To Love Again (3 page)

You'd better. I have to be at lunch at noon. She looked at the unreadable watch. That had been a present from him too.

God. We're playing second fiddle to ladies' lunches now. But there was laughter in his eyes. He knew that in Isabella's life that would never be true. Other than himself, and Alessandro, it was the business that Isabella lived for, that kept her breathing and kicking and eight hundred percent alive.

Amadeo picked up the phone and spoke briefly to his secretary. She'd call Mr. Franco at once. Which indeed she did, and he came at once as always. He strode into the room like an explosion, and suddenly Amadeo could feel Isabella tense. She was already preparing for battle.

Ciao, Bernardo. Isabella smiled casually at him as he walked into the office in one of a hundred dark suits that he owned, all of which looked exactly the same to Isabella. He wore the same gold pocket watch on each one of them, the same impeccably starched white shirts, and ties that were usually dark with tiny, tiny white dots. Or when he felt very outrageous, tiny red ones. I love your suit. It was their standing joke. She always told him that his suits were excessively boring. But the simplicity of his suits was part of his style.

Listen, you two, don't start today. I'm not in the mood. Amadeo looked ominously at them, but as always his eyes laughed even when his lips did not. Besides, she has to be at lunch in forty minutes. We're only second best to her lunches now.

That figures. Bernardo squeezed out a small smile and sat down. How's my godson?

Alessandro is perfect. The dining room curtains, however, are not. Amadeo started to grin as Isabella told the tale. He loved the boy's mischievousness, the fire in the dark eyes so much like hers. When I was here yesterday, solving your problems for you she raised an eyebrow, waiting for Bernardo to take the bait, and was clearly disappointed when he did not he borrowed my manicure scissors and fixed' them, as he put it. He cut off roughly a meter which, he tells me, got in his way everytime he drove his favorite truck along the window. He couldn't see the garden. Now he can see the garden. Perfectly, in fact. But she was laughing too, as was Bernardo. When he smiled like that, twenty of his thirty-eight years fell away from him and he was barely more than a boy himself. But he had worked too long, and when he wasn't being amused by tales of Alessandro, he often looked austere. Much of the weight of the House of San Gregorio was on his shoulders and it often showed. He had worked hard and well for them, and it had taken its toll. Never married, childless, too much alone, and too often at work, late at night, early in the morning, on Saturdays, on holidays and holy days and days when he should have been somewhere else, with someone else. But he lived for what he did, he wore his responsibilities like his dark suits; they were a part of him, like his hair, almost as dark as Isabella's, and his eyes, the color of the Roman summer sky. His was the face the models fell for. But they meant little to him. They amused him for an evening or two, not more. Your new soap doesn't work. As usual she gave it to him straight, and Amadeo almost winced, waiting for the battle to begin.

Bernardo sat very still. Why not?

It gave me a headache. It's too heavy.

If someone cut my dining room curtains in half, I'd get a headache too.

I'm serious. Her eyes leveled ominously into his.

So am I. Our tests all show it's perfect. No one else felt it was too heavy.

Maybe they had bad colds and couldn't smell it.

Bernardo rolled his eyes and burrowed back into his chair. For God's sake, Isabella, I just told them to go ahead on production. What the hell do you want me to do now?

Stop it. It's wrong. Just like the cologne was wrong at first, and for the same reasons. This time Amadeo closed his eyes. She had been right about that one too, but it had been a battle Bernardo had lost with pain. And fury. He and Isabella had barely spoken to each other for a month.

Bernardo's lips tightened, and he dug his hands into the pockets of his vest. The soap has to be strong. You use it with water. In the bath. You rinse it off. The scent goes away. He explained it to her through narrowed lips.

Capisco. I've used soap before. Mine doesn't give me a headache. Yours does. I want it changed.

Goddamn it, Isabella! He slammed a fist on Amadeo's desk and glared at her, but she was unmoved.

