To Love Again Part 14

Chapter SEVENTEEN.

Isabella! ' Isabella! ' There was a frantic knocking as Natasha stood in front of her door.

Wait a minute! I'm not ready yet. Just a second ' there' . She slipped into her shoes and clipped on her earrings, glanced at herself quickly, and pulled open the door. Natasha was waiting, dressed for the evening in a beige Chinese evening coat lined in the palest peach satin. The trousers she wore under it were mocha-brown velvet, all the colors brought together in brown-and-peach brocade shoes. And she was wearing coral earrings that peeked through her blond hair. Isabella looked her over admiringly and smiled in pleasure as she approved. My dear, you look marvelous. And it's not even one of mine! Where did you get that sensational outfit?

In Paris last year.

Very handsome.

But suddenly it was Natasha who looked and approved, startled into silence as she saw the familiar figure standing regally in the center of the room.

It was the old Isabella, and for a moment Natasha was breathless, under the spell. This was Isabella di San Gregorio as she had once been. Amadeo's woman and the brightest star in all of Rome.

It was not only what she wore, but the way she wore it, and the angle of the long, ivory neck, so delicately carved, the sweep of her perfectly combed and knotted dark hair, the shape of her tiny ears, the depth of the remarkable black eyes. But now Natasha gasped at what she was wearing, so simple and so stark. One totally plain stretch of black satin which fell from her shoulders to her toes. A tiny V at the neckline, the smallest of cap sleeves, and the richness of the heavy black satin, which exposed only the tips of black satin shoes. Her hair was swept into a knot, her arms totally bare, and her only jewelry was a pair of large onyx earrings set in diamonds, as bright as her s.h.i.+ning eyes.

My G.o.d, it's gorgeous, Isabella! It was perfectly simple, perfectly plain. It must be one of yours.

Isabella nodded. My last collection, before ' we left home. There had been a long pause. Before Amadeo disappeared. It was from the same collection as the green satin dress she had worn that night, waiting for him to come home.

What are you wearing over it? Your mink coat? Natasha was hesitant. The coat was sure to draw attention. Yet, even in totally plain black satin, Isabella was a woman everyone would see.

But Isabella was shaking her head, this time with a tiny look of pleasure, the hint of a smile.

No, I have something else. Something from the collection we opened this week. Actually, she said over her shoulder as she fumbled in the closet for a moment, this is only a sample, but Gabriela sent it to me to show me how well it worked. That was the box you picked up at your agent last week. In the collection we lined it in turquoise, to be worn over purple or green. And as she spoke she emerged from the closet again, wearing a creamy white satin coat. With the black beneath it she looked even more striking than before.

Oh, G.o.d. Natasha looked as though she'd seen a ghost.

You don't like it? Isabella was stunned.

I love it. Natasha closed her eyes and sat down. But I think you're crazy. You're crazy. You'll never be able to pull this off. She opened her eyes again, staring at Isabella in the remarkable white coat and the strikingly simple black gown. The whole outfit was so simple and so beautiful that it shrieked of haute couture. And one look at her face, so pale and so revealing, and the game would be over. The whereabouts of Isabella di San Gregorio would be instantly known. Is there any even faintly human chance I can talk you out of this? Natasha stared at her glumly.

None. She was in command again. The princess of the House of San Gregorio in Rome. She glanced at the watch she had left on the table, then back at her friend. You'd better hurry, Natasha, you'll be late.

I should be so lucky. And you?

Just as I promised. I'll stay here until precisely nine fifteen. I'll get into the limousine you rented for me, go straight to the theater, have the driver check with the ushers if the movie has started, and if it has done so, on schedule at nine thirty, I'll hurry inside. I'll sit in the aisle seat you reserved for me and depart the instant the houselights come on at the end.

The instant before the houselights come on. Don't wait for the credits, or for me. Just get the h.e.l.l out. I'll come home later, after the dinner.

ecco. And when you get back, I shall be here, and we can celebrate a perfect evening.

Perfect? A thousand things could go wrong.

But nothing will. Va, cara. You'll be late for the c.o.c.ktail.

