To Love Again Part 7

Chapter NINE.

For the next three weeks, the phone calls flew between New York and Rome. Did Isabella want one phone line or two? Would Alessandro go to school? Was she bringing guards?

Isabella laughed and threw up her hands. Amadeo had once declared that Natasha could build a bridge, run a country, or win a war without so much as smudging her manicure. Now Isabella decided he had been right.

Two phones, Isabella decreed. She would decide later whether or not to send Alessandro to school. And, no, there was no need for bodyguards. Park Avenue co-ops were veritable fortresses of security these days, and Natasha's was one of the most well guarded in New York.

Isabella's plans for departure were equally well guarded. No general had ever mapped a campaign as thoroughly or as secretly as she and Bernardo had planned for the escape of the San Gregorios. No one, not even the highest echelon of San Gregorio, knew her destination; most did not even know she was leaving at all. It had to be that way. Everything had to be a secret. For her sake and the sake of the child.

She would simply disappear. Rumor would whisper that she was hiding in the penthouse above her offices. Just Isabella, alone with the child. Meals were to be sent up, empty plates returned; laundry would come and go. There was in fact to be a tenant in that apartment; Livia, Amadeo's trusted secretary, had volunteered to closet herself there, making the appropriate noises, walking around on the creaky parquet floor. Everyone would know that someone was living there in hiding. How could anyone suspect that Isabella herself was in New York? It would work. At least for a while.

Is everything ready? Isabella looked up at Bernardo. He was slipping another stack of file folders into a large leather bag.

He nodded silently, and Isabella realized how drawn and tired he looked.

I think I've got copies of every file we have, she said. What about the exports to Sweden? Do you want me to sign some of that stuff now, before I go?

She continued packing as Bernardo retreated to his office for the papers. Another leather briefcase. More files, more swatches, some of Amadeo's figures, financial sheets from their rep in the States. She had enough work to keep her busy for six months. There would be more, a constant flow of doc.u.ments, files, reports, information. What could not be done by telephone, Bernardo would forward through Natasha's literary agent, addressed only to Mrs. Walker. Isabella focused on the plan, the work to be done. To think why she was packing, to admit she was leaving, was more than she could bear.

Bernardo was back in a moment with the papers. Isabella uncapped the gold Tiffany pen that had been Amadeo's and signed her name.

You know, I don't suppose this is the time or the place for it, but I still wish you'd consider that idea, Bernardo said.

What idea? Isabella looked at him stupidly. She could hardly think anymore. She had too much on her mind.

The IHI-F-B takeover. Maybe eventually in New York you could meet with them.

No, Bernardo. And I'm telling you that for the last time. She didn't want even to argue about it anymore. And now she didn't have the time. I thought you promised me you wouldn't bring that up again.

All right. All right. In a way she was right. They had too much else to tackle right now. Later. They could always discuss it later when she had tired of trying to run the business from five thousand miles away. The thought stopped him. Who would have believed six months ago that Amadeo would be dead, Isabella in hiding, and he, Bernardo, alone? He felt a wave of desolation wash over him as he watched her lock the last case. He was remembering the summer they had all gone to Rapallo. Amadeo had counted Isabella's seventeen bags table linens, sheets, bathing suits ' hat boxes, one suitcase just for shoes. But this was not going to Rapallo. This was a whole other life a life begun with two briefcases, one bag for Isabella's clothes, and another for Alessandro's.

Alessandro will be heartbroken we're not taking his bike, Isabella said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

I'll send him one in New York. A better one. G.o.d, how he was going to miss the child. And Isabella too. It would be strange not having her near. No shouting matches, no onyx eyes burning into his. His ulcer relied on her, and so did he.

We'll be back very shortly, Nardo. I don't think I'll be able to stand this for very long.

She stood up again, looking around her office, wondering what she'd forgotten, opening her file cabinet for a last time as Bernardo watched her, silent. She glanced over her shoulder at him with a tired half-smile. Listen, why don't you go home and get some sleep? It's going to be a long night.

Yeah, I suppose. I ' Isabella' . There was an odd catch in his voice as slowly she turned around. I'm going to miss you. And the boy. The look in his eyes was the first hint of his real feelings since Christmas.

We'll miss you too. Her voice was m.u.f.fled as she held out her arms, and they hugged in the familiar room. How soon would she see it again? Or him? But we'll be back. Soon too! You'll see.

ecco. There were tears in his eyes, which he blinked back as she stepped aside. It was one thing to hide his feelings and quite another not to be near her at all. He already ached at the loss of her, but it was the only way. For her sake and the boy's.

Now go home and get some sleep.

Is that an order?

Of course. She grinned lopsidedly at him and slid into a chair. What a h.e.l.l of a time of year to go to the Riviera. She tried to look bored and nonchalant as he laughed from the door. That was the plan they had. He would drive her across the border into France, across the Riviera to Nice, where she would take a morning flight to London, and from there the change of guards and on to New York. Most likely she and Alessandro would be in transit for almost twenty-four hours.

