to Love Again (1981) Read online

  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 classic 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.

  Yes. But we're going on an adventure. It's a secret. Just you and I.

  He stared at her with interest, eyes widening. Can I take my bear?

  She nodded, smiling, hoping he couldn't hear the rapid trip-hammer of her heart. I packed some of your toys and your games in a suitcase. Come on, sweetheart. Get up. He sat up sleepily, rubbing his eyes, and she swung him up into her arms. I'll carry you. She walked softly to the doorway, locked the door behind them, and hurried to her room, whispering to him that they mustn't talk, then sat him on her bed, removing his sleepers and dressing him in warm clot
hes.

  Where are we going? He held out a foot as she put on his sock.

  It's a surprise.

  To Africa? He looked delighted. On with the other sock. A blue T-shirt, blue corduroy overalls. A red sweater. His shoes. To Africa, Mamma?

  No, silly. Some place better than that.

  I'm hungry. I want a glass of milk.

  Uncle Bernardo will have milk and cookies for you in the car.

  Is he coming too? Alessandro looked intrigued.

  Only part of the way. The only people going all the way on our adventure are you and I.

  Not Mamma Teresa? He pulled away from her, and Isabella stopped. She looked him in the eye and slowly shook her head.

  No, darling, she can't come with us. We can't even say good-bye.

  Won't she be very mad at us and hate us when we come back?

  No. She'll understand. At least she hoped so.

  Okay. He sat down on the bed again, picking up his teddy bear with one hand. I like going places better with you anyway. They were whispering, and Isabella smiled.

  I like going places with you too. Now are we ready? She looked around. Everything was put away or packed. Only his sleepers lay forlornly on her bed. On her desk was a note explaining to Mamma Teresa and the housekeeper that Mr. Franco had decided it would be wiser for her and the child to go out of town. They could contact Mr. Franco immediately with any problems in the house. They were not to report her disappearance or speak to the press. Oh, we almost forgot something. She smiled at him as he stifled a yawn. Got your teddy bear? He picked up the bear as she helped him into his coat. All ready? He nodded again and took a firm grip of her hand. Suddenly, at the door, she stiffened. She could hear the grinding of the electric gates, a slow churning of gravel, and then the hushed voices of Bernardo and the two men. A moment later there was a soft knock.

  Isabella, it's me. It was Bernardo. Alessandro let out a giggle.

  This is fun.

  She opened the door to him and saw one of the guards at his side. Are you ready?

  She nodded, looking at him, her eyes very wide.

  I'll carry Alessandro. Giovanni will take the bags. This is it?

  That's everything.

  Fine. They were speaking in whispers. She turned off the light. The headlights of the Fiat cast a shadowed glow in the hall. Silently he picked up Alessandro as the other man took the bags. Isabella was last. She closed the door. It was over. Her good-byes had been said. She was leaving her home.

  Bernardo took the wheel with one of the guards next to him. The other sat next to Isabella and Alessandro in the backseat. She glanced over her shoulder once as they pulled away. The house looked as it always had. But it was only a house now. An empty house.

  Chapter ELEVEN

  Va b+?ne? Isabella glanced over at Bernardo. They had been driving for hours, racing through the night. Aren't you tired?

  He shook his head. He was too nervous to think of his own weariness. The sun would be up in an hour, and he wanted to cross the border before daybreak. For the first time he regretted taking his Fiat and longed for Amadeo's Ferrari. As it was, he had been going ninety-five miles an hour, but he could have used some extra speed now. In normal hours the customs men might connect the name on her passport with her face and call the newspapers.

  How much longer? Isabella said.

  Another hour. Maybe two. The guard said nothing. Alessandro was sound asleep on her lap. Bernardo had passed him some milk and the cookies; he had munched them happily, had two sips of milk, and passed out.

  It was almost sun-up when Bernardo finally ground to a halt. Two customs booths sat stolidly on either side of the border. One Italian, the other French. They inched to the gate on the Italian side and honked.

  Buon giorno. Bernardo looked pleasantly at the uniformed guard and handed him five passports. The man in uniform stared disinterestedly at the car. He held the passports in his hand and then motioned to Bernardo to open the trunk. He hopped out of the car, unlocked it, revealing Isabella's four bags, two filled with papers, the other two with clothes.

  Just your belongings? Bernardo nodded. You're going to France?

  Yes.

  For how long?

  A couple of days.

  The official nodded, still holding the passports in one hand. He began to open the first one, which belonged to one of the guards, as Bernardo prayed fervently that he wasn't a man who was abreast of the news. The name of San Gregorio was more familiar now than it had ever been. But they were both startled by a sudden honking as two trucks pulled up right behind the car. The customs man made an impatient gesture, and the first truck driver used an arm and a fist to express something crude. With that the officer slapped shut the passport, shoved them all at Bernardo, and waved them back into his car. +ecco. Have a good trip. He marched off toward the truck driver with a look of repressed fury. Gratefully Bernardo started the car.