Natasha stood as though paralyzed. Isabella was smiling at her. She didn't seem to understand anything, how great a risk she was running, how easily she could be recognized, the furor it would cause if her residence in New York became known.

Does Bernardo know what you're up to?

Bernardo! Bernardo is in Rome. And this is New York. Here I am only a face in the fas.h.i.+on magazines. Not everyone keeps up with fas.h.i.+on, my dear. Or didn't you know?

Isabella, you're a fool. You don't just design dresses for French countesses and rich women from Rome and Venice and Milan. You have an entire American line, men's wear, ready-to-wear, cosmetics, perfumes, soaps. You are an international commodity.

No. I'm a woman. And I can't live like this anymore.

They had been over it one hundred three times in the past two days, and Natasha's arguments were wearing thin. The best she'd been able to do was come up with a reasonably safe plan. And with luck it would work if Isabella came late enough, left early enough, and sat quietly in her seat in between. Maybe, just maybe, it would be all right.

So are you ready? Isabella was looking at her sternly, as though urging a reluctant debutante to attend her first dance.

I wish I were dead.

Don't be foolish, darling. She kissed Natasha's cheek softly. Ill see you there.

Without another word Natasha stood up to go; she paused for a moment in the doorway, shook her head, and then left as Isabella sat down again, smiling to herself and impatiently tapping one black satin shoe on the floor.

Chapter EIGHTEEN.

The limousine Natasha had rented was waiting in quiet black splendor outside the door. It was precisely nine fifteen. Isabella walked out to the curb. The air on her face felt wonderful, and for once she didn't even mind the cold. The driver closed the door behind her with a thud as Isabella settled herself carefully on the seat, the white coat spread around her like a coronation robe.

They drove decorously through Central Park and then headed downtown to the theater, as Isabella silently watched the other cars pa.s.s by.

Oh, G.o.d, she was out at last. In silks and satins, in perfume and evening clothes. Even Alessandro had looked at her with excitement and squealed with glee as he kissed her good night carefully, holding both hands, as instructed, in midair. Just like with Papa! he had shouted.

But it wasn't just like with Papa. For a moment Isabella's thoughts flew back to Rome. The days of going to parties in the Ferrari, of rus.h.i.+ng home from the office to chatter and dress for a ball, her mind still in a work-battered daze, of Amadeo singing in the shower as she laid out his dinner jacket and disappeared into her dressing room to emerge in gray velvet or blue brocade. It was foolish, an empty life, someone had once told her, but it was also their world. They had conquered it together and they enjoyed it, sharing their laughter and their success with amus.e.m.e.nt and pride.

It was different now. The seat next to her was empty. There was no one but the driver in the long black car. No one to talk to when she got there, no one to laugh with when at last she got home, no one to s.h.i.+ne for and smile at. Her head had been just a little higher because he had been there.

Her face was suddenly very sober as they halted outside the theater. The driver turned in his seat to look at her.

Mrs. Walker mentioned something about my going in to see if the movie has already started.

He left her in the limousine and went to see if all was ready.

She felt her heart begin to race a little, as it had at her wedding when, in a cloud of white lace and veiling, she had been Amadeo's bride. But it was foolish to feel like that now. She was only going to a movie. And this time she was wearing black. And she was no longer Amadeo's bride, but his widow. It was too late to hesitate though. The chauffeur had already returned to help her from her car.

In the darkened theater Natasha was frantic. A party of seven had taken over the first seven seats along the aisle, and all her excuses I'm sorry, would you mind terribly? My cousin ' she has a terrible cold ' here in a minute ' coming late ' may not feel well and have to go ' were useless. No one heard her, the group was too unwieldy and too large. A fat man from Texas in oil, darlin' in a dinner jacket and a Stetson had had too much to drink. Bad kidneys, darlin', you know. It had been impossible to move him from his seat on the aisle. Beside him were his white-brocaded wife, their hosts, and next to them the financial editor of The Times of London, yet another very social couple, and at last Natasha with her spare seat. She wanted to Kill Isabella. The plan had been lunacy from the start. Isabella would have to climb over everyone; it was going to be impossible to keep her from being seen. She sat glowering, waiting for the film to start, hoping Isabella would develop small pox or at least typhoid, maybe even malaria, on her way to the car.

