To Love Again (29 page)

There will always be. For me. I will never forget those times, Isabella. Nor will you.

But they're over. Everything's changed.

It has to change. You're right to change it. The only thing you're wrong to change is you.

But I'm so confused. She stopped for a moment to blow her nose in his handkerchief as he gently ran a hand over her dark hair.

I know you are. You don't trust anyone anymore. It's natural after what happened. But now you have to put it away. You have to stop before you let it destroy you. Amadeo is gone, Isabella. But you can't let yourself die too.

Why not? She looked like a heartbroken little girl as she sat next to him and blew her nose again.

Because you're too special, Bellezza. It would break my heart if you stayed like this, angry, unhappy, distrustful of everyone. Please, Isabella, you have to open up and try again.

She didn't tell him that she had done that and been hurt more than she ever had before.

I don't know, Bernardo. So much has changed in the last year.

But you'll see. You'll find in time that some of them have been good changes too. You're making the right decision taking the business to America.

I hope so.

What are you doing about the villa, by the way?

I'll start packing up next week.

You're taking everything with you?

Not all of it. Some things I'll leave here.

Can I help you?

Slowly she nodded. It would make it much easier. I've- -I've been afraid to go back.

He only nodded and smiled as she blew her nose for a last time.

The car turned into the gravel driveway and came to a halt outside the familiar front door. Isabella looked at it thoughtfully for a moment before she stepped out. The house looked larger to her somehow, and the grounds seemed strangely quiet. For a moment it was like returning from a long trip. She expected to glimpse Alessandro's face at the window and then a minute later see him come bounding out to meet her, but he didn't. No one came. Nothing stirred.

Bernardo stood soundlessly behind her as she began to walk slowly toward the house. In the five weeks that she had been in Rome, she had never come out here. In a way, in her heart, she hadn't really been back. She had come to Rome to minister to her business. But this was something different, something private, a piece of the past. And she herself had known that she wasn't ready to see it. Now that she was back again, she was grateful that she wasn't alone. She glanced over her shoulder then with a soft smile, remembering Bernardo. But the dark eyes weren't smiling; they looked unhappy and distant as she looked around her and then rang the bell. She had her key with her but she didn't want to use it. It was like visiting someone else now. Someone she had once been.

Bernardo watched as a maid opened the door and Isabella stepped inside. He had warned them. Signora di San Gregorio was coming home. The information was met with trepidation and excitement: with Alessandro? Forever? There had been a flurry of planning what rooms to open, what meals to prepare. But Bernardo had been quick to dispel the illusions. She won't be staying there, and she will be alone. Alessandro was still in America. And then he had dealt the last blow. She'll be closing the house.

But it wasn't the same anymore anyway. The central figures of the household were already gone. Mamma Teresa had left in April, understanding at last that her charge would be gone for too long. Bernardo had spoken to her openly, the risks were too great. He would be gone for a year maybe, perhaps a little less, or probably more. She had gone to a family in Bologna, with three daughters and two little boys. She had never quite recovered from the way Isabella had left her, without even warning her that she was taking Alessandro away from her, in the dark of night, leaving his bed empty and his room locked, and the woman who had protected and loved him far behind. Luisa had taken a job for the summer in San Remo, with people for whom she had worked once before. And Enzo had retired; his room in the garage was empty. The three stars of the household had long since tearfully gone. Now there were only the lesser lights to help Isabella.

Bernardo had ordered countless boxes, which had been left in the front hall. Isabella saw them as soon as she entered. Silently she stood and looked at them, but her eyes drifted away from them. She seemed to be waiting for familiar noises, for sounds she had heard there, for voices that were no more. Bernardo watched her, hanging carefully back. She put down her light linen jacket and began to walk slowly down the long hall. Her footsteps rang out emptily. Had it only been five months since the night she'd fled with Alessandro? Five months since she had crept down that hall, collecting suitcases and Alessandro in his red sleepers, whispering sshhh and promising adventure? Are we going to Africa, Mamma? She smiled to herself and wandered into the living room. She glanced at the blue Faberg+! clock that she had looked at so intently that night she had waited for Amadeo, when they were expected for dinner at the Principessa's house the night he had been so late, the night he had disappeared. She sat down heavily on the chaise longue near the window, staring emptily at Bernardo.

I don't even know where to begin. Her eyes were full and heavy, and he nodded, understanding.

It's all right, Bellezza. We'll do it slowly, room by room.

It will take years. She looked out to the garden. The carousel she had given Alessandro for Christmas was shrouded in canvas, its chimes and music silent. Tears came to her eyes, but she smiled.

Bernardo watched her, remembering that night, as he was. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled something out that he held in his hand.

I never gave you this last Christmas. I was afraid it would make you too unhappy if I gave you a gift. Christmas with Amadeo had always been an extravaganza, jewelry and funny objects, little treasures and remarkable books she had coveted, tiny wonders she had always loved. There had been no way Bernardo could have made that up to her, and he had been afraid to even try. But he had gone to Alfredo Paccioli and he had bought her something that now, five months later, he held out to her. I felt awful afterwards not giving you anything. Silently he felt for the now familiar pocket watch that had been Amadeo's. He always wore it.

He handed her the small package. She took it, her eyes filling, and sat down again with a very small smile.