Is there anything I should bring tonight for Alessandro? Some cookies? A game?

Cookies are always a great idea, but maybe a blanket and a small pillow. And some milk.

Anything else? For you?

Just be there, Nardo. And pray we'll all be safe.

He nodded soberly, pulled the door open, and was gone. He prayed not only that she would leave safely, but that she would return safely, and soon as well. And that she would return to him.

Chapter TEN.

Mamma, can you tell me a story?

Isabella perched on the edge of Alessandro's bed. A story ' a story ' she could barely think tonight, let alone weave elaborate tales.

Please?

All right, let's see. Her brow puckered into a frown as she looked at him, her long elegant fingers clasping his tiny white hand. Once upon a time there was a little boy. He lived with his mother, and Didn't he have a Daddy?

Not anymore.

Alessandro nodded, understanding, and settled into his bed. She told him of the place where the boy lived with his mother and all the friends that they had, people who loved them, and a few who did not.

What did they do? He was beginning to like the story; it had a believable ring.

About what? It was easy to distract her, she had a thousand things on her mind.

What did they do about the people who didn't like them?

They ignored them. And you know what else they did? She lowered her voice conspiratorially. They ran away.

They did? That's terrible! Alessandro looked shocked. Papa always said it was wrong to run away. Except when you absolutely have to, like from a lion or a very bad dog.

She wanted to tell him that some people were like dogs but she wasn't quite sure what to say. She looked down at him pensively; his hand was still in hers.

What if running away made them safer? If it kept them from being bothered by lions and bad dogs? And what if they went to a wonderful place where they could be happy again? Wouldn't that be all right? She found as she looked at him that she had a great deal to say.

I guess so. But is there a place like that? Where everyone is safe?

Maybe. But you're safe anyway, my darling. You know that. I won't ever let anything happen to you.

He looked up at her worriedly. But what about you? He still had nightmares about it. If they had gotten his Papa, couldn't they also take his Mamma? It was useless to tell him over and over again they could not If not, why would they have a houseful of bodyguards? Alessandro was n.o.body's fool.

Nothing will happen to me either. I promise you.

Mamma '

What?

Why don't we run away?

If we did, wouldn't it make you sad? There'd be no Mamma Teresa, no Enzo, no Luisa' . No carousel, no bicycle, no Rome. No reminders of Amadeo. '

But you'd be there! He looked enchanted.

Would that be enough? She was amused.

Sure!

His smile gave her the courage to continue the story, the tale of the little boy and his mother who found a new home in a new land, where they were magically safe and they had new friends.

Did they stay there forever?

She looked at him for a long moment. I'm not sure. I think they went home again. Eventually.

Why? It seemed a ridiculous idea to him.

Maybe because home is always home, no matter how difficult it is.

I think that's stupid.

Wouldn't you want to come home if you went away? She looked at him in astonishment, surprised by what he had said.

Not if bad things had happened there.

Like here?

He nodded silently. They killed my Papa here. They're bad people.

Everyone didn't do it, Alessandro. Just one or two very bad men.

Then how come no one found them, to punish them, or hurt them, or spank them? He looked at her woefully, and she pulled him gently into her arms.

Maybe they will.

I don't care. I want to run away. With you. He snuggled closer to her, and she felt the warmth of him in her arms. It was the only warmth she felt these days now that Amadeo was gone.

Maybe one day we'll run away to Africa together, and live in a tree.

Ooooohhh, I'd like that! Can we? Can we please?

No, of course not. Besides, you couldn't sleep in your nice cozy bed in a tree. Could you?

I guess not. He gazed at her softly for a long moment, then smiled and patted her hand. It was a good story.

Thank you. By the way, did I tell you today how much I love you? She was leaning toward him and whispering in his ear.

I love you too.

Good. Go to sleep now, darling. I'll see you soon.

Very soon. In seven hours. She tucked him in tightly and closed the door softly as she walked into the long mirrored hall.

The evening was an agony of waiting. She sat in the living room, going over some papers and watching the Faberg+! clock crawl slowly toward eight. At eight o'clock dinner was served in the dining room, and she ate as always, quickly and alone. By twenty to nine she was back in her room again, staring out the window, at herself in the mirror, at the phone. She could do nothing until all was quiet. She didn't even dare go back to the hall. She sat there alone for three hours, thinking, waiting, looking outside. From her bedroom window she could see the carousel in the garden, the kitchen windows, the dining room, and the little study Amadeo had used to do paperwork at home. By midnight every window in the house had been darkened, except her own. She crept out stealthily to a locked closet at the end of the long hall, opened the door quickly, glanced inside and pulled out two large Gucci bags. They were a soft chocolate leather with the cla.s.sic green and red stripe. She looked at them, wondering. How could you pack a whole lifetime into two bags?