She smiled victoriously at him. Tell them at the lab to work overtime on it, and you won't be held up in production by more than two or three weeks.

Or months. Do you know then what happens to the ads we've already run? They're wasted.

They'll be more so if you go ahead with the wrong product. Trust me. I'm right. She smiled slowly at him then, and Bernardo looked for a moment as though he might explode.

Do you have any other pleasant surprises for me this morning?

No, just have a few additions to the American line. I already talked to Gabriela about them. They don't present a problem.

My God, why not? You mean it will be easy? Isabella, no! But suddenly he was smiling again. He had a vast capacity for fury and forgiveness.

You'll let me know about the soap? She honed in on him again.

I'll let you know.

Good. Then that takes care of everything, and I don't even have to run off to lunch for another twenty minutes. Amadeo grinned at her, and she ensconced herself on the arm of her husband's chair and gently touched his cheek with her hand. And as she did so the anniversary diamond caught the bright sunlight and dashed it in a shower of rainbow reflections against the far wall. She saw Bernardo watch it with a look of sudden displeasure and she looked amused. What's the matter, Nardo, one of your girl friends giving you a bad time again?

Very amusing. As it so happens, I've been chained to my desk for the last week. I'm beginning to feel like the house eunuch. Amadeo's brows knit with a sudden frown. He was worried they were working him too hard, but Isabella knew that Bernardo's sudden look of woe stemmed from something else. She knew him too well to believe he minded being overworked any more than she did. And she was right in thinking that he did not. They were all three tremendously overworked, and they loved it. Bernardo was only a trifle more compulsive than his two friends. But he was now looking genuinely disturbed as he glanced from Isabella's large diamond ring to her pearls. You're crazy to wear that, Isabella. And then with a meaningful look at Amadeo: I told you that last week.

What's this all about? Isabella looked from one to the other in amused consternation, and then her eyes settled on her husband's kind face. He's trying to get you to take back my ring?

More or less. Amadeo looked suddenly very Italian as he shrugged.

But Bernardo was not enjoying their game. You know damn well that isn't what I meant or what I said. You know what happened to the Belloggios last week. It could happen to you.

A kidnapping? Isabella looked stunned. Don't be ridiculous, Nardo. The Belloggio brothers were the two most important political men in Rome. They knew everyone and they wielded an extraordinary amount of power. The terrorists all hated them as capitalist symbols.

They also knew they were worth a bloody fortune. And their wives trotted around this town looking like an ad for Van Cleef. You don't think that had anything to do with it?

No. Isabella looked undisturbed, and then she stared at Bernardo again. What's gotten into you? Why should you suddenly start worrying about that? Are you having trouble with your ulcer again? That always makes you peculiar.

Stop it, Isabella. Don't be childish. That's the fourth major kidnapping this year, and contrary to what both of you seem to think, not all kidnappings happening in Europe these days are political. Some of them just happen because people are rich and they let the whole damn world know it.

Ah, and so you think I walk around advertising what we've got. Is that it? My God, Bernardo, how incredibly vulgar.

Yes, isn't it, though? His eyes suddenly blazed, as he grabbed a newspaper off Amadeo's desk. His eyes were on the pages as he leafed quickly through it and the other two watched him. Yes, terribly, terribly vulgar, Isabella. I'm so glad you wouldn't do anything as coarse as that. And with that he flipped the paper open to a large photograph that showed them both walking into a large palazzo the night before. It had been a party to celebrate the opening of the opera, and Isabella was wearing a strikingly beautiful beige moir+! evening dress with a matching coat, lined in a breathtaking blanket of sable, that fell all the way to her feet. And around her neck and on both wrists were ropes of diamonds that glittered in unison with the large rock on her hand. I'm glad you're so simple. And then he looked ominously at Amadeo. Both of you. The chauffeured Rolls Amadeo only brought out for state occasions was visible just behind them, and the small studs in the shirt under Amadeo's evening jacket glittered much like the small diamonds at Isabella's ears. They both looked at the photograph blankly as Bernardo glared accusingly at them from where he stood.

