To Love Again (18 page)

Where the hell are you going?

Out. For a walk. It was impossible to see her eyes behind the glasses, but Natasha knew instantly that she had been crying.

For an instant the two women stood there, locked in battle without a single word. Then Natasha surrendered, overcome with sadness for her Friend.

All right, I'll go with you, she said, but for chrissake, take off that coat. You look about as discreet as Greta Garbo. All you need is one of her hats.

Tiredly Isabella grinned at her with a shrug that was pure Italian. This is all I brought with me, my only coat.

Poor little rich girl. Come on, I'll find you something. Isabella trailed behind her as Natasha went to her closet and produced a red wool coat.

I can't wear it. I ' Natasha, I'm sorry' .

Why not?

It's not black. Natasha stared at her for a moment, not understanding, and then as she looked at her she knew. Before that she hadn't been sure.

You're wearing mourning? Isabella nodded. You can't just borrow the red coat? The whole concept was new to her. The idea of wearing black dresses, black sweaters, black stockings. For an entire year.

I'd feel awful.

Natasha stared into her closet again and then muttered over her shoulder, Would you settle for navy blue?

Hesitating for an instant, Isabella nodded and quietly took off the spectacular mink coat. Natasha pulled on a fox jacket, warm gloves, and a huge red fox hat. She turned to find Isabella smiling at her.

You look marvelous.

So do you.

It was amazing how she could do it. But she did. The navy blue coat was totally plain, and her black wool cap was hardly more exciting, but the ivory face and the deep-set almond eyes were all she needed. She would have stopped traffic in the dead of night.

The two women left the apartment soundlessly. It was already dark outside. Natasha plunged ahead as the doorman swept open the door, and for a moment Isabella was startled by the bitter chill. She felt suddenly as though someone had punched her, hard, in the chest.

She gasped for a moment and felt a crystalline haze of tears fill her eyes.

Is it always like this in February? Somehow I only remember New York in the fall.

A blessed repression, my dear. Most of the time it's worse. Any place special you want to walk?

How about the park? They were hurrying along Park Avenue. Natasha looked at her, shocked.

Only if you're feeling suicidal. They have a quota to meet you know. I think it's something like thirty-nine muggings and two murders an hour. Isabella laughed at her and suddenly felt her body come alive.

But it wasn't energy that spurred her feet forward, only tension, and loneliness, and fatigue, and fear. She was so tired of working, of traveling, of hiding, of missing him, and being brave. Try to be brave for just a little while longer. She could still hear the words Amadeo had said to her when they had let him talk to her ' that last night.

Her feet were already pounding the pavement Natasha kept pace with her, but Isabella had forgotten she was there. Try to be. brave brave ' brave. ' It seemed to Isabella that they had covered miles when they finally stopped.

Where are we?

Seventy-ninth Street. They had gone eighteen blocks. You're not in bad shape, for an old broad. Ready to go home now?

Yes. But more slowly. How about walking somewhere more interesting? They had passed block after block of buildings that looked like Natasha's, stone fortresses with awnings and doormen. Impressive but unexciting.

We can walk over to Madison and look at the shops. It was almost seven o'clock now. A dead hour when people were at home. That hour after work and before one went out for the evening. And it was really too cold for many people to be window-shopping at night. Natasha glanced at the sky. There was a familiar chill in the air. I think it might snow.

Alessandro would love that. They were walking slowly now, catching their breath.

So would I.

You like snow? Isabella looked at her in surprise.

No. But it would keep you at home, without me having to run my ass off just to make sure you don't get out of line.

Isabella laughed at her, and they walked on, past blocks of boutiques that housed delights from Cardin, Ungaro, Pierre D'Alby, and Yves Saint Laurent. There were art galleries and coiffures by Sassoon.

Checking out the competition? Natasha watched her, amused. Isabella was drinking it all in, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. She was a woman who loved every facet of her work.

Why not? Their things are very pretty.

So are yours.

Isabella executed a half bow as they strolled on. It was the Faubourg St.-Honor+! of New York, a shimmering necklace of bright, priceless gems, strung together, enhancing each other, a myriad of treasures hidden in each block.

You really love it, don't you?

What, New York? Isabella looked surprised. She liked it. It intrigued her. But love ' no ' not yet. Even after her year there she had been glad to go back to Rome.

No. Fashion. Something happens to you, just looking at clothes.

Aahhh ' that.

Christ, I'd have gone nuts if I'd had to go on modeling.

That's different. Isabella looked at her wisely, the keeper of secrets rarely bestowed.

No, it's not.

Yes it is. Modeling is like a lifetime of one-night stands. There are no love affairs, no tender lovers, no betrayals, no broken hearts, no marriages, or precious offspring. Designing is different. There is history, drama, courage, art. You love the clothes, you live with them for a while, you give birth to them, you remember their fathers, their grandfathers, the dresses of other collections, other times. There is a romance to it, an excitement, an ' She broke off, then laughed at herself. You must think I'm mad.

No. That's how I feel about the people in my books.

Nice, isn't it? The two women looked at each other in perfect understanding.

Very.

They were almost home. As they rounded the corner onto Park Avenue Natasha felt the first flakes of snow.

See, I told you. Not that I suppose that will keep you at home. But there was no harm in this. They could walk like this in the evening. It hadn't been risky after all.

No, it won't. I couldn't have stayed in the apartment. Not for very long.

Natasha nodded quietly. I know.

She also knew that Isabella would not be satisfied forever with a brief evening stroll.

