To Love Again (7 page)

Did you understand me? Isabella was still staring at the receptionist, the exhaustion of three sleepless nights making her indeed look crazy. Because if you didn't, if you tell anyone, anyone that I was here, you will be out of a job. Permanently. I'll see to it.

I understand. So she was selling her jewelry then. The bitch. The young woman nodded politely as Isabella hurried out the door.

Isabella had Enzo drive her straight home. She sat waiting for hours by the phone. She never moved. She just sat there in her bedroom, behind a locked door. An inquiry about lunch from Louise brought only a terse no. The vigil wore on. They had to call. It was Monday. They wanted the money by the next day. They would have to tell her where to leave it and precisely when.

But by seven that evening they still hadn't called. She had heard Alessandro clattering through the halls and the voice of Mamma Teresa admonishing him to remember that his mother had the flu. And then all was silent again, until at last there came a fierce banging on the door.

Let me in. It was Bernardo.

Leave me alone. She didn't want him in the room if they should call. She wouldn't even tell him about the jewelry. He'd probably tell the police. And she'd had enough of that nonsense. She was taking care of it now. She could promise them a million dollars half tomorrow, the other half by next week.

Isabella, I have to talk to you. Please.

I'm busy.

I don't care. Please. I must ' there's something I I have to show you. For a moment she heard his voice crack.

And then she told him, Slip it under the door.

It was the evening paper. Page five. Isabella di San Gregorio was seen at Paccioli's today ' It described what she had worn, how she had looked and almost every item she had just sold. But how? Who? Alfredo? And then she knew. The girl. The eager little bitch at the desk. Isabella's heart dropped as she unlocked the door.

Bernardo was standing there, crying silently, staring at the floor.

Why did you do that?

I had to. But suddenly her voice was flat. If it was in the papers, then the kidnappers would know too. And they would know more: that if she was selling her jewelry, her accounts were probably frozen. They would know that she had told the police. Oh, no.

They said nothing more to each other. Bernardo simply walked into the room and silently took his place by the phone.

The call came at nine. It was the same voice, the same man.

Capito, signora. You squealed.

I didn't. Really. But her voice had the frantic ring of untruth. But I had to get more money. We couldn't get enough.

You'll never get enough. Even if you didn't tell the cops, they'll know now. They'll come snooping around. Someone will tell them if you don't.

But no one else knows.

Bullshit. How dumb do you think we are? Listen, you want to say good-bye to your old man?

No, please ' wait ' I have money for you. A million' . But he wasn't listening, and Amadeo was already on the phone.

Isabelleza' darling' everything's all right.

Everything's all right? Was he crazy? But she didn't care if he was. He had never sounded so good to her, and her heart had never turned over, then soared as it did now. He was still there, somewhere; they hadn't hurt him. May be everything would be all right. As long as Amadeo was still there, somewhere, anywhere, it was all right.

You've been a very brave girl, darling. How's Allessandro? Does he know?

Of course not. And he's fine.

Good. Kiss him for me. She thought she heard his voice tremble then and she shut her eyes tightly. She couldn't cry. Not now. She had to be as brave as he thought she was. Had to be. For him. I want you ' always ' to know how much I love you, he was saying. How perfect you are. What a good wife. You've never given me a single unhappy day, darling. Not one. She was openly crying now and fighting back the sobs that clutched at her throat.

Amadeo, darling, I love you. So much. Please ' come home.

I will, darling. I will. I promise you. And I'm right there with you now. Just be brave for a little while longer.

You too, my beloved. You too. With that the connection was silently severed.

The police found him in the morning near a warehouse in a suburb of Rome, strangled and still very beautiful, and very dead.

Police cars surrounded the limousine as Enzo guided it slowly into the heart of Rome. She had chosen a church near the House of San Gregorio, not far from the Piazza di Spagna. Santo Stefano. They had gone there when they were first courting and wanted to stop somewhere to rest for a moment after their long walks during lunch. It was ancient and simple and pretty and seemed more appropriate to her than the more elaborate cathedrals of Rome.

Bernardo sat beside her in the car as she stared unseeingly forward, looking only at the back of Enzo's head. Was it he? Was it someone else? Who were the betrayers? It didn't matter now. Amadeo was gone. Taking with him the warmth and the laughter, the love and the dreams. Gone. Forever. She was still in shock.