We weren't the only ones there, you know. Isabella said it softly. It touched her that he cared, and the subject wasn't entirely new. He had brought it up before, but now with the Belloggios being kidnapped and murdered there seemed a dogged determination about his concern. Darling, you really don't have to worry about us.

Why? Do you think you're so sacred? You think no one will touch you? In these times if that's what you think, you're mad! Both of you! For a moment he seemed close to tears. He had known one of the Belloggios and gone to the funeral the week before. The kidnappers had, insanely, demanded fifteen million dollars and the release of half a dozen political prisoners. But the family had been unable to accede to their demands, and the government unwilling to. The results had been tragic. But although Isabella and Amadeo looked sympathetic, they remained unmoved. Bernardo was obviously seeing ghosts.

Isabella stood up slowly and walked to where Bernardo stood. She reached up, hugged him, and smiled. We love you. And you worry too much. Amadeo was frowning, but out of concern for Bernardo, not fear for himself.

You don't understand, do you? Bernardo looked at them both in growing despair.

But this time it was Amadeo who answered as Isabella sat down in a chair with a sigh. We understand. But I think there's less reason for concern than you think. Look at us he waved humbly from Isabella to himself we're no one. We're dress merchants. What can anyone want from us?

Money. What about Alessandro? What if they take him? For an instant Amadeo almost shuddered. Bernardo had scored.

That would be different. But he's never alone, Bernardo. You know that. The villa is closed. No one could get in. You needn't be so worried. He is safe, and we are safe.

You're wrong. No one is safe anymore. And as long as you both run around looking like that he waved unhappily at the newspaper picture again you're courting disaster. I saw that this morning and I wanted to kick you both. Amadeo and Isabella exchanged a quick look, and Bernardo turned away. They didn't understand. They thought he was crazy. But it was they who were mad. Naive and simple and stupid. Bernardo wanted to shout at them both but he knew there was no point. Dress merchants ' the biggest couture house in Europe, one of the largest fortunes in Rome, two spectacular-looking people, a vulnerable child, a woman covered with jewels ' dress merchants. He looked from one to the other again, shook his head, and walked to the door. I'll see about the soap, Isabella. But do me a favor, both of you. He paused for a moment, looking agonized again. Think about what I said.

We will. Amadeo said it softly as Bernardo closed the door. And then he looked at his wife. He may be right, you know. Perhaps we should be more careful about you and Alessandro.

And about you?

I'm hardly an object of great interest. He smiled at her. And I don't go around in diamonds and furs.

She smiled at him for a moment and then pouted. You can't take back my ring.

I don't intend to. He looked at her tenderly.

Never? She was a petulant child as she sat down on his lap and he grinned.

Never. I promise. It's yours. And I'm yours. Forever. He kissed her then, and she felt the same rising fervor in her that he had aroused in her since they'd met. Her arms went around his neck, and her mouth came down hard on his.

I love you, carissimo ' more than anything in this world' . They kissed again, and she felt tears sting her eyes when at last she pulled away. That happened sometimes. She was so happy, she wanted to cry. They had so much together, so much history, so many victories, not only the awards and the kudos, but the tender memories, the birth of their son, the days they had spent alone on an island in Greece five years before when they felt the business was suddenly too much for them; it had been then that Alessandro had been conceived. A thousand moments stood out in her mind and made Amadeo infinitely precious to her once again.

Isabellezza' . He looked down at her with a smile in his deep emerald eyes. You have made my life perfect. Have I told you that recently?

She smiled back. You've done the same for me. You know what I'd like to do?

What? Whatever it was, they would do it. There was nothing he would deny her. Others would perhaps say she was spoiled, indulged by her husband. But she wasn't. She equally spoiled him. It was something they did for each other. A reciprocity of generous loving that they both enjoyed.