You look happy tonight, Natasha. What happened to you, they cancel your new book?

I should be so lucky. She glanced across the empty seat at Corbett Ewing.

You look mad as h.e.l.l. He glanced with amus.e.m.e.nt at the man in the white dress Stetson in the aisle seat. Problems with Texas? Corbett Ewing looked at her with dancing blue eyes and a broad grin.

I was trying to save the seat for a friend.

Aha! So you're in love again. G.o.dd.a.m.n it, every time I go out of town, I seem to miss my chance.

Natasha smiled. But he suddenly realized that she was concerned. And as he watched her he understood who the friend had to be. As he thought of her he felt his heart race.

Where've you been? Natasha tried to make idle chitchat but the worry was still in her eyes.

Tokyo mostly. Then Paris, London. And last week Morocco. G.o.d, that's a beautiful place.

So I hear. How's business? With Corbett that was like asking the White House chef, How was lunch? Corbett was constantly brewing some of business and industry's major deals.

All right. How's your book?

Finished, finally. I've decided that I'm not really a writer. Just a rewriter. I spend six weeks cooking them up and six months boiling them down.

Actually, that's about how it works with me. They both fell silent for a time, watching the crowds.

And then, without any notice, Corbett moved into the empty seat. Natasha looked at him, startled, and gestured to him to move back.

I can't see there. He looked at her sweetly.

Corbett ' will you please move! Her voice was urgent, but his smile only widened as he shook his head.

No, I won't.

Corbett! But at that moment the lights suddenly dimmed. Natasha went on urging him in the darkness, and behind them a row of dowagers complained.

Ssshhh!

At precisely that moment the usher's flashlight appeared at the end of the aisle. Natasha looked up, startled. At least Isabella was right on time. She was standing in momentary confusion, staring down at the man in the white hat.

Hi, darling, you must be Natasha's cousin. Now isn't that a nice coat. It was spoken in a loud stage whisper as the dowagers came alive again, and the Texan introduced Isabella to his wife. Isabella murmured pleasantly and glanced down the row of seats. Natasha signaled to her, and Isabella nodded, progressing slowly over seven pairs of feet and knees.

I'm sorry ' oh ' sorry ' terribly sorry. She had reached Natasha, who only pointed silently to the empty seat ' Isabella nodded, glanced at Corbett, climbed over both of them, settled her coat around her and sat down. The movie was just beginning and the theater was very dark, but as she sat there she turned to Corbett, and they exchanged a smile. At first she was too excited to watch the movie; instead she found herself staring up and down the long dark aisles. What did they look like, who were they, what were they wearing, and could they possibly understand how good it felt to be out? She was smiling to herself in the darkness, staring happily at the back of elaborate hairdos and well-barbered heads. At last she let her eyes be drawn by the movie and sat happily, almost childlike, enjoying what was happening on the screen. How long had it been since she'd even been to a movie? She thought for a moment. Early September, with Amadeo. Seven months ' she heard herself utter a small happy groan. The film itself was delightful, and she was enchanted by its beauty and the humor of the two stars. She watched, engrossed, until the curtain went down slowly and the houselights began to come up.

Is it over? Isabella glanced at Corbett in confusion, not satisfied that the story had been resolved. But he was smiling at her, amused, and pointed at the words on the screen almost hidden by the gold ta.s.sels of the heavy curtain still swinging closed.

It's only intermission. And the smile deepened. It's nice to see you, Isabella. Let's go to the lobby for a drink.

But as Isabella nodded, Natasha's hand was instantly on her arm, and her eyes held Corbett's with a dark frown.

I think she should stay here.

He paused for an instant, looking with interest at Isabella and then with concern at his old friend. He wanted to tell her to relax a bit, that he was neither a masher nor a rapist, but this wasn't the place nor the time. He turned again to Isabella. Would you like me to bring something back? But Isabella only shook her head, smiling politely, and sat down again in her seat. As soon as he had left, Natasha moved closer, wis.h.i.+ng once again that she hadn't agreed to let Isabella come.