It had been two days since her visit to Alfredo Paccioli, when she had gone clutching her scarf filled with jewels. Two days. She felt leaden, as though she also had died.

Isabella ' bella mia. Bernardo was gently touching her arm. Silently he took her hand. There was so little he could do. He had wept for an hour when the police called him with the news. And again when Alessandro had flown into his arms.

They killed my Daddy' they' they' .

The child had sobbed as Isabella stood by, letting him find what solace he could from a man. He would have no man now, no father, no Amadeo. He had looked at his mother with such terror in his dark, unhappy eyes. Will they ever take you? No, she had answered. No, never. As she held him so tightly in her arms. And they will never take you either, tes+|ro. You are mine.

It had been more than Bernardo could bear as he watched them and now this. Isabella, frozen and icelike in black coat and hat and stockings and a thick black veil. It only enhanced her beauty, only made her seem more, rather than less. He had brought her back all the jewelry without saying a word. Today she was wearing only her wedding ring and the large anniversary solitaire she had gotten only a few months before. Was that all? Was it only five days since they had last seen him? Would he truly never return? Bernardo had felt like a five-year-old child himself as he had looked down on the face of Amadeo di San Gregorio, so still and peaceful in death. He looked more than ever like the statues, the paintings, the young graceful boys of long-ago Rome. And now he was gone.

Bernardo helped her quietly from the car and held her arm tightly as they stepped inside. Police and guards at every entrance, and armies of mourners seated inside.

The funeral was brief and unbearably painful. Isabella sat silently next to him, tears rolling relentlessly down her face beneath the black veil. Employees and friends and relatives were sobbing openly. Even the gargoyle was there, with her gold and ebony cane.

It seemed years before they returned to the house. Contrary to tradition, Isabella had let it be known that she would see no one at home. No one. She wanted to be left alone. Who knew which of them had betrayed him? But Bernardo knew now that it was unlikely to be someone of their acquaintance. Even the police had no clue. They assumed, probably correctly, that it had been lucky amateurs, greedy for a piece of the San Gregorio wealth. There were no fingerprints, no bits of evidence, no witnesses, there had been no more calls. And there wouldn't be, the police were sure of it. Except from the hundreds, maybe thousands, of cranks who would start their macabre games. The police manned her telephone now, waiting for the onslaught of minor madmen who took pleasure in haunting and taunting and teasing, confessing, and threatening, or breathing obscenities into the phone. They had told Isabella what she could expect. Bernardo cringed at the thought of it; she had been through enough.

Where's Alessandro? Bernardo sipped a cup of coffee after the funeral, thinking how unbearably empty the house suddenly seemed and ashamed to find himself grateful that if it had to be someone, it had been Amadeo and not the child. Isabella wouldn't have been able to make that choice. But to Bernardo it was clear. As it would have been to Amadeo. He would have gladly sacrificed himself to spare his only child.

He's in his room with the nurse. Do you want to see him? Isabella looked at him lifelessly over her cup.

I can wait. I wanted to talk to you about something anyway.

What? She wasn't easy to talk to these days, and she wouldn't let the doctor give her anything to help. Bernardo guessed accurately that she hadn't really slept in almost a week.

I think you need to get away.

Don't be absurd. She set her cup down viciously and stared at him. I'm fine.

You look it. He stared back at her, and for a moment she gave in to the flicker of a smile. It was the first taste of the old tension between them in a week. It felt comfortable and familiar.

All right, I'm tired. But I'll be fine.

Not if you stay here.

You're wrong. This is where I need to be. Near his things, his home ' near ' him. '

Why don't you take a trip to the States?

Why don't you mind your own business? She sat back in her chair with a sigh, I'm not going, Bernardo. Don't push me.

You heard what the police said. Cranks will be calling, bugging you. Already now the press won't leave you alone. Is this how you want to live? What you want for Alessandro? You can't even send him back to school.

Eventually he can go back to school.

Then go away until then. A month. A few months. What is there to stay here for?

Everything. She looked at him very deliberately as she slowly pulled off her hat and took the veil from her eyes. There was something frightening and determined about the way she looked at him now.

What does that mean?

It means I'm coming back to work on Monday. Part time, but every day. Nine to one, nine to two. Whatever it takes.

Are you joking?

Not at all.

Isabella, you can't mean it. He was shocked.