Back in her room she locked the door, pulled the shades, and opened her closet, looking things over without making a sound. And then quickly she pulled trousers from their hangers, cashmere sweaters from the specially made silk-lined plastic bags. Handbags, stockings, underwear, shoes. It was easier now. Everything she wore these days was still black. It took her exactly half an hour to pack three skirts, seven sweaters, six black wool dresses, and one suit. Black loafers, five pairs of high heels, one pair of black suede-and-satin evening shoes. Evening shoes? She glanced into the closet again and carefully extracted one perfectly simple, long black satin dress. She was finished in less than an hour. She went to the safe. Everything was back in its box again as it had been since Bernardo brought it all back from Paccioli, having returned Alfredo's five hundred thousand dollars. The money she had never been able to deliver to the kidnappers. The jewelry she no longer wore. But she didn't dare leave it here. What if someone broke in? If someone stole it. If! She felt like a refugee fleeing her country during a war as she emptied the green velvet boxes into satin jewelry cases and stowed them in the secret compartment of a large black alligator Herm+?s handbag. She would wear that over her arm on the trip. At last she swung her suitcase to the floor and slipped from her room, locking it behind her. She carried an empty suitcase down the hall to Alessandro's room, locking his door from the inside. The child was asleep, snuggled deep in his covers, one hand clutching a teddy bear, the other hanging out of the bed. She smiled at him briefly and began to empty his dresser. Warm clothes, a snowsuit, mittens and woolen caps, play clothes to wear in the apartment, and games and a few of his favorite toys. She looked around, wondering what would be most precious as she made the choice. By one thirty she was ready, the suitcases next to her, the room dim in the soft light. Bernardo would be bringing the two suitcases she had packed in the office. She was ready.

The clock on her bedtable ticked relentlessly. She had decided to wake Alessandro at one forty-five. She knew that somewhere, outside, the two guards were waiting, prepared to travel, though they had no idea where. They had been carefully screened by Bernardo and had been told to concoct a story explaining their whereabouts for the day. They would be back in Rome by the next night after depositing Isabella and Alessandro in London, where they would catch their afternoon flight.

Isabella sat breathlessly, feeling her heart pound in her chest. What was she doing? Was she right to leave? Could she really leave everything in Bernardo's hands? And why was she leaving her home?

Soundlessly she opened the door again and stepped softly outside. The house was totally silent as she drifted slowly down the hall. She still had ten minutes before she went to wake Alessandro ten minutes to say goodbye. She found herself in the living room, glancing around in the moonlight, touching a table, staring at the empty couch. Here there had been countless parties with Amadeo, happy evenings, better days. She remembered the fuss she had made choosing the fabrics, the pieces they had bought in Paris, the clock they had lovingly brought back from New York. She wandered on then, past the dining room, to a smaller living room they had rarely used. Finally, silently, she stood in the doorway of the tiny study Amadeo had loved so much. Usually it was flooded with sunshine and daylight, filled with treasures and books and trophies and bright-flowering plants. She had made it a haven for him, and they had retreated there often, talking about business or laughing at Alessandro from the French doors that led out to the garden. It was here that they had watched him take his first steps, here that Amadeo had so often told her he loved her, here that he had now and then made love to her on the comfortable brown leather sofa and once or twice on the thickly carpeted floor. Here they had drawn the shades and the curtains, hidden and plotted and cavorted and lived here in the room that was now so empty as she stared into it, barely daring to enter it, one hand resting gently on the door.

Ciao, Amadeo. I'll be back. It was a promise to herself, and to him, to the house, and to Rome. She crossed the carpet and stopped when she reached the desk. There was still a photograph of her there, in a silver frame that had been a gift from Bernardo. As she looked at it in the darkness she remembered the little golden Faberge egg. She had given it to him for their anniversary, just before Alessandro was born. She fingered it gently, touched the leather on the desk, and then slowly turned. Ciao, Amadeo. As she closed the door quietly behind her she whispered, Good-bye.

She stood for a moment in the hallway, then walked quickly to Alessandro's room, praying he would wake easily and not cry. Briefly Isabella felt a pang. It seemed an act of cruelty to take the child without even letting Mamma Teresa say good-bye. She had cared for him lovingly, sometimes even fiercely, for all of his five years. She prayed that the woman would bear the shock of his disappearance courageously and somehow understand when she read Isabella's letter the next day.

She opened the door softly and bent over him, holding him close to her, feeling his soft, purring breath on her neck.

Alessandro, tes+ ro. It's Mamma. Darling, wake up.

He stirred gently and shifted onto his side. She touched his face with a soft finger and kissed him on both eyes.

Alessandro' .

He opened his eyes to look at her then and smiled sleepily. I love you.

I love you too. Come on, darling, wake up.

Isn't it nighttime still? He looked at her strangely, glancing at the darkness outside.