Isabella only smiled at her and patted her hand. Don't look so worried, Natasha. Everything is fine. She was getting the chance she had so desperately wanted. To watch the people, to look at the gowns, to hear the laughter, to be there. And suddenly Natasha saw her standing, looking slowly around.

She hissed at her fiercely. Sit down.

But Isabella was Isabella, and before Natasha could stop her, she had begun to slide slowly in the opposite direction, toward the other aisle. Isab ' G.o.dd.a.m.n' . She whispered to herself through clenched teeth, standing up quickly, apologizing, avoiding toes in elegant slippers, and trying to stay close to Isabella. But the instant they had joined the throng in the aisle, Isabella seemed to be swept from her on a current of people who swirled between them, laughed gaily, tried not to spill drinks, and tugged at Natasha's long sleeves.

Natasha! Darling! I missed you at She muttered quickly, Later, and pressed on. But she was a good distance behind Isabella now, cascading into the lobby with the others, where a crowd pressed around the makes.h.i.+ft bar.

Changed your mind? It was Corbett Ewing, suddenly towering above Isabella as she looked up at him with a smile.

Yes, thank you.

Would you like a drink?

No, I Far behind her Natasha was suddenly staring, a look of panic in her eyes. She waved frantically to Corbett, who only waved back.

Natasha did not return the smile but gazed frantically at Isabella. She had to get to her. She motioned to her to turn around. Isabella did so, puzzled, wondering if there was something special she should see. It was Natasha who saw the danger approaching, in the form of two reporters, one from Women's Wear Daily and the other from the People section of Time. The woman from WWD, spiderlike in a black jersey dress, had stared at Isabella for a moment, knit her brows, and then was attempting to move closer, having whispered something to the man she had in tow. Meanwhile Isabella was smiling at Corbett and casting Natasha an embarra.s.sed look.

Natasha was still not able to get near her. She wanted to kick them, bite them, shove them aside. She had to get to Isabella, before the two reporters, before '

It was too late. A double flash exploded in Isabella's eyes. She wheeled suddenly, frightened, briefly blinded by the lights. She grabbed at Corbett's arm just as Natasha reached her and pulled her to her side.

Corbett was still standing there, startled, his drink in his hand, his powerful body blocking the reporters who had momentarily been shoved aside. Natasha grabbed his arm then, shouting above the din.

Get her out of here for G.o.d's sake! Now. She grabbed his drink from him, and both his arms were around Isabella like a fortress as another flash of light went off in her face. Before she knew what had happened, he had propelled her halfway across the room. Dimly Isabella heard the murmur that had gone up in the lobby. Corbett held her arm tightly, and they ran out of the lobby to his Rolls-Royce. Isabella had not said a word, but as she ran with him something told him that this was not new to her. They barreled into the car. As the door was still closing Corbett was shouting, Get us the h.e.l.l out of here. It was only then that the reporters came hurtling after them through the door. Corbett grinned. Football in college still paid off now and then. And he had to admire Isabella. She had come the distance with him, without ladylike pretensions about high heels or falling or what she might be doing to her dress. She sat on the seat now, without speaking, trying to gather her wits and catch her breath. They had already turned the corner, and the reporters were left gaping at the curb.

Are you all right? Corbett turned to her now, opening a compartment and pulling out a brandy decanter and one gla.s.s.

How convenient. And then, smiling faintly, Yes. I'm fine.

Does this happen to you often? He handed her the gla.s.s, and she took it.

Not in a while.

He looked at Isabella and noticed the hand that trembled as she held her gla.s.s. At least she was human, despite the composure. She was no longer even out of breath. Natasha didn't tell me where I should take you. Do you want to go home? Or would it be safer at my place?

No, our place will be fine. And I apologize for for the ugly scene.

Not at all. My life is extremely dull by comparison. He gave the address to the chauffeur. But he was suddenly unnerved by what he had seen of Isabella. Despite the composure, there was a look of despair on her face. I don't mean to make light of it. It must be very unnerving. Is that why you left Italy? Or is this something that only happens to you here? His voice was gentle as he settled back next to her on the seat.