I can and I do. Just who do you think will run the business now now that ' he's gone? She faltered for a moment on the words. But he bridled as soon as she had said them.

I thought I could do that. For a moment he sounded hurt and very tough. She looked away and then back at him.

You could. But I can't do that. I can't sit here and abdicate. I can't give up what Amadeo and I shared, what he built, what we loved, what we made. He's gone now, Bernardo. I owe it to him. And to Alessandro. One day the business will be his. You and I. will have to teach him what he needs to know. You and I. Both of us. I can't do that just sitting here. If I did that, all I could do was tell him what it was like twenty years ago when your father was alive.' I owe him more than that, and Amadeo, and you and myself. I'm coming back on Monday.

I'm not saying you shouldn't come back. I'm just saying it's too soon. He tried to sound gentle but he was not Amadeo. He couldn't handle her in Amadeo's gentle way, only with fire.

But this time she only shook her head, her eyes filling with tears again. It's not, Bernardo ' it's not too soon at all. It's much ' much ' too late. He put a hand over hers and waited until she caught her breath. What would I do here? Wander? Open his closets? Sit in the garden? Wait in my boudoir? For what? For a man' . A sob broke from her as she sat very still, her head held very high. ' a man ' whom ' I loved ' and who is never again ' coming ' home. I have to ' come back to work. I have to. It is a part of me, and it was a part of him. I will find him there. Every day. In a thousand different ways. In some of the ways that mattered most. I just' have to. That's all. Even Alessandro understands. I told him this morning. He understood perfectly. She looked proud for a moment. He was such a good little boy.

Then you're making him as crazy as you are. But Bernardo didn't mean it unkindly, and Isabella only smiled.

May I make him as crazy as I am, Bernardo. And as lovely as his father was. May I make him just as fine as that. And with that she stood up, and for the first time in days he saw a real smile and only a glimmer of what had once been the sparkle in her eyes, only days before, only days. I need to be alone now. For a while.

When will I see you? He stood up, watching her. Isabella was still there. Somewhere, sleeping, waiting, but she would come alive again. He was sure of it now. There was too much life in her not to.

You will see me on Monday morning, of course. In my office.

He only looked at her silently and then he left. He had a lot on his mind.

Isabella di San Gregorio did indeed appear in the office on Monday morning, and every day after that. She was there from nine to two, inspiring awe, terror, admiration, and respect. She was everything Amadeo had always known she was. She was made of fire and steel, of heart and guts. She wore his hat now as well as her own, and a thousand others. She worked on papers in her room at home at night long after Alessandro went to sleep. She had two interests in her life now, her work and her child. And very little else. She was tense, tired, drawn, but she was doing what she had said she would do. She even sent Alessandro back to school with a guard, with caution, with care, but with determination. She taught him to be proud, not afraid. She taught him to be brave, not angry. She taught him all that she herself was and still managed to give him something more. Patience, love, laughter, and sometimes they cried together too. Losing Amadeo had cost them both almost everything they had. But now it brought them closer and it made them friends. The only one whose friendship suffered was Bernardo. It was he who took the brunt of her sorrow and anxieties and fatigue. Instead of running more of the business, it seemed to him he ran less. He worked harder, longer, more, and yet she was trying to be everything, the root, the core, the heart and the soul of the House of San Gregorio. It left him drudgery. And bitterness. And anger. Which showed in every meeting between them now. The wars were constant, and Amadeo was no longer there to temper them. She was trying to be Amadeo as well as herself, and she was not sharing with him as she had with Amadeo. She was still in command. It created more tension than ever between them. But at least the business hadn't suffered from the blow of Amadeo's passing. After a month, the figures were stable; after two months they were better than they had been the year before. Everything was better, except the relationship between Bernardo and Isabella, and the way Isabella looked. The phone rang constantly day and night, at home and in the office. The cranks had arrived, as promised. Threats, arguments, confessions, harangues, sympathy and accusations, obsecenities and propositions. She no longer ever answered the phone. Three men covered it twenty-four hours a day at the villa, and another three covered the phone at the office. But still no clue had turned up to identify the kidnappers, and it was clear now that they would never be found. Isabella understood that. She had to. She also knew that eventually they would leave her alone. The cranks, the maniacs, the fools. All of them. One day. She could wait. But Bernardo disagreed.