To Love Again Part 11

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 gla.s.ses, 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 G.o.d'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 b.u.t.tons 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 G.o.dd.a.m.n 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 bl.u.s.tering 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 b.a.l.l.s 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, G.o.d, 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 gla.s.ses, her mink coat, and another black wool hat. Natasha stopped short at the sight of her.

Where the h.e.l.l are you going?

Out. For a walk. It was impossible to see her eyes behind the gla.s.ses, 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 pa.s.sed 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.