You don't need to give me presents, Bernardo. But she took it and opened it, then she looked up at him, speechless with emotion. It was a large gold ring with the seal of San Gregorio carefully engraved in it, impeccably carved in a smooth face of black stone. It was onyx, and its proportions were perfect on her long slender hand. She slipped it on above her wedding ring, her eyes wide and mist-filled again.

Bernardo, you're crazy' .

No, I'm not. Do you like it? He smiled at her from where he stood, looking very young to her, almost like a boy.

It's perfect. She gazed at the ring again.

If you like it half as much as I do my pocket watch, I'll be happy.

Without saying more, she rose and went to him. They hugged each other for a moment, and he felt her heart beating as he held her close.

Thank you.

Va b+?ne, Bellezza. Sshhh. No, don't cry. Come on, we have work to do. They pulled apart slowly, and he took off his jacket and unclasped his cuff links as she watched. Where do we start?

My bedroom?

He nodded, and hand in hand they walked determinedly down the hall. She was dividing everything into three categories. The things she would leave in the house under dustcovers, to be retrieved by her one day perhaps, or put to use in the house if Alessandro ever opened it again, if as a grown-up he came back to Rome. The things she would pack and send to America. And precious objects that couldn't be left there, but would have to be put in storage. Of those, she decided, there were few. Things were either worth taking with her or could be left here at the house. Things like the grand piano, and some of the large antique furniture that had been in Amadeo's family for years, but of which neither of them had ever been very fond. Most of the rugs she was leaving in storage. They may not fit in her new rooms. The curtains would stay on the windows they were made for. The sconces and the chandeliers would stay. She didn't want to leave holes and gaping openings in the house. When Alessandro came back one day, she wanted it to still look like a home, not a barracks that someone had ransacked, preparing for flight.

Allora. She looked at him. Avanti!

He smiled at her, and they began to pack. First her bedroom, then Alessandro's, then her boudoir; then finally they stopped for lunch. The sacred shrine was being dismantled, the boxes were piling up endlessly in the hallway, and Isabella was satisfied as she looked around. It was a good opportunity to weed out her favorite things from the ones she didn't really care about. Bernardo had watched her carefully, but there had not been a single tear since they had started. She was in command of herself again.

They sat in the garden, eating lunch. What are you going to do about the carousel? Bernardo said. He was munching on a prosciutto and tomato sandwich. Isabella poured them both a glass of white wine.

I can't take it. I don't even know where I'll be living. We may not have a garden.

If you do, let me know. I'll have it packed up.

Alessandro would love that. She looked at Bernardo. Will you come to visit us?

Of course I will. Eventually. But first he looked victorious I'm going to Greece.

You've decided then?

It's all settled. I rented a house last week on Corfu, for six months.

And after that? She took another sip of wine. Maybe you should come to New York and look it over.

He shook his head. No, Bellezza, we both know we've made the right decisions. I'll do something here.

For one of my rivals? Her look of concern was only half serious, but again he shook his head.

You don't have any, Isabella. And I couldn't bear to work for second best after you. I've already had five offers.

Jesus, have you? From whom? He told her, and she was derisive.

They make garbage, Bernardo. No!

Of course, No! But something else may come up. There's been one offer that intrigues me. He told her. It was the largest designer of men's wear in Italy, who also did private fittings in London and France.

Wouldn't that bore you?

Maybe. But they need someone to run it. Old man Feleronio died in June, the son lives in Australia and is a doctor, the daughter knows nothing about the business. And, he looked at her mischievously, they don't want to sell it. They want someone to run it for them, so they can go on living like kings. Eventually I think they'll sell, but maybe not for another five or ten years. It would give me a lot of freedom to do what I want. He smiled at her.

Go ahead, say it. Something you never had with me.

I wouldn't have respected you as much if you'd taken a backseat. And there's no reason for you to, you know more about this business than anyone in Europe.

And the States, she added proudly.

And the States. And if you do half as good a job teaching Alessandro, San Gregorio will go on for the next hundred years.

Sometimes I worry about that. What if he doesn't want it?

He will.

How can you know?

Do you ever talk to him about it? He sounds more like fifteen than five. He may not quite have your eye for design and color, but the workings of it, the genius, the machinery of San Gregorio, it's already in his blood. Like Amadeo. Like you.

I hope so. She made a mental note to talk to him about it more when she got back. I miss him terribly, she said, and I think he's getting angry. He wants to know when I'm coming home.

When are you?

In another month. It's just as well. Natasha took a house in East Hampton for the summer. He can be at the beach there while I finish here and then when I look for an apartment in New York.

You're going to be awfully busy. You have to find temporary office space -the boys are going to be arriving over there two weeks after you do not to mention finding permanent space, an architect to do it, a place for you and Alessandro to live

While you sit on your ass in Greece!

He grinned at her. I've earned it, you monster.

Come on, she said, let's go back to work.

They worked until eleven o'clock that evening, dividing treasures in the living room, packing what they could, and leaving the rest for the professional packers. Red labels marked what was going with her, blue ones what was staying in Rome, green ones what was going into storage. Then there were the leftovers, the inevitable throwaways that surface in everyone's life when they move. Even for Isabella, with her Louis XV and her marble and her Faberg+!, there were still broken toys, things that she hated, books she didn't want to keep, and dishes that were cracked.

Bernardo dropped her off that night at the House of San Gregorio and picked her up again the next day. For the next three weeks they stopped work early, arriving back at the villa by two o'clock and leaving after midnight. By the fourth week the job was done.