Mamma! Guardi! ' It snowed!

And indeed it had. A foot-deep blanket covered the entire surface of New York. And from the cozy warmth of the apartment all four of them watched the swirling storm. It hadn't stopped since Natasha and Isabella had returned to the apartment the evening before.

Can we go play in it?

Isabella glanced at Natasha, who nodded and offered to lend them the appropriate clothes. School was of course closed. The city had come to a complete stop.

We'll go after breakfast. Isabella glanced at her watch. And after she called Bernardo in Rome. She had reached Hong Kong too late the previous evening and she hadn't dared call him that night. She absented herself from the boys quickly, closed the door to her office, and picked up the phone.

Where were you last night? I figured you'd call me around four.

How charming. My manners are not as bad as that, Bernardo. That is why I waited till this morning.

Kindly signora.

Oh, shut up. She was smiling, and in a good mood. The Hong Kong fabric is hopeless. We'll have to go with the alternate plans.

What alternate plans? He sounded baffled.

Mine of course. Did you tell Gabriela to hold everything?

Obviously. That's what you wanted. I practically had to pick her up from a dead faint on the floor.

Then you should thank me. In any case I worked out everything yesterday. Now, do you have pen and paper?

Yes, madame.

Good. I've got it all worked out. First the couture collection, then we'll do the rest. Starting with number twelve, the red lining is now yellow. The fabric number in our storeroom is two-seven-eight-three FBY ' Fabia-Bernardo-Yvonne. Got that? Number sixteen, seventeen, and nineteen ' On she went until she had covered the entire line. Even Bernardo was stunned.

How in God's name did you do that?

With difficulty. By the way, the additional pieces in the ready-to-wear collection won't cost that much more. By using fabric we've got in stock, we're saving a hell of a lot of money.

Indeed they were, Bernardo thought with admiration. And she had spelled out every single bloody fabric. She knew every piece, every roll, the yardage available, the textures, the shades.

And if thirty-seven in the couture line looks awful, tell her to skip it, Isabella continued. We probably ought to just forget it and only leave it in as number thirty-six in the blue.

Which one is that? He was overwhelmed. In a day she had done the work of a month. In one morning she had salvaged the entire summer line. Only in speaking to Gabriela again the previous evening had he realized how potentially disastrous the absence of the fabric from Hong Kong could have been.

Never mind which one that is. Gabriela will know. What else is new?

Today, nothing. Everything's quiet on the home front.

How nice for you. In that case I'm taking a vacation today.

You're going out? He sounded horrified.

Only to the park. It's snowing. Natasha and I just promised the boys.

Isabella, be careful.

Obviously. But believe me, there won't be another soul.

Why don't you just let Alessandro go with Natasha? You stay home.

Because I need some fresh air, Bernardo.

He began to speak, but she cut him off.

Bernardo, I love you. Now I have to go.

She was curt, cheerful, and unnerving as she blew him a kiss and hung up the phone. He didn't like it. He didn't like it all. There was a little too much spunk in her voice again. And at this distance he had no control. He just hoped that Natasha was smarter than Isabella and wouldn't let her go out for more than an occasional brief stroll after dark. Then he laughed to himself. There was one way to keep her out of trouble, and that was to heap more work on her, like the massive endeavor of the day before. It was inconceivable that she had actually done it.

Are you ready? Isabella looked at the two little boys bundled up like snowmen, Jason in a red snowsuit, Alessandro in a bright yellow spare.

They were off to the park instantly, and within half an hour the boys were sliding down little hills on Jason's sled. Slipping, whooshing, squealing along, laughing, and throwing snow. After the sledding they got into a snowball fight, and quickly Isabella and Natasha joined the fun. Only a few brave souls had been hardy enough to come out in the cold.

The four weathered it for almost two hours, and then happy and sodden they were ready to go home.

Hot baths for everyone! Natasha shouted as they came in the door. Hattie had hot chocolate and cinnamon toast waiting and a fire going in the den. The snowstorm continued for another day, and the boys didn't have to go to school all week as businessmen snowshoed to their offices and housewives resurrected skis to get to the store.

But for Isabella the holiday was a brief one, and after the day of sledding she returned to her office in the back of Natasha's apartment with a fresh batch of problems from Rome. Two of the more important alternate fabrics had been accidentally destroyed by a flood in the storeroom the week before. Their number-one model had quit and everything had to be fitted again. Minor problems, major headaches, disasters and victories, a month filled with a blessed mountain of work in which Isabella could hide, except for the evening walks with Natasha. They had now become a ritual without which Isabella thought she couldn't live.

How long are you going to go on like this? They had just stopped for a light on Madison Avenue. Isabella had been peering into boutique windows, examining the spring displays. It was March, and the last snows had finally come and gone, though it was still wintry cold and there was almost always an icy wind.

Her question caught Natasha by surprise. What do you mean? Go on like what?

Living like a hermit, baby-sitting for me? Do you realize you haven't been out once in the evening during the five weeks we've been here? Corbett must be ready to kill me by now.

Why should he? Natasha looked baffled as she stared at her friend.

But Isabella was amused at her feigned innocence. She had long since understood. Certainly he must expect a little more of your time.

Not as a rule, thank you. We keep our lives very much to ourselves. Natasha looked faintly amused. But this time it was Isabella who stared.

How modern.

What the hell do you mean? She wasn't angry at Isabella, just confused.

But Isabella answered with a slow smile. I don't expect you to be a virgin, you know, Natasha. You can be honest with me.