To Love Again (17 page)

Well, if he wouldn't mind very much, it would be lovely. That way they wouldn't see me at the school.

That's what I was thinking. She gnawed at a pencil. I'll call him. And she disappeared before Isabella could say more. But since she had met him on the way in from the airport, Isabella had been wondering what lay between the silver-haired man and her old friend. It seemed a nice relationship, and the understanding between them was something that Isabella watched with envy now. But how serious were they? From Natasha, she knew she would gain no insight, not until she was ready to talk.

Natasha went to call Corbett and returned to say he'd be there shortly. The boys were up and tearing about.

My God, will he be able to stand it? Isabella winced and Natasha grinned.

You will know how truly crazy the man is when I tell you that he'll love it. Even at this hour of the day.

Obviously a masochist. But Isabella was smiling as she searched Natasha's eyes, but there was no answer there.

Natasha looked at her sympathetically in the kitchen as she made toast.

Can you sleep today?

Are you kidding? Isabella looked at her, horrified, and they both suddenly laughed. What about your work?

You'll hear me pounding away in half an hour. But not she grinned at her impishly in anything quite as fancy as that.

Isabella laughed. Natasha, she knew, possessed a uniform for working jeans, sweat shirts, and woolen argyle socks. Suddenly Isabella realized she could do the same. She was suddenly invisible, nonexistent, unknown.

All right, Mrs. Parelli from Milan, I'll go call the school. Natasha disappeared and Isabella went back to find her son.

She found him in the bedroom playing with Ashley, a big smile on his face.

What are you so happy about? She swept him into her arms with a kiss.

Jason has to go to school today. I'm staying home with his train. But Isabella plopped him back on his bed.

Guess what? You're going to school too.

I am? He stared at her in dismay. I can't play with the train?

Sure you can. When you come home. Wouldn't it be more fan to go to school with Jason than to stay here alone all day while I work?

He thought about it for a minute and cocked his head to one side. Nobody will talk to me. And I can't talk to them.

If you go to school with Jason, pretty soon you'll be able to talk to everyone, and a lot quicker than if you sit here speaking Italian to me. What do you think?

He nodded his head thoughtfully. Will it be very hard?

No different from your school in Rome.

We get to play all the time? He looked at her delightedly, and she smiled.

Is that all you used to do?

No, we had to do letters too.

How awful. His expression said that he agreed. Do you want to go? She wasn't sure what she'd do with him if he said no.

Okay. I'll try it. And if I don't like it, we can both quit. Jason can stay home with me.

Aunt Natasha will love that. And listen, I have something to tell you.

What?

Well, it's all part of our adventure. We have to keep it a secret that we're here.

He looked at her and then he whispered. Should I hide in school?

She tried to keep her face serious and gently took his hand. No, silly. They'll know you're there. But ' we don't want anyone to know who we are.

We don't? Why not? He looked at her strangely, and she felt the iron mountain fall back on her heart.

Because it's safer. Everyone thinks we're still in Rome.

Because of of Papa? His eyes were large and sorrowful now as they looked into hers.

Yes. We're going to say that our name is Parelli. And that we're from Milan.

But we're not from Milano. We're from Roma. He glared at her, annoyed. And we're di San Gregorio. Papa wouldn't like it if we lied about that.

No, and I don't like it either. But it's all part of the secret, Alessandro. We have to do it this way, but only for a little while.

Then can I tell them my real name at school?

Maybe later. But not now. Alessandro Parelli. They'll probably never even use your last name.

They better not. I don't like that one. For a moment Isabella almost laughed. They'd probably call him Alessandro Spaghetti, as Natasha had done to her when they met.

It doesn't matter what they call you, darling. You know who you are.

I think it's silly. He tucked his legs under him and watched his friend. Jason was carefully tying knots in the laces of his shoes, which he had carefully put on. But on the wrong feet.

It's not silly, Alessandro. It's necessary. And I will be very, very angry with you if you tell anyone our real name. If you do that, we'll have to go away again, and we won't be able to be with Aunt Natasha anymore, or Jason.

Will we have to go home? He looked horrified. I haven't even used his train.

Then do as I tell you. I want you to promise me. Alessandro, do you promise?

I promise.

Who are you?

He looked at her defiantly. I am Alessandro ' Parelli. From Milan.

All right, darling. And remember that I love you. Now hurry up and get dressed.

They could already smell Hattie making bacon in the kitchen. And Jason was staring down in confusion at his oddly clad feet.

You have them on the wrong feet, sweetheart. Isabella stooped down to give him a hand. Guess what? Alessandro is coming to school with you today.

He is? Oh wow! She explained to him about Parelli and that they were cousins from Milan. And then she remembered to tell the same thing to Alessandro.

I'm his cousin? Why can't I say I'm his brother? He had always liked the idea.

Because you don't speak English, silly.

After I learn, then can I say that we are?

Never mind that. Just get your pants on. And wash your face!

Twenty minutes later Corbett buzzed from downstairs. The boys were respectably clad in corduroy pants and sneakers with shirts and sweaters, woolen hats and warm coats. They had gobbled a quick breakfast and were off. As the door closed behind them Natasha looked at her faded T-shirt and wiped her hands on her jeans.

Somehow I always wind up wearing whatever he was last eating. Alessandro sure looked cute.

He wanted to tell them he was Jason's brother. Isabella sighed as they walked away from the door.

Do you think he'll be able to keep his name a secret? For a moment Natasha was worried.

Unfortunately in the last four and a half months he has learned a great deal about secrecy, discretion, caution, and danger. He understands that the first three are necessary to avoid the last.

That's quite a lesson for a five-year-old boy.

It is as well for a thirty-two-year-old woman, Isabella said, and as she watched her Natasha knew she spoke the truth.

I hope you keep that in mind, spaghetti face. I wasn't exactly thrilled with your announcement last night that you wanted to go out. Alessandro is one thing, he's an anonymous child. There is nothing even faintly anonymous about you.

There could be.

What did you have in mind, seeing a plastic surgeon for a new face?

Don't be absurd. There is a way of carrying oneself when one wants to be seen. Of being there', of commanding attention, and saying Here I am.' If I don't want to be seen, I don't have to be. I can wear a scarf, a pair of slacks, a dark coat.

Dark glasses, a beard, and a mustache. Right. Look, Isabella. Do me a favor. I have very delicate nerves. If you're going to start wandering around New York, I may have a nervous breakdown. In which case I won't be able to finish my rewrite, my next advance won't come in, my royalties will dry up, my publisher will can me, and my child will starve.

But Isabella only laughed as she listened to her. Natasha, I adore you.

Then be a good friend. Stay home.

I can't do that. For God's sake, Natasha, if nothing else I need air.

I buy you some. I'll have it sent to your room. She smiled, but she had never been more serious. If you start roaming around New York, someone will see you. A reporter, a photographer, someone who knows fashion. Christ, maybe even a reporter from Women's Wear Daily.

They're not interested in me. Only my collections.

Who're you kidding, darling? Not yourself, and not me.

We'll talk about it later.

With the question of Isabella's venturing out still unresolved between them, they left each other for their separate worlds: Natasha, lost among her unruly papers, her many half-filled coffee cups, and her visions and characters and imaginary world; Isabella to her pad covered with minutely detailed notes, her carefully kept files, her long lists of the fabrics they currently had in stock, her swatches, her samples, her perfect memory of the summer line. Neither of them even heard the children come home at three thirty, and it was another two hours later when they met, each of them stiff, hungry, tired, in the kitchen.

Christ, I'm hungry. For a moment Natasha's accent seemed even more southern. Isabella looked tired, and there were soft shadows under her eyes. Did you eat today?

I didn't think to.

Neither did I. How'd it go?

It had been grueling, but she had made a contingency plan for the entire couture collection. I think we'll make it. We may not even have to use what I did today. But I couldn't take the chance. She would only know for sure when she called Hong Kong at midnight.

They smiled at each other over their coffee as Natasha closed her eyes for a minute and Isabella stretched tired arms. Today had been a new experience for her. No buttons to push, no secretaries to command, no elevator to charge in and out of, investigating problems on every floor. No image to carry off, no aura, no magic, no spell. She had worn a black cashmere sweater and a well-woman pair of jeans.

What are you doing tonight? she asked Natasha.

Same as you. Staying home. Because you want to, or because of me?

Isabella wondered how patient Corbett would be with Natasha's self-imposed sentence. It really wasn't fair to him.

Don't be silly. Because I'm goddamn exhausted. And believe it or not, because I like to stay home. Besides, you're a lot more amusing than any of the invitations I've had in weeks.

I'm flattered. But Isabella wasn't fooled by the blustering speech.

Don't be. I'm surrounded by morons and bores, and people who invite me because they want to say that they know me. Ten years ago I was just another model from Georgia, and suddenly I'm A Novelist,' A Writer,' someone to decorate a dinner party.

Dinner parties! Isabella had not been to one in months, and then she had never gone alone. It was never just Isabella, but Isabella and Amadeo, together. We, not I.

We were a kind of magical team, she thought. The two of us, who we were, what we were, what we looked like together. Like asparagus and hollandaise. It's difficult when you can no longer have both. Not as spicy, not as sweet ' not as interesting ' not as '

Suddenly sad again Isabella looked at Natasha with admiration her brave friend who decorated dinner parties unescorted and seemed always to have marvelous times. I'm nothing without him, she whispered. All the excitement is gone. Everything that I was ' that we were

That's nonsense, you know. It may be lonely, but you're still what you always were. Beautiful, intelligent, an extraordinary woman, Isabella. Even alone. You were two wholes added to each other that made two and a half, not two halves that made one.

We were more than that, Natasha. We were one that made one. Superimposed, entwined, meshed, soldered, braided. I never quite knew where I began and he left off. And now I know ' only too well' . She stared into her coffee, her voice whispery soft.

Nastasha touched her hand. Give it time.

But when Isabella looked up, her eyes were angry.

Why should I? Why should I give it anything? Why did it have to happen to me?

It didn't happen to you, Isabella. It happened to him. You're still here, with Alessandro, with the business, with every part of you, your mind, your heart, your soul, still intact. Unless you let bitterness rob you, as you already think it has.

Wouldn't it do the same to you?

Probably. I probably wouldn't have the balls to do what you've done. To go on, to take over the business, to make it better, to keep running it even from over here. But that's not enough, Isabella. It's not enough ' oh, God, baby, please ' don't lose you. Tears sprang up to her eyes as she looked at the dark-haired beauty, so tired, so suddenly bereft and alone. As long as she buried herself in her work all day, she wouldn't feel it. But sooner of later, even in the tiny maid's room office, the day had to end for her and she had to go home. Natasha understood.

Isabella stood up quietly, patted Natasha's shoulder, and walked silently bad: to her room. When she emerged again ten minutes later, she was wearing dark glasses, her mink coat, and another black wool hat. Natasha stopped short at the sight of her.