  What happened? What did he say? Isabella was looking at him anxiously from the backseat. He smiled. He said have a good trip.

  Did he say anything about my passport?

  Nope. That jerk behind us did us a big favor. I'm so happy, I'd give him a kiss. The two guards smiled in spite of themselves as they rolled quietly across the border and once again stopped. He made a rude gesture at the customs guy, and he lost interest in us, Bernardo explained.

  Now what? Isabella looked nervously at the man walking toward them in dark blue.

  The French customs man stamps our passports, and we're off. Bernardo rolled down the window and once again smiled.

  Bonjour, messieurs, madame. He smiled benignly at them, glanced appreciatively at Isabella and briefly at the child. Isabella found herself staring at the red trim on his uniform and wishing herself miles away. A holiday? Or business?

  A little of both. There was no other way to explain the two suitcases crammed with papers, in case they were inspected. My sister, our cousins, and my nephew. Family business.

  I see.

  He took the passports from Bernardo. Isabella held Alessandro very tight.

  You will be staying long in France?

  Only a few days. It didn't matter what he told him; they would all be returning by different ways and Isabella and Alessandro not at all.

  Anything in the trunk? Food? Plants? Seeds? Potatoes?

  Oh, Christ. No, only our luggage. Bernardo made to step out but the guard waved his hand.

  Not necessary. Merci. He went to the window, picked up his stamp, flicked through the passports, and endorsed their entry, without even looking at the names. Bon voyage. He waved them on as the gate opened, and Isabella smiled at Bernardo with tears in her eyes.

  How's your ulcer?

  Alive and kicking.

  So is mine. They both laughed then as Bernardo stepped hard on the accelerator.

  They were in Nice by mid-morning, and Alessandro had just begun to stir. His mother, like the others, had not slept all night.

  Is this Africa? Are we here yet? He sat up with a broad sleepy smile.

  We're here, darling. But this isn't Africa. It's France.

  Is that where we're going? He looked disappointed. He'd been to France before, several times.

  Want some more cookies? Bernardo glanced at him as they sped on.

  I'm not hungry.

  Neither am I. Isabella was quick to second his sentiments, but ten miles from the airport Bernardo stopped at a small stand. He bought them fruit and then stopped and bought four cups of coffee and a container of milk.

  Breakfast, everyone!

  The coffee did wonders for all of them. Isabella combed her hair and freshened her makeup. Only the men looked as though they'd spent the night driving, with tired eyes and dark beards.

  Now where are we going? Alessandro was wearing a white mustache of milk, which he wiped with the teddy bear's arm.

  To the airport. I'm going to put you and your Mommy on a plane.

  Oh, goodie! Alessandro clapped his hands with glee
as Isabella watched him. It was extraordinary, not a murmur, not a regret, not a tremor or a good-bye. He had accepted their departure and their adventure like something they'd been planning for weeks. Even Bernardo was a little startled. And still more so as they said good-bye at the airport.

  Take good care of your Mamma! I'll talk to you soon on the phone. He looked at the child tenderly, praying that he wouldn't cry. But Alessandro looked him over disapprovingly.

  They don't have phones in Africa, silly.

  Is that where you and your Mamma are going?

  We are.

  Bernardo ruffled the boy's hair gently and watched nervously as passengers hurried toward the plane. Ciao, Isabella. Please ' take care.

  I will. You too. I'll talk to you as soon as we get there.

  He nodded and then took her quickly into his arms. Addio. He held her longer than he should have, feeling a lump in his throat.

  But she only held him tightly and looked at him soberly at last. Until soon, Bernardo. She held him fiercely again for one last moment, and then with the guards walking on either side of her and the child in her arms, the long swirl of mink coat disappeared. He hadn't wanted her to wear that. Just something simple and black, one of her wool coats, but she had insisted that she might need it in New York. Isabellezza. He felt something terrible tremble within him. What if he had lost her forever? But he didn't let himself think of it further as he slowly wiped a tear away and walked out of the airport whispering, Good-bye. She still had a long journey ahead of her, and he wanted to be back in Rome by that night.

  Chapter TWELVE

  The new bodyguards were waiting as Isabella stepped into the lounge at Heathrow Airport, holding Alessandro in her arms. She felt her heart leap as she watched them move toward her. They were tall, dark, and had the wholesome look of American football players.

  Mrs. Walker? They were referring to Natasha and the password she and Natasha had agreed on.

  Yes. She stared at them for a moment, not knowing what to say, but the taller of them handed her a letter, written in Natasha's hand. She opened it hastily, read what it said, and put it down: