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  "Are you afraid?" His arms were gentle around her, and she slowly shook her head. And then he laughed softly. "I am, silly girl."

  She looked at him with those big lovely green eyes and smiled. "Why?"

  "I don't want to hurt you."

  "You won't. You never have." And then he nodded and took her gently by the hand, and after a moment she looked at him again with a thought. "Will I get pregnant?" She wasn't afraid of it, she just wondered. She had heard of girls who had gotten pregnant the very first time. But he was shaking his head and smiling and she was surprised.

  "No, darling. Never. I can't have children. Or at least not anymore. I had that taken care of a long time ago." She nodded, accepting, not wanting to know why. He stood up next to her then and scooped her up, doll-like in his arms, and she let him carry her carefully to his bed, where he lay her down and began to undress her slowly. The room darkened and night fell. His eyes and his lips and his fingers caressed her as slowly he bared each inch of her flesh, and at last she lay naked, tiny, perfect. He longed to press against her and feel the satin of her flesh. But instead he covered her gently with the covers and turned to undress himself in the room that was finally dark.

  "Ivo?" Her voice was very young and small.

  "Yes?" Even in the dark she could hear him smile.

  "I love you." It thrilled him just to hear it, and he slipped into the sheets just behind her back.

  "I love you too." Gently he touched her, his hands covering her body, slowly, achingly, softly, as he could feel his whole body throb. Then gently he turned her to face him, and he kissed her long and hard on the mouth. He wanted her to want him as much, if not more, as he needed her. And at last she was pressed against him, moving, grinding, touching, almost begging, as firmly he held her and then pressed within her, quickly, jabbing, feeling her wrench upward and tense, clutching at his back, as he pressed into her more. He knew it would be painful but he wanted her to know how much he loved her, and as he held her he told her again and again until at last they both lay still. He could feel her warm blood on the sheets, but he didn't care. He only held her very tightly, feeling her tremble and holding her close to him in his arms. "I love you, darling ... oh, Bettina, how I love you ... with all of my heart." Even in the darkness she turned her eyes up to his in answer, and slowly he kissed her, sharing the moment and wanting to end her pain. "Are you all right?" She nodded slowly, and then at last she seemed to catch her breath.

  "Oh, Ivo...." And then, as she smiled at him, tears spilled down her face to her chin.

  "Why are you crying, little one?" It had been so many years since he had done something like that, he was suddenly afraid he had hurt her. He looked into her eyes almost with grief. But she was smiling and laughing through her tears.

  "Just think what we've been missing all month!" And then suddenly he laughed too.

  "You're silly and I love you." But there was something he wanted to ask her and it was too soon. Yet he wanted to talk to her, to tell her, to ask her What now? And then he smiled down at her again as he turned onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow. As he did Bettina thought to herself that he looked incredibly young. "Does this mean you won't be moving out, mademoiselle?"

  She looked at him impishly, shrugged her shoulders, and smiled at him. "Is that what you want, Ivo? For me to stay here?"

  He nodded, feeling young again. "What about you? Do you want to stay?"

  She lay back among his pillows feeling happier than she ever had before. "Yes, I want to stay."

  "But have you really thought about it? Bettina, I'm a very old man!"

  But at that she laughed at him and stretched out comfortably on the bed. It was extraordinary. She wasn't even embarrassed with him. Exposing her body to him was like opening up to the other half of her soul. "You know something, Ivo, I think you lie about your age. I think you're really all of about thirty-five and you dye your hair white ... because no one can tell me after today, least of all you, that you are a very old man."

  He looked at her seriously. "But I am. Do you care?"

  "I don't give a damn."

  But he knew better. "Now you don't. But one day you will. And when that day comes, when I seem too old to you, when you want a young man, I'll step aside. I want you to remember that, darling. Because I mean it, with all my heart. When your time with me is over, when it is no longer right for you, when you want a younger man, and a different life, and babies, I'll go. And I'll understand, and I'll love you, but I will go."

  Her eyes were filled with tears as she listened. "No, you won't." But he only nodded and took her gently back into his arms again.

  He whispered softly in her ear. "Are you terribly sore, my darling?" She shook her head. Gently he took her, and this time she moaned softly and there was pleasure in her eyes. And at last as they lay together, happy and spent, he remembered something and looked at her with a soft smile. "I assume that you understand, Bettina, that I want to marry you." She looked up at him this time in surprise. She had hoped, but she hadn't been sure.

  Her copper hair was tousled and she looked wonderfully sleepy but there was something very soft and lovely in her eyes. She hugged him. "I'm glad. Because I want to marry you too."

  "Mrs. Stewart."

  And then, laughing softly, she kissed him and muttered, "The Third." He looked at her in surprise then and pulled her to him.

  "Are you ready?" He knocked softly on the door and waited on the other side, but Bettina was flying about in a panic, still in her slip, her eyes frantic, her arms flapping wide.

  "No, no wait!" Mathilde went hurriedly to the closet to get the dress and slipped it carefully over Bettina's hair, and then she smoothed it over the narrow shoulders, closing hooks, buttons, snaps, and a zipper that ran imperceptibly up one side. It was a dress Bettina had bought in Paris with her father, but she had never worn it and it was perfect now.

  She stood back to look at herself in the mirror, and over her left shoulder the reflection of the elderly Mathilde smiled benevolently too. Bettina looked beautiful in the simple cream satin dress. It was a mid-calf length, high-necked and short-sleeved with perfectly belled cap sleeves, and a jacket with much the same lines. She pulled on little white kid gloves and felt for the pearls in her ears, and then she stared down at her ivory-colored stockings and the virginal satin shoes. Everything was perfect, and she looked up at Mathilde now with a soft smile.

  "You look beautiful, mademoiselle."

  "Thank you, Mattie." She reached out to kiss the old woman then and after that walked slowly to the door. She hesitated for a long moment, wondering if he was still waiting on the other side. "Ivo?" She almost whispered it, but he heard her from behind the still closed door.

  "Yes. Are you ready?"

  She nodded, and then giggled. "I am. But aren't you supposed to wait to see me until we get there?"

  "How do you propose to do that? Blindfold me in the car?" He was amused by her insistence on tradition, considering the circumstances. He was amused by everything she did these days. She was suddenly once again like a very enchanting child. She was free of worry, and the disastrous winter of tragedy had finally come to an end. She was his now, and she had a new life ahead of her, as his much pampered wife. "Come on, darling. We don't want to be late for Judge Isaacs. How about if I just close my eyes?"

  "Okay. Are they closed?"

  "Yes." He smiled, and feeling slightly foolish, he closed his eyes. He heard the door open, and a moment later he was aware of her perfume nearby. "Can I open them yet?"

  She looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded slowly. "Yes." And he did, sighing softly as he saw her, wondering why the winter of his life should be so blessed, by what right?

  "My God, you look lovely."

  "Do you like it?"

  "Are you serious? You look exquisite."

  "Do I look like a bride?" He nodded gently, and then took her once more in his arms.

  "Do you realize that an hour from
now you'll be Mrs. Ivo Stewart?" And then he smiled down at her, dwarfed beside him. "How does that sound?"

  "Lovely." She kissed him again, and then left his arms.

  "Oh, that reminds me ..." He reached suddenly behind him to something enveloped in pale-green tissue on the hall chair. He held it out to her with a look of tenderness. "For you."

  She took it from him carefully, tearing the paper, and the smell of lilies of the valley suddenly filled the hall. "Oh, Ivo, where did you get them?" It was a beautiful little bouquet made of white roses and the tiny delicate white flowers from France.

  "I had them sent over from Paris. Do you like the bouquet?"

  She nodded happily and reached up to kiss him once more. But he stopped her and presented with a flourish a smaller package. She opened it up. There weren't words big enough to describe the nine-carat diamond ring gleaming brilliantly on a bed of midnight-blue velvet.

  "Oh, Ivo, I don't know what to say."

  "Say nothing, my love, just wear this ring and be happy and safe and secure forever."

