at my apartment full time, although he had not yet given up his own on Central Park West. In fact he still went back and forth, as he had been doing all along, and it didn’t bother me. I was comfortable with this arrangement, as was he; it gave us both space, which we apparently seemed to need.

Much to my astonishment, and I must say pleasant surprise, Zac had actually started writing his much-talked-about memoir. He was still seeking a name for it, which troubled him, because he felt he must know what it was called in order to write it. I tried to help, but no good titles had yet come to mind. But nonetheless, he had started, and was at his computer part of the day, every day.

I was working on my father’s biography again, and I was making good progress, inspired by Zac’s burst of enthusiasm for his own book; his wonderful energy was infectious.

In the evenings, we had been catching up on Broadway shows we wanted to see. We went to the movies as well, and trotted off to restaurants – especially to Rao’s with Harry – and in general we led what I called a normal life.

We had been having a bit of fun for once, and a great deal of sex. Zac was filled with enormous desire for me, and, not unnaturally, I responded with as much ardour as he was showing. We were young and in love, and we wanted a big chunk of life. The future looked bright for us after all our years on the front line.

The ringing phone interrupted my thoughts, and I picked it up, said, ‘Hello?’

‘It’s me, Pidge,’ Jessica answered, sounding as if she was around the corner.

This prompted me to say, ‘Hi, Jess, and where are you?’

‘In my office at the house, why?’

‘You sound so close that I thought – no, hoped – you might be in Manhattan.’

‘I’d love to be, but I’m afraid I have a few problems to cope with here at the moment.’

‘What kind of problems?’ I asked, a hint of worry creeping into my voice.

‘The roof has fallen in. And I do mean the roof of Jardin des Fleurs, and literally, not figuratively.’

‘Oh my God, no! How did that happen?’

‘Remember that storm in April? The night of Dad’s memorial dinner? And how it poured with rain until the next morning?’