  The ceremony was over in minutes. The words had been said, the rings exchanged. Bettina was now Ivo's wife. She hadn't even wanted a party. She was still, after all, grieving for her father. They had dinner at Lutece, at a quiet table in the rear, and afterward they went dancing, and Bettina stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.

  "I love you, Ivo." She looked so tiny, so fragile, and so much like a little girl. But she wasn't, she was his woman. Now. Entirely his. Forever.

  Chapter 13

  Nervously Bettina fastened diamond clips to her ears and ran a brush through her hair. She swirled it around her hand deftly and wound it into a smooth, ladylike knot. The deep auburn lights shone as she smoothed it, and when she had put the last of the pins in her hair, she stood up. Her body seemed tighter and thinner, and as she stood in a black lace dress, which reached to her ankles and black satin shoes, she could see her reflection across her dressing room in the long mirrored wall. Ivo had had the room put in especially for her, in the new apartment they'd bought on their first anniversary five months before. It was perfect for their life-style, a duplex with a beautiful view of Central Park. Their bedroom had a large handsome terrace, they each had a dressing room, and there was a small den for Ivo upstairs. Downstairs there was a living room, a wood-paneled dining room, and a kitchen, and behind it a nice-sized room for Mathilde. It was perfect. Not too grandiose, and yet it was far from small. Bettina had done it precisely as she wanted, except for the few touches Ivo had added for her, the little room of closets, the funny little gazebo on the large terrace, and a wonderful old-fashioned swing that he had hooked to the thin lip of overhanging roof. He had teased her that they would sit out there on summer evenings, dreaming and "necking on their back porch."

  But it was rare for them to spend a night in the city during the summer. The repertory group for which she was now assistant manager and which had become more legitimate and moved uptown, had no performances in July and August and she and Ivo summered in South Hampton now. They had bought their own house. Her life was once more as it had been with her father, with the exception that she was happier than she had ever been before. She only worked five nights a week now, and on Sundays and Mondays, they gave elegant dinners for twelve or fourteen or showed films at home. Ivo had access to all the new movies, and once in a while she was able to sneak away for a ballet, a gala, an opening, or just an evening at Lutece or Cote Basque. And in spite of it all they managed to spend quite a bit of time alone, after the theater or in the daytime if Ivo could get away. He never had enough of her, and there were times when he wanted to share her with no one at all. He was lavish with his time, his attention, his affection, and his praise. Bettina was secure in his love. It was like the culmination of a long, happy dream.

  She smiled at herself in the delicate black lace dress. It seemed to drift around her like a soft cloud, and she arranged the folds of her skirt before she zipped what little fabric there was in the back. It left her shoulders and arms and back bare, dwindled her waist to almost nothing, and floated up toward her throat, where it clasped with one hook around her neck. It looked like the sort of dress for which only one or two severed threads could have been disastrous, but there was no danger of that, the dress was exquisitely made. Checking the diamond earrings again and glancing at the smooth knot of hair, she squinted at her reflection with a small smile of excitement. "Not bad for an old broad," she whispered softly and grinned.

  "Hardly that, my love." She turned in surprise. She hadn't seen her husband smiling at her from the doorway.

  "Sneaky. I didn't hear you come in."

  "I didn't intend you to. I just wanted to see how you look. And you look"--he smiled appreciatively and bent to kiss her softly on the mouth--"ravishing." He stepped back again and looked at her. She was even more beautiful than she had been a year and a half before. And then his smile deepened. "Excited, Bettina?" She was about to say no, but then, laughing, she nodded her head.

  "Maybe a little."

  "You should be, my darling." And then he himself had to laugh. Was it possible that was all she was? Twenty-one? Tonight was her twenty-first birthday. And then, as he watched her, he slipped a hand into his pocket and came out with a dark-blue velvet box. There had been so much of that since they had married. He had showered her with presents and spoiled her since the day they'd got home from their precious honeymoon in East Hampton.

  "Oh, Ivo...." She looked at him as he handed her the dark blue box. "What more can you give me? You've already given me so much."

  "Go ahead, open it." And when at last she did, he smiled at her small gasp.

  "Oh, Ivo! No!"

  "Oh, yes." It was a magnificent pearl and diamond choker she had seen and admired at Van Cleef's. She had told him about it after they first married, in a funny, half-joking confidence, when she told him that one knew one had really grown up when one had a choker of pearls. He had been amused by her theory, and she had gone on to describe the elegant women who had worn chokers at her father's parties, sapphires, diamonds, rubies ... but only the truly "grown-up" women had had the good taste to wear chokers made of pearls. He had enjoyed the story and, like everything else she told him, he never forgot. He had been waiting impatiently for her twenty-first birthday to give her the choker of pearls. The one he had chosen was also enhanced by diamonds that hung together in a handsome oval clasp, which could be worn in the back or front. As she fumbled to put it on and he watched her, he could see bright tears standing out in her eyes, and then suddenly she was crushed against him, holding tightly to him, as she bowed her head against his chest. "It's all right, darling.... Happy birthday, my beloved...." He tilted her face toward him then and kissed her ever so softly on the lips.

  But there was something more than just gratitude in her face when she kissed him. "Don't ever leave me, Ivo ... never ... I couldn't bear it. ..." It wasn't the diamonds and the pearls that he gave her, it was that he always understood, he always knew, he was always there. She knew that she could always count on him. But the terrifying thing was--what if one day he wasn't there? She couldn't bear to think of it. What if he stopped loving her one day? Or what if he left her helpless and gasping as her father had.... But as he looked at her Ivo understood the horror he could see hiding in her eyes.

  "As long as I can help it, darling, I'll never leave you. Never."

  And then they wandered downstairs, his arm firmly around her shoulders. It was only a few moments later when the doorbell rang with the first guests. Mathilde was being assisted by a bartender and two rented butlers, and a caterer had been arranged for the food. For once Bettina had to do absolutely nothing. Everything had been organized by Ivo. All she had to do was relax, have a good time, and be one of the guests.

  "But shouldn't I just take a look in the kitchen?" She whispered it to him softly as they wandered away from a group of guests, but he held on to her firmly with a long, tender smile.

  "No, you
should not. Tonight I want you out here, with me."

  "As you wish, sire." She swept a low curtsy and he patted her gently on the fanny as she rose. "Fresh!"

  "Absolutely!" Their love life hadn't dwindled either in the past year. She still found him exciting and appealing, and they spent a remarkable amount of their time in bed.

  She stood in tiny, regal splendor, Ivo at her side, a champagne glass in one hand, the other on her choker, surveying her domain. She felt like she had turned a corner. She was a woman, a lover, a wife.

  Chapter 14

  "Ready to call it a night, little one?" Ivo looked down at her with a gentle smile as they circled the dance floor for a last time. She nodded as she looked up at him. For once the emeralds in her ears shone more than her eyes. She looked tired and troubled, despite the brilliantly beautiful green and gold sari dress she was wearing, and the new emerald earrings, which were an almost perfect match for her mother's ring. Ivo had just bought her the earrings the previous Christmas and she loved them.

  As they turned to go back to their table, all of the guests stood and applauded. She was so used to the sound of applause, that she was comforted by it. But tonight the applause wasn't for the repertory group but for Ivo, who was retiring, finally, after thirty-six years at the paper, twenty-one years as its chief. He had decided, after much agony, to end his career at sixty-eight rather than push it all the way to mandatory retirement in two years. Bettina had not yet quite adjusted to what was happening, and he knew that it troubled her more than she would admit. Together they had shared six untroubled, endlessly happy years of winters in the city, summers in the country, trips to Europe, and moments that they shared. And at twenty-five she enjoyed it, and he indulged her, although now when she worked, he had his chauffeur pick her up around the corner from work. He no longer bowed to all of her ideas about her independence, and having proven herself with the rep group, she was less fierce about the little things. Yet it was comfortable to depend on Ivo. He made life so easy and so happy.